Sorry for the wait, guys. :\
A special thanks to spyrals and Gnoloo, who both have been great reviewers. I always appreciate the feedback.
All right then, let's get to it. No time to waste!
oooo
The beginnings and ends of shadow lie between the light and darkness and may be infinitely diminished and infinitely increased. Shadow is the means by which bodies display their form. The forms of bodies could not be understood in detail but for shadow. –Leonardo da Vinci
There is an electric fire in human nature tending to purify – so that among these human creatures there is continually some birth of new heroism. The pity is that we must wonder at it, as we should at finding a pearl in rubbish. –John Keats
Oh, and baby I'm fist fighting with fire
Just to get close to you
Can we burn something babe?
And I run for miles just to get a taste
Must be love on the brain
That's got me feeling this way
It beats me black and blue but it fucks me so good
And I can't get enough
Must be love on the brain yeah
And it keeps cursing my name
No matter what I do, I'm no good without you
And I can't get enough
Must be love on the brain
-"Love on the Brain" by Rihanna
oooo
"And there's nothing more you can tell me about what happened today, Miss Granger?"
Hermione tried her best not to glare at the Investigative Auror as she swung her bare feet back and forth, perched on the edge of a hospital wing bed. Damien Diggle was his name – the stupidly handsome son of the Diggles that owned the Quivering Quill. He was nice enough, she supposed, if not a little austere.
"I wasn't exactly taking notes, Mister Diggle," she said acidly, gracing him with a tight smile.
Tom, who stood nearby, snorted in amusement.
Diggle turned to look at the Head Boy. "Technically, Riddle, you aren't supposed to be here. This is a private interview."
Riddle's lips curved in what Hermione knew to be a condescending smile. Diggle surely wouldn't pick up on it, though. "I arrived in Hogsmeade with the Hogwarts staff a few minutes before you did, Mister Diggle. I saw the aftermath of what happened. Besides, it's all anyone is talking about. There's nothing about today's events that is a secret."
Diggle's jaw ticked, and his nostrils flared before he turned back to Hermione. "We'll be in touch."
Hermione nodded, and then the Investigative Auror turned and swept through the curtains surrounding her bed in the hospital wing, his navy robes billowing behind him. She caught a glimpse of Thoros Nott, who was sound asleep in the bed next to hers, and Draco, who was sitting on a bed towards the door, talking to another Auror.
As soon as Diggle left her, Madam Soranus bustled through the gap in the curtains, looking harried. "Oh, Miss Granger, dear, you look simply dreadful." She handed Hermione a potion. "For the pain. Bottoms up."
Hermione did as she was told, and looked up at Soranus expectantly. The matron cleared her throat. "I'll be back to check on you in a moment to heal your hurts, dear. I just need to go tend to Aberforth – he has a head wound that needs seeing to."
"I can get started on the healing, Madam," Tom said from his position against the wall. "At least deal with the cuts and bruises."
His arms were crossed, and despite the stress and pain Hermione was feeling she couldn't help but ogle the way it made his shirt tighten around his shoulders. He was in casual clothes, today, as it was a Sunday – a maroon sweater and a pair of khaki pants. The ensemble should have made him look less threatening than usual, with its soft fabrics and warm colors, but it only gave her the impression of a snake trying to disguise itself as a kitten. Here was a man who belonged in dark, cool colors and tailored, impeccably ironed fabrics.
However, Hermione would be lying if she claimed he was less handsome because of it. In fact, the abrupt change from his usual attire only served to draw her eyes to him even more.
God, it just wasn't fair.
Madam Soranus smiled at him gratefully. "That would be wonderful, Mister Riddle. I know you're a skilled healer. I'll leave her in your capable hands, and will be back to check on her in a few minutes."
With one last smile in their direction, Soranus left, pulling the curtains most of the way closed behind her.
Hermione looked at Tom, and rolled her eyes. "Skilled healer, capable hands, blah blah blah…if I have to hear anyone else sing your fucking praises today, I'm going to scream," she sneered.
He chuckled, and she fisted her hands in the bed coverlet and stared stubbornly at the wall to her right as he came to stand in front of her, withdrawing his wand to begin healing her. He gripped her chin in his hand and tilted her face up and around, effectively capturing her eyes with his own. He lifted his wand to her temple, and her eye twitched as he cleaned the blood from her face and healed the cut on her forehead.
"I think, Miss Granger, that you get rather cranky when you're confined to the hospital." His voice was smooth and dark and amused, and the corners of his lips curved up ever so slightly. "If you can manage to sit still while I patch you up, I'll give you a lollipop after," he said with mocking condescension.
Boldly, she reached out and touched one of his hips. "That depends," she said, cocking her head and looking up at him with a smile. "What kind of lollipop will it be?"
She saw his eyes flash with heat at her innuendo, and her ego swelled with triumph. She tightened her grip on his hip, and saw his lips part slightly. From the corner of her eye she saw the front of his pants tighten, and smirked.
The cool hand that cupped her jaw slid down to where her dusty collared shirt met her neck. "Whatever kind you'd like, Hermione."
She swallowed. "I tend to favor cherry." She let her hand loosen around his hip and slide down his thigh before bringing it back to her lap.
He pulled his hand from her neck and crouched down in front of her. The smile on his face was positively sinful. "I'll see what I can do." He tapped a finger against her knee. "Are you particularly fond of these trousers?"
Hermione frowned. "No, not really. Why?"
She yelped as he flicked his wand, and the right leg of her pants tore at her upper thigh. He pulled the detached fabric from her leg as she huffed with indignation.
He carefully pressed the tip of his wand into the tender skin around an open wound on her upper thigh, his other hand gripping her knee. She swallowed at the feeling of his callused hands on her skin.
"The man whose head was mostly gone," he said quietly, looking up to meet her eyes. "What spell does that?"
She glared at him. "A bad one. One that I'm loath to share."
He rolled his eyes, bringing his attention back down to her leg as the skin knitted itself back together. She hissed in pain.
"I would very much like to see you cast it," Tom said. He cocked his head. "I'm fascinated by your enjoyment of watching people die hideous deaths."
She jolted as he ran a hand up her leg, and glared at him. "I don't enjoy it."
His eyes were dark pools of amusement. He traced his thumb along one of her scars, and she shivered. "Liar."
She frowned. He continued. "Why else would you have come up with all of these spells? Most people just say Avada Kedavra and are done with it. So why search for more ways to kill?"
She exhaled heavily, and met his eyes. She let her mask drop, let her weariness show on her face. "Most of us wish for a quick, easy death," she said evenly. She smiled sadly. "Few of us deserve it."
She held her arm out, and he rolled her blood-soaked sleeve up to tend to the deep cut on her wrist. "I've always had a knack for innovation and discovery," she continued blithely. "After I lost my family and was captured and tortured, something shifted. That's when my patronus changed. But something warped, and all I could think about was revenge. All I wanted to do was hurt the evil people that had torn my life apart. So I did what I do best, and studied. And I came up with some truly horrendous curses." Her nostrils flared. She did not look away from his dark gaze. "I don't enjoy it. But it is satisfying, in a way." She shrugged. "Besides, as much as I appreciate the cold efficiency of the killing curse, it gets to be rather…boring. That's like simply relying on the Cruciatus for torture. There are so many other methods to explore."
He raised an eyebrow, and smirked. "You truly don't belong in Gryffindor, do you?"
Hermione snorted. "No one person belongs to just one house," she drawled. "In fact, I think this sorting system is woefully inadequate – not to mention that children are sorted too early."
He chuckled and stood. "Is there anything in this world that you are satisfied with?"
She cocked her head, considering. "I like food," she said slowly. "And alcohol. And tea and coffee – whoever started that trend was on point." She grinned when he rolled his eyes in exasperation. "And I'm particularly fond of the way your uniform shirt stretches across your back when you hunch over your desk to take notes. In general, as a woman, I am appreciative of the male form. I have no complaints."
She wanted to laugh out loud as a blend of discomfort and satisfaction flickered in his eyes before it disappeared. She reckoned he would never get used to the forwardness with which she spoke. Innuendo and flirting was one thing – bluntness was another. It tickled her.
"Oh, and beaches," she said wistfully. "I like the ocean. The sight, the sound, the smell – it's lovely."
He crossed his arms over his chest and frowned. "That's it? Food, men and the sea?"
She hummed. "I think dragons are rather neat."
He sighed. "Now you're just being contrary." He gestured to her torso. "I noticed you favoring your right side."
Hermione shifted. "I may or may not have cracked one of my ribs again. Draco's fault, really. He shoved me to the ground like a brute." She shrugged. "Of course, the alternative was a stunner to the face, so I suspect I'll forgive him for manhandling me."
Tom frowned. "Let me see."
Feeling her face heat, Hermione stood and untucked her shirt from her pants, lifting it up to reveal a red bruise on her ribcage that was slowly darkening to purple; reminiscent of a day not so long ago when they stumbled across each other in a first floor bathroom.
He boldly reached up to skim his fingers across her ribs, and goosebumps rose in their wake. He smiled. "Cold?" he asked smugly.
Her nostrils flared. "No," she denied easily. She would not make excuses for her body's reaction to him. That was childish, something that insecure girls did to avoid potential embarrassment – like crying and trying to excuse it by saying there was something in their eye. But the time for embarrassment was long past – he knew of her attraction to him – and she was too old and impatient for that kind of game anyway. No; the game they were playing was very much an adult game, unfettered by the posturing and frivolity and innocence of youth.
It was a dance between two people who knew what they wanted. The only uncertainty lay in the fact that neither of them wanted to give up control. That was the game: the sexual tension was obvious and could be easily resolved – the real struggle was the power play.
He did not smile, just stared at the skin of her abdomen in something that looked a bit like awe. He traced the line of the purple scar that crossed her torso, flat and smooth, like a stain underneath the skin. She shuddered involuntarily, her cheeks hot. With his left hand around her waist, he brought his wand up to run it over her damaged rib. Warmth suffused her skin, and she winced momentarily as she felt the bone heat and then start the healing process.
When he was finished, he tucked his wand away and let her shirt fall back down to cover her midriff. Just as she was about to sigh with relief, his hands came up to frame her neck and jaw, tilting her head back. She brought her hands up to his arms, but was unable to find the brainpower to actually use them. It seemed like any time he touched her, she was unable to think properly. He looked down at her, less than a foot away, and she was mesmerized by the glint of bluish-grey that shone from the black pools of his eyes.
"I wonder at your eyes," he murmured lowly, almost as if to himself. "It's like a fireworks display…I never know what color to expect next." His fingers were delightfully large, and rough. He was so much taller, so much broader than her. His hands dwarfed her jaw, and his chest was wide and flat and she itched to run her hands underneath his sweater. Hermione was a formidable witch, and far from helpless – but physically, visibly, perceptibly, he was so much stronger, so much bigger.
She was not used to feeling so small. But strangely enough, it did not make her feel weak – it made her feel cherished. It was arousing. There was something about being around a physically intimidating male specimen that made her feel breathless, desirable. It was a heady drug.
And, like any drug, it could be dangerous.
"And I wonder at your boldness," she said, her voice cool but not quite steady.
He chuckled, and smiled down at her wickedly. "Perhaps if you were at all able to push me away, I'd be a tad more hesitant, and subtle." He slid one of his hands into the hair at the nape of her neck, and brought his face down to rub his nose along her cheek. "But feeling you tremble under my hands is proving to be rather addictive," he said into her ear, his voice almost a whisper. "And all I can think about when I see you is how much I want to strip every last article of clothing from your body and touch you anywhere I like."
She could not help the small noise that escaped from her throat, or the way her whole body quivered, or the way her womb clenched with arousal. And she wasn't even embarrassed when he huffed out a laugh of triumph against her temple.
She was in serious trouble.
"Oh my God, Hermione – "
Tom jerked away from her as the curtains were pulled back, and she squeaked in surprise. Sabrina stood there with her mouth open, her cheeks slowly reddening as she realized what she had interrupted.
"Oh Merlin, I'm so sorry, I didn't realize – "
"It's fine," Hermione said sharply, her voice not quite steady. "Tom was just leaving."
He hummed in agreement, and went to move away. "Make sure you get more pain potions from Soranus. That rib is going to hurt like a bitch for a few hours."
She nodded, meeting his dark eyes one last time, flushing at the desire she saw there; her heart pounded, and Fawkes shifted, equal parts uncomfortable and satisfied. Then Riddle turned, and strode out of the hospital wing. She and Sabrina both watched him go, and when the door was swinging closed behind him, the brunette whirled on Hermione.
"Ugh, Hermione, I am so sorry," Sabrina said, looking harried. She closed the curtains back to the way they were before.
"It's fine," Hermione said shakily, sitting back down on the bed as she felt her knees weaken. "It's nothing."
Sabrina crossed her arms and frowned. "You can't use that excuse anymore, Hermione. Not after what I just saw. It's obviously not just 'nothing'."
Hermione looked away. "It's not nothing," she confirmed quietly, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "But I'm not sure what it is. So I would appreciate it if you would keep what you saw to yourself."
"Of course!" Sabrina said earnestly, sitting down on the bed next to her. "He is so swoon-worthy," she continued dreamily. "You lucky girl."
Hermione stiffened. She wasn't sure that 'lucky' was the term she would use to describe teenage Lord Voldemort's fascination with her.
Suddenly more people appeared, ducking through the small gap in the curtains.
"Blimey, Hermione – they just started letting students in to see you," Ignatius said, looking flushed, as if he'd run all the way here.
"What happened?" Bertha asked next, sitting down on her other side.
Pepper grinned at her. "I heard you kicked some arse."
Hermione felt overwhelmed when Felicity and Temple and Magnus joined the group. Magnus pulled the curtains back all the way, and Hermione looked over to see Draco talking to Raven and Lyall. Edmond sat next to Thoros' bed, where the poor sod was still out cold; someone had tried to clean him up as best they could, but he still had sticky patches of blood in his hair and skin.
Magnus came to crouch in front of her, and Hermione resisted the urge to pull her feet up and scoot back on the bed. After Tom, close proximity to another man felt odd and uncomfortable – and wrong. She wondered at what that might mean. She couldn't help but feel some dread over the prospect.
"What happened down there, Hermione?" Magnus said, his blue eyes sincere. Her leg jumped when he put a hand on her bare knee, where Tom's fingers had been not even ten minutes ago.
Hermione frowned. "Nothing too exciting, really. Trust me. You don't want to hear the gory details." She gestured to Nott with her thumb. "Look at poor Thoros."
Magnus rolled his eyes. "Nott's got a weak stomach."
Hermione's gaze narrowed. "He watched a man get a broken bottle shoved into his throat, and then saw another man's brain liquefy and explode." She snorted. "Trust me, anyone not used to seeing things like that would be puking their guts up." She paused. "You can imagine seeing someone killed easily in your mind, but the actual experience itself is something completely different. Fresh blood is surprisingly warm. Most people tend to relieve themselves when they die, so the smell is lovely mixture of feces and urine and blood and sweat. I've been doing this for a long time, and even I have the urge to vomit sometimes. It's disgusting. So don't judge Nott too harshly. I think he handled it rather well." She stood, inexplicably irritated. Magnus' hand fell from her knee. "Thank you all so much for coming to check on me," she said. "It was really nice to see you. But I'm really tired, and very much would like to take a bath."
"Of course," Pepper said, reaching out a squeezing her hand. "We're just glad you're okay."
Hermione squeezed back. "Thanks guys. Sorry to leave you like this. I'm just not very good company right now. I'll see you at dinner tonight, though." She looked at Sabrina. "Draco got you something," she said with a small smile. "Walk with me?"
Sabrina blushed furiously. "Of – of course."
Hermione tucked her hand through the taller girl's arm, and they waltzed over to where Draco sat in a wheelchair, flanked by Raven and Lyall. He looked exhausted.
"You look like you could use a nap," Hermione said jokingly.
He nodded wearily, and held up a bag of potions. "Madam Soranus gave me these – a couple of them are for you. For pain, and sleep."
"That sounds lovely," she replied. She went to take the handles of his wheelchair, but Lyall beat her to it, winking at her. She nodded her head in thanks. "Raven, would you like to walk with us, too?"
Raven sighed. "I suppose I don't have anything better to do, except go back to the Slytherin common room and brood with the rest of my house."
Hermione giggled, and caught Draco's eye. He shrugged – Slytherins were good brooders, it was true. "Well I'm not getting any younger," he grouched, sinking down low into his chair, glaring at his still-healing broken foot. "And I'm cranky, because I feel like I have sand in my nose and ears and between my toes. So let's get going, shall we?"
oooo
Hermione sighed and sank deeper into the tub, relishing in the smell of lavender. She'd become addicted to the flower while in Provence –the smell, the taste, the color. She still had some candied lavender in her bag, and she'd grab a piece every now and then to nibble on.
She submerged herself into the tub so that only her face sat above the water, her chin skimming the bubbles. Her muscles were still trying to relax – not only from the stress of the violence she'd participated in today, but the anxiety that Riddle had caused when he'd touched her so familiarly in the hospital wing. Thinking back to it, she shivered. The hunger she'd seen in his eyes was terrifying in its intensity. She could still feel his hands on her skin. Once again, she felt completely overwhelmed and outmatched, and had to force herself to think of other things.
As anticipated, Sabrina had loved the scarf, oohing and aahing over its softness and the vibrancy of its colors. She had blushed furiously when Draco had given it to her, but to her credit remained sensible. Hermione had seen many a woman swoon over Draco before – she was not so sure she hadn't almost done it a time or two herself, if she was being honest. But Sabrina was rather good at maintaining her composure, and Hermione knew that it made Draco like her all the more.
Raven had smiled at the earrings, but then had narrowed her eyes on Draco and Hermione. "They're red," she'd said disdainfully, humor bleeding subtly into her words. "I can't be seen wearing these in public. Imagine what my house will think of me." Sabrina had then pointed out that the king of Slytherin, their own Head Boy, was wearing maroon today, so surely Raven could get away with a pair of studs? The Slytherin had smiled, appreciative of Sabrina's reasoning, and had put the rubies on with a quiet thanks. Lyall had jokingly complained about not receiving anything, and Draco had replied that he had plenty of sand in his shoes that he'd be willing to part with.
Then the three unlikely friends – two Gryffindors and a Slytherin – exited Draco's quarters, leaving them alone and exhausted in complete silence. Hermione had helped Draco bathe, considering his exhaustion and the tenderness of his foot, and then had seen him safely to his bed to nap while she changed the bath water and tended to her own cleanliness.
She did not have any sense of how much time had passed when Draco knocked quietly and then opened the door. She looked up at him, idly playing with the lavender scented bubbles that foamed across the top of the water.
His face was grave. "Dumbledore just stopped by," he said solemnly. "He didn't stay. He just wanted to let us know that they've received news that the Moroccan Ministry has fallen. The Minister is dead."
Hermione sighed sadly, looking down at her toes. "And so Grindelwald sinks his talons even deeper into the wizarding world," she said bitterly.
"Hermione."
She looked back up. Draco's face was twisted with something that looked like regret. "Barenbolm was killed in his home."
And then Hermione put her face in her hands, and wept.
oooo
I know that this was a short chapter. I'm having some trouble feeling motivated to write lately. For some reason the last couple of weeks have been really depressing, and it's just completely zapped my energy and enthusiasm.
You know what would help, though? Reviews. Lots of reviews. ;)
A snippet from the next chapter:
Tom glanced to the side as Mallery tapped his cane on the ground. "Hermione," the blond drawled, his eyebrow raised in amusement.
"Yes, Draco?" she replied, twirling gracefully away from a curse and parrying with one of her own.
"Didn't your mum ever teach you not to play with your food?"
The grin on her face was as wicked as a shark's. "She must have forgotten that particular lesson."
Next chapter will be up in a couple of weeks. Again, thank you all for your patience! And please check out my new Dramione, The Zone Where Black and White Clash. Love you guys!
Giraffe :)