A Promise In The Dark

A/N: Ok so we're getting closer to the point where things are going to start becoming more complicated for our favourite duo – I'm so excited to share the next few chapters with you! That being said, I'm putting all my attention into trying to ensure that nothing is rushed or overlooked – I want Draco and Hermione to remain as in character as possible. Thank you to everyone who's been following, favouriting and reviewing – it really brightens up my day

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot

Chapter 4: Far From Over

Fucking sorry?

Draco had lost count of the number of times he had snorted in derision at that thought. Typical Granger. She just couldn't leave things alone - stupid Gryffindor spirit. He was sick and tired of her being responsible for every tumultuous upheaval in his life. She was supposed to be the one thing he had that made his life just that tiny bit easier; in a sick, twisted way, she made it possible for him to have some grip of reality. Or at least some grip of his old self – Merlin only knew what his actual reality was anymore. The dynamic he had with he made the person he was before the war seem more real as opposed to a shadow. They had a good thing going: no commitments, no obligations, no expectations. No smiles and definitely no apologies.

She just had to go and apologise for something he could easily have put to the back of his mind. Now their whole dynamic would change, again, and he really couldn't be bothered to adjust all over again.

He glared down at his Potions essay, not taking in a single word he'd scratched into the parchment, and damned Hermione Granger to the fiery depths of hell. Although, he didn't doubt there was already a suite there with his name on it, and the last thing he needed was her bothering him in the afterlife too.

He'd meant what he'd said to her; if she was going to go around apologising for ridiculous things she may as well claim responsibility for the whole thing. Because she'd paddled them further up shit creek than was necessary and he didn't think they could just bounce back. Smiling at him was a mistake; she'd revealed that she felt comfortable enough with him to do something so normal, so intimate. Even if it was for a moment, the fact that she'd been coming down from an intense orgasm courtesy of himself made it that much more notable. And her shy apology afterwards was clearly a retraction of said gesture, which only served to highlight it even more.

And what made things even worse, was that he'd been sat at his desk obsessing over it for hours, and he still wasn't sure how he felt about the whole damned thing. He needed his wits about him for the impending meeting with his father, and this was not helping matters in any way. It was confusing enough trying to work out what he felt in regards to his father's plans for him – not that it would make a difference if he objected, which he didn't. But the more attacks that were published, and the more buzz that had begun to surround the Dark Lord's next steps towards his final confrontation with Harry Potter, had served to fuel Draco's mind with an overwhelming torrent of nauseating feelings. He wasn't sure if he could live any life other than the one that had been set out for him since his conception. But he also wasn't sure if he could ruthlessly kill on command, or face his professors in battle. It was all a stupid mess that wouldn't go away, and all he wanted to do was forget it. But he hadn't been granted that luxury…thanks to Granger.

He found it easier to refer to her as 'Granger' as opposed to 'Mudblood' at the moment. He supposed it was because he could no longer see her in a way that didn't make his cock stiffen, and he was fine with that for the time being. He still didn't understand how she could trust him with her body; he was her enemy, and she was letting him see her when she was at her most vulnerable. It was the main reason why he'd never let her use her mouth on him – not that she'd offered as of yet, but he saved the thought of that possibility for his morning showers. He had been fascinated by her responses to him, and he loathed himself for it. But he couldn't deny that a tiny, miniscule sliver of himself enjoyed the response he got for taking care of her needs before his own. He was still very frustrated, and he knew he was bound to be wound tighter than he had been in a long time until their next meeting. But it was somewhat gratifying to know that he could elicit such a reaction from a girl so uptight. She was supposed to save her smiles for Weasley and Potter – people she actually liked. He was uncomfortable with her warming to him and knew he'd have to be careful from now on; the last thing he needed was her getting feelings of any sort.

The sensible thing to do would be to break it off right now. That way, there would be no risk of her developing any sort of attachment to him. He could do it cruelly – make her wish she'd never set eyes on him – and never think about it again. He rolled his eyes; as if that was even possible. He couldn't think of a single reason why it wasn't the perfect plan, and yet he knew he'd never actually do it. He had a weakness for her – Malfoys were not supposed to have any kind of weakness, and he was sure that if his father caught wind of it he'd attempt to beat it out of him in an instant. But how could he carry out his inherent duty as a Malfoy without the inner peace that sex with her brought? Sex with Pansy – or any other willing pureblooded witch that came his way – did not offer the same release. In fact, it managed to induce the opposite effect.

He gripped his quill in his hand, took a deep breath, and pulled his essay towards him. On top of everything else, he had to make sure he kept his grades up and at least level with hers. He had no idea how she managed to do it, but she was still very much top of their year and ahead of everyone else. It was nauseatingly impressive. He resigned himself to the fact that he'd have to keep hold of her for the time being, and he'd have to somehow force them back to their old dynamic. She had been fucking with things for too long now, and it was time he took some control back.

Whether she liked it or not.

~.:.~

"I don't understand, why aren't you coming exactly?"

Hermione rolled her eyes at the scarlet-haired boy in front of her and gathered all of her patience to keep the angry edge off her tone.

"I'm not coming, Ronald, because I have a mountain of reading to start for all of the final essays we have. We only have a few weeks to complete them, and I for one refuse to leave everything to the last minute! Besides, there'll be another Hogsmeade weekend soon enough."

"Those essays aren't due for ages, Hermione!" Ron retorted, his eyes narrowing into concerned slits. "And only one of them is due before Christmas!"

"Well I happen to want to get a good head start, and this weekend is the perfect time for me to do it considering that you won't be here to bother me!"

Ron glared at her, and Harry coughed uneasily. Hermione shot him a sympathetic glance, before returning her attention to the book propped up on her lap. They were in the Gryffindor common room, sat on the comfortable arm chairs next to the fire. It was lunch time, and they'd taken advantage of the lack of people; it felt like they were being suffocated by their peers all the time lately, and she was glad for the respite. Although, as with most things, it had been short lived thanks to Ron's temper tantrum. He'd been outraged when she'd mentioned not going with them to Hogsmeade, although she had no idea why. He hadn't asked her personally, nor had he given her any indication that he planned on spending time alone with her, so she couldn't understand where his anger was coming from.

"You can't hide behind books and essays forever. You have to tell us the truth sooner or later."

Her eyes snapped up to his and her heart pounded into her chest. His eyes bore into hers knowingly, and for a split second she was convinced he was referring to –

"We know you're worried about everything, Hermione. We are too. But you have to start talking to us about whatever's going on in your head – you're running yourself into the ground and…"

She tuned out Ron's lecture and breathed a huge sigh of relief. Of course he didn't know about Malfoy; she was becoming more and more paranoid and it was beginning to take its toll on her. She knew she was becoming snappier and more reserved; it was her way of avoiding lying to them or adding to the already tangled web of deceit she'd woven for herself. She just didn't know how to stop it, and it was making her feel guiltier and guiltier. The fact that she'd been obsessing over the status of her 'arrangement' with Malfoy instead of thinking about what on earth they were going to do about Harry's nightmares was so wrong. But she just couldn't help it; she couldn't deny that it devastated her to think that he was likely to call the whole thing off, and she didn't know what to do about it. Nothing worked better as an escape than him, and if he decided to walk away from it, she'd be stuck. She could practically feel her sanity seeping away from her, and she didn't want to face the reality of what it would be like without a clear mind.

"You're not even listening to me, are you?"

Ron's voice broke through her thoughts and she blinked, bringing his furious expression into focus.

"Sorry, what?"

He rolled his eyes and Harry put his face in his hands. She sighed heavily.

"Look Ron –"

"Don't bother," he interrupted as he stood up. "Just sort yourself out, because I'm getting sick of talking to a brick wall."

She watched him storm off and flicked her tired eyes to Harry, who was watching her intently.

"I'm sorry Harry," she murmured, although she wasn't entirely sure what she was apologising for. The raven-haired boy seemed equally confused, and he leant forward to take her hand. She appreciated the warmth of his touch, and offered him a small smile.

"Look Hermione, I know you're exhausted. I also happen to know it's my fault, and I really am sorry for that. I…I know Ron's delivery isn't great, but he's just worried about you."

"He doesn't need to worry about me Harry, I'm ok. Why can't he just understand?"

Harry squeezed her hand and she could see him considering how to respond in the most neutral way possible. It had been some time since he'd had to play mediator between them.

"I think he's finding it hard to deal with everything changing – you know what he's like Hermione. You're the one who called him a creature of habit; he doesn't like change, especially when everything's so dangerous and messy. I guess he's just trying to hold on to normality – Hogmeade's a part of that."

Hermione's eyes widened in understanding, and she found herself feeling even worse. She'd gotten so used to dismissing everything Ron did as a result of his apparent feelings towards her, she'd forgotten the fact that, first and foremost, he was her friend. And he was very much in the same boat as her. She'd neglected that massively, and she couldn't help but feel that his outburst was pretty mild – all things considered.

"You're right, Harry" she croaked. "I'll talk to him, I promise."

He smiled at her and let go of her hand, leaning back in his seat and staring blankly into the fire. She allowed herself to get lost in her thoughts; when had everything become so difficult? She knew she had some serious work to put in with Harry and Ron to make things right again, but she also knew she had another situation to fix beforehand. Why on earth did she have to smile at that stupid ferret?

Although, there was the small, significant detail that he had chosen to see to her needs first. Did that mean anything? Was he starting to loathe her a little less? Because she couldn't deny that her feelings of abhorrence towards him had diminished slightly…in the most miniscule of ways. If, and it was an incredibly big if at that, there was a sliver of him that regarded her in neither a sexual or unpleasant light, would it be enough to keep him locked in this arrangement? She found herself hoping it would be – if it even existed at all – and she felt so idiotic for even entertaining the thought.

She had to see him.

And if it was the last time, she'd just have to deal with it.

~.:.~

As it turned out, it was definitely not the last time.

"Malfoy…" she breathed, her breath tickling his temple as her toes curled in appreciation.

In fact, given that this was the second time in half an hour that Draco Malfoy had sunk his length into her and ground their hips together hungrily, passionately, she'd venture a guess to say it was only just the beginning.

She tore at the buttons on his shirt, loosening his tie as she went – trying to commit every delicious sensation to memory. The way he pushed up against her, the way his hands roamed all over her body as if it were their own personal play ground – the way he kissed every exposed stretch of skin as he lost himself in her. She revelled in it all.

She didn't want this to end. In that moment, she knew she'd do everything she could to make sure it didn't slip through her fingers. Because this felt too incredible to give up, and she didn't think there could be anything more effective than this.

He slammed into her over and over again, unrelenting in his pace. She closed her eyes to stop the room from spinning and she felt herself come undone as he spilled into her for the second time that day. She'd have to perform an extra strong contraceptive charm as soon as she was cleaned up to be extra cautious. Draco leaned against her, panting heavily, and she took a minute to lazily study his face. His skin was flawless, and she couldn't help but wonder how he managed to keep it that way. His hair hung loosely across his forehead, and she fought every instinct she had to sweep her fingers across it. His eyes met hers and she felt as though she was drowning in puddles of steel; she'd never met anyone with eyes like his before, and she knew that if he were anyone else – if she was anyone else – she'd want nothing more than to get lost in them. She looked away and he snapped out of whatever post-sex trance he was in, pulling out of her gently and beginning to dress.

"I'll be here this weekend."

Her voice may not have cracked with weakness this time, but it shattered the silence around them sharply. She heard him turn to face her, but she kept her focus on retying her tie. She wasn't sure why she'd told him that; was it an invitation? Was it a warning?

"You aren't going to Hogsmeade?"

Her fingers faltered; she hadn't expected him to respond. She looked up at him and swallowed – her throat always became dry when she had to maintain eye contact with him.

"No," she answered. "Are you?"

"Yes."

Was she overthinking the flash of raw emotion she saw flicker across his face? Relief? She doubted it and cursed herself for looking for things that she didn't really want to be there. Or did she? Draco Malfoy was hardly the lead out of a romance novel, and she genuinely didn't want him to be. But was it wrong of her to sometimes entertain the thought that he felt more than he let on? He wasn't a robot after all – and she knew he was capable of feeling something akin to pleasure, seeing as he repeatedly sought it out from her as often as he could.

"I'll see you when I get back."

It wasn't a question. It was a statement. A fact. A demand.

He'd never done that before. Never given her any real indication of when or if they'd meet up again. She always figured it was so he wasn't committed to anything – he'd come back if and when he needed to, but there was never a time attached to it. What was he doing? She'd been so sure he would put an end to everything – he'd been outraged at her constantly changing everything between then, and she'd finally made some sort of peace with it. But if he was saying that he'd see her when he returned from Hogsmeade it meant that things were most definitely not over. She frowned in confusion and he smirked at her.

"Don't frown so much Granger," he said patronisingly. His hand traced a line down the side of her face until he reached her chin. He tilted her head up and he leaned down so that his lips ghosted just above hers. "You'll give yourself wrinkles."

Suffice to say, she spent the rest of the day in yet another obsessive trance. What in Merlin's name had she gotten herself into?