The Sins Within

The Sins Within

"Walk by the sea and forgive me, all my sins"

- "All my Sins", Mandalay

He had been hurt again. It was becoming a nightly ritual -- getting cut up, slashed, gashed, you name it. His skin had been penetrated so many times that the wounds were starting to lose their sick yet holy appeal of pain. He knew it was disturbing, that pain was his only form of release. The more it bled, the more he cleansed himself.

But don't get him wrong. He wasn't sadomasochistic. Others inflicted the pains upon him. He just never cried out in agony, or begged his adversary for mercy. He took it with a grain of salt, letting the pain wash over him for a few moments, and then the warm satisfactory feeling of survival and secretion.

That was one of the few reasons he'd chosen to follow "Daddy's" path and become a Death Eater. Pain and torture and abuse were givens in this line of work, but the real fact of the matter was who was strong enough to endure it, and who would come back for more?

Draco Malfoy, of course.

On this particular night in early November, he had trudged up the stairs of his flat with a deep gash on his right forearm. He walked up the staircase unsteadily. He couldn't reach out to steady himself with the railing. Even for someone like him, the pain in this wound was almost unbearable.

Draco had finally reached the top of the stairs, and he breathed a sigh of relief, of victory. Like he had found his pot of gold at the end of the God forsaken rainbow. He hesitantly rapped on the door. He was so wiped out from the night's events that even a simple alohomora seemed far too strenuous.

"Hermione," he said, after rapping on the door three or four times. "Herm, open up. It's me, Draco." The door swung open. He was met with a bubbly brunette whose face was once filled with light and laughter, but was now just as drawn out and tired as his own.

The door creaked until it reached as far as it can go. Hermione was silent as she took his hand and led him into the kitchen. Draco was quiet also, daring himself to hear a slight murmur of a breath, or a strangled, small moan that came from his beautiful lover.

She was beautiful, Draco had decided long ago. You just couldn't argue with that. Right now, her mass of curls was wrapped into a sloppy bun at the top of her head and she was wearing a soft pink, ribbed tee shirt with some ripped beige khakis. His khakis. Her big, brown eyes were almost closed with exhaustion but she forced herself to keep them open.

Hermione reached into the cabinet and pulled out a tube. Draco knew Hermione's Muggle medicines always cleared up his wounds faster then a spell. Besides, it was an excuse for her to touch him.

"Ow," he murmured softly as she applied some ointment to his arm. She didn't say anything still; she just gently applied the cream to the cut, rubbing it a few more times then necessary. She put his hand down gently to his side, and then ran her greasy hands under the water of the sink.

Draco stared at her neck and saw that wisps of her bun were coming out at the bottom. He wanted Hermione to look whole again. To look happy. He knew what was bothering her. "Mione, please, talk to me," he pleaded.

"You're welcome," she mumbled, putting back the medicine now.

"What?"

"You're welcome for the application of cream to that nasty looking cut that you got on your arm from your nasty little worshipping meeting that you call a hobby." Hermione spun around now to look at him.

"Thank you," Draco said softly. "I know the cream can't be bothering you, Hermione. But I know what is."

She took out her bun and ran a trembling hand through her cascading curls. She looked down at her bare feet and the vision was blurred. She hastily wiped the threatening tears away before they had a chance to fall. "Try me," she whispered so softly, she didn't think Draco heard her.

"I can't marry you," Draco said.

Hermione let out a strangled cry, and then nodded. She turned around again, so she wouldn't have to look at him. "I know, I know. You've told me, we've been through this before, I..." Now she let out all her frustrations and was sobbing loudly. Draco took her into his chest and rocked her.

"But it doesn't mean I don't love you," he coaxed gently. He laid a small, tender kiss at the top of her head, and she wiped her eyes, making them redder then they already were.

"You don't," she muttered, pulling herself out his grasp. She switched off the light in the kitchen, and then stalked off towards their bedroom. He followed her into the room where he heard her mutter "lumos." They could only see each other from the light coming from her wand.

Draco sat down on the bed next to her. "How can you say I don't love you? Hermione, you're everything to me." He wanted so badly to hold her, to touch her, to tell her everything was going to be okay in the end if she just stuck it out, but every time he touched her lately, she moved back as though she was being burned.

"If you loved me, you wouldn't be doing this to me. You'd sacrifice your position and stop coming home every night with a fresh, new injury, and you'd just give it all up and marry me. If I'm everything, then all those other things must be nothing." Hermione took off her tee shirt, to reveal her white bra. She started to rummage in her drawers, looking for her nightgown.

Draco opened his mouth to speak, but somehow, he knew she was right. He did love her, but was it enough? Were his actions proving to be much louder then his words? And how to show her his love was true? He couldn't just give up being in the inner circle of the Great Lord. His life would be at stake.

"If I leave now, I'm as good as dead," he said angrily, "you know that." But why was he angry with her? She didn't do a damn thing to him. In fact, she had every right to be livid with him. She still didn't find her nightgown -- she had given up on it for the time being.

"I don't know what to say to you, Draco," Hermione crawled into the bed, and laid down on the right side -- her side -- and breathed, in and out, steadily. Draco kneeled down to her and tilted her head so that she was looking at him. His silvery hair almost blinded her when it was combined with the lumos spell.

"Say you love me, Hermione," he whispered, running his hands over her jaw. His body ached for release, but only now, it was a different kind of release. His hands wanted to go lower, oh so much lower, but he didn't dare.

Hermione moaned softly when his hands finally did move down to her cleavage. "Why tell you something you already know the answer to? If I didn't love you, I wouldn't be so upset about all this." She put her hand on top of his. "I don't want to lose you, but I'm not willing to make any sacrifices."

"You aren't going to lose me!" Draco said, snatching his hand away from Hermione. She had made him angry this time. "You think I don't know what I'm doing. I know exactly what I got into so don't try to make me change my mind about my 'career choice' or anything of that sort --"

She felt so enraged with frustration and disappointment she wanted to scream. She didn't, but she took her wand and hurled it across the room, so that it hit her owl's cage, landed with a thud, and the lumos spell evaporated. They were in pitch darkness, but they could read each other's expressions perfectly.

"I have full faith in you. I put all my trust with you. I put all my fears in you. I put all my dreams in you, Draco. If I didn't think you knew what you were doing, I'd have told you absolutely nothing," Hermione said. She was growing more tired by the minute, but wasn't about to even close an eyelid if he wasn't laying calmly next to her.

Draco opened his mouth but closed it. All of the fights they had, all of the nasty assumptions they had placed over each other was well worth it. He always had her to depend on, and vice versa. He realized at that point that he was eternally grateful for her.

"I love you, Hermione," he said tentatively. What would her response be? Would she say something sarcastic and roll over? Give him a curt 'good night Draco' or would she not respond at all?

"I love you too," she whispered. Draco crawled into the bed and began to kiss her softly. Her reply kisses were softer and they worked together on each other into the night. Their moans of pleasure outweighed the insults and mockeries, and the lovemaking always overcame their rows.

But when it was finished, and Draco rolled over, Hermione couldn't help but cry.