XII. Emotionally Attached

Hermione flipped over again and groaned.

She'd been tossing and turning for at least an hour. She couldn't stop thinking about what had happened.

Lord Voldemort had come back to life. She believed Harry entirely—there was no reason not to. If he said that the Dark Lord had risen and murdered Cedric Diggory, then it had to be the truth. It was so hard to believe that one of her classmates had really died. It made Voldemort seem so much more substantial to her, more real. It was as if she'd been in denial that he'd existed, as though she hadn't really understood what it would mean for him to return. At least, not until one of her classmates lay on the ground, eyes still wide open.

She had caught a glimpse of him before they ushered all the students back, and now she couldn't rid her mind of that image. It filled her head every time she closed her mind, and she was terrified. What would happen to her if she saw Harry or Ron like that? She'd never felt more worried for Harry's life.

She rolled over again and clutched the covers tightly to her.

How could any of the others sleep? She could hear Lavender's light snoring on her right and Fay Dunbar's even breathing on her left.

Frustrated, she sat up and looked at the drapes hanging around her four-poster bed. She pushed them aside and put her legs down over the side, sliding her feet into her slippers. The other drapes were unmoving, and the room was quiet.

She walked out of her bedroom and into the empty Gryffindor Common Room. She stared at the dying embers in the fireplace.

She was scared for the future. If Voldemort was alive, then all Muggle-borns were especially in danger. That meant her. As much as she'd reassured Ron that she wasn't afraid, she was terrified. Harry had been in too much shock to think about Hermione's blood status.

Suddenly she felt like she had to escape. Even though she was already alone, she felt like she couldn't get away from images of Harry and Ron and all the others watching from the couches. She exited the common room through the portrait hole, earning several complaints from a disgruntled Fat Lady.

She wandered the dark hallways aimlessly and soundlessly, not bothering to light her wand. It didn't matter that Filch prowled the hallways at night and would love to give her a detention. After seeing the face of a dead classmate, detentions seemed so unimportant, so insignificant.

Then she heard footsteps and stopped walking, turning to back up silently against the wall. Maybe whoever it was would just pass right by.

No such luck.

"Lumos."

A bit of light glowed from the tip of a wand.

"Malfoy?"

He scowled. "Forgot my name already, Hermione?" he asked pointedly.

She looked down, avoiding his eyes. "Malfoy, I really don't think we should keep this up," she mumbled.

"Why would you want to end something like this?" he asked, stepping closer to her.

"And what exactly do you think this is?"

"What do you think it is? It's magic."

Hermione shook her head. "Magic? Merlin, either I heard you wrong, or you've gone mad. It—the first time never should have happened. You shouldn't have—"

"Me? If I remember correctly, you asked for it. You jumped me."

She glared at him. "I did not!" she hissed. "You worked me up into it."

"You could have walked away. I completely intended to leave you in that room," he said. "But you made me stay. And now that I've had you, you're not going anywhere. You're mine. You got that?"

"I'm not yours," she spat.

"Hermione, Hermione. We just had a breakthrough earlier today. Didn't I tell you I'd punish you if you played hard to get again?"

"I'm not," said Hermione. "Voldemort—he's back. I just don't—"

"How does his return affect anything between us?"

She stared at him. "How does it not affect us?"

"We're kids. I doubt he cares about two kids fucking around."

"Your father—he's a Death Eater, wasn't he? I'm on Harry's side. We can't—"

Malfoy let his wand clatter to the ground, still lit, and put his hand over her mouth. He was right in front of her now.

"Why are you out so late, my good Gryffindor girl?" he asked, changing the subject.

"I couldn't sleep. Look, Malfoy, I—"

He shook his head. "Why couldn't you sleep?"

She sighed.

"Let me guess," he said when she didn't reply. "You're scared because you're a Muggle-born."

She shook her head but didn't say anything.

"Hermione, look at me."

She kept her eyes on the ground, but he placed his fingers under her chin and tilted her face up. Her eyes found his, and the image before her took her breath away.

She hadn't looked so closely at his face before. Even the previous times when they'd been intimate, she hadn't paid so much attention to his eyes. They were dark grey at the moment, swirling deep pools of grey. She found that she couldn't look away. She was sinking in, unable to pull herself out. Then she realized, fearfully, that she didn't want to pull herself out anymore.

"Merlin, save me," she breathed.

"Trust me. Nothing can happen to you. We're at Hogwarts, after all. Don't be afraid."

She blinked. "Why are you trying to comfort me?"

"Because you won't be as good a shag if you're moping," he said, smirking.

She glared at him.

"What, you don't honestly think I care about you, do you?"

"Of course I don't. I'm trying to find out why you're doing this," said Hermione. "After hating me for almost four whole years, it's impossible that you'd actually care about me."

Draco's smirk faded. "What if I said I do? Would that scare you?"

"I wouldn't believe you."

He shrugged. "I don't blame you. I wouldn't believe me either."

They stood in silence for a while. She started to move to the side to get away from him, but he placed his hands on the wall on either side of her head, trapping her.

"Malfoy, let me go."

"No."

She sighed. "Please? I just want to go back to Gryffindor Tower and get to bed."

"Why? You won't be able to sleep anyway. Why waste your time tossing and turning when you could be here, with me?"

He ground his hips gently against her, and she felt a familiar heat building between her legs.

She pulled out her wand and held it up between them, slanted toward him. "Malfoy, don't make me hex you."

"You know, it hurts my feelings when my girl refuses to call me by my name."

"I'm not yours," said Hermione. "Now get away from me, before I hex you."

He grinned. "You wouldn't. I know you, Hermione. If you were going to hex me, you would've done it already. You don't really want me to leave. I know what you want."

Before she could retort, his lips pressed against hers, and her eyes fluttered shut. She had had a hex in mind before, but what was it? She welcomed the mind-numbing sensation that filled her up and slipped her tongue out to taste his lips. She was aware of his hand resting gently on hers. It slipped up and pulled her wand out of her hand, letting it fall to the ground.

He broke the kiss and pressed his forehead against hers. She opened her eyes to see his hovering only a few centimeters away. They were a smoky grey, clouded with lust.

"Hermione," he whispered, "you can try to deny it all you want, but your body knows that it's mine."

She shuddered as his hands ran down her sides, following her light curves.

"Things… they've changed since earlier today," she said quietly. "We can't do this anymore, Malfoy."

He nibbled at her neck, and she trembled as sinful desire blossomed in her chest. She wanted him again. She felt wetness growing between her legs and hated herself for responding that way. This was the son of a Death Eater—Harry had seen Malfoy Sr. at the graveyard that night.

"Please stop," she pleaded in a tortured whisper.

He started unbuttoning her pajama shirt, his lips trailing down her neck to her collarbone.

"Stop me, then," he retorted between kisses.

His breath was hot on her skin, and she couldn't breathe normally. She bit her lip and placed her hands on his shoulders with the intention of pushing him away. But she didn't want the feeling to end. She didn't want to be alone. Maybe she could just… just one last time…

She let her hands run across his broad shoulders, and then brought them up to stroke his silky hair. He groaned in approval, his lips moving farther downward. She tugged his head up and kissed him fiercely, letting out all of her frustration and fear in that kiss. She ravaged his mouth, and he seemed taken aback by her aggression, backing up slightly. She stepped forward, her hands fisted in his hair, making sure that their lips stayed connected.

"Her—mm—" he tried to speak around her tongue.

She backed up for a second.

"Malfoy, stop talking before I change my mind. Now kiss me," she said seductively.

If he was surprised by her sudden change of heart, he didn't show it, attacking her lips with his. She stripped him of his shirt, craving the feel of his smooth skin under her fingertips. She broke their kiss and slid her lips along his jaw, down his neck, to his chest.

"Hermione, we should get in a room or something. Filch might—"

Hermione bit down on his left pectoral and sucked, and he gasped, cutting himself off midsentence. She licked the bite mark and backed up to look at him. He stooped and picked up his shirt and their wands before shoving her toward a room a bit farther down the hall.

She held the door open for him and then closed and locked it. She turned around to see him not even an inch away from her, and she backed into the door, surprised. His hands finished unbuttoning her pajama top and pushed it off her shoulders while his lips and tongue kept her amply distracted.

This was blissful. How could it be wrong to want a heavenly feeling like this?

She sucked on his lower lip and loved the desperate groan that ripped out of his throat. He wanted her as much as she wanted him.

If she was his, then he was hers.

Then he pressed up against her, letting her feel his obvious arousal, and she was suddenly in a hurry to get both of them out of their clothes. She removed her bra and took off her panties and pajama bottoms together. He kicked off his shoes and socks and then took off his pants.

She pulled him close to kiss him as he removed his boxers and tossed them to the side. His hands caressed her sides, and she pressed up against him, reveling in the heat that coursed through her when her bare chest came into contact with his. Her wetness was already dripping down her legs, and she hitched one of them around his waist to pull him closer to her.

He gasped when her wet center pressed against the tip of his cock, and she grinned, swirling her hips around a bit to tease him.

He growled and lifted her other leg, wrapping it around his waist. Then he thrust into her, and she cried out in ecstasy.

"Oh god—yes—yes—yes!" she cried, throwing her head back as he picked up the pace.

This time felt more intense than the times before, maybe because they were both completely naked for the first time. She felt her breasts bouncing up and down, brushing against his chest as he thrust into her repeatedly. She couldn't stop her cries of pleasure. She didn't care anymore whether or not they got caught—this was so, so worth it.

"Fuck, Granger. Just come already," he grunted in a strained voice, reaching one hand down to rub her clit as he continued to shove into her. "I don't think—I can last—"

Then tremors shook her whole body as she flew over the edge, and she let out a scream that drowned out his words. He shouted as he reached his release, and she felt herself convulsing around him, milking out his seed.

He was panting, trying to catch his breath, hair plastered to his forehead by sweat. He still had her pressed up against the wall, still hadn't pulled out of her. She lifted her hands from around him to brush the hair away from his face, and then she leaned forward slightly to kiss his lips softly.

"Thank you," she murmured.

She looked at his eyes and saw confusion. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"I… I don't know," said Hermione.

He smirked. "Still think we shouldn't do this anymore?"

"This was the last time," she said firmly.

"You think you can go on without ever feeling that anymore?"

She could already feel doubt growing in her mind, but she was determined not to let him break down her resolve.

"Yes, I can."

Then she inadvertently shifted her hips a little and felt him hardening again inside her.

He groaned. "Bloody hell. You can't possibly not want this."

His hips surged forward and she felt herself getting wetter with desire again. He was fully erect again already.

She bit back a moan.

He leaned forward and breathed in her ear, "Do you really want it to be over? Really? If you say yes, I'll go right now."

He traced the shell of her ear with his tongue and she shuddered.

"What's it gonna be?"

His hips rocked against hers again, and her breath caught in her throat.

"Malfoy, honestly. We can't possibly—"

"Just tell me. Do you want me to leave right now or not?"

She turned her head away. She didn't want to give in, but he was right. There was something about the feelings that she had when they were together that she didn't want to lose. She felt as though no one else would ever be able to pleasure her the way he did.

He shifted again, more urgently this time, and she gasped.

"Stay," she whispered, even as her mind screamed for her to tell him to leave.

His face lit up, and their lips met. He pulled out of her, and she whined in disappointment. He backed away from the door, her legs still wrapped around his waist, and carried her over to a desk, setting her down on top of it.

"Malfoy, we need to—" she began, but when he shoved back into her, her brains were effectively scrambled.

"We can talk later," he grunted, thrusting into her again.

She could only nod in reply.

A few minutes later, they both lay on the ground of the classroom. He was on his back, and she lay partially on his chest, resting her head on his shoulder. Her left hand was flat on his bare chest. Their breathing fell into the same rhythm, and she felt like she'd never been that peaceful before.

Just as she thought she was going to fall asleep, Malfoy spoke.

"This is not going to end here," he said.

"No," she whispered. "No, it's not."

He replied, satisfied, "Good."

"We should establish some rules, though."

"I'm listening."

"Well… obviously, no one can know about this."

He chuckled and agreed, "Obviously."

"We… we can't fall for each other," she said.

Draco smirked. "Nothing to worry about on my side. No way I'd fall for a Mudblood. You're just a good fuck. Don't get it in your head that there's anything else."

She gritted her teeth. "I could still leave now."

"No, you couldn't."

She hated that he was right. Instead of retorting, she continued, "So, we can't get emotionally attached. We have to figure out a way to meet up. You can't just catch me off-guard like this."

"Spontaneity is great."

"But I—well I won't be wandering around in the dark often."

"I know. We'll have to come up with something."

"Actually… we're leaving Hogwarts in a few days. Maybe we should just…"

"What? Let this end? You don't want to pick this up next year?" Malfoy asked.

"I… I…"

She pounded his chest once with her fist.

"I hate you."

He laughed. "I hate you, too. Believe me."

He lifted her hand and started kissing each of her fingertips, sending shivers up her arm.

"I just can't seem to leave you alone, though," he added when his lips left her thumb and he replaced her hand on his chest.

"We probably won't have time to meet again before summer holiday," said Hermione.

She felt a pang of disappointment in her chest and frowned at herself. Here she was, lying with the son of a Death Eater, feeling disappointed that she wouldn't be able to shag him over the summer. She needed to be checked into a mental facility. Maybe they could send her to St. Mungo's.

"No, probably not."

He suddenly shifted and rolled over so that he was on top of her, and she looked up at him, eyes wide with surprise.

"We should get busy then, so we'll be able to last a couple months."

"But Malfoy—" Hermione began, but she stopped when his eyes narrowed, discontent. "Draco, then." He appeared satisfied. "Draco, we should get back to our rooms."

"My mates are all asleep. They won't wake till morning. Bit of sleeping potion took care of that."

"But my roommates—"

"Just forget everything. Right now, it's just you and me. We're the only two people in the world. And we've got all the time we need."

"Draco, honestly—"

His lips crashed down on hers, and she clamped her mouth shut, refusing to give in so easily. She wasn't quite finished listing rules… but then again, she couldn't think of anything else to add. His hands explored her body, becoming familiar with her soft curves. She gasped when he started rubbing one of her nipples, and his tongue slipped into her mouth. As soon as she tasted his tongue, her control fell apart. She squirmed under his touch and began exploring his body as he was hers.

He dropped his head so that his lips hovered by her ear and whispered words that sent chills through her.

"I'm never going to let you go. You'll never be rid of me."

Hermione slowly opened her eyes and remembered that he was gone. Oh, how she wished that she could never be rid of him. But he was gone, and she was still here.

She hated sinking into memories about him, hated tricking herself into feeling that he was still there. But she couldn't stop, because it was the only way she could hear his voice, feel his touch, see his face.

Luna was still lying in bed, breathing peacefully. Hermione sat up slowly and noted that Ginny had already left for work. She crawled out of bed and got dressed, then packed up her knapsack.

When she opened her bedroom door, Blaise was already standing on her landing, waiting for her.

"Why didn't you wake me?" she asked.

"You took a long time to fall asleep last night, so I figured I'd give you some extra time."

"I thought I gave you orders to go to sleep."

"Well, I couldn't fall asleep. I was trying, I promise."

Hermione shook her head and silently led the way downstairs. They exited Grimmauld Place, and she was suddenly at a loss. Would they just go straight to the Manor from here?

"Is there anywhere you want to stop before we report to Bellatrix?" Blaise asked, as though he'd read her mind.

"I… no. Let's just go."

"Let me take you. I don't want you to splinch yourself."

Hermione rolled her eyes at him but didn't protest as he gripped her arm tightly and Disapparated. They reappeared in a small living room, and she jerked her head to the right to glare at him.

"Why are we here?" she demanded.

"It's where you wanted to go, isn't it?"

She hated how he could read her like a book. "Blaise, please don't do this to me."

He frowned. "What am I doing to you?"

She just shook her head and moved to sit down on the couch. He took a few steps toward her, stopping in front of her.

"Hermione?" he prodded gently.

"I don't know what you're doing to me, but it has to stop," she whispered.

Blaise sat down next to her, and she started to shift away from him, but he looped an arm around her and pulled her into his arms.

"Calm down. You're just tired."

"No, I'm not," she protested.

But she did feel tired, even after a full night's sleep. She felt too tired to push him away, too frazzled to focus on anything—he'd been right to take her by Side-Along Apparition.

"Hermione, maybe you should stop worrying about revenge. Don't start arguing with me yet, just listen. I've known Draco for a very long time and I know he'd want Potter dead for killing him. But he really loved you. And I know better than pretty much anyone that he'd rather see you happy than stressed out over something like revenge."

"Well, the thing is, he can't see me anymore, so it wouldn't make a difference," said Hermione.

"You don't know that," Blaise said softly. "You don't know what happens after death. What if he does still see you?"

"It's not like you know what happens after death."

"Fine, fine. I don't want to get into an argument about what's on the other side of the veil. But don't you think you should do what he would have wanted you to do?"

"You don't even know whether or not he wanted me to get revenge." She paused before adding, "Why are you trying to persuade me to give up on revenge, anyway? I thought you hated Harry and Ron. I thought you wanted revenge, too."

"Again, I'm doing what Draco would have wanted me to do. And the last thing he told me to do was to take care of you. That means your happiness is more important than killing anyone, even if it is Potter. Besides, he is—or at least, he was—your best friend. Don't you think there's at least a tiny part of you that is still concerned about him?"

Hermione placed both of her palms flat against his chest and pushed, and he finally released her. She immediately stood up and backed a few steps away from the couch, away from him.

"I'm sorry. If you really want to keep—"

"You don't understand, Blaise," she said quietly. "The only thing that's been keeping me going is the thought that once Voldemort is dead, the war will be over. And I'll be free to get my revenge. That's one of the only things that's holding me up. He may have been my best friend, but don't tell me to forgive him. He killed Draco."

Blaise bolted to his feet, and Hermione didn't have to use the connection between them to tell that she'd hit a nerve.

"Forgive him? Forgive the bloody bastard? I know he killed Draco. Draco wasn't just your lover, he was my best mate! I'm telling you not to worry about it because I care about what Draco would have wanted! Do you honestly think I want to stand in that dingy old kitchen and listen to him giving orders? If I had my way, Potter would be dead already!"

Hermione took another step back from him and turned away. "Let's just go. I don't want to fight."

"Oh, now you're running away again. Typical."

"Typical? When have I ever run away?" she demanded, turning back to face him.

"You're always running away, Hermione."

It looked like he wanted to say more, but he clenched his jaw and stopped himself.

"What? What were you going to say? Just spit it out so we can get this over with."

"No. Let's go."

"That was a command."

Blaise glared at her, but the words left his mouth against his will. "At first, when Bellatrix told us we wouldn't be working together, I actually felt disappointed. But now I think that it'd probably be better for us if we worked apart for a while."

"You know what? I think you're right. I'm sick of seeing your face every single day."

"Oh, yeah? You think you've got it bad? I see your face every time I fucking close my eyes."

Hermione looked at him in disbelief. "You—what?"

"Yeah, that's right. I can't do anything without being reminded that I belong to you. Do you have any idea what that feels like?"

"You're not lying, are you?"

"Do I look like I'm lying?"

Hermione took a deep breath. She hadn't noticed much of a difference in their connection, but it must have been because she was the owner. She had no idea what kind of an effect the potion had had on Blaise, and he'd only said that not much had changed. She must not have said specifically to tell the truth when she asked him—she'd learned over the past few months that if she didn't give a specific command, he could glaze over details.

She turned to look at him, but he'd walked over to the window, looking at the designs on the curtain.

"Blaise… I'm sorry."

He shook his head but didn't turn to face her when he replied. "I shouldn't have lost control like that," he said in a subdued voice. "Let's just go to the Manor—forget what I said."

"No Blaise, I mean it. I'm sorry. But you should have told—"

"And what good would that have done, telling you? You felt guilty enough already, and it's not your fault they have a sick sense of humor. I didn't want to—I shouldn't have—forget it. Just forget it."

She walked over to him, but he still didn't turn to face her. She stepped in front of him and tried to catch his attention, but his eyes were avoiding hers.

"Blaise, look at me."

He sighed, and finally his eyes met hers.

A flash of grey.

Hermione jumped and backed into the window.

"Bloody hell!" Blaise exclaimed, grabbing her arms in case she jumped again. "What's gotten into you?"

She was staring at him, wide-eyed, but those eyes were clearly brown. Very, very clearly brown. She was going mad. That was the only explanation.

"What's wrong, Hermione? Tell me. You're scaring me."

"N—nothing," she muttered.

She tried to shrug his hands off her arms, but his grip tightened.

"I can tell something's wrong. You're obviously upset."

"I'm not upset," said Hermione, sighing. "I'm just… just what you said. Tired. Let's just report to Bellatrix and get it over with."

Maybe it would be best to get away from Blaise for a while. She missed Draco so much, but it wasn't right, projecting him onto Blaise.

Blaise sighed and released her, walking away from the window. "Yeah, all right. Let's go."

She felt a stab of disappointment that he'd given in so easily. Then, as though he'd felt it too—and she realized with a jolt that with their connection, he probably had—he turned back around to face her.

"I don't understand you," he said.

"What do you mean?"

"When I try to show you that I care about you, you get frustrated and upset, and you start running away. But then when I decide to let you deal with it on your own, you're… disappointed." He shook his head. "I don't know what you want."

Hermione looked down. "I don't really know either," she mumbled.

Then his hands pulled her to him, and he held her to his chest.

"Just let me take care of you, Hermione," he said softly. "Let me share all your suffering, all your worries. Don't bottle it up inside. It's going to drive you nuts."

"Nuttier than I am now?" Hermione joked.

"Funny as that is, I'm being serious."

"Blaise, I can't."

"I'm not asking for you to be my girlfriend. I just—"

"That's not—it's not your problem. I can't seem to stop…" she let her voice fade away.

"Stop what?"

She shook her head and started to push him away, but his arms tightened around her, crushing her to his chest. She closed her eyes and felt like he was everywhere—his scent invaded her nose, the sound of his heartbeat filled her ears. It shouldn't have felt so good to be held by him like that.

"Hermione, I know already. I don't understand why you can't just tell me."

"You—what do you think you know?" she mumbled against his chest.

"That sometimes, when you look at me, you see him."

She thought her heart had stopped. He did know. How long had he known?

"Hermione, it's okay. I don't care. It doesn't matter how you see me. All that matters is that I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere."

She couldn't trust her voice anymore. What are you trying to say?

"Nothing more than I've already said," he murmured. "I will be here for you, Hermione. And not just because Draco said so. Because I want to be."

But that isn't fair to you.

"That only matters if it matters to you. I already told you—I don't care."

Blaise, I don't think—

Blaise sighed. "Hermione, please don't fight me on this. It's my choice whether or not I want to be there for you. Whether you own me or not, you can't tell me whether or not to care about you. You can't control my emotions."

His words hung in the silence between them.

When she felt she could speak again, Hermione said, "Let go of me."

His arms fell away from her. She took a step back.

"Let's go to the Manor now," she said.

There was no doubt that that was an order.

"At least let me take you there," said Blaise.

She nodded, and he took her hand. She ignored the tingles that shot up her arm at his touch. This had to stop.

A few minutes later, they were standing in the study at the Manor; a house elf had let them in.

Bellatrix appeared in the doorway.

"Well, that was quicker than I'd expected. The Dark Lord will be here any moment now. He will give you both direct orders this time."

She swept back out of the room.

You feel really sad right now, Blaise observed. It's bringing me down too, you know.

Hermione didn't respond.

You don't have to talk to me, but please don't be so sad.

Stop talking to me.

He was silent, and she glanced over at him to see that he'd turned away from her. Just as she was about to apologize, the door swung open, and Voldemort glided in.

"Granger, how nice it is, to see you again," he said.

Hermione knelt. "It's been a while, My Lord."

"Stand, both of you."

She and Blaise got back to their feet.

"How can we serve you?" Hermione asked.

"I am leaving on a short trip, and I am taking with me a… companion. Unfortunately, you will have to stay behind," said Voldemort.

Hermione nodded.

"Why are you choosing me?" Blaise asked.

"Do not question me," said Voldemort curtly. "Granger, you are to stay here and follow orders from Bellatrix."

"Yes, My Lord."

"Good. Boy, follow me."

Blaise followed him toward the exit silently.

Voldemort paused by the door. "Granger, I don't doubt that you've already discovered and used extensively the bond between you and your slave."

Hermione had to resist flinching when he said the word.

"On this mission," he continued, "you are not to communicate with him. I will be monitoring his mind. Do not disobey me."

Hermione nodded. "I won't, My Lord."

Voldemort left the room, and Blaise followed without a backward glance.

She watched him exit and wished that she had had a chance to apologize.

Author's Note: Please review! It makes me feel better :)