They'll Never Know
With her smooth olive skin and bounce of curls walking down the corridors, she receives looks from everyone. All the other floating souls would sneak glances towards her when she would be in their peripheral line of vision. When she walks with her books in hand and her head held up high, a silent path clears the way as bodies move left and right and wandering ghosts lay still. No one wants to accidentally touch her in fear of debasing her purity. They thought themselves shameful in her presence.
She was the epitome of rightfulness; the essence of virtue.
There was never a disgraceful object or thought within the area as she graced rooms with her company and faked wholesomeness were bound to those around her. No one could ever reach the level of innocence that she had, so they felt the need to keep tainted and dirty thoughts far away from her. They held masks when granted with her presence; masks to keep her from knowing what really went on.
She was the core of purity; that was how everyone saw her.
When they would look at her—look her in the face—they would only see her through innocent eyes. In turn, she would always see the blamelessness in them. When they mentioned her name—even if she wasn't around—it was said with innocence. She always noticed, but it was all about innocence when it came to her anyway.
It was still how they would see her.
Day after day, they would see her walk into the classrooms ready for the day with a smile that never failed to stay put. Each day they would take notice that the length of her skirt never shortened and the milky skin of her legs were barely ever seen. Her shirt never clung to her body like most of the other girls had worn theirs. Every day they saw that her enthusiasm never faltered.
She had the courage to always stand up to her thoughts and never back down from her beliefs. No one would ever get in her way, even if she was on the brink of failure. Her faithfulness to her ideals was something she prized, as did everyone else around her. She was never one to give up. It was probably the only word, definition, and subject not found in the vast files of information locked in her mind.
Never would a foul word escape her mouth and she reprimanded her friends when they would let it slip sometimes. Anything that was frowned upon in the grand scheme of things, she also thought to be lowly. She never broke a rule or went against what was right—unless it had been for an extremely good cause.
There were subjects that people never told her of or talked about around her; things that people kept from her so that she would always maintain her same posture and mind. Some things would make her skin crawl if other girls let the secrets escape from their pulsating lips. Their minds would go crazy. They went insane from the amount of pressure to not let her into their world—the world of a normal girl.
She was trapped. Stuck inside her books and knowledge. They all saw her as the residential encyclopedia whose life revolved around information and nothing more. She was innocent—so entirely innocent that she was blocked from real life; a life where things are supposed to be experienced and not only read or learnt about.
For days on end—and every day—she could be found in the plush and deep blue-coloured armchair in her own common room, diving deep into the rigid words and sentences in a variety of books. It was known that her special chair was only hers—give the Head Girl her space—and no one would dare sit down in it even to tie their shoelaces. They were scared that certain things could contaminate the chair, and then rub off on her. They knew she could sense it if a soul other than hers had possessed the seat, and it was definitely not a pretty picture if she found out.
But, oh no... words would not be thrown around, neither would hexes nor jinxes. She would smile sweetly, look her victim in the eye, and ever so gently warn him that it was her chair. And just those few words would make the victim's skin crawl, because she could be truly convincing and so demanding and severe, but still so tender.
She no longer felt the need to yell. Nope, she had recently discovered that sweet talk was the best way to go. Fierce sweet talk.
They all thought she would be the type of lover to sit with her other half in front of a fire, holding hands, and whispering sweet words in each others' ears. She would only have the type of relationships that young teens just hitting puberty had.
But one of the characteristics that everyone seemed to love about her was the way she could hold on a conversation as long as necessary. Any single person could sit with her and just talk. Whether it be help with school work or just a normal conversation. However, the other person involved would try their hardest to not let their eyes linger too long while looking into hers.
They did not want to stay into those pools of inexperience because some felt sorry for her. They had so much pity bottled in for her, but they didn't want to shower her in it. Girls would want to tell her what it was like to experience guilty pleasures and guys wanted to shout at her how beautiful she was. But no one dared. Not a single soul dared to take away the only thing she felt proud of.
Some respected her for the immense amount of will power she had to be able to live life that way. They envied her for the amount of satisfaction she held in her life, even when things seemed to be down. One would search for hours, days, and even weeks for something to hate her for, but they would come up empty. She was perfect.
Then again, that was how they saw Hermione Granger.
...
That's all that it was: innocent was merely a word associated with her and what everyone saw her as. They only took the time to look at her from the outside.
None of it is a state of mind, but an association. It's not what one is, but what others think of them. No one can ever be innocent. Not truly anyway. No one is pure, wholesome, or untainted. Everyone has a corruptive side, a part of them bleeding and itching to escape. Everyone has a different side within them, one that's very unlike from what's seen on the outside. The one on the inside, scratching at the skin, trying to break out. Everyone has weaknesses.
Even a Gryffindor Head Girl has secrets. Lots of covert secrets.
Once the war had been finished, she was searching for something, anything at all to make her let go of her pretenses in a wild abandon.
Only one person in a single moment. That's all it had taken for her to break loose. Only one person in the whole vicinity pushed the idea of her being innocent to the side.
To him, she had no purity left within her. She had completely lost her childlike innocence. There were no longer any untainted veins running through the course of her body.
She lost it all the first time she called out his name. It had not been done in surprise, anger, or in disbelief. It had happened out of pleasure. She felt it all seep out from her body when her head was thrown back on its own as the waves of ecstasy escaped as he touched her in all the right spots.
Obsessed. She was absolutely infatuated with his hands. Those fingers and that thumb could do thousands of wonders and make her think the why's and how's and then not even think by any means, all at once. They knew exactly when the grabbing was hard enough and the exact position to be put on her warm skin. She loved it how she would lay on her back, her breathing becoming erratic, and his hands would touch her abdomen, just light enough to make her beg.
Oh and how she begged. Not for more knowledge or for the permission for another book. But she begged for more passion; more euphoric feelings. She begged him to end the torture within her. When he would thrust in her, she would beg for more. She would beg for him to push a little farther... a little harder.
He is the only one to know the feeling of her fingernails digging deep into the skin of his back when she rocks back and forth to match his rhythms. Only he knows how her hands tighten the grip she would have on the silk of his sheets when she reaches her climax. He will be the only one to witness her toes curl and her hips buck when he initiates contact to the skin between her legs.
No one else will ever know.
They'll never know that when lightning strikes outside she's not scared. She's never frightened because she's being filled with warmth. She moves under him, and he pushes into her. He grabs her hips when she lowers herself onto him as she moves on top of him. They'll never know that she can't hear the roars of thunder because her screams drown them out.
No one would ever know the real reason why she smiles when they look at her and his delightful smirks when they look through him. She laughs internally when she's absolutely positive that they still think of her as innocent little Granger.
They still believe that when she has disappeared in the middle of the night that she has gone off to do more studying. That she has reappeared in some section of the library. And they're all half right. She would sometimes materialize at the library, but not to study.
No one will ever know that the wood splinters she has in her back are from being fucked on the table tops and not from leaning too hard on the back of chairs when indulged in a volume of words. They still think that she has yet to kiss a boy. But they'll never know that he's the one who has trailed his hot kisses on every inch of her body and that her tongue has tasted all of him.
Power. She felt it running alongside with mystery throughout her body. She had the power over everyone to make them think that she could have never changed. Laughter fills her as she remembers the authority she has to make them wonder if she will ever change. How could they be so naïve while thinking she was the foolish one? She indulges in the supremacy she has over them all to make them believe she would never say the word 'fuck' and 'please' in the same sentence while it was happening.
Though, most of all, she loved the power she had while with him. She knew the exact spots to touch him and kiss him and lick him that would drive him up the wall. She knew the exact types of conversations to start that would make him whimper and moan while her hips were on top of his.
Everyone had been wrong. She was not the type for saying sweet nothings in his ear. She was type to whisper mischievous and impish words while sucking on his ear lobe. All she had to do was say 'touch me' seductively in his ear and he would obey. She loved the power he gave her.
He is the only one that knows that bit of information.
No one would ever know that when she was lying in bed, her back arched for him. They would never know that she had discovered the many uses of leg movements while lying in his bed.
They would never know that her eyes did more than just look at letters on a page. Those golden-brown eyes would observe his body. They took notice of the way his arms flexed when he spread her legs apart to gain access to where her true innocence had once lain. Her eyes would see how his face released the built up frustration after he would let go right along with her.
Nobody else would know that her lips had better uses than to answer professors' questions and to give orders to her group of prefects. Only he knew how warm they felt around him when she decided to return the favors he did for her. He would always know how soft her kisses were on his chest and she lingered them on his lips, begging him for more excitement.
They'll never know that she'll be the only one to scream out Draco Malfoy's name in pleasure.