Title: Here's to the Night
Author: Wynn
E-mail: effulgent_sun@hotmail.com
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of Harry Potter. They are owned by J.K. Rowling, Arthur A. Levine Books, Scholastic Press, etc. No copyright infringement intended.
AN: Written for the 2004 dhr_valentine fic exchange challenge. Many thanks to Slytherinlinzi for the lovely betaing. Story structure modeled after the movie Memento. Chapter titles are White Stripes songs, and a part of a line from The Princess Bride is used in the second chapter, as is a bit from Nikka Costa's Corners of my Mind.
Chapter One: There's No Home for You Here
By: Wynn
His mouth is not at all how I thought it would be. It's hot and slick with soft lips pushing and pulling at my own. Demanding, coaxing, and searching. He tastes like peppermint and firewhiskey. I slide my tongue against his, soaking up the remnants of liquor and candy coating the inside of his mouth. It's intoxicating. I want more. His teeth scrape against my bottom lip, and I shudder at the pleasure tinged with pain sensation that shoots from my kiss swollen lips straight down to my gut, swirling, stoking the fire quickly spreading through my body. I feel his lips curve into a smirk against my cheek, and a flare of anger ignites inside me. I raise my hands to push him away, already chastising myself for my supreme lapse in good judgment in allowing the one kiss to materialize, but he stops my progress by pressing his body into mine, backing me into the wall and trapping my hands between us.
I feel breathless. Lightheaded. The wall is hard at my back, but Malfoy is harder in front of me, his slim body tense, coiled tight. A wispy lock of his hair brushes against my cheek, and it's soft too, like his mouth. Soft; so incongruous with the rest of him: his body, his mind, his personality. He's all rough edges and sharp points, full of sneers and smirks and scowls. There's nothing soft about Draco Malfoy save his lips and his hair, and even those are only soft on occasion.
Like now.
When he's kissing me.
I close my eyes, force my voice into a smooth, even tone, and say, "Move."
His tongue traces the rim of my ear before he licks his way down my neck, stopping at the hollow of my throat. His mouth hovers above my skin, warm breaths causing me to shiver. I hear him chuckle and then he says softly, "Is that what you really want?"
What I want. That's the question of the century. What does Hermione Granger bloody want?
Malfoy laughs again and says, "I didn't think so."
"I never said anything," I snap. I push against him, irritated, flustered, and a million other emotions I don't have the time or patience to analyze right now. Draco leans back a bit and places his hands on the wall behind me, trapping my head between his arms.
"You didn't have to."
"So what are you, a mind reader now, Malfoy?"
He finally lifts his eyes to mine, and I'm sucked into a world of grey. Flecks of blue and black mar the pristine grey clarity of his irises. They're the same eyes that shot glares at me for seven years, but they're different now. They're focused on me instead of through me. No. No, they've always been focused on me, but reluctantly like if he could, he'd stare right through me but he can't so he doesn't and he looks at me with hatred instead. But not lately. Not now. Now I have his full, undivided, and very willing attention.
Oh god.
His eyelashes are pale, pale blonde, nearly white, almost translucent, and I stare entranced at the twin rows of lashes. Raising one brow he says, "You never answered my question, Granger."
"How observant of you."
One corner of his mouth curls up into a grin, but I can't tell whether it's from amusement or aggravation. "What do you want, Granger? Do you want this? Do you want me?"
"Why do you care?"
"Who says I do?"
"If you don't care, then why did you ask?"
He stares at me for a long moment, and my heart starts to pound harder in my chest. My head spins and I try to suck in a breath but succeed only in pressing my body further into his chest. I bite back a moan at the feel of him beneath his dress robes. I want to close my eyes against the onslaught of emotions rushing through me, but I can't. I'm caught. I know it. He knows it.
Smug bastard.
"Maybe I'm curious," he says. His hands glide down my body, over my shoulders, the curve of my waist, to settle low on my hips. He worries a loose thread of my maroon dress robes between his fingertips. "Maybe I want to know how you truly feel, Granger." His voice is hypnotic, slow and deep and rough and smooth, like silk and sandpaper or marble and gravel, and I drop my head back and look up at him through half-closed eyes, letting go, giving in to the inevitable. He was right. I've lost it. This is crazy. I am crazy. "Or maybe," he continues, "I want you to realize what this is before it's too late."
"Too late?" I can't muster more than a whisper. I realize my hands have curled into the velvet folds of his robes, tugging him closer.
"Too late to stop. This isn't some fantasy. It's real. You can't wish it all away in the morning like a bad dream. I'm not going to wake up a changed man, realizing the error of my Slytherin ways. I'm not him, and I'm never going to be. And I want you to understand this now and not tomorrow because I don't fancy being hexed by you because you-"
"Malfoy-"
"No, Granger. I'm serious. You-"
"Malfoy. Shut up." I shove hard against his chest, and he stumbles backwards, tripping over the hem of his emerald robes and toppling to the floor in an undignified heap. He lifts his head, glaring at me through disheveled platinum hair; his breath comes in harsh, ragged pants. I roll my eyes at the furious scowl on his face and move over to him, placing one foot on either side of his hips. I've seen him when he's truly angry, and I admit that it's a bit frightening. His is a quiet fury, a slow burning anger tailor made for long-term vengeance. But this is not anger. Not really. I know it. He knows it. It's an act. It's always an act.
His eyes widen slightly as I sink down onto his stomach. I place my palms on the floor beside his head and lean close to him, the loose strands of my hair falling around us as I stare down at him.
Confusion flickers in his eyes, followed closely by lust, darkening his irises to a dusky steel-grey, almost black. His tongue darts out and licks across his lips; he swallows and then opens his mouth to speak.
I beat him to the punch. "Has anyone ever told you that you talk entirely too much?" I wait a beat, arching an eyebrow as I watch him digest my question. Or more accurately, my ill-disguised, albeit truthful, insult. Words were, and are, Malfoy's weapon of choice, and no power in this universe could, unfortunately, ever keep him quiet for long. After a moment, his eyes narrow into furious slits and his mouth twists into a sneer, and I smile. I tilt my head to the side as I interrupt him again and say, "Because, honestly, you do." And then I swoop down, smothering whatever Draco is about to say with kiss.
* * *
"It's not too late. To change. To help. The war against Voldemort may be over, but the real battle has only just begun. If we are to succeed in rebuilding our lives, our society, into a stronger, more cohesive whole, into a world free from the prejudices and the inequalities that nearly enslaved us all under a dictatorial regime, then we must not fall victim to the old traditions and biases that divide us. Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Slytherin: the old ties that separated us are no longer applicable. We are all simply wizards now, and it is up to us to come together and transform the world from what it is into what it should be. It is time to choose your path, to choose which road to take. Choose wisely."
I stepped back from the podium, gathering my note cards in my hands, and I released a relieved sigh as polite applause sounded throughout the transformed Quidditch pitch. I'm done, finished. I have completed my last obligation as a Hogwarts student. As I returned to my seat at the end of the platform, I heard Professor McGonagall say into the microphone, her voice echoing in the early June afternoon, "Thank you, Ms. Granger. Concluding today's graduation ceremonies will be Julius Cromwell, England's new Minister of Magic, who was gracious enough to take time out of his busy schedule to speak to us today."
I sat down in my seat beside Professor Flitwick as Minister Cromwell ascended to the podium. I smoothed a hand over my maroon graduation robes, lightly fingering the valedictorian sash circling my torso. Tradition dictated that the valedictorian of the graduating year give a speech summarizing the seven years past spent at Hogwarts and predicting where the entire class would go in the future. I thought it appropriate that my very traditional speech called for an abandonment of those same exalted and treasured traditions.
My eyes drifted across the pitch, over the rows of graduating Hogwarts students seated directly before the platform of professors and other speakers. Four sections, four masses of color. Maroon Gryffindors, emerald Slytherins, navy Ravenclaws, and canary yellow Hufflepuffs. I locked gazes with Harry, who waved to me and flashed a thumbs-up sign. A small smile appeared on my face for a moment before fading away. He'd helped me prepare my speech, listening to me rehearse yesterday and reassuring me that I didn't sound too overbearing or confrontational.
My eyes flickered to the boy beside Harry.
Ron did not look back at me.
I sighed. Two months had passed, and the pain at seeing Ron hadn't lessened. It was still as sharp and as bright as ever, twisting my stomach into knots and bringing tears to my eyes. I thought time was supposed to heal all wounds, but it seemed this one would be the exception.
Lucky me.
At least he wasn't sitting next to her. Thank goodness for small favors.
Like much of the graduation ceremony, Minister Cromwell's speech passed by in a blur for me, and before I knew it Professor McGonagall was bringing the ceremony to a close, directing all students, family, and faculty to the refurbished Great Hall for tea and cakes. I rose from my chair, clutching my note cards tightly in my hands, and stepped down off the platform, tottering a bit in my heels. I hadn't wanted to wear the stupid shoes; they'd been a Christmas gift from one of my more fashion conscious but horribly clueless aunts in a lame attempt at turning me into something resembling a 'proper' lady. I'd initially put on my flats, sensible, comfortable shoes, but Lavender had given me the Look, the one that said 'of course I was going to wear my heels and there was no use arguing about it because I wouldn't win so don't even try.'
At least I'd stood firm against Lavender's attempts to force me to wear make-up. It was bad enough trying to gain some control over my hair (only three hours and four bottles of hair smoothing tonic to shape my hair into a tasteful bun at the top of my neck) so I wouldn't look like a complete wretch for graduation. I was not going to fight the forces of eyeliner and mascara under any circumstances, no matter how many Looks Lavender Brown sent my way.
"Hermione!"
I looked up from the ground, broken from my reverie by the sound of my father's voice, and scanned the crowd for my parents. I waved as I caught sight of my mother, and I made my way over to them, where Mum gathered me into a tight hug. "That was beautiful, darling."
"Thanks, Mum. I'm glad you liked the speech."
"Of course I would. Was there ever any doubt?"
Doubt. There was always doubt. It never fades. It only grows, exponentially, expansively, weighing me down like my own personal Petrificus Totalus spell.
My mother released me from the embrace, wiping a few stray tears from her face, as my father stepped forward to hug me. I leaned my head against Dad's chest, willing the tears away as I felt the faint press of his lips to the top of my head. "We are so proud of you, Hermione," he said softly. "You've… you're everything we could have ever wished for in a daughter and more."
"I know. I know. I love you too, Dad." I stepped back and forced a smile on my face. Stuff it down, stuff it all down, and put on a brave face. "Now, don't you two have a train to catch?"
My mother cast a worried glance at my father before looking over at me. "Hermione, are you sure? We know how hard you've worked, how special this day is to you."
"Yes, Mum. I'm sure. It's Ok. You've been planning on going to this dentist conference for six months. It's too important to miss."
"But we haven't even seen your friends-"
"Mum. Go. I'll be fine. I need to finish packing anyway."
My father raised an eyebrow. "You haven't finished packing?"
I stifled a sigh. I shouldn't have said that. Crap. Normal Hermione would have finished packing weeks ago, and stated the fact loudly and proudly, but Normal Hermione didn't live here anymore. I did. "No, Dad. I haven't finished packing yet. Things have been… There have been things…" Lying was never my strong suit, but I needed them to leave. Before things became too much. I didn't want them to see. Didn't want them to know. "I just haven't finished, Ok?"
My father held up his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "Ok. Ok. I won't press."
"Thank you."
"Be safe during the train ride home, darling," my mother said as she gave me another tight hug. She smoothed a hand over my hair and straightened the string of pearls circling my neck. "Aunt Constance will be at the station tomorrow afternoon to drive you home, and we'll be back in three days. You have our cell phone numbers, right, in case you need anything? The number to our hotel is at home on the kitchen countertop, and Constance has it, too."
My father placed a hand on my mother's arm and gently tugged her back. "Come on, dear. We must be going or we'll miss our connection in Hogsmeade."
"Yes, yes, I know." Turning back toward me, my mother said, "We'll see you soon. I love you."
"I love you, too. Now go."
"We're going," my father said. He looked at me for a long moment, searching my face, searching for something, the truth, the key to unlock my feelings, but I was careful to school my features into a calm and composed mask. A minute passed and then my father shook his head slightly, a resigned smile on his face. "Goodbye, Hermione."
"Bye, Dad."
I watched them walk away, across the nearly empty Quidditch pitch, towards the main Hogwarts gate. A few carriages waited by the gates to transport parents and other relatives to Hogsmeade and back again. My father helped my mother into one of the carriages; he turned back and looked at me, and even from here I could see the concern etched across his brow. I made a shooing motion with my hands, and he nodded his head, raising his hand for one last wave goodbye. Then he climbed into the carriage and the coach rolled through the main gates and disappeared.
I closed my eyes, biting down hard on my bottom lip. I wanted them to stay, but I needed them to leave. I couldn't answer the questions they'd inevitably ask, and I needed time to find the answers. I just needed…
I had no clue what I needed.
* * *
He reaches up for me, digging his fingers into my hair and changing the angle of our kiss, deepening it. He kisses like he talks, languorously, leisurely, set at his tempo and under his control. But like most things about Draco Malfoy, his kisses are contradictions. Languid but focused. Lazy but intense. And I can feel the focused intensity vibrating beneath his skin, hiding behind the slow strokes of his tongue, the soft movements of his lips. He's setting the pace, deliberately slow, and this will not be frenzied. This will not be rushed.
I slide my legs down the sides of his body until I'm stretched out on top of him. He's hard; I feel it beneath our clothes. I inch down his body until our hips are aligned and then I roll forward, an easy, light motion of my hips against his. I bite down hard on his bottom lip to smother the moan that rises up through me. My nails dig into the lush carpet. This, this… Malfoy breaks from the kiss, gasping. His breath is warm on my face, and I flick my tongue out, a faint caress against his mouth, in time with another roll of my hips. He shudders beneath me and thrusts his hips up into mine, and I open my eyes, wide, and look down at him. He's staring up at me, gaze unfocused but blazing with lust.
"Not here."
I nod my head and whisper back, "Not here." I sit up and he follows, capturing my lips for another desperately deliberate kiss. He pushes to his knees, cradling me in his lap, hands slipping down to grip my hips. I wrap my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist as he stands, staggers, and crashes us back into the wall. The force of the impact slams his body into mine, shoulder to shoulder, pelvis to pelvis, and I hiss at the feel of him, hard, hard and long and, fuck, delicious, pressed up against me.
"Oh…oh, god." I tighten my legs around his waist and sink down onto him, grinding our pelvises together, and it's not enough. Too many clothes. Too many layers.
"Fuck… Granger."
"That's the idea."
His hand travels down my body, slipping under the hem of my robes, and creeps back up again, fingertips trailing across my stocking-clad leg. He stops at the expanse of bare flesh between the top of my stocking and the edge of my underwear and looks up at me. He raises an eyebrow in appreciation as his hand slips behind my garter belts; a smirk curves his lips.
"Kinky, Granger. I had no idea." His hand eases around my leg until he's cupping the back of my thigh. The feel of him, slightly callused fingertips grazing the soft skin at the top of my leg, is intoxicating. His fingertips dance across my skin, circling and swirling and teasing, and I'm dizzy, high off his touch. I move my leg against his hand, aching for contact.
"Have you figured out what you want, Granger?"
Damn. More questions. I know he's teasing me, waiting for me to break down and beg for his touch. He thinks he's in control. He wants to be in control.
Malfoy tilts his head to the side and regards me through hooded eyes. His fingers inch closer, higher up my thigh, and a soft whimper escapes my lips. I stare at him, swallowing hard, fighting through the lust-induced fog for some focus. Focus… focus… His pupils are dilated; his breathing's erratic. Focus… The hand not teasing me grips my hip hard enough to leave bruises.
He wants this. He wants me. Bad. But he's trying to fight against it, trying to maintain a detached sense of control, like he's here only because he couldn't find anything else better to do, like he's granting me some sort of glorious favor by sleeping with me.
Poor, poor deluded Slytherin. He'll figure it out, eventually, with a little help.
I unlock my legs from around his waist, reaching down to remove his hand from beneath my robes, and slide down his body to the floor. He closes his eyes as I step around him, the palm of my hand grazing across his erection hidden beneath his clothes. I smile at his sharp intake of breath. I move a few paces away from him and then he says tightly, "So that's it? You're finished here?"
The 'with me' remains unsaid.
"I always knew you were a tease, Granger. Is that why Weasley really left? You wouldn't give it up?"
A spark of anger flares inside me at his words, but I stamp down on it. It's a cheap shot, his mention of Ron, used to try to hurt me, to get me angry and defensive, because that's what he feels, beneath the surface, flustered and bothered and very much angry about it.
"Your perfect prude act doesn't fool me, you know."
"Honestly, Malfoy," I say as I turn back towards him. I fight against the urge to roll my eyes as I take in his posture. He's leaning against the wall, arms folded across his chest, sending a murderous glare my way. Everything's an act with him, a meticulously manufactured construct designed to hide the real him from the world, for whatever reason known only by Malfoy himself. But I see the cracks in his foundation and I make it my mission to make the House of Draco come tumbling down. "I always knew you were a bit thick, but this is ridiculous."
His jaw clenches, but he doesn't move from the wall. Then again I didn't expect him to. "What did you say?"
Sighing at the deadly undertones in his voice, I reach for the tie that binds my hair and say, "Stop acting like such a prat. You know perfectly well I want this. If I didn't, I wouldn't have kissed you again. Or at all." He remains silent as I remove the black band holding my hair in place. "Now, the question you should be asking is what do you want?" I toss the binding on the floor and shake out my curls. Malfoy's mouth tightens as my hair falls thick around my shoulders, tumbling halfway down my back. Well. Looks like Malfoy's got a hair kink. Interesting.
"Because like you said," I continue, "this is real. Not some fantasy you can explain away tomorrow." I grasp the first binding holding my maroon robes closed and open it. My fingers ease down to the next binding, flick it open, and then continue to the next. Malfoy's eyes follow the descent down. "When this is all said and done, I'm still going to be me, a Gryffindor Muggle-born witch who beat you for the honor of top student seven years in a row." My dress robes fall off my shoulders, drifting down to the floor and pooling around my feet. Malfoy stiffens, his eyes widening slightly as he takes in my outfit. Ankle-strap heels, silk stockings, little pleated skirt, white button-up, and a double strand of pearls circling my throat. My fingers slide down the front of my shirt releasing each of the buttons, revealing the satin and lace tank hiding beneath the plain cotton. "I want you to understand this now and not tomorrow because I don't fancy being hexed by you in the morning once you realized you've slept with a Mudblood."
The phrase is an anchor that drops down between us, shattering the stillness and the silence blanketing the common room. Even the crackling and popping sounds of the fire seem harsher and colder in the face of the ugly word, and I hold my breath, wondering if I've pushed too far, realizing I don't really care if I have. Someone needs to knock the prat off his self-created pedestal of untouchable superiority. He's either with me because he wants to be, because he wants me and he's strong enough to admit it, to accept it, or he's not with me at all. I won't be made the fool twice.
I strip off my button-up and toss it into the space between us. I catch his gaze, and there's fire burning there, simmering beneath the grey, but from rage or lust I don't know. Time to find out. "It's time to decide what you truly want, Malfoy. Which path you want to take." I turn and saunter across the room to my bedroom door. Hand resting on the smooth wood surface, I glance back over my shoulder and say, "And Malfoy… think fast. I'm not going to wait all night."
Then I say the password and the door under my hand slides open. I slip into my bedroom, easing the door to, careful not to let it shut completely, and then I move over to the nightstand beside my four-poster bed. My legs feel weak, shaky, my heartbeat flutters in my chest like a Golden Snitch, but I resist the urge to sink down onto my bed. I rummage through the drawer, unearthing a cheap blue lighter, and light the group of three candles sitting on the stand. A soft yellow-orange glow illuminates the room, and I breathe deeply, savoring the pumpkin-spice scent of the candles. I place the lighter back in the drawer and prop my foot up on my bed, reaching down to undo the buckle on the ankle-strap of my shoe.
I freeze as his hand falls on top of mine, stopping its progress. I didn't hear him approach. I didn't even hear the door open. I can feel him behind me, leaning into me, and it's all I can do not to lean back and press myself against him, feeling the hard planes of his chest beneath my hands, my back. His free hand curls around my hair, pushing it over to one side of my neck, and then his mouth presses up against my exposed ear as he says, "You really are such a tease, Granger." He moves closer, molding his body around mine, and whispers, "You're lucky I like it."
* * *