Blackout
Chapter One: Where Is My Mind?
When Hermione gets to her Head Girl room, the first thing she does is check the bulletin board that she shares with Draco; there's a message from the school noting both their unexcused absences, which she promptly throws away. Draco comes in long enough to reminds her that dinner is at six, and insinuate that her hair is a mess, all in the same breath, but Hermione is too pleased with herself for pulling a mind-fuck on Ron and Harry to even pay attention.
Hermione doesn't know why she still sits with Ginny anymore, but it's a tradition that she cares about keeping. The only one she cares about, really.
"So," says Ginny. "How was your day, Hermione?" Hermione wonders if she already knows about the breakup.
"Oh, you know." She lifts one shoulder in a shrug and chews a forkful of green beans. "Fine."
"And things with Ron? How are they?"
Crap.
"Um, we broke up, actually," she says, staring down at her plate.
When she glances up across the table, Lavendar is smirking at her. Classless bitch. She would glare back if McGonagell wasn't staring at her.
"You broke up?" Ginny echoes.
"Such a shame," Lavendar coos, not looking like she thinks it's a shame at all. "Finally you were dating a boy of some stature."
That girl wouldn't know stature if it bit her on the ass.
Lavendar excuses herself early to go pill-pop herself into a Xanax-induced coma, and then Hermione excuses herself to go upstairs. She does half of her Potions homework while she watches the Gryffindor team practice Quidditch, where Ron is making a fool out of himself. He's trying to do a trick on his broom; it's actually totally embarrassing, and yet, Hermione can't bring herself to look away. It's like a trainwreck.
Eventually she tries to find Ginny, but she's not in her room, and Hermione doesn't bother to leave a message with her roommates. She's probably passed out drunk somewhere. Which is a horrible thing to think about your best friend, even if your best friend has been AWOL when you really need her around, but she doesn't feel bad for thinking that.
School the next day goes fine. Hermione just pretends nothing is wrong, and wears a kickass outfit, and makes sure that at lunch in the lounge, Ron sees her when she walks by so that he's acutely aware of exactly what he's missing out on.
At least she has Ginny to sit with. Even if she looks way hungover and like she didn't even take a shower this morning. Her lipstick is way too dark, and kind of smeared, and her skirt is all wrinkled and slept-on. She also smells like she's already started drinking—or hasn't stopped since last night.
"Mmm," hums Hermione to whatever Ginny is saying, but she's zoning out, looking over Ginny's shoulder at where Ron, Harry and Dean are all sitting together.
She doesn't want to admit it, but she's almost a little hurt that Harry is still all buddy-buddy with Ron. Isn't he supposed to be the one who worships at her feet? Which was flattering, sometimes, though mostly annoying these days, but shouldn't he be offended on her behalf? Tell Ron to shove off? Hex him out in the middle of the lounge in front of everyone?
Wait, no. Draco is the one who does the hexing.
And speaking of Draco-- he keeps looking up and catching her eye for a few seconds, and then drinking his coffee, and pretending to read a newspaper but looking up at her again instead.
"Helloooo, earth to Hermione?" Ginny snaps her fingers in front of Hermione's face, and Hermione frowns. "Are you even listening to me?"
She fakes her way through the conversation, only half-listening as Ginny goes on and on about Dean, and Dean's friends, and how Dean is a great kisser, and can you believe someone as awesome as Dean actually exists? When they're done eating, she walks out of the lounge, shoulder-to-shoulder with Ginny. Draco is staring at her. And what is that about?
A house elf has left a plate of orange slices waiting for her in the head girl's room when she gets back, along with a pitcher of fresh lemonade. Hermione goes upstairs and changes into jeans, then takes the plate and the pitcher to the common room and sets them on the coffee table.
She closes her eyes, and can feel herself beginning to fall asleep, when she wakes up, grasps the edge of the chair and blinks, she looks up and sees Draco standing there.
"Merlin," she sputters, and glares.
He squints down at her. "I never get anything like that from the house elves."
"Well, thanks for scaring the crap out of me."
"You're welcome," he deadpans, watching as she ruffles out her hair.
"Don't be an idiot," she tells him.
They're just kind of looking at each other, him doing his smirking thing, and it's a little awkward. It's not like they have anything to discuss concerning their duties, really. What the hell is he even doing here? Normally he's in Parkinson's room all night.
"What the hell are you even doing here?" she asks.
"You left this outside," he explains, brandishing her journal.
Hermione had noticed they it was missing but hadn't thought much about it--until now.
"Oh," she says. "Thanks." She wondered if he had read it. Probably.
"There's lemonade on the table," she offers, sarcastically.
He looks over at it, and then back at her. "I'm fine, those bloody house elves must've poisoned it anyway."
"And orange slices, too." She adds.
He pulls out a crumpled pack of cigarettes and a lighter and lights up, right there in their common room. Hermione's about to remind him that smoking leads to things like lung cancer, and bad complexions and yellow teeth, not that she would want to slow down his death or anything, but then Draco exhales and she's distracted by his mouth.
"You're smoking?" she notes with an eyebrow raise. Ass.
"Don't tell," he replies. He kind of leans his body toward her and waggles his eyebrows as he says it, and, again, it's pretty weird. There's a small tingle in her gut and Draco is joking with her and it's as if he's sharing a secret or something. What the hell?
He taps ash from the lit cigarette and she glares at him.
She narrows her eyes at him dangerously. "Put that out now or die."
Draco makes a show of bending down and grinding the butt against the marble floors, then picks it up, waves it around for her to see and puts it in his pocket.
Hermione rolls her eyes and takes a deep breath before closing her again; she lets herself slowly fall back asleep. When she opens her eyes, looking for Malfoy, he's already gone. Her journal is sitting on the table, and two of the orange slices have been taken off the plate.
That night she falls asleep on her stomach, on top of her covers, while trying to write an essay.
Hermione dreams about Draco—it's all skin against skin, nails and teeth scraping against all the right places, kisses that melt into each other, and he's deep inside her and they're fucking, and it's more than just enjoyable, it's intense, he fills up spaces she didn't know were even there, it leaves her breathless and begging and on the edge of hysteria. She wakes up at three in the morning, panting, both her cheeks and the space between her legs wet.
On the walk to class, Hermione thinks a lot about Draco. And sex with Draco.
He would know how to do it right. No clumsy undressing, with skirts and underwear caught awkwardly around her ankles, struggling to tug her shirt over her head. He'd probably be rough where she wanted him to be, like, pin her up against a wall because he could actually hold her there easily, and yank her head around by her hair, and pinch her nipples, and make her scream for real, not like the low little breathy half-moans she used to make with Ron, which were usually just for show anyway.
And he'd be considerate, too, like, not just use her cunt as a deposit box but actually care about getting her off in return, no matter how long it might take.
Draco probably gives great head.
Before she knows it, her face is all flushed and warm and her heart is beating a little too fast. Merlin. When did she become Queen Nympho of Nymphonia?
Even if she wanted to. He probably wouldn't anyway.
And it's not like Hermione does. Want to. She's just sex-deprived, and a little lonely, and a lot horny. That's it. It's probably misdirected lust. Obviously she's annoyed about Harry, or maybe missing Ron and wants to hurt him subconsciously or something by fantasizing about his enemy. Except that's not it at all, because she hasn't really thought about Ron a lot lately, and she's not even really mad at him. More, like, just resigned.
Which doesn't explain the dreaming about Draco.
She has to stop thinking about this.