"In a mind all logic is like a knife blade. It makes the hand bleed that uses it." -Rabindranath Tagore
A/N: This piece began as Chapter 4, for my W.I.P Fall Short of Certainty, but I decided it worked better as a stand-alone piece, this is dedicated and inspired by my wonderful beta reader/ e-wifey HeathenRespite, who is currently on hiatus from the Dramione world. If you haven't read anything of hers, GO READ IT, leave her millions of reviews and bring her back because I miss her terribly. :(
Hermione's quill was moving at lightening speed across the piece of ink stained parchment seated on the desk in front of her. Brows furrowed in concentration, numbers began spilling out of the tip of it littering themselves across the top of the document, threatening to impede on her History of Magic notes.
12, 3, 579, 45, 23, 67, 43, 77, 498, 67
They were random, meaningless integers used solely for the purpose of taking her attention away from the event unfurling before her very eyes. But despite her efforts she couldn't seem to tear herself away, every single one of her senses were being pulled into the sickeningly enthralling act taking place in the seats just in front of her. Trying to force herself to concentrate on the neat line of numbers before her as she began to throw her mind into the menial task of adding them together.
12 and 3... 15.
His hands grasped at her deep green robes pulling them suggestively away, exposing a milky white thigh. She let out a small gasp then, without turning her attention away from the professor at the front of the room, her lips turned up slightly in a coy smile obviously giving him permission to continue
15 and 579...594
He grasped the side of her chair firmly in his hand and pulled it noiselessly towards him, closing the gap between the two Slytherins, before returning to his ministrations to her thigh.
594 and 45...639
He used his middle and index finger, seductively walking his way up and down her exposed flesh. Hermione could almost feel the ghost of his fingers on her own limbs, the way his calloused hand ran up and down her smooth skin.
639 and 23...662
It was becoming increasingly harder to come up with her answers, though she was positive it had absolutely nothing to with the steadily rising value of the sums. She was grasping at straws, trying everything she could to free herself of these ridiculous emotions, using logic to purge herself of any kind of feelings brought on by this blatant display of teenage hormones.
662 and 67...729
Suddenly he leaned towards the girl next to him and whispered something to her, letting his lips graze the shell of her ear. It was a flicker of a glance, a barely-there motion, but she saw his eyes flick back to her. He was making sure that she was watching. The bastard was doing this all on purpose.
729 and 43...386?
His hand disappeared beneath the sumptuous material of her expensive robes, and she tried with every fiber of her being to not think about where it was, or how it wasn't that long ago when she was in the very same position.
No, no 378?
But she couldn't fucking help but think about it.
No that was wrong, 384, that's it.
All of Pansy's muscles seemed to be made of rubber as she leaned back in her chair. Hermione noticed that she had caught her bottom lip in between her teeth in order to not cry out under Draco's caresses.
384 and 77...
A muscle in her leg twitched and he thought briefly of jumping up and ripping out that hideous greasy bob haircut that Pansy thought was so cute. But this wasn't about Pansy was it? This was Draco, in all of his vile Slytherin glory, demonstrating the power he had over her. He was showing her just how much he controlled her, just how much he could make her squirm, just how much he could make her feel.
384 and 77..
She was fighting it, she was fighting it with everything she had, but logic and certainty were failing her at the moment.
384 and 77...
She could have sworn she heard Pansy moan.
384 and 77...
Damnit, what is it? 456?
384 and 77...
Her brain was shutting down, all her coherent thought flying out the window.
384 and 77...
The solid sound of her textbook slamming echoed throughout the classroom, drawing everyone's attention to her, but she hardly noticed. Her fingers curled around the parchment that held her crude arithmetic, crumpling it in her hands. Quickly shoving it in her bag, she slung it over her shoulder and for the first time in her entire academic career Hermione Granger left class early.