"Closer" by Nine Inch Nails
You let me violate you / you let me desecrate you /
you let me penetrate you / you let me complicate you /
help me / I broke apart my insides / help me / I've got no soul to sell /
help me / the only thing that works for me / help me get away from myself
I want to fuck you like an animal / I want to feel you from the inside /
I want to fuck you like an animal / my whole existence is flawed / you get me closer to god
You can have my isolation / you can have the hate that it brings /
you can have my absence of faith / you can have my everything /
help me / tear down my reason / help me / it's your sex I can smell /
help me / you make me perfect / help me become somebody else
I want to fuck you like an animal / I want to feel you from the inside /
I want to fuck you like an animal / my whole existence is flawed / you get me closer to god
Through every forest / above the trees /
within my stomach / scraped off my knees /
I drink the honey / inside your hive /
you are the reason / I stay alive
Cormac smelled like coffee and hair gel, and tasted just about the same; the heat radiated from inside his jacket and his fingers gripped her by the hips. His hesitances were slight, bringing awareness to the little space between them. It was strange, Hermione thought, to consciously realise that she had more experience than a boy. She didn't like to acknowledge the factor, though she knew that it was, in large part, what continued to draw them to her. So much depended on how she was able to represent herself, the aura of confidence she had. That was yet another reason that the events of Thursday evening could never take place again. She wasn't about to let Malf-
"Oh no," she groaned, pulling away from Cormac, a bit lightheaded after a good twenty minutes of snogging. He scrunched his eyebrows, looking at her anxiously.
"What?"
"I'm late," she grumbled, dizzily slipping her back onto her shoulder and stepping away from the table.
"Late for what?"
"Tutoring."
"Oh, you're a tutor? That's brilliant - I mean, because you're brilliant, of course, so it's sort of obvious you'd be a great-"
"Cormac, I need to go," she shoved herself out of his grasp, turning into the aisle and then looking back at him scoldingly.
"I'll see you later, Cormac," she reassured him, and shooed him away from the area and towards the door of the library. He turned back around every few seconds as he walked, but he eventually made it out of the room.
Draco sat alone at the table in the library, twirling his quill around in his fingers. He reached to his wrist, running his sleeve up his arm so that he could see his watch. Five-fifty. He'd completed his assignment ten minutes ago, and had been sitting in the same exact spot for nearly forty minutes; no wonder his legs felt stiff. He rolled up his other sleeve, habitually fastening the buttons.
His arms shoved the rest of his body up from the wooden chair, and he took a moment to meander towards the Muggle Studies section a couple rows away. His wandering silvery eyes paused on a volume entitled 'Influential Muggles and Muggle-borns in the Recent Histories of the Muggle and Wizarding Worlds.' The emblazoned gold script shone off of the dark blue spine facing the library aisle. Draco stretched his hand into the bookshelf and grabbed a firm hold on the book, noticing as he pulled it out that it was much heavier than he had expected. He positioned it into both of his skinny arms and strutted back to his seat.
As he flipped through the table of contents he was stunned by the sheer number of names listed. He'd had no idea that so many influential figures were borne of muggle parents. Part of him yelled at the rest of himself to stop reading, still of the belief that it was unrealistic. He wanted to dismiss the book as fiction and be done with it, but for a nagging but overwhelmingly indescribable reason he could not. He also could not help but think that someday an updated edition of the very book whose pages on which his fingers rested would also bear the name of his very own tutor - who was, at this point of the evening, uncharacteristically and unbelievably, late.
Hermione sighed, and continued along the aisle, speeding past shelves upon shelves of books. Just as she reached their designated table and began to raise her bag in order to place it on the table, she stopped abruptly, her breath following suit but her heartbeat doing exactly the opposite.
"You were...on time?" she choked out, unable to mask the shock which overwhelmed her.
"Actually, I was early," Draco retorted, tenderly folding over the corner of the book on the table in front of him; he started to close the book, then thought better of it, leaving it open and pushing it aside. His eyes were curiously blue, Hermione noticed, and less accusing, less angry, than she would have expected. "It's fine, really - I mean, I've certainly shown up late - of course, you are the tutor rather than the pupil, so I suppose that's different - I probably would have failed the exam anyways - besides, I know exactly how you can make up for it-"
"Don't even-"
"You know, for someone so disinterested in organised sports, you sure have a thing for Quidditch players-"
"For someone whose grades are dependent on my help, you are really pushing your luck-"
"Luck? What luck? I'm rich, witty, and a great fuck. Why would I need luck?"
"Because you're pushing everything else, too. If you keep recklessly pushing buttons, eventually you'll hit the red one, Malfoy, and you should keep that in mind."
"What in the hell do buttons have to do with this, Granger? Is this some other stupid muggle thing?"
"They are not stupid muggle things, Malfoy! Muggles are, contrary to your belief, people just like wizards and witches-"
"Except that they're not - wizards and witches-"
"Does every sentence out of your mouth have to be offensive?"
"I'm talking to you, Granger, to whom everything is an offence. Do the maths."
"For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. Every push, a push back. My offence is not caused by your speaking but rather by your remarks-"
"That actually makes a damn bit of sense - where'd you get a philosophy like that?" Draco jeered.
"It's one of the laws of physics - excuse me - muggle science," Hermione returned forcefully.
"Heh. Looks like your kind got something right for once."
"Ahem," Hermione griped teasingly, and Draco dramatically raised his eyebrows to imply his inquiry. "My parents are both Muggles-"
"And?"
"They had me."
Draco smirked.
"Yes, yes, Mr and Mrs Granger procreated, let us grant they and the result of their actions the highest honours and awards!"
Hermione raised her right index finger, returning the smirk and walking closer to the table.
"Conversely, a husband and wife, both born of two of the wealthiest, most powerful and most prominent pureblood families in the Wizarding World, are blessed with a single heir who has come to necessitate the assistance of said result."
"You're not funny, Granger."
"Nor are you. However, I do not entertain the belief that I am-"
"My belief is that you're supposed to teach me something."
"I am teaching you. If you're actually paying attention, that is. Either way, I'm meeting with Slughorn this weekend and will be sure to pass that information on."
"Be sure to mention your tardiness, too, Granger. I'm sure the bastard will appreciate it."
"No less than he'll appreciate your calling him a bastard."
"Eh, I don't worry about offending relatively unimportant people-"
"I've noticed," Hermione said chidingly. "Seemingly you respect no one but your obstinate father, deranged aunt, Professor Snape, and your precious Lord Vol-"
"Granger!" Draco barked, forcefully cutting her off as he swung to his feet.
"What?" she sneered. "He can't penetrate these walls. I could scream his name with all my might, at the top of my lungs, and he would be unable still to reach me!"
Hermione grew even more tense, working her spine into alignment to more closely match Draco's height.
"Fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself," she added ferociously. "I'm not afraid of his name, and I'm not afraid of him. You, like Wormtail, like Crouch, like your father-"
"Don't say another word about my father!"
"Follow your so-called Dark Lord out of fear," she enunciated more intently, her voice raised.
"Duty and fear are not the same," Draco said immediately.
"No, but you haven't learned to see the difference."
"How would you know?"
"Think: were you instructed to perform some task for him, a task which would almost certainly result in your death...what would you do?"
Draco avoided looking at her, choosing instead to stare at the floor until he spoke again, his voice thin and vindictive.
"Accept it. Complete it if I can, die if I don't."
"And Teddy, this is your uncle Draco. Draco, Teddy, Teddy, Draco."
Draco was beaming as he carefully took a seat on the bed, looking into the wide, sparkling eyes of the child in Tonks' arms.
"Hello, Teddy," Draco said softly, tenderly taking one of the boy's tiny hands in between the thumb and index finger of his right hand.
"A miracle, this baby is," Andromeda contested proudly, her relief unintentionally evident. "And he'll be skilled, strong and impatient, just like his mum."
"And probably just as clumsy, too!" Tonks grinned.
"What exactly is he considered species-wise? Technically he wouldn't be entirely human..." Draco postulated. A softly confident voice echoed from the doorway.
"Lycanthropy isn't hereditary, so he surely won't be a werewolf, but it's probably too soon to tell whether he can change his appearance at will." The blonde's gentle eyes found Tonks'.
"May I?"
"Yes, yes, certainly!"
Tonks gestured Luna over, and Luna walked quietly to the head of Tonks' large bed. Even when she sat down she seemed to float, Draco noticed.
"Hermione and I did some research earlier," she murmured, her voice gradually trailing off. "Speaking of which, the Delacours are here to see you," she added, turning her eyes momentarily up at Draco.
"Fleur's mum must absolutely love her job," Tonks laughed. Draco chuckled in agreement, gently moving off of the bed and heading for the door; he waved to Teddy on his way out.
Hermione gritted her teeth. Was it fair to judge Malfoy based on his remarkably intact sense of self-preservation? He'd been taught nothing else, and even the majority of the Order's most skilled members refused to say Voldemort's name. Harry, Sirius, and Dumbledore were the only people who openly spoke it until she had begun to use it. All were special circumstances. Besides, she knew nothing of how Malfoy acted in his home. Perhaps he seemed a different person entirely. She knew the phenomenon well - far better than she'd prefer. Perhaps-
"How did we get here?" Draco grumbled.
"You insulted me," Hermione returned.
"Ah, yes." Draco paused, returning to his chair. "By the way, what did buttons have to do with it?"
Hermione stifled a laugh.
"It's...sort of a muggle expression. People joke about the President of the United States-"
"The what, Granger?"
Hermione sighed.
"May I finish my sentence?"
Draco gestured affirmatively.
"President is...think of it as the same role of a Prime Minister, just in a country with a different type of government. Anyway, some people joke that he has a button in his office, a red button, that, if pressed, will supposedly declare nuclear warfare."
"Nu-what?" Draco sputtered, and she sighed again, rubbing her fingers against her temple.
"I've got a long night ahead of me, don't I?" she groaned.
"Now we're finally getting somewhere," he grinned, tapping his quill on his lower lip.
"That isn't what I meant, and you know that," Hermione admonished.
"Do I, though?" he continued, rising from his seat and moving towards her. With a shaky inhale, she turned away just as he approached her. Anxiety rose in her stomach and her heart pounded painfully faster. Her arms having been hanging at her sides, she locked her fingers and brought her sweating palms together in front of herself. She had proved her point, hadn't she? Did he really have to insist on this? She already had Ron and Cormac vying desperately for her attention; the last thing she needed was for Malfoy to push his way into the competition, although she was almost sure he'd done so already. It took his gentle fingers trailing across her shoulder for her to realise she was shivering.
"Don't-" Draco whispered, "tell me it's cold in here."
Hermione shook her head, tears threatening to form in her eyes. After a few breaths, she pushed the words out from her parched throat, throwing them violently from her mouth.
"This is beyond wrong..."
"I'm not asking you for romance. Trust, I want as little as possible to do with you and your muggle world and your rather soporific personality. Your body, on the other hand..."
She scoffed then trembled, biting her lip and internally cursing herself, as he inched up behind her. He softly dragged her hair over her shoulders with his fingertips, slowly running his fingers to the nape of her neck.
"is rather tempting," he whispered into her right ear, the front of his body meeting the back of hers.
"Draco, zis is my mum," Fleur boasted as soon as Draco was within earshot, swiftly but daintily strutting towards him and dragging him enthusiastically into the living room. He extended his hand to a woman who appeared an older version of Fleur, and she pulled him towards her, exuberantly kissing him on both cheeks. There was a rapid pounding on the stairs.
"Fred, George, I have legs of my own!" Hermione's voice travelled from above.
"Come on!" the two said in unison. In a matter of seconds the living room, originally containing only Draco and Fleur's family, held enough people that the room felt a little bit warmer. Fred and George bounded over to the adolescent Gabrielle, teasingly trying - and failing - to ruffle her beautiful blonde hair. She shoved both of them away, affectionately yet with unexpected force, laughing and eventually hugging them.
Fleur's father greeted Draco cordially, and Fleur excitedly beckoned Hermione over from the other side of the room. Apolline, as Fleur's mother introduced herself, grasped the young woman almost immediately, planting two pecks on each of her cheeks. Hermione stumbled backward, subsequently exchanging a sincere handshake with Monsieur Delacour.
"'Air-min-ny," Gabrielle exclaimed, rushing over and greeting her. "Félicitations!"
Gabrielle blushed, realising she'd forgotten the word in English but not that Hermione could also speak French.
"Merci beaucoup, Gabrielle," Hermione giggled, and Gabrielle relaxed, but slipped away from the others and into her sister's right arm; Bill already stood at Fleur's left side. Fred and George traipsed loudly back up the staircase.
"I 'ope I did well for you," Apolline said, looking curiously to Draco and Hermione. Hermione scrunched her eyebrows.
"I am not entirely mental enough to sneak away in the middle of the night to go shopping, 'Mione," Draco said tenderly and slightly teasingly.
"I was wondering how..." she murmured, smiling.
"Actually it was your par- parents' idea, more than mine. Harry and I were spectacularly excited about spending some time outside, but alas-"
"That may have been the most dangerous, idiotic plan either of you has come up with!"
"Probably...see, we are responsible young men and indeed have not yet snuck out of any of the safehouses."
"Yet," she repeated pointedly, giggling and kissing him on the cheek. "You've been under Order protection for a week, Draco. It's not a record to boast about."
He stood rather still for a moment, meeting her loving but concerned eyes, then gently sighed.
"That's fair," Draco conceded, wrapping his left arm around her waist.
Hermione grimaced at a throbbing in her chest. He was unbearably close to her. She thought momentarily of the metaphor of the ocean; she may as well have been teetering on the edge of a cliff, but she was so close to falling off she was convinced she was going to drown. It was safest to step away from the cliff altogether, but it wasn't as though she could avoid her predicament. Malfoy was unfamiliar to her on personal terms; there was no planning, no preparation she could do that would benefit her if and when she fell. No lifeboat, no lighthouse, no one to call out for.
She pressed her eyes shut, trying to breathe more deeply, and there it was again. The scent of cologne, parchment, and coffee. The sensation of his hands on her neck, the stirring in her stomach, the unmistakable moisture on her lips. The salacious, seemingly implacable craving infecting her bloodstream, poisoning her sanity.
There was another option, and although it was indubitably the most dangerous, it was also the most enticing: she could jump.
"Tempting? Is that the best you could do?" she chided. She drew in another heavy breath, acutely aware of the way in which her chest rose and fell, trembling beneath the single button binding her burgundy- and gold-pinstriped jumper and her person.
One button.
One tee shirt.
One deep breath.
One deciding moment.
One more breath.
Hermione's right hand reached to the middle of her chest and undid the button. The oversized jumper slid down her arms. She thrust it onto the middle of the table and whirled around. Her left hand reached almost instinctually for the tie loosely cinched around Draco's neck, closing the minimal gap that he had left between them, and kissed him fiercely.
In an intoxicatingly rough manner, Draco's hands travelled to her hips. He gripped her waist unceremoniously as she leaned into the bookshelf behind her; and with his covetous eyes fixed on hers, he tore his tie from Hermione's grasp and jerked it over his head, tossing it onto the table. He trailed his fingers gently up her sides as he lifted the thin grey tee shirt from her skin. Hermione subsequently made impressively quick work of his pressed white dress shirt and dragonhide belt.
Her last truly coherent thought was to check that the aisle was adequately soundproofed - it was - before wrapping her arms around Draco's neck and disappearing into what promptly became a state of mutual unadulterated elation. It was oblivion, bliss, lust, gratification. It was ardent, carnal, candid. It was unrestrained, unassuming, and unprecedented, and it was over all too soon.
As Madam Pince's words echoed, Hermione found herself the littlest bit resentful. She blushed, nervously tucking strands of hair back behind her ears. Draco slipped his right index finger under her chin, tipping her head upwards and kissing her again, this time more slowly. When they broke apart he grabbed his tie, wrapping it around her neck and beginning to tie it.
"Don't...you...dare," Hermione cautioned, hastily jerking it over her head, and Draco shrugged. She rolled her eyes.
"Was worth a shot," he contested, and placed the grey tee shirt in her hand.
