She was a good girl. She worked hard, got good grades, had good friends, and to all who knew her, was a perfectly amicable girl. She never wore makeup, and her hair was kept pulled back severely from her face. On the outside, she was as good and as wholesome and meek as they came. On the outside, she was good. She was very, very good. But on the inside…she was hurting. When no one was with her, she was bad. And when she saw him, he made her feel bad. He made her feel like breaking every rule in the book, and then some, anything to have him. To claw his robes off and…
"Ms Granger, can you tell us the answer?" She was jerked back to reality as she was called upon for a question. Realizing she did not know the answer, as she had been thinking of someone that was not all that far from the topic of dark arts, she looked up at the teacher innocently, eyes wide.
"Professor, I'm afraid I didn't cover this in my reading last night. I was too busy reviewing the other chapters," she answered honestly. This answer seemed to satisfy Professor Flitwick, who continued to teach the lesson instead. She returned to her lesson with a sigh.
She wasn't always like this. But now, she hurt so much that this was the only way she had to express her anger. A ruined family life due to Lord Voldemorts rule had left her dependent upon the Weasly's. And more and more often, she sought the solace of her own company. But in the past few years the darkness that she had always suppressed had caught up with her. She was used to hiding the way she felt. She did it every day. Harry and Ron were, above anything else, male, and they did no do feelings.
But sometimes, she had to let it out, when she was too full to live with the raging emotions within her. When the anger at the way she was disregarded and looked over by all became too much, and she would be forced to do something that got all talking, even if they did not know her to be responsible. When letting the blood from her veins didn't rid her of all her demons, her little acts of rebelliousness did. And Draco ignores her, having no use for the one who rid him of his father. The only thing she had ever wanted. He did not acknowledge her existence. But he knew of the darkly clad woman who caused such a tumultuous uproar amongst the students and staff, whose presence made every one pay attention. And for her, for now, it gave her all the more reason to continue being bad. Because her escapades tormented him the same way he tormented her.
(&(
It had happened again. A mysterious dark clad woman had been seen walking the corridors. Draco was intrigued. How was the woman getting into the castle? And why was she here? He had thought he had seen her himself many times. A glimpse of a shadow, a flick of the hair…he had seen this woman. And he wanted her. She was an enigma to him, and he hated mystery.
He threw his quill down in disgust. He was unable to concentrate. The dark haired mud-blood haunted the shelves in front of him. She did not know he was there, but she annoyed him none the less, her very presence disturbing him.
"You!" he snapped, and she whipped around, her thick plait of hair swinging around to hit her in the face. He smiled cruelly. "Get out of here. You are disturbing me." She looked at him for a moment, as though considering refusing. But then, her shoulders bent, and she crept out of the library, mumbling an apology, every bone in her body screaming at her to go back and show him she was not to be played with. But she did not. She was good at being good. She no longer had the strength to fight with Draco after the final battles she had faced. Alone. And for now, she would let him think that she was defeated. He time would come.
Under the cover of darkness, she crept from the room she shared with one other girl, the other Gryffindor prefect, and over to the window. She never looked back, drawing a slim potion bottle from the pocket of her muggle clothes, form fitting clothes that made her previously hidden curved body into a beacon for anything with testosterone. She left the room, closing the door softly behind her. She then walked through the common room, her heeled boots making loud resonating sounds upon the cobblestones, that seemed to echo through the room. She didn't care. It was part of the thrill. Her wand was in her hand, as though it were nothing more than a splinter of wood. She left the room, out of the bottom of the hidden staircase. She walked the halls of Hogwarts, as she did every time she felt she was getting a little too good. Every time someone trod on her, or pushed past her, or demanded her to do something, and she was too shy to stick up for herself. Every time Harry ignored her, too caught up in his own guilt over leaving her alone to face the last remnants of Voldemorts followers when he did, or Ron slavered after another girl like a dog in heat. Whilst it suited her to be good, (you could get away with so much more) right now, she needed to be bad.
She walked the halls, her boots announcing her presence before any could see her. As she rounded the corner, Professor Snape stood, wand at the ready, waiting for her. He did not take her for one of the students in the darkness. And he certainly did not recognize the meek little seventh year that Hermione Granger had become. What he did see was the long dark hair, the come hither expression in her blue eyes, and the luscious curves of her body, only just contained in the form fitting clothing she wore. His breathe caught in his throat, and when he spoke, his words stumbled, all coherent thought gone. The woman had a dangerous aura about her. "Wh-who are you? Why are you in Hogwarts corridors?" he tried to sound menacing, but failed. He tried to command the same respect from her as he did from all others. Again, he failed. She respected no one. And after the war, least of all him. She smirked, before walking right past him, flicking her wand idly, a memory modifying charm settling over him, and when he blinked, he remembered nothing, her boots already having carried her far away.
She returned to the library, where her presence instantly set off an alarm. She took her time in climbing out the window, creeping around the low roof of the turrets and many corridors of the castle, the cool night air feeding her adrenaline. She entered the next window she saw, seeing with a smirk that it was wide open. She stepped onto the sill, mysterious and sleek like the creature of the night she was. And he watched her silhouette with widened eyes that had previously been staring out the window, unable to find sleep. She saw the figure on the bed stare at him, one curtain pulled back, and she gave him a saucy smile, hands on her hips. He watched her, lust filling his gaze and his body as she paced the window sill like a cat. His pale hair betraying his identity to her. But nothing about her reminding him of the meek little rabbit he had sent scurrying from the library earlier that evening, or even of the stubborn teenager with the bushy hair that once plagued him. He did not recognize her. The boy sleeping next to him, Breidie, opened his eyes at the sound of her heels on the stone, as she jumped from the sill, and made her way over to the bed where Draco slept, crawling across, it, crawling until she was over him, and he stared up at her, an arrogant smirk on his face, his hands coming to pull her hips down to his.
She refused, laughing softly, huskily, arrogantly. She held the cards here. He growled in frustration, trying to pull her to him, but she dodged his hands again. She leant down and kissed him swiftly, roughly, but as soon as her lips were there, they were gone, as was she, out of the window. Draco looked up to see the curtains at the window fluttering in the breeze. And nothing. He growled in frustration, the brief, bruising caress of her lips not enough, leaving him raging with desire, and convinced that it must have been a dream, looked down at his hardened length in disgust. Now he would never get to sleep. But he was not the only one who lay awake that night. Breidie, the youth who occupied the bed next to Draco's did, also, thinking on all he had heard, from the heeled boots to the low laugh, to Draco's frustrated groan. This was most interesting. The Dark Woman had struck again.
A/N: I really love reviews. Please? Let me know what you think? If I should continue?