Chapter 21, "The Unravelling", new sneak peak:
The hour was one at which no sane person would, or should, be awake.
Ripped into consciousness at the climax of a nightmare, Hermione found herself unable to fathom her situation as she gulped at the air hungrily. She was in a luxurious bed with a handsome blonde man sleeping next to her. Anxiety crashed into her like an avalanche of rock as her vision narrowed and became blurry. Nausea rumbled deep in her stomach as Hermione carefully climbed out of the bed and quickly made her way to the nearest bathroom. She needed to be alone. . . be away from the stranger in the bed. She needed to sort through and organise the overload of memories returned to her in a single session.
Hermione had lied to Mal-, Draco, before, when she said she wanted to talk about what happened to her. She could barely make sense of any of it, herself.
Of course, she felt more herself than she had in years. Now, Hermione finally understood why she had stayed with the Order much longer than she ever would have freely. She had been forced to stay; coerced into loyalty for a group which had otherwise crumbled and died years ago. Everything they had done to her, returned to her mind with (almost) perfect clarity. Now she understood why the disgust for what Draco had done to her that night on the Astronomy Tower had been so hard to shake. . . why Hermione had held onto the revulsion for such a long time. She had refused to try and understand any reasoning for it other than Draco hadn’t wanted her. She had been forced to hate anything associated with the Dark Side. She was forced to feel disdain and loathing for anyone who was not firmly on the side of the “Light”.
Hermione wanted nothing more than to be free from the influence of the Order, of Ron, of every damned person who was involved or knew of what had happened to her. She wanted nothing more than to feel light and free, ready to confront whatever might be left of. . . whatever had transpired between herself and Draco when they were in school. Hermione knew he had pushed her away for a reason, and she wanted to discover what that reason was. There were so many things Hermione wanted from him, though. . .
Waking up next to the man Hermione had been conditioned to hate, yet wanted so desperately and more than anything else in the world, was just too much for one woman to handle at that very moment.
The door of the bathroom closed softly behind her as Hermione turned on the small light in the middle of the room. Turning toward the small vanity, her mind became a cacophony of loud voices and frightening images. There was only one thing Hermione could think to do as she tried to fight against the onslaught of disturbing memories threatening to tear her reality to pieces. She would focus on the incessant, yet somewhat hypnotic, leak of the tap in the small bathroom sink.
Drip. . . drip. . . drip. . .
“. . . warm up my bed tonight. . .”
Hermione’s eyes snapped shut as the memory of the back-handed smack that followed her refusal to that disgusting proposal stung across her cheek. Her mind’s recall of how the force of the blow had split her lips and sent her reeling was almost perfect. It seemed as though having her memory of the event locked away had somehow preserved its clarity.