A/N: Here you go. The second chapter, which was also written when I should have been studying for my exams... I hope it can answer a few of your questions, although, as you'll see, I've preferred to leave the ending rather open. Simply decide what it's supposed to mean! I hope you enjoy, and please review!

Dedicated to my grandparents, all of them, but especially my paternal grandfather (except for the last part ;). I wish I could have known you. For this second (and normally last) part of Silver Lining, I'd like to thank those who've reviewed so far - Kari Col, RavenEcho and JillianUnleashed. Don't you think it's kind of strange that 80 people read your fic and ony three bother to review? So thanks very much to those who did review. Thanks for making a good day even better.

Disclaimer: Anything you might recognise (characters, setting, etc.) is not mine, it all belongs to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros. etc. No copyright infringement intended.

WARNING: Mention of violence, death and torture. Torture. Smut. Crude language.

Silver lining II

Every cloud has a silver lining.

He sighed. He had known this couldn't last.

Lying next to her, breathing heavily, he looked at the door and wondered if escaping was worth a try. It was not, of course, it would all be over in a matter of seconds before he reached the door. Although she was currently lying half on top of him, her eyes closed, she was alert nevertheless and would kill him instantly if he tried to flee.

She looked at him and grinned. "That would be useless," she murmured, "I would have to kill you." He nearly startled at the sudden cruelty in her sweet eyes. Hidden beneath the surface, there was a lot more to Hermione Granger than she let on. She was not simple sunbeam, but rather a sunbeam just seconds before it started to rain, that one fatal last sunbeam before the world ended, before it all fell down in parts and pieces as the sky exploded. She was cruel, dangerous, fatal. She could be deadly.

He smiled back. Looking at him with those glittering eyes again, she smiled back, brighter than before, but also lazily, like a cat might smirk at its prey it was about to devour. He couldn't help shuddering a little. Somehow she seemed to trigger the first instincts of humankind inside of him – fear, anger, lust. And her lazy smile set something off in him, something old and strong and mysterious, something that bordered on the desire to run away, but wasn't quite that.

Later, he would not be able to recollect why he had kissed her again, kissed her so hard his lips were bruising hers and his teeth drew blood. When he pulled back, he saw a small trail of blood trickling out of the corner of her mouth, tainting her alabaster skin. Suddenly he found it hard to breathe when she slowly licked the crimson drops away. He stared, unable to take his eyes off her, and she stared back, never once blinking until she started leaning in again and rapidly captured his lips with hers. Her kiss was not as brutal as his had been but it was not gentle in any way, their tongues battling, their teeth grazing skin, their hands desperately clutching at each other. He was now close to tearing off her dress, but he reckoned he would be in trouble for that later, so he simply lifted the garment off her again. For the second time he was stunned by her beauty. He breasts were heaven and the swell of her hips promised sinful lust. Leaving her lips in a frenzy, he peppered kisses down her throat, alternating with light bites.

She, who had been purring like a cat from the moment he'd left her lips, sighed when he reached her breasts, lavishing them with his mouth in turn. He played with her nipple, twisting and turning it until it had become hard and darkened considerably. All the while she was threading her hands through his hair, dragging her fingernails over his back. Then, suddenly, she turned the tables on him, settling herself on his thighs. His cock was just barely touching her, but she didn't move. Instead, she rubbed her breasts to his chest in a most seductive manner and kissed him again in that needy, desperate way. She was the warmth to his cold, the fire to ashes, the lightning to thunder.

He wanted, no, he needed to feel her now, but he suddenly felt he was unable to move. Looking up into her eyes, he noticed malice in them, hidden beneath a lusty stare, yet still there. She had chained him to the bed. He tried to move, but all in vain. He couldn't lift his hips to meet hers. Smirking at him, she lowered herself onto him so that he entered her. It was not nearly enough.

"Please," he whispered, a desperate edge to his voice.

"Can't," she told him. "And I certainly won't."

This left him wondering what she was about to do. Stark naked, spread out on the bed, virtually defenceless... was she going to torture him now? But then she knelt between his legs, trailing her hands down his torso until she reached his torso. Unmoving, she simply held him in her palms, and he, unable to reach out, simply stared down at her.

"Tell me," he demanded, his voice cracking lightly. Then he suppressed a moan when she astarted rubbing him softly. Softly still, and only barley, yet he felt an enormous weight had been lifted off his shoulders. This was not torture.

Abruptly he hands stilled. "No, you tell me," she murmured, her mouth hovering over his cock, her lips brushing it when she spoke. A shudder ran through his entire body, a mix of anticipation and fear.

"Where are the headquarters?"

This was the worst kind of torture. "Wiltshire," he breathed, not trusting his voice. "Malfoy Manor."

She licked him once, languidly. "When is the next attack supposed to take place?"

"I don't know."

She lifted her head, leaving him groaning in disappointment. "Are you sure?" She was nearly sitting now, and he still couldn't move.

"I don't know. Trust me, I don't."

She grinned. "Then why don't I believe you?" She licked a trail all over his chest, making him moan again. This was just a game to her. Yes, he had been prepared for torture, but he certainly hadn't been ready for this. And once again, her lips were hovering just above his cock, brushing him ever so slightly but never enough. It was the sweetest torture imaginable, and probably the worst part of it was that he didn't want her to stop.

Another minute of this, and he was ready to cave.

"Fine," he gasped, for she had stopped licking his length as soon as he'd opened his mouth, "London. The Tube. You know what station. Friday, at the usual hour. "

There were a great many questions after that, and he answered them all. Like she had promised, not with words, but with her actions and the glittering look in her eye, she continued his torture for a long, long, very long time, never letting him come although sometimes he felt very close, knowing he would be there in a heartbeat, yet then she suddenly pulled away. He briefly wondered if this was the first time she'd ever done this – probably not, he thought, judging by the way she was expertly keeping him on the edge, close to falling but never there.

Eventually the questioning cease. She sat up, amusement evident on her face. He was disappointed, for his body was shaking with lust and he'd faithfully answered every question she'd asked, until she settled herself comfortably, impaling herself entirely onto his cock.

This must be what heaven was like, he mused. But then there was no room for thought any longer, because she had started moving, lifting her hips rhythmically, her hair dancing around her body in an almost surreal way and her breasts bouncing. Had he been able to move, he would have turnd her on her back in a matter of seconds, he'd be fucking her hard and fast, but all he could do was watch helplessly as she created a tantalizingly slow rhythm. It was all too slow for his taste, but by now he would have agreed to just about anything.

And so he continued to watch her through half-lidded eyes, watched her beautiful yet untouchable curves with an almost worshipping gaze while she languidly rode him, lighting a fire within him that he couldn't fight. Suddenly she was moving faster, raising her hips in a frenzy, finally. The sensations of her around him, again and again, were making him moan her name. Over and over again he chanted her name, like a prayer. "Hermione, Hermione, Hermione." She dragged her fingers over his back in response, drawing blood. Afterwards, she licked her nails clean, then kissed him heatedly.

If the world were going down outside, he would not have cared. All that mattered was the storm that was threatening to break free. When her walls clenched around his cock in the first waves of orgasm, it was his undoing. And suddenly his hands were free, so her flipped her around, pounding into her mercilessly until he was completely spent.

When he fell down on the bed next to her, exhausted but satisfied, he whispered a single word. "Why?"

This made her slide off the bed, dressing as she walked to the door. When she was already halfway out of the cell, he heard her faint answer. "Duty."

A/N: Good? Bad? Indifferent? Should I write another Blaise/Hermione soon? Please review!

If you like this pairing, there's also Glimmer of Hope, accessible from my profile. It is much more innocent, much sweeter than this one.

Anna Scathach