Song Suggestion: Marina and the Diamonds— "How to be a Heartbreaker" Watch the music video! You're welcome.
A/N: Sorry about being a week late with the update. The flu invaded my house like an angry honey badger.
Another Broken Rule
Hermione
Hermione sat cross-legged on her childhood bed with the Grimoire in front of her. The fierce golden dragon slithered around the corner, looking amusing set against the floral pattern of her ruffled duvet. As usual, the words twisted into incoherent words when she tried to read past the second sentence.
She read through the first paragraph of the Anima Vinculum spell. Bold letters read Control thy Adversary under the title and then stated the basic instructions of the spell, but the information ended there. It had been a whim to use it on Draco. Usually she was not so reckless, but something about the pasty-faced git made her usual good sense go out the window.
It's everything to some people and nothing to others.
It needed blood to work. That didn't take a genius to figure out.
For the longest time, Hermione refused to attempt it, despite her curiosity. Blood magic was the strongest type of old magic. Messing around with it wasn't for the faint of heart. If she fed the book her blood, there might be some serious negative consequences, maybe even the fatal type.
But… Hermione touched her strange Christmas present, running her finger over the loops of the infinity necklace, an odd habit she acquired over the past few days. It had been an unnerving interaction. So odd, in fact, she now sat in front of the grimoire willing to risk potential death.
"Here goes nothing," Hermione said.
Hermione placed the small pocketknife to the lines of her palm and pressed down, hissing with the pain as a little line of blood welled up.
She twisted her hand and let the blood splatter on the page. The yellowed paper sucked it dry, disappearing into the ink.
Hermione braced herself. Nothing happened for a whole minute. But then the letters shivered. Sliding this way and that. The words scrambled and rearranged, settling into something readable.
"It worked," Hermione whispered, not able to believe her eyes.
A chill traveled up her spine, until every hair on her body stood up.
This was a pureblood grimoire. The books were coveted by their respective families. A muggleborn should not have been able to crack the translation charm. The slithering dragon should be spitting her blood back into her face, as if it tasted foul.
Unless she carried the family's magic.
But that was impossible. As a second year, she researched her lineage extensively, during a brief stage where she wished to have links to the wizarding world. She found nothing, as she suspected. No ties to anything. Not even someone suspicious enough to be a squib.
As far as she knew, her magic came from a rare spontaneous genetic mutation.
There was only one thing Hermione did know: she wasn't about to let a miracle pass her by. She'd waited half her life to get her fingers on one of these books. Mystery aside, she wasn't going to waste another second.
Hermione
The owl pecked at her window. Only once, but it was loud enough to wake her up from a dead sleep, and hard enough it nearly cracked the muggle glass.
She flung open the window, recognizing Charlie's owl. Tawny feathers preened with the inspection.
Hermione handed the owl his treat—per good manners—before uncoiling the parchment.
To a foolish Witch,
I found the information you requested. When I looked at the drawing you gave me, I almost thought you were joking. I've never heard of Golden Dragons except in nursery tales. I thought it was just a little bit of myth and didn't have any luck when I asked my colleagues. In fact, many of them think I'm slightly looney now.
But a few days after Christmas, a German rider from a prominent family arrived at the reserve to train with our ironbellies. He overheard the others teasing me (they asked if I needed my nursery rhyme to get to sleep). Later, he pulled me aside and asked what they talked about.
I showed him the picture you gave me. He drew his wand and cursed seven times in German. He demanded to know where I got it, since—as he put it—it's an uncanny rendering. I lied for you, saying I found it in a book.
If I wasn't twice his size and triple his intelligence, I swear I would've been gutted and served as dinner to his Swedish Short-Snout. He gave me several threats in both German and English, calling me a Kaspar sympathizer. I'm afraid after that encounter I won't be able to ask about it much more.
Whatever you're looking into Hermione, I'm begging you to desist. Or if you insist on continuing to investigate, allow me to help. You might be jumping into a deeper puddle than you're prepared for.
Stop being stubborn,
Charlie
Hermione placed the letter next to the grimoire. She looked at them side by side trying to find the link. But everything stayed muddled.
The name he said—Kaspar. It sounded familiar. Even she had trouble paying attention in Professor Binns' history lessons, but she remembered he did something horrible and unforgivable a very long time ago.
A Kaspar sympathizer?
It was a mystery that could wait until tomorrow.
Draco
For the first time in his life, Draco wished the holidays to end early. With just his mother and old shadows, the walls of the manor closed in. He used to love the manor as a child, but now the horrors lingered. Walking through the rooms was like strolling through a museum of revulsion. Over there was the spot Granger writhed on the carpet, his Aunt digging her knife in her skin. There was the spot Nagini ate a professor. And that was the spot Luna Lovegood sat in chains, eyes wide and grateful as he slipped her pieces of food.
During those long months of Voldemort haunting his halls, Draco learned about true monsters… and that he wasn't one of them.
Even his father couldn't shield him from attending the giant revels, but he did manage to protect his heir from taking part. Draco suspected his father did some grotesque things for that to happen.
Thoughts of Granger became his escape in the empty house. Sex was so much better than he expected (much better than the blowjobs Pansy and other girls gave him), and he understood now why Flint and Montague used to brag about their interludes with muggles. He could think of nowhere else he'd like to be except inside Granger. Her wet heat was the closet he ever believed in paradise.
Wishing to see her, he attempted to enter her dreams, but the distance strained their link, and he could only feel the vague outlines of her. The link worked best in an area saturated with old magic like Hogwarts and the Forbidden Forest. The muggle world, where Granger most likely resided, absorbed magic into its cold steel and hard concrete.
In place of her, he revealed the golden strands sitting on his bed at home enough times to see the loops and entwining of the multiple strands. He relieved his own tension, thinking of her pink mouth and soft moans.
The days passed this way, stuck in memories and trauma, shifting through things he thought he could bury, until the day came to leave. He felt terrible abandoning his mother to the lonely house, but when the day came to board the train, he kissed his mother once on the cheek and didn't look back.
Draco
Draco stayed near the bathroom on the train, expecting Granger to find him, unmoving until the wheels screeched to a stop.
Maybe she tired of him. Maybe whatever was between them cracked shut like a discarded book.
But he wasn't ready for it to end. The very thought hardened something behind his ribcage.
During the first dinner in the Great Hall, he spied her across the room, leaning towards Ginny with a smile and then elbowing Longbottom in the ribs. They both laughed at some inside joke, and Draco simmered.
Look at me, he spoke through the link.
She jumped in surprise but didn't give a response.
The cold feeling grew as Draco watched as Hermione stood up, looping arms with the she-weasel.
He watched the gentle sway of her hips as she walked out of the great hall, not even glancing at him once.
Hermione
Hermione skimmed the page, head bent down, sitting in her favorite spot tucked in the back of the library hidden behind several book stacks with a reliable lamp and a cushy chair. A giant glass window overlooked the forbidden forest beside her, showcasing a bloated moon that watched over her as it inched toward midnight.
The dim lamp next to her cast the only light in the whole library. Madam Pince trusted her enough to stay after hours—the only student in recent history to have been allowed to do so without the librarian's watchful eagle eyes.
Trying again to concentrate, she reread the line about the variety of uses for newt spleen. When she reached the sixth use, a dark presence loomed at her back. She didn't need to look to know who it was. Somehow the corners of her mind memorized his movements.
You're ignoring me, again, his voice brushed along her mind with a phantom touch. And I demand to know why.
She rolled her eyes and shut the book, glad to be done with the dull text.
Honestly, Hermione thought the time away from the Slytherin would clear her head. Instead, Draco intruded her thoughts for weeks. In her dreams—uninfluenced by the spell— his hands slid against the skin of her thighs, teeth grazing her neck, fingers tangled in her hair. The nights were the worst, almost sweating with frustration, until she slid her hand down and finished the job, crying out his name into the emptiness of her childhood home. By the end, it was starting to make her feel pathetic.
Hermione realized there was no use in denying herself what she wanted. If she was going to drown, she might as well make the leap herself.
And she would drown. She knew that much. There was no way this could end without injury.
But knowing this did nothing to stop Hermione from twisting in her seat. Draco stood in the shadows in his dark suit almost camouflaging him with the night. But his hair stood out like a beacon, glowing golden with the dull light.
You owe me something, and until I get it, I can be quite contrary. She sent her thoughts back. I've spent three weeks planning the best way to trap a ferret to get my Galleons. I hear they are wily beasts.
The tight lines of his shoulders loosened, sagging forward as he took a quick, sharp breath. His eyes dipped downward, darkening the usual quicksilver.
Milton must have imagined Draco when creating his version of lucifer. A sharp-tongued liar, arrogant and doomed, but beautiful to behold.
The hair on her arm stood up. She meant to be the predator tonight, attempting to play the games they always did, but the way he caught her in his gaze, she knew she was quickly becoming prey.
The majestic creatures are only captured if they want to be. He took a step closer, further into the light. You didn't look for me on the train.
I'd prefer to keep our interludes out of bathrooms. Hermione wrinkled her nose. She placed a hand on the table in front of her, running her finger in circles on the slick surface. Libraries, however, hold a certain fascination for me. Hermione stood up and sat on the edge of the table. She let her legs fall open to show him she wore no knickers under her skirt. In fact, a certain fantasy of mine is featured right here.
She relished his shock: the gentle opening of his mouth, the subtle shudder in his body. Draco wasn't one to overlook an opportunity. He stalked forward with deliberate heavy steps, settling between her legs.
The world blurred when his hands found her thighs, sliding up her skirt to rest around her waist in one rough movement. His grip on her hips firmed, and he twisted her body so she was face forward on the table, bum raised in the air, bare to the biting chill in the air. She attempted to sit up in surprise, but the palm of his hand shoved down the middle of her back. They stayed like this for several minutes, completely still, as he studied her. The only sound was their strangled breathing. His free hand gently stroked the exposed skin in appreciation, sliding his finger down to brush against her clit.
Hermione's cheeks burned and she bit her bottom lip to keep from groaning. In this position, he held the power, and her insides trembled at how vulnerable it made her feel.
You really are the most surprising witch I've ever encountered. His hand left her barred bottom and she heard the unzipping of his trousers. Defiling the Golden Girl on a stack of books is a rather tantalizing fantasy I've had for a long time. I think it's time Hermione Granger adds another broken rule to her lengthy list.
His fingers bunched the cloth of her shirt on her back as he entered her suddenly and forcefully. She didn't need foreplay, nearly dripping from the month spent without him. The need was so great, the feeling of completeness so wonderful, a loud moan escaped her lips—the first noise of their entire interaction.
Draco leaned down with his length still fully sheathed inside her. His lips touched the edge of her ear, breath warm and sweet on her neck.
"Quiet, Granger," he hissed. "This is a library."
Draco slammed into her, fucking her hard, almost violent. Three weeks of pent up need and anger and desire poured out. Her other lovers were gentle, sweet, soft and nice. Draco was neither of these things. He fucked her from behind like an animal, bucking her hard into the table with each thrust, as if they both devolved into their base ancestral creatures. It was a primal need, uncaring until they met their needs. Nobody told her pain made pleasure sharper, but she understood when she shattered under him, her cry cut off by Draco's hand covering her mouth.
"Look at me," he begged out loud. The way his face rearranged with pleasure was strange to see. He bit his lip, eyes half-lidded as if in a dream, muscles corded in his neck. And then the release.
It was the most erotic thing she'd ever seen.
They stayed in this position while staring at each other, panting to recover, his body heavy against her own.
"After graduation, we can go our separate ways," his voice came out gravelly. "But until then, I want to call you mine."
The silence while he waited for her reply was heavy.
"It needs to be secret."
Draco slipped out of her while casting a glowing contraceptive charm on her. She tried to sit up now that it was over, but he pushed the middle of her back down again.
"A Malfoy always pays his debts," he said. "Meet me in the Astronomy tower tomorrow after midnight."
A leather bag thunked next to her head with a jangle, indicating coins—her hundred galleons. Nothing tied her to him anymore. Nothing but the glowing cords of magic, and the unnatural tug that kept them in each other's paths.
Draco gently kissed the dip in her skin where her shoulder met her neck and then got up and disappeared back into the shadows before she could right herself and turn around. She hefted the golden weight of money in her hands.
Until Graduation, she sent her thought into the abyss.
She swore she felt his smile.
