HUNTED

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Chapter 25: Submission.

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She released a frustrated growl as she read the last line of the letter and hurled it away from her like it burned. She threw aside the covers, standing from the bed to pace his floorboards with agitated steps; her hands fisting in her unruly locks as her face scrunched in pure fury.

"For fuck's sake!" she shouted, her voice shaking with her ire. "This is ridiculous!"

"Calm yourself, Granger," he warned, eyeing her movements as he also stood. "You need-

"Don't tell me to be calm!" she retorted, tossing her arms in the air and shooting him a heated glance. "Don't you dare tell me to calm down when that has just been sent to you-

"Well, having a bitch-fit isn't going to help," he remarked, trying to grab her to hold her still, but she avoided his reach. "Stop pacing!"

"No!" she yelled, swatting away his hands as she continued to fidget around the bedroom. "You weren't supposed to get any letters-

"Then clearly Pucey was wrong," he scowled as she yet avoided another attempt to catch her arms. "Stop bloody moving, Granger!"

"I can't believe this!" she ranted, screaming to herself now instead of him. "This is just a sick joke for-

"Stop!" he barked, finally managing to snatch one of her hands. "You're overreacting!"

She slapped him. Hard. And the sharp sound rang loudly in his ears as the throbbing buzz harassed his cheek. In a second, he had her small frame pushed against his wall with her hands pressed stiffly at her sides as he brought his face close to hers.

"Too far," he snarled, his breath smacking against her mouth. "I don't give a shit how angry-

But she quickly cut him off with a kiss so desperate it bruised.. It was obvious as her teeth scratched at his lips, and he released her arms for her to claw at his hair. He could feel her frustration, her need for an outlet. She had no desire for tenderness or consoling assurances with precious pecks of affection. No. She needed a fuck. Something primal and strong. And he needed it too.

Instinct and blood alone made him hard and he quickly hiked up her navy robe and dug his fingertips into her thighs as she cocooned his hips with her legs. He could feel her damp lust through his boxers and he ground his crotch into her, rearing them back for a second before roughly slamming her back against the wall, relishing the sound of the thud.

He did that again and it sounded like battle drums, as though preparing them for war instead of sex. And when she tore away his shirt and her fingernails coaxed blood from his back, he knew the bangs were appropriate.

"Now," she demanded, her hot breath lingering against his lips.

With a grunt, he shoved his hand between them and pushed down his boxers, just enough so his stretch of muscle could escape. He reached for her then, just gliding his thumb along her slit to encourage a hiss of approval before he gathered the flimsy material of her underwear to one side.

He hastily bucked into her, a groan tearing through his throat as her walls dragged him in deeper. She was tighter than normal from the lack of foreplay, and she was sinfully sodden. He didn't bother building a pace, just succumbing to his feral urge to pound into her with bestial thrusts.

He could taste blood in his mouth from where he must have split her lip with a bite. Or maybe it was his blood. It didn't matter. All that registered was the electric heat gripping his length and her carnal moans stuttering in his mouth.

The battle drums had barely played five minutes when he felt her begin to undulate around him, tearing her face away from his to arch her back against the wall and sing a shuddering score of screams.

Seven more powerful pumps into her still-spasming walls and the painfully sweet bliss thundered out of his loins and flooded her hollow. They collapsed to the floor, her clenching him tightly as their loud and ragged breaths clashed between them. He moved his head to rest against her shoulder, absently licking her ear as he swallowed back a snarl of satisfaction.

"Better?" he hummed against her sweat-clad throat.

"Much," she exhaled, nuzzling his cheek and nipping at his jawline. "I'm sorry for slapping you."

He gave her a small snort of amusement. "Well, at least you didn't break my nose this time."

"When did I-

"Third year."

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Hermione read the words again. And then again. She slowly raised her eyes to Draco's blank expression with concern and silently wished she was as skilled at hiding her emotions. She'd read these words before, and they promised death despite the almost cordial invitation.

No, not invitations. Ultimatums.

She suppressed a shiver and gathered Draco's sheets a little tighter around herself as he sat near her feet, watching her face intently.

"He wants to meet you in Knockturn Alley," she commented with a low tone, handing the letter back to him. "Isn't that a little obvious?"

"It doesn't specify where," he shrugged, and she wanted to scold him for being so casual about this. "I'm assuming he just takes your presence as a sign that you want to continue and then sends more letters. I doubt there's an actual introduction. That would just be stupid."

"That's true," she agreed, pursing her lips in thought. "So what do you want to do?"

"I think I should go," he stated with another blasé shrug, as though it was obvious.

"Are you serious?" she gawked at him, squinting when he gave her stern nod. "Draco, you can't."

"Why the hell not?" he scowled, shifting on the bed. "I might spot him-

"You have no idea who it could be-

"Wrong," he stopped her. "I know it's Montague-

"No," she said, pushing her dishevelled curls out of her face. "You think it's Montague, but you're basing that on a childhood grudge."

"Whatever," he scoffed, cocking an eyebrow when Crookshanks wandered into the room. "Still, I could recognise someone-

"Most of the people in Knockturn Alley are going to look dodgey," she pointed out as her ginger pet settled in the space between them.

"I still might notice something," he insisted, giving the cat his customary cold look.

"It could be a trap, Draco," she told him, her face serious and concentrated as she spoke. "In fact, I'm positive it's a trap! Have you forgotten what Adrian Pucey said to you? You shouldn't even have any letters because you are an obvious liability-

"But-

"If you'd had a letter before we came out as a couple," she continued, brushing aside his attempt to interrupt. "Then maybe it would have been an idea for you to go, but you are in a public relationship with a Muggle-born, and quite a famous one in case you hadn't noticed-

"If you do say so yourself," he muttered sarcastically.

"And," she ignored him. "It's public knowledge that you are one of the head investigators on the case so, unless this guy's been living in a cave, there is no way he couldn't know that-

"You're rambling-

"Also," she carried on with her rant, waving her hands around now to elaborate her point. "He probably knows you, Draco, and he's probably guessed that you would go and see what would happen-

"Granger-

"No," she finalised, slicing the air with her hand. "No way. It's obviously a trap and if you go, you would be playing right into his hand and that's just stupid, Draco-

"Alright!" he huffed, but a smirk was tugging at his lips as he regarded her. It was amazing what a quick shag could do. "Never thought I'd say this but it's good see your inner-bitch back, Granger."

She forced an offended look onto her worn features, but the flush that stole her cheeks made it less convincing. She realised then that she felt guilty, and not just for one thing. She felt like her tears should still be pouring for Penelope, and the pause in her mourning felt like betrayal.

She also felt like she had been nothing but Draco's burden for the last week between her secrets and breakdowns. She was furious with the way she had reacted yesterday, disappointed with her unprofessional behaviour and cowardly actions. She'd been around more death by the age of eighteen than most people would see in their average lives, and yet she'd had a panic attack.

Perhaps it had been the proximity of Penelope's corpse, or maybe it had just been the trauma of being covered in her friend's blood. But she knew it was likely that the events of the past few weeks had finally caught up with her, and her body and brain had failed to handle it.

"It feels strange," she told him softly, nervously petting Crookshanks. "To enjoy having an argument with you when she's barely been dead a day."

He cringed.

"Its been a...bad week," she murmured, tilting her head to one side. "Awful actually-

"Relax, Granger," he offered, deciding it was best to keep her distracted.

"I don't want anyone else to die," she whispered, her voice breaking a little. "I feel like such an idiot. When I was younger, I thought that once Voldemort was gone it would be the end of all this blood purity shit, but it's really not. He'll have been dead five years in May, and people are still getting killed for the same reasons."

He didn't know what to say to that because it was true. Yes, things had improved but they were far from perfect, and the world was deluded if they saw otherwise. Prejudices and racism weren't eradicated just because one dictator had been dealt with. He knew enough about Muggle and Wizard history to know that Voldemort hadn't been the first racist with a lust for blood and he certainly wouldn't be the last. It was inevitable.

He released a tired sigh when he realised how easily he could have turned into one of those people. How he'd been designed to be one of those people. And here he was, sharing his home and l...lust...well, more than lust...with someone who he had once wished dead.

Hypocrisy is such a ball-buster. Oddly comforting though.

"What do you suggest we do about the letter then?" he asked, gesturing to the parchment with hopes of drawing her away from her lament. Her expression twitched into a tenacious mask that looked far more at home than sadness, and he secretly applauded himself for successfully diverting her blue thoughts. And for releasing some of her frustration earlier.

"I need to release a statement to the press," she explained, ignoring his sceptical glance. "He obviously wants the letters to remain quiet so if we make them public knowledge it might aggravate him-

"You want to aggravate a psychopath?" he drawled in that stoic tone that suited him so well.

"I know it sounds rash," she conceded with a subtle frown. "But he's more likely to mess up if he's pissed off. We've tried everything else."

He considered her with his ash-grey stare before he gave a her a slow nod of agreement. "Alright," he exhaled, knowing she would be able to hear his doubt. "Your call, Granger."

"Okay," she graced him with a whisper of a smile. "I'll send some owls tomorrow and release a statement on Monday-

"Monday?" he repeated, giving her a disapproving glare. "I don't think you should go into work on Monday-

"Then what would you have me do?" she questioned, removing Crookshanks from her lap and setting him down. "Wallow here alone?"

"Nobody would judge you for having a day off," he remarked. "You're upset-

"I'm angry," she corrected, only just registering it herself. "And that's when I work best."

"Fine," he yielded, waving a dismissive hand at her. "If you say so, Granger."

"I need to figure out how he got into my house," she muttered suddenly, creasing her brow with thought.

"Could be a few things," he said, rising from the bed to stretch his limbs. "He could have known Clearwater or just spent a lot of time breaking your wards. My personal guess is he's used Legilimency on you so he knows how you cast your wards. Remember you told me you felt like someone was rooting around your brain?"

"I guess you're right," she breathed with a small grimace. "Does that mean your house might not be safe?"

"Snape started teaching me Occlumency when I was thirteen," he explained, heading out of the room. "All of the thoughts in my head are safe. I'm going to get some coffee."

"I'm going to see Ron and Harry tomorrow," she blurted quickly, and he paused his exit. "I know they haven't been brilliant these last few weeks-

"Massive understatement-

"But I miss them," she confessed with a tired sigh. "And I need them right now."

There was something loudly disconcerting about hearing his girlfriend state that she needed two other men, but he reminded himself that he had known of their intense friendship when he had first started to pursue Hermione. Still, it had been nice having her to himself for the last few weeks without any interference from Immortal Git and the ginger tumour firmly attached to his side, even if it did sometimes dampen affect mood.

"And?" he questioned, not trusting himself to say anything else.

"I just thought I should tell you," she murmured. "I'll visit them tomorrow-

"No," he hushed her, pausing to frown. "If you go to the Hole, or whatever Weasley's bloody dump is called, then you're doing exactly what he asked-

"I'm not going to stay there for long," she reasoned. "Just until we have sorted something out-

"That could take hours," he glowered, his words laced with contempt. "And then he'll tell you to stay the night-

"No he won't-

"Too right he won't," he spat, giving her a pointed look. "Because you're not going to the Hole."

"It's called the Burrow," she muttered, rolling her tawny eyes. "Fine then, I'll ask them to meet me at a café or something-

"Also stupid," he said, folding his arms across his chest. "The press will be all over you because they'll know that there's been another murder by now, and that it happened in your home."

She sucked in a breath. Sometimes, she really hated his blunt attitude. "Right," she pushed the word past her tense lips. "Then where exactly do you suggest I meet them?"

He hesitated and looked away from her, muttering something inaudible to himself and balling his fists. She'd seen this routine before and knew it meant he was preparing to say something that he'd decided was too...well...anti-Malfoy.

"Tell them to come here," he mumbled finally and she barely concealed her gasp. "I want to be able to reach you if I have to, and I'm sure their wards won't be particularly welcoming to me."

"I didn't think you'd want to be around when I talk to them-

"I don't," he admitted, grinding his teeth as his thoughts continued to mull around her two best friends. "I'll wait in another room. And you'd better shout me if Weasley tries anything-

"He's not going try anything, Draco-

"Well, his comment last night said otherwise," he sneered, unable to hold back the bitter tang. "Potter's not the problem, Granger; it's Weasley who pisses me off. Coming to my house and fucking-

"Draco," she said with a shadow of amusement. "There's really no reason be jealous-

"I am not jealous!" he cut in quickly, his silver-slate stare hard and agitated. "The day a Malfoy envies a bloody Weasley will be my last. I just can't stand or trust him, especially around you. And it doesn't help his case when he barges into my house and demands that you leave with him-

"I'll talk to him," she held up her hand in understanding. "Ron just has a nasty habit of speaking without thinking-

"I could really care less," he snapped, making to leave his bedroom again. "You say what you need to say and then get him and Potter to leave. I don't want them in my home any longer than is necessary."

"Understood," she nodded, smothering a private grin. "Thank you, Draco."

"Don't mention it," he scowled over his shoulder. "Ever."

.

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On Sunday evening, she was relaxing in a scruffy pair of jeans and one of Malfoy's baggy t-shirts, oblivious that he had purposefully given her a green one. Hermione had sent her letters to Harry and Ron yesterday and was expecting them within the hour, even though she'd never received a reply. To keep herself busy she had decided she would set up her television in Draco's sitting room, much to the irritation of her blond lover, who was currently sat on the couch and watching her with condescending eyes.

"Stupid Muggle contraption," he muttered when she almost tripped on its wiring. "Is it really worth it?"

"Oh hush," she scolded, trying to remain dignified when she almost fell again. "I will get you addicted to EastEnders if it kills me-

"Not likely," he scoffed.

"There must have been one programme you liked?" she asked, counting the list of shows she had forced him to watch when he'd stayed at her house. She surmised there were about twenty, and she watched him hopefully as he contemplated her question.

"That one with all the questions was tolerable," he offered with some reluctance. "With that toff bloke who's really clever-

"Oh, QI?" she confirmed her eyes beaming for a brief moment. "That's my favourite! Stephen Fry is my hero! I'm glad you like that."

"I said it was okay," he mumbled, but thought better of making a derogatory comment when he realised it was the first time she had smiled for a while. "What time are Potter and Weasley coming round?"

"Any time now," she said, clapping her hands in triumph when the screen hummed to life. "Yes! Told you I would do it!"

"Congratulations," he groaned, squinting his eyes as the harsh lights adjusted and she made her way to the kitchen. "Where are you going?"

"I think I want a glass of wine to calm my nerves," she explained, tottering past him in bare feet. "You want anything?"

"Firewhiskey," he requested, scowling when he realised the images on the screen were from one of those Soap Opera things she was so fond of.

He couldn't for the life of him understand the connection between bathing and singing and what it had to with the mundane programmes. Strange Muggles.

The glaring images only managed to hold his attention for all of five seconds when his fireplace rumbled with activity. Draco couldn't stop the throaty grumble that vibrated in the back of his mouth when Harry Potter stumbled into his sitting room. The green eyes instantly connected with his stormy-grey ones and he quickly schooled his expression into one of patronising impatience.

"Malfoy," the dark-haired wizard greeted through tense lips, awkwardly shifting his feet.

The blond just exhaled through his nose and rolled his eyes, tilting his head over his shoulder to shout for the reason he was allowing the two irritating men into his home. "Granger," he called, slowly turning his head back to give Potter a scolding glance. "One half of the idiots has arrived."

He eyed the other man who was obviously struggling to think of a retort, listening to her soft steps and flinching when her playful palm smacked the back of his head. He shot her an unimpressed glance but acknowledged that he probably hadn't helped the matter. She was cradling her glass of ruby wine and he could see the liquid sloshing as her hand lightly shook with nerves.

"Hi Harry," she greeted her friend softly, slowly sitting next to Draco before she turned to him. "I left your drink in the kitchen."

"Alright," he nodded, giving her knee a quick squeeze before he stood. He briefly considered ignoring his previous condition to not be involved with the discussion, but reminded himself that he had already insulted one of her friends and things would probably only deteriorate from there.

"Malfoy's not staying?" Harry asked the witch with a confused tone.

"I'll be around, Potter," he answered for her, catching his girlfriend's eyes with a sarcastic stare. "Enjoy the...enthralling company-

"Draco-

"Just needed to get it out my system," he said with a casual shrug before he continued out of the room. In spite of herself, Hermione felt an amused pull at the corner of her lips, but she smothered it to give her companion an unsure look.

"You can sit down, Harry," she told him. "He hasn't hexed the furniture."

"I'm sure he thought about it," he commented as he took the sofa opposite hers, and she wasn't sure if his comment had been scolding or a light jest.

"Should we wait for Ron?" she asked, hating the uncomfortable atmosphere.

"I think we should."

"Then can I get you a drink or something?" she offered for lack of anything else to say. She had already prepared a small portion of butterbeer, deciding that adding Firewhiskey to the situation wouldn't end well between Ron's temper and Harry's habit of nodding off.

"Not right now," he declined, pausing for a moment. "How are you feeling, Hermione?"

"I'm okay," she lied, knowing he was referring to Penelope. "It was a bit of a shock."

"I know you'd gotten quite close," he said with a sad expression. "It must have been awful and I'm sorry about that."

"Thank you," she whispered.

"This is why I hate not speaking to you, 'Mione," he said in a rushed breath. "I was so worried about you when Kingsley explained what happened. We came as soon as we heard, I promise."

"I know you did," she offered him a broken smile. "And I'm sorry I told you to leave but there'd been enough shit in one day without Ron screaming at Draco-

"I know," he nodded, wrinkling his nose. "But you have to understand where Ron's coming from, 'Mione."

"Do I?" she asked, sounding more upset than sad. "I know that Draco was awful in school, but that was nearly five years ago, Harry. Doesn't it seem a bit petty that we can't move on?"

Any reply that her friend would have offered was drowned with Ron's arrival, and she watched her flustered ex-boyfriend closely as he took a seat next to Harry. She felt the anxious butterflies in her stomach treble with his presence and she glanced down at her lap to gather her wits, also taking a tentative sip of her wine.

"Would you like a drink, Ron?" she questioned.

"I'm fine," he muttered, shooting her an agitated look. "Let's just get this over with."

"Can we be mature about this?" Hermione scolded, trying to keep her tone low. "I didn't invite you here so we could have another slanging match. I wanted us to have a real talk about this-

"Just us three?" the copper-haired wizard sounded sceptical. "Where's Malfoy?"

"He's in the other room-

"So he's not joining us?" he surmised with harsh tone. "Nice to know he's supportive."

"I though it was best it was just us," she ignored his sarcasm.

"Right," Ron scowled, evidently unconvinced. "Well at least I don't have to look at the twat-

"Ron," Harry addressed his friend with a tired voice. "Let's just relax and talk about this properly."

"Fine," he conceded with a little difficulty, casting his snowy-blue gaze to his ex-lover. "Sorry 'Mione, I know you've had a rough few days. Carry on."

Hermione couldn't help but sigh. "I miss you both," she confessed, calmed when Ron's face softened slightly. "I don't want to keep fighting with you. It's not right."

"We miss you too," Harry told her, but she kept her eyes on her ex. "This is just a bit...unexpected."

"Wrong is the word I'm thinking of," the redhead mumbled. "I just don't understand how you can be near him, 'Mione. He's a bully and a prick-

"He was," she corrected. "But he's changed-

"Nobody can change that much-

"How would you know?" she fired back, shaking her head. "You haven't given him the time of day-

"Some people don't deserve it," he muttered, clicking his tongue. "I hate him, 'Mione. Always have, always will."

"Hate?" she repeated, her eyebrows knitting together. "Don't you think hate's a bit extreme?"

"No." And the word sounded like lead.

"I see," she frowned, giving Harry a hopeful look. "What about you, Harry?"

He looked away from her for a moment, closing his eyes to consider her question. "I suppose I don't hate him," he muttered uncomfortably.

"Well I do," Ron proclaimed, almost like he was proud of it.

"More than you love me?" she questioned, hating that her tone almost sounded pleading now.

"That's not fair," he said, taking a deep breath before he continued. "You know how much you mean to me."

"Then please try and come to terms with this," the witch sighed, her eyes flickering between the pair. "I'm not asking you to get on with him or even talk with him. I'm just asking you to accept that I am in a relationship with Draco and not let it affect our friendship. Please?"

A sullen silence slipped between her and the two men, heavy enough that she thought she might be able to reach out and feel it tingle against her fingers. She teased her lip between her teeth as they tested various facial expressions to match their thoughts, fluctuating between doubt, rejection and reasoning.

"I suppose," Harry chased away the quiet with a hesitant grimace. "That I can accept it-

"What?" the other wizard snapped his glare over to his companion. "You can't be serious, Harry?"

"I am," he nodded, looking up to catch the brunette's grateful smile. "We've never questioned her judgement before-

"Because we had no reason to!" Ron raised his voice. "But this is beyond!"

"I didn't say I was happy with it," he argued, shifting his green eyes to the redhead. "But she's right; we shouldn't let it affect our friendship with her-

"Well if she would just break up with him it wouldn't affect our friendship-

"Don't talk about me like I'm not here," she told Ron with a slight growl. "Can't you just get over this like I have?"

"No, Hermione," he spat, and she could tell his temper was starting to rise. "You didn't get over him, you got under him-

"Ron," Harry cringed, sensing her offence. "Calm down-

"Why should I calm down?" he demanded. "She wanted to talk; let's talk! You can butter Malfoy up all you like, 'Mione, but I will never be happy with this-

"I said I didn't need you to be happy with it!" she reminded him harshly. "I asked you to deal with it and behave like an adult-

"Well I don't see why I should!" he countered, rising from his seat to stare her down. "When he screws you over we're the ones who are going to have to pick up the pieces-

"If he screws me over!" she shouted, also jumping up from her seat. "And that's irrelevant, Ron! Do you really hate Draco more than you love me?"

"Of course not," he mumbled, the fire in his face disappearing slowly.

"Then please," she begged, walking towards him so she could grab one of his hands. "Please don't fight me any more. I hate arguing with you like this but I shouldn't have to give up someone just because you don't agree with it. I don't want to lose you."

She knew she was dramatising it a little, but years of learning Ron's cogs and mechanics meant that she knew what buttons to press. It may have been a little manipulative, but she was desperate to win some level of reconciliation before her two best friends left. She needed them right now; both of them.

"You could never lose me," he said begrudgingly, but her heart soared anyway. She clutched his hand a little tighter with gratitude as he continued. "I suppose...

But he trailed off when the fireplace rumbled again, announcing another guest.

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a/n: I know this is a bit of a filler chapter but I hope it was okay! The reviews for the last chapter were wonderful...simply amazing...I don't know how to tell you how much I love reading them...and yes they are reread obsessively, usually during the early hours of the morning accompanied by my standard vino. And yes...wine and cigarettes are the official sponsors of this chapter too.

Lovelydove21, your review in particular was reread to the point of memorising it! Also chuffed to have a few new reviewers pop up with charming comments so ta very much! And for the people who have been reviewing for a while...I have nothing but love for you! And an offer of free wine if you ever find yourself wandering the British countryside!

Right, its almost half four...and there's sod all on TV so I should really hit the hay before I decide there's no point and just avoid sleep all together...never pretty...

Update, as always, should be up in 4-7 days...

Next Chapter: Draco loses his temper when he decides to make a little visit...