Selling Souls

Chapter X

Draco was not in the best of moods. He'd woken up dazed and confused by Hermione's advances, the motives for which he'd spent the entire day pondering, much to his Professors' frustration, and now to top it off, he was having to sit around a table of squabbling students as they tried to decide what type of sandwiches were best to serve at the Spring Ball. The Ball Committee had been Hermione's idea and Draco had agreed just to please her, but now he was severely regretting it. From across the table the Patil twins scowled at their Headboy and girl. The twins had been in charge of organising the event before McGonagall had handed all responsibility to Draco and Hermione and they were not pleased to have their glory snatched from them. They had used the entire hour the Committee had been assembled so far to argue with all Hermione's suggestions.

Draco glanced at the other students gathered around the table with a mixture of disgust and pity: most were sixth, fifth and fourth years, who obviously had political aspirations within the school and were helping out to score 'points', perhaps to get a chance at Prefect or Head the following year. The ball was open only to fourth years and above so fortunately there was a lack of overly excited lower years, but Colin Creevey, enlisted as the official photographer, made up for this. He twittered on blithely about the need for good lighting and some mysterious muggle contraption called a tripod, which conjured strange images in Draco's imagination. The Headboy gained the slightest sense of smug satisfaction when he saw Hermione had dragged along her two pets, who sat and glowered at the opposite end of the table, obviously hating every minute as much as Draco. He had heard the Weasel complaining as they had all filed into the spare classroom to take their seats and had chuckled when Hermione had snapped an admonishment at the red head.

"So I was thinking, rather than sandwiches, we could have a more traditional spread; something that fits with our theme," Hermione offered. There was angry muttering from the Patil twins and Padma stood up.

"Well we had already decided on a famous Witches and Wizards theme. We think it is something far more people can relate to." Padma then launched into a speech about the suitability of their previously chosen theme. After ten minutes and with no sign of the girl stopping, Draco casually leaned over to Hermione.

"Are we going to talk about what happened last night," he whispered into her ear. Hermione kept her eyes carefully trained on Padma, nodding every now and then in the pretence that she was still listening.

"So now you want to talk? Funnily enough you sent me away this morning," she hissed out of the corner of her mouth.

"You didn't want to talk!"

"Oh? What did I want to do then?" She was smirking, he was sure of it. Although they were keeping their conversation to mute whispers that could hardly be overheard, Draco couldn't help but feel like every eye was focused on them. He was surprised to feel his cheeks redden.

"I don't know. I can't tell what you want anymore."

"I don't think you've ever known, Draco . . . Thank you Padma, that's quite enough," Hermione suddenly said, interrupting the girl. "I don't care if you've already bought your dress, or that you'll look positively darling dressed as Circe; the theme is a medieval one and that is that. No more whining on your part is going to change that fact," Hermione snapped in a perfect imitation of McGonagall. The Committee members all stared at the Headgirl in shock, most having never heard her speak so bluntly. Where had the ever courteous Hermione gone, Draco suddenly found himself wondering.

"I need a break," Hermione sighed. "Five minute break everyone? And then maybe afterwards we could actually decide on a few things, like flower arrangements for one . . . Come with me," she muttered to Draco, standing and striding towards the door. He followed her past the glaring Patil twins and watched as the Weasel called Hermione's name and she simply retorted with a 'not now, Ron!'.

Once out in the corridor, Hermione rubbed her temples and leaned against the wall.

"Wow, Draco, you were such a help in there," she drawled sarcastically. "You let me do all the talking. It is a joint project, you know." The blonde Headboy ignored her.

"You're only going to get in more trouble if McGonagall finds you speaking to the volunteers like that," Draco murmured, standing beside her.

"Since when did you care?"

"It seems you're in an even worse mood than me," he said. Hermione sighed with a shaky breath.

"I'm sorry. I just can't stand listening to them twitter on anymore." She gave a laugh. "I mean it really is ridiculous, isn't it? Themes and flowers and sandwiches. . . Anyway, you wanted to talk about this morning?"

"I . . . well it's just . . . it doesn't really seem like you . . . to do that, that is."

"Maybe I don't feel much like myself anymore."

"Is that my fault?" Despite himself, he felt a pang of guilt when Hermione looked at him with her deep, sharp eyes.

"Perhaps."

"Is it the – the Bond?" Even now he hesitated in bringing up anything to do with her Soul, fearing a confrontation. "Is it making you do things you don't want to? Because if it is-" Hermione laughed and shook her head.

"No, it was my own decision. I thought that maybe . . . it doesn't matter." Draco wanted to reach out and shake her, look into her big eyes and see what was really going on in her thoughts. Suddenly he realised he wanted to know her. He wanted to understand what was making her angry and cure it, he wanted to hold her and tell her he was there for her. But he couldn't. He couldn't even touch her, not when it only caused her more grief, no matter how pleasant it was for himself. Draco reeled from these unbidden thoughts, trying to push them away and telling himself they weren't really true, that they were just a reaction to the pent up frustration she'd been causing him lately.

"Maybe it does matter," he muttered. "What are you playing at?"

"I'm not playing at anything. You can't take me seriously, can you? I thought maybe you'd realise if I showed you in a way you'd understand. I've heard your reputation after all. I thought you wouldn't notice me if I didn't . . ." The words had rushed out of her pretty mouth so fast he almost hadn't caught them, but then they registered and something clicked. She was looking at her feet, a wild blush colouring her cheeks, her sentence fading into nothing. Did Hermione Granger just admit she liked him? Had she clambered into his bed because she'd been trying to tell him she liked him in a way she thought he would understand?

"What?" he blurted.

"I can't get away from you. You're there all the time, in my head," she growled. "Your emotions, my emotions, I don't know what's what anymore. And . . . I don't care. I just want you to understand what I'm feeling." And there she was: baring her soul to him . . . or rather she would be if she hadn't already given it away. He could see the vulnerability clear on her face and wanted nothing more than to protect her.

"You can feel my emotions, right?" he said. She nodded slowly, obviously wondering where he was going with this. "Then tell me what I feel. What am I feeling right now?" Her cheeks coloured even further and she looked away.

"I don't know."

"You don't know or you're scared to know?"

"It's not that simple."

"Then I'll tell you. I don't want to hurt you, Hermione. I want-" But there were things that just couldn't be said out loud, not with the history between them, so instead he used actions. He leant in and it seemed she'd been waiting for him to do so for a while, because she was already waiting, chin tilted upwards, lips slightly parted, the dark lashes around her eyes lowered to brush her cheeks. And for once it wasn't a stolen kiss, or rushed or angry. It was . . . perfect. Their bodies melded together and her fingers wound their way up his neck to brush through his hair. The world stopped and it was just the two of them, locked together in an embrace that could have lasted forever.

When they finally parted he thought he heard her sigh in satisfaction.

"I think five minutes has long passed," he murmured in her ear.

"Fuck the Committee," she said, in that very un-Hermione-like manner she'd been adopting lately. He didn't care though because she had already brought him down into another kiss and any thought for the rest of the world had disappeared, the soft touch of her lips erasing everything he'd known before and carving a new meaning.

This would be her stage, the perfect tool for the perfect plan.

Hermione couldn't help smiling to herself as she turned a slow circle around the recently cleaned ballroom, admiring the fluted columns stretching above her like arched tree trunks. Perhaps the room would fit the Spring theme better than she had originally thought, she mused, her footsteps tapping a hollow pattern against the flagstones. Despite her efforts, the cool, empty air did nothing to stop the buzz of thoughts in her head; thoughts of the Ball, of Malfoy, of kisses and revenge, anger and lust. And all the while she could feel a presence in her head, alien feelings that didn't belong: Malfoy. With a shaky breath she sighed.

"You are in control, Hermione,"she whispered to herself. "They're his feelings." Hermione didn't want to admit it to herself but she was scared. Perhaps she'd been scared all along and never realised, but now it swam in her stomach, icy cold. The kiss had brought it to the surface; it had brought a lot of things to the surface. She was beginning to doubt whether her whole plan was a particularly good idea. But she needed it, she needed an ideal to cling onto, she needed her revenge on Malfoy. Nothing else made sense any more.

Despite the fear, Hermione still smiled. She was proud of the progress she had made with Malfoy that morning. She had put on an act so convincing she'd surprised even herself. It had been so easy to pretend she liked him, that she was even desperate for his attention. But it was more than that that made the corners of her mouth tug up; perhaps it was the echo of his feelings still reverberating in her head. She began humming to herself, as she forced her mind onto other things, trying to envision a successful Spring Ball, the dancers weaving around her. The doors behind her groaned on aged hinges, startling her.

"We heard you humming," Ron greeted, shuffling into the room. "I'm surprised you didn't break the windows," he teased playfully, offering a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans. Hermione scowled at him, less than pleased to have her peace disturbed by her friends. She shook her head to the offer of beans and span away, walking underneath the curving vault of the balcony, her fingers running across the grainy stone of the columns.

"Blimey, the placed scrubbed up well, didn't it?" Ron continued, picking out a handful of beans and holding them up to the light to examine them with an expert eye. Hermione hummed a stony agreement, glancing over to see Harry standing by the door, leaning against the wall. She gave him a quizzical look, which he returned with a nod in Ron's direction.

"I was going to ask you something at the meeting," Ron wittered on, shuffling nervously. "But you didn't-"

"I don't come back. Yes, I know. Are you here to tell me off, Ronald?" She weaved through the columns, deeper into the hall so that Ron had to raise his voice to be heard. When she looked back over her shoulder, she could see his face, a brilliant bright red.

"No. That's not it. I just wanted to ask . . . well, we'll have to have dance partners, won't we?" Hermione paused at Ron's words. She'd already thought about this; she'd even considered making it a part of her big plan. She turned and walked back to face a stuttering Ron.

"I suppose we will, yes."

"It's just . . . for the Bay's Ball it was too late . . . So I thought, I'd ask-" In his nervousness, Ron grabbed a handful of beans and stuffed them in his mouth before giving a choking wheeze. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Honestly, Ron, if you insist on gulping them down," she scolded, patting him on the back.

"Spicy spinach flavour," Ron explained, doubled over. He took a few deep breaths, straightened and chewed. In a few quick seconds his face faded from scarlet to a sickly green hue. "And that is definitely rotten egg flavour!" Covering his mouth with both hands, Ron gave Hermione a panicked look before sprinting for the door, retching the whole way.

"Do you have to be so disgusting, Ron?" Hermione called after him, feeling slightly nauseous herself.

"Merlin, Hermione! What is your problem?" Harry peeled himself away from the wall and began stalking towards her. "Every five minutes you have a go at Ron for something."

"Is it my fault he eats like a pig?" Their angry words echoed around the hall, bouncing off stone.

"Ron's just being Ron. He's always been that way and you've never had a problem before. He's not doing anything wrong. It's you." Hermione stared at Harry before laughing.

"Is this because I didn't turn up to the second half of the meeting? I was busy, ok?" she tittered.

"No!" Harry hissed. "It's not ok. The Hermione I used to know wouldn't walk out of her own committee meeting and never come back. We were sat there for an hour waiting for you, whilst you were off doing Godric-knows-what with Malfoy. That's not what you do, Hermione. It's not you. You're not the same person anymore."

"Maybe I don't want to be that person anymore," Hermione snapped. "Maybe I'm sick of being walked all over. I'm sick of people laughing at me and thinking I'm an easy target. I want to prove I'm better than that. I'm stronger than that."

"And you think you can do that using this ridiculous scheme against Malfoy? I never thought I'd say this, but you should leave Malfoy alone. Whatever he's done, he doesn't deserve to be pulled into your twisted games just for your sense of satisfaction."

"That's not what this is, Harry. He stole a part of me. He's in my head, always in my head. I can't think anymore. I've got to show him I won't just let him walk all over me like that." Harry sighed.

"It's like an obsession to you, Hermione. It's not healthy. You're pushing us all away. You're already losing Ron and if you keep up the way you're going to lose me too." Hermione blinked at Harry in shock. "Just give up. Can't you see it's not doing you any good, this stupid mission of yours," He begged. "Malfoy's not worth it." Hermione gazed cooly at the black haired boy with a small smile on her lips until Harry had the impression she hadn't been truly listening to a single word he had been saying. Finally she broke the silence.

"You're right Harry . . . How's Ginny, by the way? I haven't seen her lately."

"She's – she's fine, I guess," he stuttered, caught off guard by the sudden change in topic. Hermione's smile deepened.

"Good," she muttered. "That's good to hear." With one last look she swept past him and towards the door. If Harry had muttered a goodbye, Hermione had failed to hear it. Ideas were ticking through her head, ideas of the ball, the hall, Malfoy and Harry. Yet despite these distractions, Harry's words had still struck deep. They filled her with a bubbling anger that she was worried would overtake her.

It was only when she was back in her own common room that she allowed herself to breathe deeply once again. She smelt the exotic scent of spices that all Malfoy's clothes seemed to carry as she walked through the portrait door. He stood as she entered but she interrupted before he could speak.

"I want you to kiss me, Draco." There was a smile on his lips, a hint of amusement.

"Why?"

"Does there have to be a reason?" She touched him when he approached, wanting to feel the person beneath the clothes and sarcasm. For some strange reason, she expected him to crumple or fall back under her touch but instead he pressed closer, muscle and bone and beating heart, like a rock she could cling onto. Perhaps she was obsessed, perhaps it was the only way she could deal with the situation she was in, but it made her feel in control.

"You make me stronger," she whispered, burying her head against his neck, unsure what she meant by it or whether it was even true.

When they kissed, she thought she realised what it was Malfoy felt when her skin met his. Inside the kiss she couldn't feel much of anything but a weightlessness, a freedom from her own thoughts, the heat of something beyond herself, but also at the very centre of her being. It was intoxicating.

Later, they lay side by side on the sofa. She curled up beside him, listening to his steady breathing until she was sure he was asleep.

"You are in control, Hermione,"she whispered to herself. "They're his feelings." In the semi darkness of the night she could almost believe it was true.

A.N. Another very late chapter, so I feel I have to apologise. I am always hopelessly bad at writing half a chapter in good time and then becoming distracted by other matters, or uninspired, or I just forget about the chapter all together. Anyway, here it is.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. I think the story has passed the 100 review marker, which is a first for me :D! It always makes my day to receive a review and I try to reply to every review I get. If I haven't replied to you then I may have just simply missed you out by accident. Thanks also to everyone who favourited this story :)

I have had a few people saying they don't like this slightly evil Hermione. Without spoiling anything, I just want to reassure you that it doesn't last forever, but there are definitely going to be a few twists around the corner.

Finally, a quick thank you to those who very kindly offered to beta for me. I did promise a few people that I would send this chapter to them to be beta read but I thought that I had left the update so long that it would be better to post this chapter straight away so no one would have to wait any longer.

Anyway, please let me know what you thought of the chapter,

Anna