Hello Readers,

So this is going to be fun and sort of dark. I recently revisited Wuthering Heights and was inspired by the tumultuous relationship between Cathy & Heathcliff. So my brain jumbled all that angst, jealousy and passionate love around and spit this story out. Yes, I already know it is nothing like Wuthering Heights, merely inspired by. And I do plan on making this a happy ending, well at least for our favourite duo…

Enjoy!

***I in no way condone abuse or abusive relationships-I've been there myself and have spent most of my life fighting against it. This is fiction, written from the dark recesses of my mind. What happens there, I do not control.***

M. x

She dreamt about him.

Again.

Now that she thought about it, she couldn't remember the last time his face didn't flit through her mind whether in waking moments or in sleep. It's not as if she wanted him there. Gods no, she tried with desperation to tear him from her thoughts, from her body and most importantly her soul.

He left.

She moved on.

No regrets.

Yes, Hermione Granger was almost positive that she had not one regret. Yet, to be fair, she recently came into the habit of lying to herself—about silly, stupid and inconsequential matters. So what did she really know?

Did it matter what color the flowers were? Did she really care about one ridiculously expensive dress? Who could be bothered if her ring was twinkling moonstones or diamond fairy dust? Seating arrangements were a headache all on their own.

Hermione certainly didn't, but in regards to those around her, who did care, she forced a smile and went along with the whole sham.

She really just referred to her own wedding as a sham. She didn't mean it, she loved Harry— he was her best friend, her rock. Her second choice... a nasty little voice niggled in the back of her brain. She shook her head, a grim sort of feeling incasing her heavy heart.

She flipped through The Daily Prophet as Ginny, Molly, Luna and Fleur twittered about her in a swarm, speaking of nothing but the upcoming nuptials. The wedding was still a month away and somehow that made it less real. If not for the constant reminder from those around her, as well as every media outlet in Britain and parts of mainland Europe, Hermione would have been able to put the whole thing from her mind and concentrate on what was important: her career.

But it seemed as if everyone had something to say about the wedding of the century—the spectacular union between The Chosen One and The Smartest Witch of her Age. Hermione rolled her eyes as she snorted down at Rita Skeeter's newest five-page article speculating on everything from Hermione's motives to Harry's troubled mind. She honestly couldn't pick up a single paper without having her privacy shoved back in her face with antagonism.

With a flick of her wand she set the paper on fire and jumped to her feet, feeling anger course through her system. If it weren't for him, she wouldn't be in this situation to begin with. Of course not, she'd be much, much, worse off, her logic reminded her. He was far away, who knew where? Possibly dead… she couldn't think like that, it was painful. The thought of him suffering consumed her, yet ironically that was exactly what he'd done to her when he disappeared three years ago. He caused her so much pain she couldn't get out of bed for a week—it was as if her entire world collapsed beneath her. Hermione wallowed in her silent misery, claiming she came down with some sort of flu and ignoring all messages from her worried friends.

Speaking of…the women around her stopped their happy chatter and were now staring at Hermione with a mixture of concern and wariness. Ginny was the only one grinning.

"What did that nasty little beetle say now?"

Hermione pulled a smirk onto her face in an attempt to mask her shredded nerves as she gestured to the pile of smoking ash.

"Oh the usual, I'm a gold-digging fame seeker who stole magic from more intelligent wizards and Harry is mentally disturbed, violent and an unstable loon."

"Well that's a lot better than last week, no?" Ginny chirped, whose own face had been plastered between hers and Harrys with the bold title: SECRET LOVER? splashed across the article.

Hermione resisted the urge to glare at her. She swore some days Ginny thought Hermione was getting exactly what she deserved. There had been no hard feelings, outwardly, between the two of them. But Hermione knew deep down that Ginny definitely harbored a sort of resentment towards her. She couldn't honestly blame her. Her relationship with Harry, at first, had been strange to her as well.

"I have to stop by the office," she replied, grabbing her jacket and heading for the door.

"Right zis minute?" Fleur exclaimed dramatically.

Ginny groaned and rolled her eyes. "It's Sunday."

"Are you alright, dear?" Molly called.

"Want me to come with you?" Luna asked serenely.

"Thanks, I'm fine though. See you," and without another word she apparated from the Burrow.

She needed some time to clear her head. She just couldn't help the apprehension she felt about committing herself to someone for the rest of her life. Someone who wasn't… she stopped herself. Forcing her mind away from her insane fantasy and back to the present.

Harry and Ginny never got back together after the war. It seemed too much time passed and those months away hunting Horocruxes changed them all significantly, especially she and Harry. Ginny was also different— having her own part to play in the final battle as well as coming to grips with the death of her brother. Though maybe it was her imagination but she felt Ginny didn't want Harry and she also didn't want Hermione to have him. It seemed petty and based in useless vanity, which Hermione had no time for, along with elaborately planned weddings. She just…didn't care. She had the feeling Harry didn't either. He was just going along with the motions to appease Molly and wanted as little responsibility as possible. Maybe they should just elope… that's something he would have suggested, she raged internally.

Hermione stalked through the atrium of the Ministry, ignoring all friendly greetings and stares. She was not in the mood for anymore forced social interaction. It was her day off and therefore she was going to do what she wanted. And at the moment that was hiding in her office with the lights off and drinking the fire whiskey Seamus had gotten her for her birthday last year. Harry was away for the weekend in New York City with the boys and though she missed his comforting scent and strong arms around her at night, she was more than content to take advantage of her alone time.

She dropped into her chair, popped open the bottle and watched as the magical sun slowly set from the 'windows' of her office. She sighed as she closed her eyes, feeling the ache of sleeplessness there. Last night's dream had been too real. A shadow stalking her down dark deserted corridors—for hours it felt like she ran but could not escape it. She awoke in a cold sweat with the feel of his icy hands on her burning flesh—his dark and anguished voice, calling her name, still echoed in her ears. Hermione had not been able to sleep another wink. She sat up the rest of the night waiting for him to come back to her, to materialize in the darkened corner of her room.

When he didn't, she became irrationally angry, furious with herself for her insipid musings. He was gone. He left her and he wasn't coming back.

Hermione poured a generous glass of the whiskey, feeling it burn her throat as she thought back to the beginning.

She had not wanted to fall in love with Draco Malfoy.

It was anything but convenient.

But during their tumultuous years at school, something had gone awry, some glitch in the universe that was corrosive and unstoppable. After his father was sent to Azkaban and Draco became saddled with the task of killing Dumbledore, fate seemed to step in and throw her directly into his path. It began with Snape forcing her to tutor him. She remembered looking at Severus as if he were insane and lost all functions of rationale. But he'd been adamant and Malfoy had been so much worse. What started off as a miserable and impossible task became a search, a need to discover his secrets and stop him from ruining his life. Hermione didn't want to take an interest, she didn't want to care, but the intelligence he possessed would be such a complete waste if she didn't at least try to veer him off this path of self-destruction.

He became a mission, a charity case, a complication and everything in between. She tried so hard and got so little in return. Though he stopped using that awful word, and he was silent more often than aggressive as time moved forward. He spent hours just watching her with a glimmer of reluctance in his dark orbs of misery. And when she had almost given up, realizing that all her incessant nagging and prodding and lecturing was most likely useless, it was then that he appeared in her secluded corner of the library with fifteen minutes until midnight and asking—most ungraciously— for her help.

Hermione was surprised but not shocked to find he'd been forced into his situation and now he was in too deep. With no one to turn to, she'd been his first, last and only choice. How could she now deny him, when he came to her like this? So desperate but afraid to show it, so concerned with his mother's well-being and apparently the state of his slowly decaying soul.

Hermione swore at the time she only helped him because it meant the safety of those around her who she cared about. But once Dumbledore was alerted and the Death Eaters who stormed the castle were arrested, Hermione couldn't help but turn her thoughts back to the boy who almost cost them a great deal. The boy who realized everything his family stood for was corrupt and insane. She was instrumental in Malfoy coming to the right conclusion: if Voldemort won, all would be lost.

The night before she left Hogwarts, he came to her and the conversation that took place set off a series of events that would haunt her through the war and into the aftermath.

Hermione had been wandering aimlessly, already packed and too restless to sleep after the near death encounters from the week before. He found her out on the shadowy grounds, standing listlessly on the edge of the black lake.

She could still hear his low growl and feel his wary presence at her back.

"Granger."

She turned to find him, tall, dark and brooding, shadows under his magnificent stormy eyes. His perfect alabaster skin littered with bruises from their struggle with the death eaters. He was a marked man now. Wanted dead by the dark side and untrusting of the light. It seemed as if she'd become the only thing solid and reliable in the last year, and that was exactly what he told her.

And before she could contemplate the mysteries of the universe he was kissing her; hard and cold, unforgiving and punishing as if she personally brought all misfortune down upon him… but she didn't stop him. Instead, she lost herself in his hot mouth and roaming hands, she let him lift her face to his and allowed him to consume her warmth. When he finally pulled away it was with a promise. Once Voldemort was defeated, he would find her, and they would pick up where they left off.

Hermione didn't believe him. So she spent a year off in the world, trying with all of her might to forget him and focus her thoughts on helping Harry. That was rather easy to do considering how each day seemed like it might be their last. She had no idea where Draco might be. Though she suspected that Dumbledore knew... somewhere far away from the fight. Hidden. It wasn't until the final battle that she finally caught a glimpse of him. And Merlin, had he changed in a year. No longer skinny and pale with fear and self-loathing in his eyes—he took to the fight like a warrior, his toned body and flushed cheeks— knocking down old comrades, his need to prove himself valuable, wanted, needed, beyond anything she witnessed. His hate turned outward, and he projected his revenge on those who he once bowed to.

As hard as Draco Malfoy changed, it was still Harry Potter who triumphed the day and slayed the monster who stalked and destroyed their world for decades.

They were all free. Free to move on, to heal and to let go of the past.

Harry and Ron never trusted Draco, even after he switched sides and fought along side them. There had been too many Order fights about the subject in which, all throughout the year following the war, Ron and Harry refused to be in the same room as him. But Dumbledore had been strict about it up until the day he passed away peacefully. Draco was one of them and he would be treated as such.

There was no denying he was a different person, Hermione just wasn't sure who that person was anymore. She spent several weeks in Australia before returning to London and avoiding headquarters—which was where Malfoy was staying. After the loss of the Manor he moved into Regulus' old room.

It wasn't until a few months after the final battle that he found her, in the most unlikely of places: a Muggle pub on the outskirts of London.

Hermione was looking into the eyes of a stranger, having no idea what he could possibly want from her. She thought that night out by the lake faded from his memory, those months cooped up in the library turned to dust. Even though she kept her secret desire beneath her conscious mind, her heart leapt as she took him in.

After everything they'd been through, after all of those who they lost, she was sure there was nothing left to say. But apparently she was wrong.

"Did you wait for me?" he asked calmly, in a low but unsteady voice.

"What do you mean?" she tried, hearing the uneasy tremor in her tone.

"Did you wait for me?" he hissed, stepping into her personal space. "Or did you move on?"

"Move on? Draco…I don't understand," she murmured, feeling rather stupid with her inability to move the conversation in another direction.

Hermione was sure about a lot of things, but her feelings for Draco Malfoy were the worst sort of mystery.

He joined her at the bar, sliding into the empty seat beside her. His hand brushed against her arm sending a shiver down her spine.

"Did you forget?" he whispered with deadly intent.

"No," she spoke quietly, feeling a hot flush rise through her body. "I didn't."

They watched one another warily, unsure of how to proceed.

"You saved my life, Granger," he insisted with a dark scowl. "I would be dead, or worse if it wasn't for you."

She swallowed hard, cleared her throat and reached for her drink.

"I wasn't sure anything I said to you during our sixth year got through. I thought I was fighting a lost cause."

He smiled grimly at that.

"Well, you were wrong."

She shrugged.

"It's bound to happen, sometimes."

"Yes."

She was hypnotized by his intense stare.

Hermione felt an awkward tension fill her body. Having him so close to her brought back the memory of his lips on her, his hands wrapped possessively around her waist.

"Why did you do it?" she asked carefully after a few moments, refusing to meet his eyes.

"Because I wanted to," he stated with no remorse or regret.

"And now?" she questioned.

"I still want to."

She finally lifted her gaze to see a dark torture lingering in his eyes. How was this possible?

"Why?" she bit out, feeling her defenses lock into place. "How?"

He reached over and threw back her whiskey. She watched as his muscles moved, sleek and lethal beneath his black shirt.

"You were the only one to see me as something more than what I was programmed to do. You showed me that blood meant nothing when it came to intelligence and courage. You opened yourself up to me, no matter how despicable I was, you saw something that no one has bothered to look for."

"I merely gave you the facts, you came to those conclusions all by yourself."

"Only because you forced me to open my eyes."

"I'm very happy to hear that. Honestly."

"And now?" he prompted, an unmistakable edge to his voice.

"What?"

He rolled his eyes with annoyance before moving closer to her. He smelled like fresh pine and smoke. It made Hermione's senses swim in lust as she eyed his strong jaw and sharp cheekbones. He still made her feel as if danger was in his very heart.

"I was sure Potter and you…being gone all those months…together," he hissed, a darkness coming into his gaze.

Hermione felt her face burn at his insinuation.

"No," she confirmed. "It wasn't like that."

She swore she saw relief flash across his features, but it was gone as soon as it came. She was once again staring into his ominous and intense eyes.

"I want you Granger," he demanded as his fingers reached out to caress her own. "I want you so badly I swear it's the only thing that's kept me going."

"Draco, I-"

"Just let me show you," he demanded with silky seduction. "Let me give you exactly what you need." His heated stare, the loss and pain she could still see in his damaged soul, along with the whiskey she drunk, were all contributing factors to what happened next.

She left the pub and spent the night in Draco Malfoy's arms.

He tortured her with his passion, teased her beyond comprehension, before bringing her the greatest pleasure she ever experience in her life. Their connection was fire, it was ice, it was everything in between and as he buried himself deep inside of her, she knew this was what she wanted for a very long time—longer than she cared to admit. His body on hers, his voice whispering words of longing and seduction, his scent, his scars, all of it infused into her and she lost herself in a world she hadn't known existed.

Draco Malfoy was her first and he made her a promise that night—that he would be her last.

The secret involvement moved forward, too new and too raw to be exposed to all of those who would be more than willing to tear them apart. It was hard with him living at headquarters where Harry or Ron could pop in at anytime—so they spent most of their hours together at her flat. It was a year of rebuilding, a time for them to heal before moving into the work force and on with their lives. Hermione thought the leisure might kill her, so the time she didn't spend with Draco she spent planning her career move while Malfoy continued Auror training—he lost all his wealth after the imprisonment of his father and the liquidation of the Malfoy family assets, but in the end that really didn't seem to phase him. It was almost a relief, a release from his past.

Months passed as their physical connection moved into a deeper place. His intelligence fueled her, his sharp wit amused her and their mental chemistry blew her mind. They started spending time together that didn't involve nudity or orgasms. Instead, she began to see the depth of Draco Malfoy— his dreams, wishes, fears, desires-the path that he was pursuing. A path, he told her several months later, that would lend credence to his name and their relationship.

Relationship? Hermione was loathed to entertain the word. She had purposely been keeping her heart at a distance, letting the physical pleasure consume her so she could ignore the rest. But as the year slid by, she realized more and more that Draco Malfoy was becoming her person. The one she could confide in, the man who had her back, the one who would defend her and fight for her. He went above and beyond to prove that his intentions were inescapably true. He even went as far as introducing her to his mother. She knew once they'd gotten there, she would have to make some adjustments.

He never asked her about the time she spent with the Weasley's and Harry and her other friends, he never asked to be invited. But he would turn sulky and miserable and usually drink himself into a stupor. That was when they would fight. And she loved it. But she hated it too. It was exciting and dangerous when he provoked her and it always ended in hot sex. But the things he would say, the darkness that was so ingrained in him sometimes gave her pause. She would see a flash of Lucius in his eyes and it would make her snap.

Hermione knew she was running out of a time and sooner or later, with Draco's resentment building, she would have to come clean to her friends. And she dreaded it. As much as Draco proved himself during the final year of the war, there was no way in hell that Harry and Ron were going to be the least bit okay with the situation. Though Malfoy changed in a plethora of ways, he hadn't lost his volatile temper or the spoilt tendencies of an only child.

Hermione remembered their last night together as if it was only hours ago...

"Just admit it, you're ashamed of me," he snapped when she turned up at Grimmauld place after spending the rainy afternoon with the boys.

She found him disheveled and pacing, a bottle of fire whiskey clenched in his bruised fist.

"I'm not, it's just complicated."

"Try me," he snarled.

Hermione knew from the moment it began that this would be a losing battle. He lived for chaos and his insecurities did nothing to soften his words.

"They won't understand. They'll think I've gone mad," she tried to explain.

"You? Mad? What an excuse, Granger. That's all you're full of, excuses and lies."

"What would you have me say? I've been shagging your sworn enemy for the last year?" she snapped, irritated by his goading.

He let out a shout of laughter without a trace of humor.

"Shagging. Your. Enemy. So that's how you see me."

"Of course I don't! But you've never made the slightest effort to apologize to them or get to know them."

"Apologize!? Get to know them? Maybe you are mad. I can't stand them. The sight of Scar Head and his redheaded bitch disgust me. I will never apologize to them," he snarled with rage.

"Then how do you expect to be with me?" she cried, throwing her hands up in disbelief.

"I am with you." His temper was very close to exploding. She didn't like the dangerous look in his eyes.

"Draco."

"Look Granger, you either tell them what's going on, or…" he stopped, watching her face carefully.

"Are you threatening me?" she asked with astounding shock.

"Tell them or I will."

"You wouldn't."

"You have no idea what I'm capable of," he scowled, heading for the door.

She threw herself against the frame, blocking his way.

"It's not your place to interfere with my friends!"

"Everything that has to do with you is my business Granger, don't you dare fucking forget it," he promised with murder in his voice.

"This is ridiculous, Draco! Why does it matter? Why do they have to know right now? It's not like we're getting married…" she trailed off as he closed in on her, his hands shaking with emotion. He slammed them into the wall on either side of her head, watching as she barely flinched.

"You impossible witch, I am in love with you!"

She felt her heart ache at his raw confession, the need and fear palpable in his eyes.

"If that was true then you wouldn't be putting me in this unbearable situation!" she shot back, her anger outweighing her empathy.

"I don't care about anyone else. You're the only thing, the only one that matters and I won't have Potter and Weasel thinking that you belong to them."

"I don't belong to anyone!"

She heard the jealous growl in the back of his throat as he grabbed her arms.

"You're mine. Now and forever."

"Draco-"

"-Say it!" he shouted, his gaze filled with a desperation she'd not seen before.

"I stopped by to tell you I'm going to be working all weekend."

He laughed at her in disbelief.

"Don't you care about me at all? Or is it only the boys," he mocked nastily, "who deserve your affections?"

"You're a child Draco Malfoy, and until you grow up and think about someone other than yourself, that's what you will remain."

He turned away, slamming his hand through the wall several times as Hermione watched on with growing trepidation.

"I can't do this Draco," she whispered, "I can't live like this anymore," she gasped, feeling tears grace her eyes. If only he would make an effort with Harry, then slowly but surely, they could make it work. But until then, she couldn't continue this argument.

"So this is it. I knew it was only a matter of time before you chose them over me."

"How can you say that when I've risked everything for you?"

"What have you risked, my perfect little princess?" he sneered with contempt.

"My reputation, my friends, my very existence! If you think the last year has been easy, you're delusional."

"I never said it was easy but it was what we both wanted so don't you dare try to pin this on me."

"I'm not, I'm just saying it's time to grow up. It's time to be a better man, a man that I could be proud to be with, a man who can let go of the past, of his demons and forget about this useless revenge between yourself and Harry. Make it right."

"I can't forget. He tried to take everything from me, even after I saw the 'light', it was never enough, even after the war, he still sees me as a snake, a coward."

"You are neither of those things. I know that, Draco. But if we are going to do this, if you are really in it—I need you to make an effort, for me."

"And I need you to admit the truth. You're ashamed of me."

"At the moment, yes I am."

"I see. So I'm not good enough. I never was, huh? Was this just a passing amusement for you, a way to fill the void? Or perhaps I was one of your many pet projects."

"You sound insane, you know that, right?"

"Fuck you, Granger. Why don't you run back to your savior and fill his ears with more lies about where you go every time you're 'working late.' Why don't you admit that you're in my bed, screaming my name, begging me for more. Your sworn enemy."

"I never said-"

"-That's what I am, what I'll always be to you. Get the hell out of my sight," he turned away from her in dismissal.

"If that's what you want Draco," she tried calmly, not wishing to fuel him any further. He'd apologize in the morning when he was sober. The vicious look he shot her over his shoulder turned her blood to ice.

He was once again a stranger.

"It's Malfoy to you. Now GO! You disgust me."

That was the last time she saw the snarling face, the broken soul and tortured eyes of Draco Malfoy. He disappeared without a trace and Hermione was left to pick up the pieces of her torn heart.

She returned her thoughts to the present as she continued to stare out at the now dark sky, the bottle of whiskey almost half gone.

Three years passed, and still she could not forget.