Well it's been almost two months... sorry guys. I am shamed. Thanks to caste-aeon for all her help and the wonderful emails!

Chapter X

Ginny woke to the distinct beginnings of a sore throat: the sour, ill itch that unmercifully took its time as it pulled her from a restless sleep. Each tickle made her cough; another toss and another turn in bed, until finally, at around 3 a.m., she sat up, attempting to ignore the unbearably sluggish weight she could feel pressing down on her shoulders. With a soft groan, she rubbed at the glands on the side of her neck, willing the unpleasantly sticky feeling to recede. It was only after the overwhelming clutches of deep sleep were drained from her senses that she was –finally, oh, finally—able to peer into the dark confines of the dormitory with a partially clear head.

The moon's light fell across the well-worn floor stones in fragile rays. For a second, Ginny held her breath, unnerved; the frail light seemed to break as the warm flesh of her bare foot made contact with and disturbed the balance of the solemn cold stone. From somewhere amidst the darkness of the dormitory, a small breeze teased its way across the drapery, and tickled the tender skin at the base of her neck. Ginny pulled a face, staring into the oppressing dark as sweat glimmered on her temple.

Suddenly, an owl passed by, a looming dark shadow that tore across the irregular shape made by the window's frame. Ginny tucked a whisp of ginger hair, pale in the night light, behind an ear as she turned her gaze outside. The storm had passed, and small, determined droplets of water clung to the glass as evidence. The grounds seemed to be washed in a hue of silver, the green of the lawns irrelevant to the breathtaking spectacle the lake provided. It shone out like a mirror against the perfectly manicured lawns. The surface lay motionless as it gave off a perfect reflection of its surroundings.

She sighed as memories resurfaced from the back of her mind. Her mother had always loved Christmas. Though it was a muggle tradition, Molly Weasley would tromp into Wizarding gift stores, a healthy glow lighting the generous freckles on her warm cheeks. She was especially fond of setting up small winter scenes on the bay window seat back at the burrow. She'd place out the white roll of cotton and place each little house with care. As a wizarding touch, little lights would always illuminate the interiors and, to Ginny's delight, small silhouettes would cross the window panes occasionally. A magical milky cloud would hover above the set up, dusting a soft snow on the small town and its inhabitants. Her mother would enable the porcelain figures to walk about the streets and gather in groups to sing carols.

Her favorite part, however, was the round mirror that her mother would place on the center of the town. It would frost up, and the small people would skate across its surface, performing dainty jumps and elegant figure-eights. Ginny always loved to lean over the miniature skaters and peek at her reflection in the glass. It was as though she was a giant, gazing over the homely town. She would never touch; a sore ear, after all, was the punishment for messing with her mother's arrangement. Ginny was about to sigh but, instead, ended coughing, her throat scratching together as though made from sand paper.

Embracing her neck with a small hand, she glanced over the grounds again. It was odd, nothing seemed to be moving. Everything was still, a frozen picture of eternity, as though someone had taken a muggle picture of Hogwarts' lawns and posted it on her window. Ginny leaned closer towards the window, touching the glass with her finger tips. The clouds, left over from the rain, stood stationary in the sky, waiting for the wind to come and push them away. An eerie sense settled into the back of her mind, and she couldn't fight off the sudden shudder that forced its way up her spine.

Shivering, Ginny wrapped her arms around herself and turned.

She froze.

Hermione's bed was empty.

The room was stuffy as the day came to a close.

The dinner guests did their best to ignore the irksome heat. Sweat pooled beneath their clothes, restricting and irritating the wearers. Elegant gowns, though beautiful to the eye, acted as ovens. The ladies didn't let their discomfort show, hiding the unpleasant sensations behind demure smiles and wide fans. While high-necked jackets were in style, the heat made the men feel as though they were being choked. Appearance, however, in this time and age of society was of the up most importance; suffice it to say that the guests were miserable, but they were all to proud to do anything about everything.

The ladies were patting at the air, through their fans, with a vicious streak, as a quiet chatter started filling the room. Everyone smiled, and everyone laughed. Although everyone knew no one was having a good time; it wasn't a big secret at all, even an inexperienced noble would have felt the gruesome tension. Despite this truth, however, the lie kept its hold over the small gathering. So they sat, picking at their plates and pretending to enjoy each other's company.

Ardelle gave her ante pasta a helpless look, her appetite suddenly gone. How could she eat? Her nerves had been shot to hell with Camille watching her every move. Eat properly, don't slouch, and for God's Sake, don't spill anything. She'd spent her life in an orphanage, how was it fair to abruptly expose her, drop her, into this high society life and expect her to perform well? Camille had a sharp tongue, and it was more than obvious how much pleasure she took from making insulting derogatory remarks on Ardelle's every move. Why had she taken her in to begin with?

She straightened her shoulders, trying her best to appear mature. She may be miserable, but she wouldn't let it show. Besides, there was one thing that made this horrid dinner party bearable. And that thought made Ardelle blush, permitting her eyes to cautiously drift across the table. Gray eyes waited for her, causing her stomach to jolt.

Well, she certainly wouldn't be able to eat now.

Massimo gave her a knowing smile, and her heart fluttered. He was the only presence that got her through these functions. When she was busy looking for him, she realized, his gaze was already fastened on her, minutes before she found his.

Their eyes made contact, and a spark of electricity alighted, passing back and forth unsaid messages. The moments they had alone where generous; she couldn't shake the feeling that his father encouraged it, allowing them time to roam the gardens in peace. It was shocking, considering that she came from a family with a low background. Perhaps, Ardelle frowned as she took a sip from her glass, he wasn't aware of her status because of Camille.

"I don't know about the rest of you, but I think the gardens would be beautiful tonight, si?" the host, Agosto Maccabeo, announced as he pushed away from the table. A pleasant murmur of agreement followed as others followed suit.

Ardelle sighed and allowed a smile to ease her features. The party had taken a turn for the better. The vicinity outside wouldn't be much cooler, but a gentle breeze would be enough to cheer everyone's dour mood. Camille rose from her place, languid and steady, and made her way to where Ardelle sat. On her heels, Camille was barely taller than Ardelle who was still sitting, but her presence enough was intimidating. The cold hand of fear claimed Ardelle's internal sentry as Camille place a small, delicate hand on her shoulder. She was a beautiful child, despite her appearance of a tragic mask. Behind that exterior lay an evil, bitter woman with nothing but cruel intentions. It was the knowledge of this that stuck the deepest cord of terror into Ardelle's heart. If this woman had no kindness, then what was her purpose for taking her?

"Escort Lord Massimo around the garden. I'm sure you can find some way to entertain the youth," she said. It was a loaded request; her tone was as slick as fish oil. All she could do was manage a weak nod under Camille's unwavering gaze. A humiliated blush burned the tips of her ears as the people, who heard, exchanged chuckles.

Camille left her side and preceded the flow of people out of the dining pallor. Ardelle bit her lip, furiously attempting to fight back the flow of tears. She was an object of ridicule under the harsh stares of the ladies who passed. She always observed a decorous behavior, but Camille's statement, with her dark insinuations, ensured that people would start doubting her. The linen napkin in her hands was twisted into a tight cord, and her knuckles were white as she wrung the cloth further.

"Ardelle?" a warm hand covered her pale, trembling fingers.

Massimo was bent at her side, steadying her hands with his own. They were alone and laughter drifted in through the open doors. She forced a smile and took his hand. He helped her to her feet but didn't return the smile. Had he heard as well? Ardelle lowered her eyes to the floor as her spirits sunk further still.

"It was very cruel, what she did, and she had no right to make you the object of such attention," he said, his tone soothing. She relaxed and readily met his gaze. His face was blurred as tears filled her vision.

"Thank you, I don't deserve your kindness," she said, wiping dampness from her eyes.

"It's nothing. Now, I believe we have a garden to stroll," he said, his suave manner taking over. He hooked her arm with his own and steered her out of the room.

"Honestly, Avery, I don't see why we're being dragged out at this ungodly hour. It's bullocks, I tell you. Complete and utter shat. I could be sleeping righ' now but no…"

Avery stopped his steady pace to watch as his companion kicked at the ground, a sour expression twisting the red facial hair that blocked most of the Scotsman's features. MacKraggon was a complicated piece of work. Avery just didn't know quite how to figure the man out, meaning, very simply, that he didn't trust him. He was a large man, though comically short. His strong stature was undermined by his depressing lack of height. If he had been a muggle, MacKraggon would have been a sad case of the classic "Bark bigger than the bite". But unfortunately, he was most definitely not. The damn Scott gave him the chills, though most of that was attributed to his elusive history. Where the hell had the man come from? Because of the mass of scratchy beard, his age was unknown to even the highest DeathEaters, but his eyes were bright and had few lines, leading Avery to believe he was at least decently young.

He complained about the insignificant facts; late missions out always left him biter and unsettled. Yet Avery could tell, he could see as clear as day that beneath the flimsy façade of discontent, the thrills of excitement vibrated through MacKraggon like a well tuned instrument. He was like a young man out with the big boys for the first time. Despite the overwhelming aura around him that seemed to scream "Newbie!!" the man handled himself with such expertise that Avery himself felt just the slightest bit threatened. The guy knew what he was doing. He had to, otherwise why would Voldemort have had him brought in from the North?

"Wha' are you starin' at, Shathead?" MacKraggon has such a pleasant mouth.

Avery felt the corner of his mouth turn down in disapproval. Unable to degrade himself to the level at which he would actually reply to the loaded insult, he turned on his heel, his cape swirling in a dark rush behind him. The path was wet and slick; they had a long walk ahead of them. MacKraggon released a lengthy string of foul language as he walked away.

"Why don't we just bloody aparate there?" MacKraggon demanded, 'Lumos'ing his wand into life.

"The crack would give us away. Stealth is our main objective if we plan to intercept them on their way back from the library… if they've left yet," Avery muttered, carefully stepping over a broken, moss drenched fence post.

"So the fella sent before us didn't get there in time, eh? I outta ream the bastard out for slacking off when we meet up," MacKraggon barked out a hoarse laugh.

Avery stopped and regarded the rough man with a measured gaze; cold, serious, and collected.

"I honestly don't see the point in admonishing a corpse, Mr. MacKraggon."

He didn't wait for a response, knowing very well that he'd gotten the message across. He heard his fellow Death Eater follow suite as the realization that things were far more serious than expected settled in between the pair.

Floorboards never made for a good pillow; pulling Draco Malfoy from the exhausted slumber that had gently tugged him away from consciousness. They had both spent more energy than could be afforded, coming onto each other the way they had. It had been reckless, impulsive and irrational… yet he had desperately needed it. Granger had surprised him, initiating the whole ordeal with such soft lips. After pushing the body out the window, he'd been ready to keep on moving, to get back to Hogwarts and to find an answer to this whole bloody mess. Then she was there, bearing an expression he'd never expect to see on the prude's face. She'd been kind, sympathetic, but the predominate emotion Malfoy had seen riding her features was desire.

Had this whole catastrophe of events raddled her brains, spurring her into a temporary, lustful state of mind? A sinking rock of dread pulled at the base of his stomach as Malfoy weighed this possibility. Despite his infamous reputation, Malfoy rarely allowed anyone into this level of intimacy. He'd wink and smirk, taking more pride than he should in the wanton stares that followed him along the corridors. The rumors ran rampant but unknown to many, Draco kept his pants up and tightly zipped. He just wasn't comfortable with allowing someone so… close.

Yet here he was, every inch of his skin pressed firmly against someone, whom only a day ago, he considered an enemy. Hermione shifted her shoulders, allowing a small sigh of air to escape from her chest. She was still deep in sleep, allowing Malfoy to keep to his thoughts in the silence provided by the Library shelves. Worry momentarily slipped away as Malfoy lost himself in the sensations her body gave him. The body heat radiated off of her back as he wrapped his arms around her and meshed his legs with her own. Draco swallowed as he felt his need grow once again, nestled in the space provided between her thighs. The soft flesh of her neck was overwhelming; he couldn't resist brushing his lips over the smooth skin.

Where had all this come from? What strange omniscient being placed the two of them together in this absurd situation? It was as if God was bored with the usual depressing goings on in the world and decided to stir things up. HA! He thinks he knows exactly what's going on? All right then, what can I do to throw a wrench into Malfoy's life? Something good… interesting… hmmm. Let's throw in a little teenage lust mixed with a deadly curse. Fun, fun!

Draco pressed his forehead against the back of Granger's head and frowned, as if to hide the angst that grappled with his insides. He pulled her closer, grinding her bare backside against his pelvis. How had he allowed this to happen? A low, throaty growl tickled his vocal cords and he felt his want intensified. A small whisper emitted from the sleeping girl as her body responded in turn, arching her back to allow better access. Draco's hands found their way down her body, exploring her hips, teasing her breasts. The moan that built up in her chest vibrated through him, stirring up a foreign emotion that seemed to cause his throat to swell.

Things were never simple, but on the floor of that Library, Malfoy was content with the basic explanation that they had needed each other. With both of their worlds crashing down simultaneously, they'd both needed something, an amount of comfort to steady the ground beneath their feet. Did it mean that they were compatible in a different situation? If it h ad been any place else, anything different, would things have turned out as they had?

Malfoy didn't know and he had to be honest with himself, he didn't care. He just wanted something stable to lose himself in, and Granger was perfect.

"Malfoy?" his name was soft, barely spanning the gap from mouth to ear.

Her eyes were closed and he could tell that she was hovering somewhere between sleep and reality. He wanted to allow her more time, she deserved to rest, but time was short. Malfoy could make out from the pale light starting to peer in from the open window that dawn would soon be breaking. His lower regions objected, strongly, but Malfoy released his hold from her curves. Tucking the cape they had haphazardly laid upon around her body, he pulled away. His pants back on, Malfoy quietly padded over to the small window frame. The cool freshness that tinted the air announced the arrival of the coming day. They needed to get back.

Fully dressed, the lithe blonde began to pull himself through the window. He needed to check their surroundings before they made their way discretely back to the castle. He looked down and stopped. The body they had dumped was missing.

The heat was overwhelming, a sickly stickiness that clung to her skin like a thousand menacing hands. They pulled at her hair and smothered her airways. Something seemed to be constricting her movements, holding her down. She needed Malfoy, where had he gone?

God… her abdomen was on fire!

She really needed to get up.

She needed to find Malfoy.

She needed…

She needed to get away. The heat was oppressive and released a familiar fear into her system. She felt her body jerk, moving on its own accord. What the hell was holding her down? Panic tightened its hold on her chest and she could taste the bile as it burned at the back if her throat… like poison. She thrashed her arms and legs, reason abandoning all her senses. Open your eyes, open your eyes, open your damn eyes!

Reality was lost, the spaces between two realities opening and swallowing whole… taking her away. Taking them both away.

The sharp hard crack of bone against wood shattered her state as quickly and as profoundly as a gunshot ripping through silent air. Her breathing was heavy as the ceiling of the Library swam in front of her eyes. She felt frail yet her body clung to the floorboards as if it was impossibly heavy. She was goo, completely and utterly spent. A painful burn pricked at her stomach.

She lifted herself to her elbows, examined her bare body, and the hideous, fresh mark that had seared itself below her chest. Another handprint. Hermione fought back dismay as her bottom lip trembled.

SHIT.

"Malfoy?" she questioned, her voice bouncing off the walls and shelves of the empty Library. Where had he gone? Hermione attempted to ignore the cliché scene that played itself in her head. The woman wakes up alone after finally opening herself up to the dashing male. She shook her head. Why would he abandon her? They were both in the same boat. Hermione pulled the cape she'd kicked aside and worried the cloth between her fingers.

He wouldn't… would he?

Yea, it's been a while but I hope you all enjoyed it!

peanut