CHAPTER 7: Warned
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Hermione realized that she had just about had enough.
After the initial shock of her mind grasping the fact that she'd won an argument over her blond employer for the first time (it certainly did seem that way, because Draco had not come up with any sort of scathing remark before he'd left after glaring at her), she'd broken down in tears over his harsh words. That was a relief, because at least he had not seen her cry once more in front of him. The bastard had seen enough of her tears, had seen enough of her weakness.
Coward. The word replayed itself over and over in her mind, refusing to be thwarted, and the tears flowed down her cheeks like the torrents of a huge waterfall. She knew that she'd been cowardly that night she'd fled to safety and left Harry to die alone in the hands of a psychopath, but to have Draco point it out to her and shove it in her face was a fresh blow to her system. Sure, he hadn't known the reason why the "coward" thing had made her snap, but he need not know it for it to have the same effect.
She'd had enough of this shit-pit. Come tomorrow morning, she'd be a free girl once again. The Manor and its inhabitants would kill her if she didn't escape. Draco might not hurt her physically enough to send her to the grave literally, but he was slowly killing her spirit.
And those eyes…
Try as hard as she might, those steely gray eyes belonging to Draco Malfoy insidiously bored a hole through her skull despite her profusely wanting to forget them. It unnerved her that he was so very furious with her – after all, his temper was often always a problem – but it also made her feel somewhat… triumphant in some way. Triumphant because she'd managed to break down his icy demeanor, even for just the tiniest bit – her, his Mudblood slave. And that for the first time, he was affected by her words just as his words often disturbed her.
The idea of Draco regaining some of his humanity and conscience back made the vengeful side of her want to stay in the mansion longer to see how it would affect him. She was certain it wouldn't be a pretty transition, and she longed to see him suffer internally. But the matter of escaping was first and foremost in her mind.
It was a very foolish thing to try to escape a mansion that was heavily warded, she knew that. For all she knew, she could be burned or fried to a crisp the moment she came into contact with those wards – or worse, sent off to Draco again. Adrenaline began to pump through her veins at the thought of possible danger. To escape…
First, she needed a wand.
Hermione began to pace back and forth in her tiny room, the gears in her intellectual brain working. Yes, a wand was an absolute necessity. She'd read about a complex spell that could slightly impair the effects of a situated ward… but had not done so successfully when she'd tried to perform the spell a few months back. Now that she thought of it, it was a risk she was willing to take and a spell she was willing to perform again. Another positive aspect was, if she wasn't too successful with escaping but had gotten hold of a wand, that was enough protection to her person while she stayed at the Manor. And enough to make Draco slightly flinch whenever he dared ridicule her again.
Yes, a wand… Hermione missed the sensation of magic coursing through her fingertips again. But where would she get one?
Hermione mulled it over. If she had a wand in possession, then that would mean she'd want to keep it as close to her person as possible even while she slept in case there was an emergency. It was quite improbable to have it kept in your pajama pocket while you slept, because that would not make for very comfortable sleep. Under the pillow was a possibility, and so was… at the nightstand, right next to the bed.
She unlocked the door of her tiny room very, very softly, although she knew that the Malfoys wouldn't have heard her anyway as they were all asleep at the top floors. She didn't feel sorry that she was finally leaving the Manor behind, nor did she take anything with her as she hadn't arrived with any possessions in the first place. She ascended the rickety "servant staircase," as she'd called it (no one else in the mansion uses it other than her) towards the main floor of the mansion, looked around if Poppy or any other living soul was around, and eventually up the steps of the marble staircase leading to the upper floors where the Malfoys slept.
She contemplated which wand she would try to… obtain. (She stubbornly refused to use the word "steal.") Since Lucius and Narcissa probably slept together, then that would mean another blond head she would have to worry about, if she were to try to get one of theirs. She didn't want to have to see Draco again – not if she could help it – but it seemed to be the only logical course of action to take. She'd bet on her life's savings (if she had any left) that he slept alone, thus making the job of obtaining his wand slightly easier. And, if she were able to successfully grab a hold of his wand from right under his nose, it would be the most perfect form of spiting him.
Her heart thudded inside her ribcage as she ascended the marble staircase towards the topmost floor where she knew Draco's room to be. Her right palm was slippery with sweat as she gripped the stair railing for support, worried that her wobbly knees and quivering legs might not be enough to support her weight. With shaky steps, she made her way towards the elegant wooden door with the golden doorknob, and allowed herself to press her ear flat against the wood to listen to any form of movement issuing from inside.
Nothing. There was only silence.
Hoping against hope that the odds were in her favor, she gripped the doorknob tightly with that sweaty hand and turned it gently. She almost screamed in shock that Malfoy's room was not locked at all! With her heart thundering in her ears, she balanced her posture by holding on the doorframe with her other hand and turning the knob with as less noise as possible. The creaking of the door as it opened was inevitable. Hermione peered into the tiny crack.
Malfoy's room was bathed in darkness, the heavy drapes on his four-poster bed and curtains at the wide-open window ruffling with the slight midnight breeze. Draco, as she had expected, slept alone at the center of his large, comfortable bed, the covers enveloping his entire person except for the wild array of Malfoy blond hair that was peeking out from underneath it. Hermione squinted, trying to make out the shapes in spite of the darkness, and finally found what she had been looking for: Malfoy's wand at the nightstand, right next to his bed. Right where she expected it would be.
Hermione squeezed through the tiny crack she'd made at the door and tiptoed her way inside, her gaze darting from Malfoy to the wand simultaneously. She tried to lift her feet instead of drag it along the floor, as the entire floor of Malfoy's room was swathed in a luxurious carpet and she knew that the shuffling sound her feet would make would resound in the room. She bit her lips to stifle her nervous pants.
She was now right next to Draco's sleeping form, suppressing a squeak when he rolled over to his side and bared his face for her to see. The moonlight hit his face in the most melancholy, beautiful angle, as though he were a sculpted angel. She wouldn't admit it to anyone – wouldn't even tell her best friends Harry and Ron about it – but she'd always found Draco extremely handsome. There was always an air of aristocracy and regality in the way he stood and talked, and it seemed like he was unaware of it himself – which made it all the more attractive. Also, his gray eyes were shrewd and calculating, making him seem like he was always deep in his own thoughts. And his smirk – the smirk – was devilishly sexy. Of course, whatever attraction she'd had for the blond wizard had evaporated the moment he opened his mouth (because he often had nothing good to say), and now she hated the man especially for trapping her in his home.
She regained control of her thoughts. No, Draco was a spoiled brat, and wasn't in any way fanciable. And despite the fact that he looked so vulnerable while he slept, Hermione forced herself not to feel sorry for robbing – no, obtaining something she needed from the wizard.
There were only a few feet separating her and Draco's wand. If she reached her hand out, she would feel the smooth rod of wood at her fingertips, and so she did just that, reaching, reaching… she got it.
A warm hand clamped onto her wrist, the very same hand that had clamped onto her wrist just a mere hour ago.
Hermione had not even managed to feel triumph nor release a surprised whimper when Draco had pulled her and expertly pinned her atop the bed underneath his body, keeping a death hold on both of her wrists and pinning them beside her head. He pinioned her legs between his, so she wouldn't be able to kick him in that sensitive spot most men have. Those "shrewd" eyes, as she had referred to them, were narrowed in tiny slits and enraged. She couldn't even feel her hand still gripping his wand; he'd cut off her blood circulation there.
Draco was one of those men who were more comfortable with wearing pajama bottoms in bed. That was good; Hermione didn't think she could bear being pinned beneath him if Draco wore only his boxers or briefs to bed – or worse, nothing at all.
"What the fuck, Granger?!" he spat out. "You're stealing now?"
He was heavy and warm upon her. She tried to thrash against him and buck him off, but her efforts were futile. "Y-yes – I mean, no – I mean – I thought you were asleep!"
"Asleep or not, you're still stealing. What are you even doing in my room?" he demanded angrily. When Hermione didn't answer, Draco narrowed his eyes suspiciously. Realization dawned on them. "You're stealing my wand. You want to escape." It wasn't a question.
"Yes," she spat back. "I've had enough of you. I don't want to have to do anything with this shit-pit you call your house anymore!"
Draco barked out a bitter laugh. "How very cowardly of you, Granger. Not the sort of attitude I would expect, coming from a Gryffindor. Brave people don't weasel out of their predicament." He released the death hold he had on one of her wrists until his warm hand covered hers, the hand that held the wand. "Do you even know how to use this thing?" he sneered, moving his head so that his lips landed just at the shell of her ear.
A shiver ran through the entire length of Hermione's body when his soft, rose petal-like lips touched the sensitive skin of her ear. It was a shiver that wasn't at all objectionable, but rather oddly… pleasant.
"Let me teach you how to use a wand," Draco breathed malevolently. Goosebumps rose in her overly-sensitive flesh. "You grip it." His hands mimicked his words. "You point it at your adversary." He thrust their hands forward roughly, prodding the tip of his wand at his own neck. "You say 'Avada Kedavra.' Go on. Say it."
Hermione's thoughts were scrambling all over the place. She found it very difficult to focus on Draco's words; she was suddenly just too aware of things. She was aware of his warm breath tickling the hairs at the back of her neck, sending shivers all over her body; she was aware of how every line of his warm body fitted with every curve of hers; she was aware of how her heaving breasts were flushed against his rock-solid chest; and she could've sworn that something heavy and firm and manly was prodding against her inner thigh. And she was suddenly aware of the warm tingles that fluttered in her naval, something she was certain she had not felt before…
Her body temperature rose along with her panting.
He withdrew his face from her ear and reappeared in her line of vision. Hermione was thankful it was dark; if not, he would've seen her abnormally colored face. He yanked the wand out of her flimsy grip and threw it behind him, the wooden rod engulfed once more in the darkness of the room. "Otherwise, you don't deserve to possess a wand, you stupid bint."
That remark sent Hermione tumbling back down to earth. "Fuck you," she said to him through gritted teeth.
Instead of getting angry, a sly smirk slowly upturned the corners of his mouth. That devilishly sexy smirk. "Or maybe this was all a ploy to get me to bed, huh, Granger?" he sneered. "Can't say you've failed at that. You've successfully gotten me in such a comfortable position." His gray eyes smoldered. "Congratulations."
Hermione's eyes widened and her breathing sped once more.
"What do you say, Granger? What do you say I kiss you right now?" said Draco in a low voice.
Merlin, what was happening? She'd always thought she had unwavering self-control, but why was she suddenly having such difficulty staying in control of this particular situation? Was it because she didn't want to control it, that she wanted it to happen despite herself? Was it because the opportunity presented itself, the opportunity to just latch hungrily onto his lips just as how he'd offered it? She knew she should feel nothing but contempt for the wizard, but that prospect was suddenly too bloody difficult with his warm body pressing so firmly against hers and his voice seducing her into a state of incoherence. Why was it that suddenly, she forgot that she was supposed to hate him?
Draco angled his head to ensure that his lips would land on hers, and began to close that short distance between their lips. Hermione's brain buzzed with the lack of oxygen; she couldn't think straight.
"Don't," she managed to choke out, but she barely heard herself over the thudding course of her own heartbeat.
Draco stopped just as her lips were just a hairsbreadth away from his, his warm tongue peeking out to lick leisurely at her trembling bottom lip. Hermione convulsed gracelessly underneath him and balled her hands tightly into fists, squeezing her eyes shut at the same time. It was only a matter of time before their lips would touch, and Hermione would be lost…
Despite her thundering heartbeat, she nevertheless heard the malicious intent in Draco's low chuckle. "You wish, filthy Mudblood."
Her eyes snapped open. That sent her back to sanity more effectively than being doused in a bucketful of ice water. She suddenly just wanted to bash Draco's face for all she was worth. More than that, she wanted to bash herself for expecting the kiss to happen. No, for wanting it to happen. She was supposed to be the brightest witch of her age, and now Draco had played her and she had wanted to be played. She wanted to cry.
And it also didn't help with anything the fact that at that exact moment, light flooded the interior of the dark bedroom as the bathroom door swung open.
Clad in a silken robe, Pansy Parkinson's face, previously a mask of shock, molded to one of pure disbelief and rage. How was it possible that Hermione had not heard her if she was in the bathroom the whole time she and Draco were…? Well, she had her stupid, thudding, loud, untrustworthy heart to blame for that.
"Am I… interrupting something?" Pansy asked in bitter sarcasm, flashing her cold eyes first on Draco, then lingering upon Hermione. Hermione then realized that they were in a compromising position and it didn't leave much to the imagination. (After all, Draco was top-naked and lying on top of Hermione.) She started to struggle against Draco, and to her relief he didn't put up much of a fight. Draco chuckled under his breath as soon as she got to her feet and resumed his position in the middle of the bed, resting his back against the headboard, completely oblivious to the tense atmosphere.
"I could leave now, if you want," said Pansy tersely, with as much venom as she could, "let you get back to what you were doing." Her tone obviously implied offense at her boyfriend's lack of concern at having been caught in such a compromising position with another woman – the Mudblood slave at that.
Draco dismissed Pansy's words with a careless wave of his hand. "You were always so jealous, Pans. You see, Granger here wanted to steal my wand and use it to escape; I caught her just in time. You can thank me for that later."
"And I don't suppose that's how she got into bed with you?" Pansy bit back sharply.
"You suppose correctly." Draco flashed Pansy an empty grin. The raven-haired witch noticeably stiffened and balled her fists at her sides. She didn't say anything more.
"You can go now, Mudblood," said Draco nonchalantly. "Oh, and don't get any more ideas into that bushy head of yours, you got me?"
Stiffly and with her face burning, Hermione made her way past Draco, past the large bed, and past Pansy towards the door of the bedroom.
She wished she hadn't looked in Pansy's direction. She wished she hadn't been morally good enough to have flashed her an apologetic look. If she didn't, then she could've spared herself all the fear and trepidation that would haunt her many days after…
Because when she looked at Pansy, her cold blue eyes positively murdered.
Hermione's insides trembled.
Forget Draco Malfoy. It looked as though she'd made another enemy… a more dangerous one at that.
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[A/N: Feel free to pelt me with rotten eggs and tomatoes. I deserve it.
After – what, four months? I really suck! – all I have for you guys is a shit chapter. I really am sorry. But I just became paranoid and insecure about my writing and didn't want to publish previous versions of chapter 7 because I felt they were all bad. It happens sometimes. So I really am sorry.
On a lighter note, thank you to all my readers and followers and favoriters and reviewers. Seriously, you guys are the best people in the world. *me hugging you all*
Oh yeah, there might be some errors in this chap as I didn't have a beta. Chaz (wrackspurtsarereal) has a lot going on at the moment and cannot beta, and I miss her like crazy. :( Hope everything's cool, dearie!
Let me know what you think and thanks for reading. :) –Nina (sorry again for the shit chapter and the late update)]
