Title: Inescapable
Author/Artist: angelps_7
Rating: PG-13, but see warnings
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any of the characters used in the series. They all belong to the lovely and brilliant J.K. Rowling. I also do not own the song 'Wicked Game' by Chris Isaak.
Warnings: Just some snogging, a bit of fluff and teensy angst; happy ending!
Summary: Hermione reflects on her unusual relationship with Draco and his behavior, from the highs he could take her to, and to the lows their risky situation causes at times.
Notes: This was written for the author jayabear (at the dmhgficexchange .com/dmhgficexchange/ over on LJ) who requested a songfic to "Wicked Game" by Chris Isaak.
I'd never heard the song, and immediately fell in love with it!! The lyrics are beautiful and really hit home. Unfortunately, the fantastic ideas that floated in my head during the brainstorming didn't quite make it to paper the way I'd planned. That always seems to happen. I wish I could do the song more justice because it really is perfect to write to. Maybe I'll come back to it with a fresh mind and expand it some more.
Enjoy!! :)
History of Magic. Monday afternoon. The final class Hermione needed to get through successfully for the day. Successful meant not thinking about them. It meant not dreaming about him. And it definitely forbid any reminiscing, though the temptation won out over the resistance as Hermione sat straight and allowed her eyes to slide leftwards to rest on a blond head. Only a large aisle separated them.
****
I stood atop the second floor balcony, looking down at the crowd. The night flew by a hazy blur at first. Everyone mingled and danced; the guys decked out in their best robes, the girls wearing gorgeous gowns. And then there was me, alone in my ruby dress, perched atop the balcony, looking pretty (or so Ron and Harry had said), though my smile didn't quite reach my eyes.
Sure, I was happy for them, but I felt jealous as well. I couldn't quite let go of that squeeze in my gut every time I saw it. I remember folding my arms across the rail and observing the embraced couples with content smiles upon their faces and sighing, wishing I could have that.
My gaze lingered on Harry and Ginny before rolling over to the blonde head in the corner, dancing with Pansy Parkinson. Of course. I scrunched my nose. Ugh. He could have done so much better than her. I had harbored a slight, well, embarrassingly substantial, crush on Draco Malfoy, though no one knew. Nobody'd believe me, or even begin to comprehend why. There was more to the story they didn't know.
He and I had been sending letters back and forth to each other for almost two years now, and though part of me still remains resilient and won't fall for him, I sort of… well, fell for him.
My favorite song floated out of the speakers, a Muggle song I'd always wanted to dance to, but never had the opportunity to. I couldn't stay in there and watch others live out my fantasy, so I left.
Heels in hand, I trudged along the narrow hallway that surrounded the perimeter of the Great Hall, still on the second story, and found the perfect quiet place; a secluded balcony overlooking the grounds. Not a particularly spectacular view, but quiet and small; a perfect little escape.
My body slackened as I listened to the music, the words wrenching my heart as I dreamt of dancing to it someday with someone, and we'd be in love. I couldn't help but feel sappy and wistful; I thought I had the right to, as this was rapidly becoming one of the most depressing nights of my life; all that preparation for nothing at all.
Just as I caved, deciding not to hold back on that single tear, the glass double doors opened and Draco stood behind me. I knew. I smelled his cologne.
He tentatively rested his hands on my waist, and I leaned back into his touch; he wrapped his arms completely around me and I smiled. Finally, I smiled tonight.
I closed my eyes and we swayed to the last bit of the song, his breath tickling my neck and my hands resting atop his. Finally, we danced.
After the entire night of torture, he finally found me and we had our moment, just like he'd promised in his last letter. He came with Pansy to keep up appearances, he'd wrote. And Merlin, he acted brilliantly; Harry and Ron would probably tell me to drop him right now, because he's obviously playing me, but they don't know. He's just that good. Or is he?
I didn't want to think about that anymore so I snuggled deeper into his chest… and he turned me around to face him, and he smiled so tenderly I thought this was a different Draco… but he cupped my cheek in his hands and I had to look down because it all seemed so surreal, perhaps I'm dreaming?
I kept wondering, hoping for reality, but when he bent his head and our lips met, a hot tingle shot straight down my spine and through my toes, and I needed to cling tighter to him because Merlin, it felt so good; my eyes fluttered closed.
I knew this was real now and anxiously leaned in for more, because finally we were together… call me foolish, but desire clouded all logic… and the fantasy finally became reality…
She drifted out of her daydreams, though her eyes remained glued onto Draco. His arm hung loosely over Pansy's chair, just grazing her shoulders. A pang surged through Hermione's gut and she wondered how she could possibly fall for somebody like Draco; somebody who contrasted her so drastically in some ways, yet strived for the same goals and shared her most treasured passions.
As much as he pushed all the right buttons, he lured her in artfully. A craft; a sort of wicked game directed by his whims, where only he knew the rules, and Hermione was expected to learn, to fall, to love him. The game relied on the sole principle that the heart acted in peculiar ways; and it victimized her inescapably.
The only question: who won? Or better yet, was there a winner?
How could he sit there with her, so casual and comfortable, the charade effortless for him, despite knowing what Hermione felt towards him? And, though this he didn't know, how much she dreamed about him?
As if sensing her burning focus, he turned his head sideways. Curious brown muddled in a knowing blue. Hermione fought a blush and wrung her hands beneath the desk.
With a wink he mouthed it's you and just like that the overwhelming rush of love she felt towards him consumed her, reminding her that she was his and not Pansy; that 'Pansy' was not real. She served his appearance and their cover.
She looked away and tried to remain unaffected, but how could she? Especially after class when – after everybody had left – he'd briskly pulled her by the hand to a hidden alcove, kissing her passionately? When he'd bury his hands in her hair, pulling her head closer to him? When she'd cling tighter to him, a raw animalistic lust fueled by a desire for fantastic romance? And when he'd fervently whisper to her how much he loved her, in more ways than she thought possible? How could she not fall in love then?