Chapter Twenty-Seven
****Content warning: Attempted assault while intoxicated****
A burst of raucous noise greeted Hermione when she looked up to see where she was. The room was full of tables of people, a few of them wizards and witches around her parents' age, but most of them older Hogwarts students, enjoying their newly allowed, late-night freedom. Most people had a mug of something in front of them, and judging from the fumes permeating the air, it wasn't Butterbeer. It was then that she realized she'd taken refuge in the Hog's Head pub instead of the Three Broomsticks. The Hog's Head definitely wasn't her first choice for shelter, but not wanting to turn around and go back outside in case Michael was still out there ready for a second go, Hermione stormed up to the bar, feeling agitated and full of pent-up fury.
As if she was spending time with Malfoy just to— Just so that he'd— Or so she could— She couldn't even finish the thoughts in her head, they were so ridiculous. Are they really, though? asked a small voice in the back of her mind. Draco Malfoy has been acting differently this year. He's been considerate, and polite, and even when he'd gotten angry with her he hadn't resorted to so much as name-calling. And it wasn't as though he was hard to look at either. He was tall, slender—but not in a feminine way, more toned and lean muscled. His jaw seemed more defined and his hands—Hermione blushed in a confused sort of manner when she flashed back to the way Malfoy had caught her wrists in the library, the way he'd rolled their bodies in the grass, the way he'd caught her up in the kitchens and held her against his chest. Yes, he was strong too, and he knew it. Malfoy had returned to school with a different sort of presence this year. It was a strange mixture: him acting like he had something to prove, and a certain… je ne sais quoi… just something that she couldn't explain in words, a knowing that he had come back changed.
Hermione was different too. She was no longer just the awkward girl who was more comfortable with her books than talking to people—well, not entirely. When you're thrust into a War that encompasses everyone you know and challenges everything you believe, you have to grow up fast or be lost in the crossfire. Perhaps it was this feeling of being seen as unworldly and inexperienced despite everything that she'd been through—even though she knew deep down that Michael had only said such things to get under her skin—that made Hermione stride up to the bar at the back of the pub, snatch up one of the tumblers full of light amber liquid sitting on the bar top next to someone's elbow, and swig the contents before she could talk herself out of it.
The firewhisky burned a path down her throat, searing her esophagus and causing Hermione to gasp and choke as she forced herself to swallow. Coughing hard and blinking tears out of her eyes, she slammed the glass back onto the counter with unnecessary force, pausing with it still clutched tightly in her hand as she got herself under control again. Movement to her right caught her eye then, and Hermione turned her head to see Blaise Zabini sitting straight-backed and watchful on the stool right next to where she'd pushed up to the bar, Sylvia Melville on his other side, holding a fluted glass of something that sparked and fizzed. Malfoy was no where in sight. Blaise looked faintly startled, but his surprise was quickly giving way to amusement as he eyed her.
"You know, Granger," the Slytherin boy said smoothly, raising two fingers in a signal to the barkeeper before continuing, "if you wanted me to buy you a drink, all you had to do was ask." Blaise tossed a few coins onto the suspiciously sticky countertop as the barkeeper returned and plunked two more tumblers of amber liquid down in front of him. Hermione watched as the dodgey-looking man reached out and quickly swept the money off the edge of the counter, tucking the coins swiftly into his grimy apron pocket. Blaise picked up one glass and tossed the shot back with practiced ease, before glancing at Hermione and nodding at the remaining tumbler, dropping her a wink with one dark eye. "Bottoms up."
Feeling a little nonplussed, and still not exactly sure if she trusted Blaise, or the fact that she liked firewhisky or not, Hermione did as instructed, tipping the glass back and swallowing hard and fast so that she wouldn't choke this time. When she looked back at Blaise he was watching her with a little smirk playing about his lips.
"You're not what I expected, Granger," he said after several long seconds, during which Hermione was starting to feel a pleasantly warm and numb sensation wash over her body. Her head felt lighter and Michael Corner and his insane plans were suddenly much less important. "I guess there's something to be said for the guts of the Gryffindors," Blaise mused aloud, eyes glittering in the flickering lantern light.
Perching a little shakily on on the stool next to Blaise, Hermione gave her head a little shake, reaching up with one hand to shove a mass of soft curls out of her eyes as she raised a finger to the bartender, and a third tumbler was set in front of her in short order. Raising it to her lips, she paused and glanced sideways at Malfoy's friend. The last time Blaise Zabini had said similar words to her, he'd nearly toppled her off the top of the Quidditch stands. She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Blaise chuckled, holding up his hands in a placating sort of manner. "Only that you intrigue me, Granger."
Shrugging, and determining not to show any reaction to the way Blaise's words were pricking at her skin, Hermione closed her eyes and tipped back her glass again, the burning sensation duller at this third pass, along with a lot of her other senses. The laughing and jeering voices of the pub's other patrons sounded muted now, a low roar in the background, and she found herself blinking rather more than usual, finding it hard to focus for some reason. Turning back to Blaise to ask him what his second comment was supposed to mean, she found him waving over the bartender, who'd been glaring down at Hermione, apparently waiting for her to pay him for the drink she'd just consumed. She watched blearily as the dark haired Slytherin pulled a galleon out of his trousers' pocket and dropped it into the other man's broad palm, with a low murmur of "Keep the change," before he turned back to her, one dark brow raised.
"I'd take it easy there, Granger," Blaise advised, the barest note of warning in his voice. "Ogden's isn't for lightweights." He had a hand wrapped around his empty glass and was tapping one long finger thoughtfully atop the rim as he surveyed her.
On Blaise's right, Sylvia was giving Hermione a disgusted look, one that almost looked as if she were jealous of the attention Blaise was paying her. With a sudden huff, Sylvia turned away, whipping her long blonde hair in a strangely-beautiful-yet-violent arc as she did so, and snapping the ends against Blaise's arm as she slid off her stool and announced she was going to the ladies to freshen up. Blaise didn't even turn to acknowledge the girl's annoyance, causing Hermione to wonder if the two were truly together or not. As Sylvia flounced off, Hermione wondered vaguely where Malfoy was; she hadn't seen him or Phil once since Schrivenshaft's.
"I'll thank you, of all people, not to judge me," Hermione slurred, frowning blearily over at Blaise, and his other eyebrow joined the first, though he didn't rise to her retort. Perhaps he was used to surly drunks, or maybe he just found the whole situation of straight-laced Hermione Granger getting smashed a huge joke; whatever it was, all he did was repeat that same strange little smile he'd given her in the library a few weeks ago. One would think that Hermione wouldn't recall such a little thing as the way a boy had smiled at her once, in passing; but there was something not quite right in the way Blaise smiled, something feral, even when he didn't show teeth.
Pushing Blaise's odd look aside, Hermione slid off her stool, stumbling a little when her feet hit the floorboards. She felt strange, as if her head wasn't quite attached to her neck; all her limbs felt disjointed, as if she had the body of a marionette. Her need to do something reckless and unexpected just to spite that moronic Michael Corner had faded, and Hermione was starting to regret her choice of beverage. "I… have to… go." Her words came out stilted and vaguely slurred, sending a faint thrill of panic through her veins.
She made it three steps before the room started spinning, and somewhere behind her, Hermione thought she heard Sylvia laugh derisively from across the room. She was saved a spectacular face-plant only by someone catching hold of her upper arms with firm hands, steadying her easily before starting to walk with her toward the door.
"Maybe some fresh air would do you some good," came a low mutter in her ear, as the person who had hold of her marched Hermione through the unwatchful crowd, pushing wide the heavy wooden door of the pub, and letting a blast of night wind gust into her face as the pair of them stepped out into the darkness. They'd gone ten, slightly wobbly, paces before Hermione realized that it was Blaise Zabini who had accompanied her out of the pub.
Tugging out of his grip, Hermione managed to walk a few feet on her own before the road tilted sharply to one side, and she stumbled sideways against a brick storefront, long-closed for the night. When Blaise made to catch her arm again, she jerked away from his hand, muttering under her breath something that sounded in her head like "I'm fine, leave me alone," though out loud probably was more like a rather petulant: "Mmm… f'ne…leave…m'lone…" She felt flushed and itchy, as if her own skin were too warm, so, paying no mind to the logic of the action, Hermione tugged off the scarf she'd wound around her neck, throwing it to the street and abandoning it as she stumbled on. She felt confused and unsure exactly where she was heading, only that 'home to bed' sounded like a good idea.
As Hermione turned down a random side street, tugging off her cardigan and tossing it atop a closed rain barrel—with the vague idea that she would return for it when she wasn't so bloody overheated—she found herself halfway down an alley before she realized there were no street lamps to guide her path. She made to turn back toward the high street, but the effort of spinning around only served to throw off her centre of gravity a second time; she would have tripped over her own unsure feet and landed in a dizzy heap if Blaise hadn't been following so close behind her. He caught her about the waist as she stumbled, and drew her up against his chest with a quickness that she hadn't been expecting, considering he'd been drinking the same thing she had, and likely for much longer.
Hermione let out a startled sort of gasp to find her body suddenly pressed up against someone else's, and Blaise Zabini was no gawky teenager. His arms were firm around her, sliding up her back to steady her when she stumbled away from him, though not loosening enough to let her step away entirely. She could feel every breath he took, slow and measured, against the quickening rise and fall of her own chest, pressed firmly against his ribs.
"Easy there, Granger," she heard Blaise murmur lowly, amusement and something else in his voice. "I told you to be careful."
"I…I'm…" she started to protest, her words coming out on something of a sigh, but was unable to finish her thought.
With Blaise's arms locked around her, Hermione felt her body begin to shiver, though the sensation was barely noticeable to her as her knees faltered and she slumped a little against Blaise's chest. Her head felt too heavy, and she tilted her neck back, eyes sweeping the clear night sky overhead, stars silver pinwheels, cartwheeling across the heavens. One of Blaise's hands slid up to her neck, his palm hot against her chilled skin, his thumb tracing her throat as Hermione's head lolled dazedly from side to side. A moment later, the ground dropped out from under her, as Blaise pulled her up into his arms. But instead of turning back toward the street, he sat down on top of a low bench some shop keeper had probably left out for sneaking a cigar or some other such illicitness during the day when business was slow, settling Hermione onto his lap.
"Well, I may have to concede there's something to his obsession with you," Hermione thought she heard Blaise mutter to himself, though her brain felt so foggy she couldn't be sure what or who he was talking about. "Though honestly, it's hard to get much out of him where you're involved," he went on, murmuring lowly as he brushed her hair behind one shoulder, trailing his fingers down her neck and across the bare skin of her shoulder and arm, leaving a path of goosebumps in their wake.
Blaise's chest was warm and firm, but despite the flushed feeling of her body, Hermione shivered, the cool night air chilling her exposed skin as much as the Slytherin boy's caress. Resting her head on Blaise's shoulder for a minute seemed like a good idea, though when she did so, Hermione felt his chest rumble with a low chuckle. "There you go, Granger," Blaise murmured softly, his voice practically a purr. "Just relax, everything's ok…"
Hermione felt a tickle of fingertips skate across the bare skin of her leg and squinted toward the sensation. Blaise's hand was on her knee, tracing an idle pattern against her skin. The heavy, foggy, feeling that seemed to have wrapped itself around her head like cotton wool threatened to pull Hermione down into blackness, and she blinked hard, fighting to stay awake. She wasn't sure if she felt comfortable with the way Blaise was touching her. Watching, in a fascinated sort of daze that felt removed from the situation, as if she were observing from beside instead of experiencing it directly, Hermione stared as Blaise's fingers drifted up her leg. Her vision faded briefly, then swam back into focus a few seconds later, and when she squinted back down, she found the hem of her dress uncomfortably high on her thigh, as was Blaise Zabini's wandering hand.
A stab of unease forced its way into her cloudy mind, and Hermione squirmed, trying to shift away from Blaise. When she twisted her body, one of the straps of her ridiculously flimsy dress slipped down her shoulder. "H-hey…" Hermione mumbled in protest, and her breathing sounded loud in her own ears, her voice far away. She blinked hard, squinting as her vision kept slipping in and out of focus. "What are you… I—I don't…I… I need to go…"
Hermione managed to sit up with what felt like a herculean effort, swatting weakly at Blaise's hand, trying to push it off her leg. Blaise responded by tightening his other arm around her waist and drawing her back against his chest, the action almost rough. The sharp movement startled Hermione, pulling a gasp from her lips and setting her heart to an unnaturally quick pace. She began to tremble.
"Easy Granger, no need to get over excited," Blaise purred, his fingers digging into her hip harder than before, as he held her firmly on his lap. The fingers of his other hand teased at the zipper of her dress. "I just want to see what's so interesting about you, is all…"
Hermione felt Blaise's lips graze her throat and her pulse jumped wildly. She'd known that Blaise Zabini was a playboy, always wanting a new toy to amuse himself; and what was worse, she also knew that many girls were plainly aware of this fact and still threw themselves at him. She had never been able to understand why. Sure, Blaise was handsome, and could be very charming when he so chose, but he was also arrogant, assuming, and quick to throw his latest conquest aside when someone new caught his eye. Hermione had, naively it would seem, assumed that someone like her would never draw Blaise's attentions, the least of which being the fact that she was muggleborn and Blaise Zabini was as pure a pureblood as ever there was. So yes, she'd seen him looking at her in the hallways, making little comments designed to get under her skin, but she'd never thought he was actually interested. He probably wasn't; not in any real way. She was probably just a novelty to him, slumming it in the wizarding world, as it were. The thought did nothing to assuage her fears.
Now her unease was spreading; Hermione felt cold all over, and not just from the temperature. She struggled against Blaise's grip, trying to remember where her wand was. Why had she gone out here with him? She barely knew Blaise Zabini, aside from the fact that she'd seen Malfoy with him around the Castle; barely talked to him except when he was trying to subtly—or not so subtly, depending on his mood—harass her. He was all dark good looks and charisma, but what did that tell her about him as a person? Just because Draco Malfoy had returned to school with a code of ethics didn't mean all the Slytherins had.
Her groping fingers finally closed around the slim wooden shaft of her wand, trying to tug it free from where she'd stowed it in her boot. Her progress was impeded by Blaise, who was attempting to catch her wrists, his voice still low and cajoling, though something like a threat underscored his words. Hermione struggled harder, accidentally elbowing Blaise in the stomach, and he broke off in the middle of a sentence to swear loudly right in her ear, shifting unconsciously away from Hermione and in the process dumping her off his lap.
Hermione hit the gravel-covered alley with a frightened yelp, but immediately curled her body forward, fumbling for her boot again. She managed to yank her wand free just as Blaise jumped to his feet, towering over her. He looked livid. She couldn't see his wand in his hand, but he wouldn't need it if he was angry enough with her. He was roughly a foot taller and probably three stone heavier; if Blaise really decided to use force—
"F-flipendo!" The spell came out shaky at first, firing wildly down the alley toward the street and blasting an old wooden crate to kindling, but her second attempt at the knock back jinx had the desired effect: the spell hit Blaise squarely in the chest and knocked him hard against the wall of the shop they'd been sitting by. "Inpedimenta!" Hermione followed up quickly with a second spell as Blaise got to his feet, murder in his eyes. This spell effectively stopped Blaise's progress toward her, but Hermione's head was pounding and she couldn't hold her focus; her agitated mental state forced her to release the jinx after only a few seconds and Blaise soon started toward her again, a snarl on his normally composed and handsome face.
xXx
"Hold up, Draco, I want to talk to you," a voice murmured in his ear, accompanied by a faintly restraining tug on his shoulder, and Draco turned to look over at Phil. Blakely and his friends had tumbled into the Hog's Head a few minutes ago, all loudly mocking Weasley's unmanliness, though Draco was intensely grateful that none of them seemed to have made the connection between Weasley's calling Draco out and Granger. Well, no one, it would seem, except for Phil, who was currently giving Draco a calculating look as he pulled him aside.
Draco waved the group toward the table where Miguel still held court, a two-person card game that Phil had apparently abandoned when he materialized at Draco's side just now, in front of him, and did his best to ignore the fact that he was now stuck spending the rest of the Hogsmeade visit entertaining just the sort of people he was attempting to distance himself from.
"Don't try and cut out on our drinks, Malfoy," Burlington called out behind him, as Draco stepped up to the bar with Phil.
"Yeah, and make mine a double!" Cartwright shouted, dropping into a chair at the table next to an annoyed-looking Miguel. "I'm parched. Who knew Weasley was good for such a laugh?"
Anderson and Burlington began a mocking retelling of Weasley's sob story, and even Wittlesbrite let Burlington pretend to punch him, though when Burlington got a little over-zealous and actually hit him, Wittlesbrite returned the gesture, and it was only Cartwright maneuvering between them that stopped what might have been a much worse fight.
"Sorry I took off," Draco began, glancing down the counter to see where the barkeeper was, "but if I hadn't gone, those idiots would have started trouble."
"It's not that," Phil said, still sounding mildly serious, and Draco glanced over his shoulder at him for a second, before he was distracted by the barkeeper finally returning to their end of the bar.
"Oy," Draco shouted above the crowd of jostling students. "A round of Ogden's for table eight, and make them doubles!" He pulled several gold coins from his pocket and shoved his arm past a group of sixth year Hufflepuffs who were clearly trying to act badass by hanging out at the Hog's instead of the Three Broomsticks, but looked as out of place as a group of Puffskeins among Thestrals. His duty done, Draco turned around and leaned his back against the bar as he regarded Phil. "What? Do you need to borrow money? I know you kicked Blaise's arse earlier, but Munoz can be devious when he wants to be. How much do you owe him?"
Phil looked faintly affronted. "As if I'd allow myself fall into debt. And one knows better than to owe favours to you, Draco."
Draco smirked. "True enough," he conceded, though his grin slipped when Phil turned serious again. He frowned. "Spit it out," he commanded, feeling unnerved and not liking it at all.
"Blakely is saying Weasley meant to attack you, not Wittlesbrite," Phil started, his gaze shrewd.
Draco forced his body to stay relaxed and remain slouched against the bar. "So? Weasley has always had it out for me. Why should I be concerned now?"
Phil held Draco's eyes. "You fancy Granger," he stated plainly, watching Draco's face, and smirking at the widening of Draco's eyes. "I knew it. You're terrible at hiding your feelings, you know, it's a wonder that Zabini wasn't the only other one to notice."
"What I feel for Granger is no one's business but my own," Draco all but growled, and the delight in Phil's eyes grew.
"Oh, you have it bad, my friend," he chuckled, countenance merry, eyes bright with mirth. "Could you have picked a worse person to fall for?"
Though Phil's voice was teasing, Draco still felt tense. More so because of Phil's bringing up Blaise, because that reminded him of the comments Blaise had made about Granger earlier that day. He cast his eyes about the bar, searching for Blaise's arrogant laugh among the crowd, but coming away empty.
"Don't give me that look," Phil said a moment later, misinterpreting Draco's narrowed eyes. "I have nothing against Granger at all. In fact, for a Gryffindor, she's rather nice. Not bad looking either, if I'm honest. She even outgrew those horrid teeth she had in fourth year."
Draco felt the back of his neck grow hot, and only partially because he'd been the cause of Granger's dental issues back then. When she'd had Pomfry sort out her teeth afterward, she'd come away with a perfect set of pearly whites that Draco never grew tired of seeing. Swallowing back any number of hostile remarks, Draco met Phil's eyes and stared him down.
"I do like Granger," he admitted in a low voice, "though Blaise is enough trouble when he only thinks he knows what's going on. He'd be a nightmare if Granger and I actually went out." Then he added, almost under his breath, "Not that she'd have me."
Phil's teasing face grew serious in a different way now. "Don't sell yourself short, Draco. You're not the only one who's changed this year. I've been watching the pair of you together this semester, Granger doesn't seem like she precisely hates you, you know." And he smirked at Draco in a brotherly way that lifted Draco's spirits rather a lot, if he was honest with himself.
"Is that so?" he remarked, striving to sound flippant while inside he felt his heart grow light. Perhaps he hadn't simply imagined the looks and touches Granger had given him, reading into them more than was there simply because of his own passions. Could it possibly be true that Granger felt the same way about him?
"Mate," Phil said, clapping him on the shoulder just as the barman deposited a tray of glasses in front of him, "you deserve to be happy. And if Granger makes you happy, go for it. And sod Zabini," he finished cheerfully. Then he reached for the tray and turned toward their table.
Just then a snort caught Draco's attention, though how he had heard it over the din in the bar he didn't quite know. Looking down the other end of the bar, he spotted a pretty girl with long blonde hair sitting alone, stirring the remains of ice cubes in a tall glass with a straw.
"What's up, Melville?" Draco heard himself inquire, glancing around again for Blaise and still not seeing him anywhere. "Where'd Fieldright get to?"
"As if you care, Draco Malfoy," Sylvia returned scathingly. "Ebony really liked you, you know, but after the way you treated her today she'll probably never speak to you again. And maybe not even to me, considering I set her up with you."
Draco resisted rolling his eyes and trying to explain, yet again, that he'd never been interested in Ebony Fieldright, despite Sylvia and Blaise both pushing her at him at every turn. It wasn't that she wasn't pretty, because she was strikingly beautiful, or that she wasn't nice to talk to, because she had a pleasant personality, but she wasn't Granger, and that was all there was to it. "I'm sorry if I offended Fieldright, but I wasn't interested in her beyond friendship," Draco attempted to explain, but Sylvia was already turning back to her drink.
"One might think you're not interested in anyone at all, considering how many pretty girls have tried to get your attention this year, Draco," Sylvia replied coolly, and Draco smirked behind her back, knowing that she'd lumped herself into this group as well.
"You've been playing your own games this year, Melville," Draco returned, and met Sylvia's offended gaze when she whipped back around the glare at him. "When you couldn't have me, you were rather quick to shuttle your affections elsewhere. Though I have to admit, I didn't think much of your choice. Though, frankly, no one stands up to yours truly in comparison."
"At least Blaise knows how to treat a lady," Sylvia snapped, obviously attempting to shame Draco for not wanting to date her, but Draco was ready this time.
"Clearly," he agreed, holding Sylvia's gaze steadily and giving her a deeply knowing look that caused her to blink and look away a moment later. "He made you practically beg to come into Hogsmeade with him, then ignored you for hours to play cards, and I've only been gone from the bar half an hour but he already seems to have ditched you. Did he run off with Fieldright or something?" Draco knew he was being cruel but it frustrated him that this girl still seemed to think Blaise hung the moon when he really was rather a bastard most days.
Sylvia looked down, seeming rather upset, and Draco frowned. "What, did he actually scarper with Fieldwright? Look, Melville," he said bracingly, "you dodged a curse there in the end. Blaise isn't the best boyfriend. You deserve better, even if it isn't me." He tried to smirk at her to ease the sting of a double rejection, but Sylvia was giving him an odd look.
"It wasn't Ebony that he left with," she said coldly, and Draco felt a faint chill skitter down his spine. "It was that Granger," she continued, meeting Draco's eyes as she delivered the final blow. "Perhaps I wasn't the only one to dodge a curse tonight."
Draco felt his throat close up. There was no way Granger would go off with Blaise. She hated him. "I'm sure you were mistaken, Melville," Draco said quickly, mentally begging her to go: "Oh, that's right, it was that trollop from Ravenclaw that Blaise carried off for a snog," and feeling his teeth grind when Sylvia smirked at him, her eyes pitying.
"No, I'm quite sure it was Granger. She sauntered in here as if she were the Queen Mother, all in a tizzy about something or other, and stealing drinks straight off the bar. She really was rather pissed by the time she left. Stupid Gryffindors really can't hold their alcohol."
"Shut up, Melville," Draco snapped, voice hard, ignoring the offended look on Sylvia's face and pushing on before his heart could choke him from its place in his throat. "Where did they go?"
"How should I know?" Sylvia snapped, looking down her nose at Draco as if she were above such trivial gossip. "I'm done with Blaise Zabini. I don't ever want to hear his name again." She turned away from Draco as if putting her back to men in general, and he would have commended her on her good decision making skills if he hadn't been so worried just then.
Turning away, Draco began to walk quickly across the bar, not even stopping by his table to fake an excuse for why he was leaving. By the time he was halfway toward the door, he was running.
xXx
"Give me that!" Blaise growled, leaping at her, and Hermione let out a choked scream, terror closing her throat as she tried to twist away, scuttling backwards on the ground and holding her wand out of Blaise's reach. But Blaise threw himself forward and landed on top of her, knocking the breath from her lungs as he scrambled to straddle her hips and pin Hermione in place with his knees. He reached out with one hand, groping for her wand, his other hand forcing Hermione's flailing free arm to the ground. This was not the unsettling, but likely fairly harmless, Blaise from the midnight Quidditch match. This was someone else entirely.
There was no time to scream for help, the following thirty seconds felt like years as Hermione's frantic, petrified breaths burst into the silent air of the alley, matched by the harsh pants coming from the boy struggling to hold her down. In this close proximity she could see the way Blaise's face was flushed with drink and the irrational anger caused by her rebuff, smell the reminder of it on his breath as they struggled. Blaise grunted in frustration as Hermione refused to be easily subdued. But the fight was stacked against her. Hermione couldn't get a clear shot with her wand arm stretched over her head in her effort to keep her only weapon out of Blaise's reach, and yet the Slytherin boy had a strong grip; his hand was slowly, but surely, prying her clutching fingers free. Once he'd disarmed her there would be no hope.
"Let go, you stupid bint," Blaise snarled, his face very close to hers, dark hair framing elegant cheekbones and a straight nose. His eyes were unfocused, and even through her terror Hermione couldn't help but wonder if he was really even aware of what he was doing, if he'd remember what he'd done in the morning. Blaise Zabini wasn't the sort of boy who let himself lose control, he was the type who played the long game, moving each piece across the board until he'd gotten what he wanted so smoothly that you didn't even realize he'd forced you into checkmate until your King was already falling; so the fact that he was a lose cannon tonight scared her all the more.
Hermione couldn't think what she'd done to push him over the edge, surely someone at some point had turned him down before; surely the whole Slytherin vs Gryffindor rivalry thing wasn't something that Blaise felt warranted actually hurting her. Not now, not with the war over and the world moving on. She should have left the pub as soon as she'd realized he was there, but she'd been angry with Michael and full of injured pride, and hadn't wanted to back down to anyone or anything, even her own gut instincts. Hermione squirmed fruitlessly beneath Blaise and felt his grip on her wrist tighten painfully, pulling a whimper from her trembling lips. She was sure to have bruises the next day.
"Please!" The word burst from her lips in a gasp of desperation, twisting Hermione's gut; even now, even trapped in this cramped, dark alleyway, suffocating under a wave of helplessness and despair, she hated to beg. She strained against Blaise's grasping hands, panic settling in her stomach like a ball of ice as she fought to break free; but alcohol dulled her senses and fear made her limbs clumsy and uncoordinated. "Stop! You're hurting me—!" She broke off with a cry as Blaise managed to extract her wand from her hand and tuck it through his belt. "No! P-please, don't—!
"Shut up, Granger," Blaise snarled."You're the one who just hexed me! You're in no position to bargain here."
Tears stung her eyes and Hermione blinked hard, terrified to be blind to Blaise's actions for even a few seconds. She could hear his rapid breathing as he bent over her prone form, could feel the tension is his muscles as he shoved her reaching hands back to the ground. Flashes of memory zinged through her mind as she stared into the dark, unfeeling eyes of the boy hovering over her: Death Eaters grabbing her in Malfoy Manor; Bellatrix carving letters into the exposed flesh of her arm. The metallic taste of terror was sharp in her mouth, choking her.
"Think you're too good for a Slytherin, is that it?" Blaise was scowling, his voice dripping anger and pride. "Goddamn Golden Granger, best mate of Potter the Chosen Prat, thinks herself above anyone who's not as 'good' as she is. But you really aren't as pure as you'd have the world believe, are you, Granger? First you had Krum, then McClaggen, then Weasley, and Merlin knows what you and Potter get up to in your private time. You get your kicks leading blokes on and then pushing them away if they get too close? I almost feel sorry for Draco; he really ought to know better. Men have needs too, you know; and Merlin knows he's not getting anywhere with you."
"No!" The word was both a denial and a plea for understanding. But how could Hermione explain the feelings she thought she was developing for Draco to this boy, even if he was the closest thing to a best mate Malfoy had. Her feelings were private and precious, and she didn't want to share them with anyone except for the one they involved. Having Blaise list off her failed relationships only underscored her feelings on this matter; she wasn't even sure her heart could handle another risk, especially one as big as offering it to Draco Malfoy. And just what did Blaise mean by his comment about Malfoy anyway? "I—I wouldn't do that. Please—!"
"Are we all just snakes in the grass to you, Granger?" Blaise demanded, his eyes boring into hers. Hermione bucked her hips, trying to unseat him and twist free, but all that action procured was a pair of raised eyebrows and a leer from Blaise, as he ran his eyes over her with a lascivious smirk. "Seems like you want to see my snake, Granger." He pressed closer to her, shifting his body so that she was more firmly pressed against him, his hips digging into hers. "That can be arranged, if you like…"
Hermione felt her stomach clench at these words, choking on terror and and the threat of what might come. Blaise was too strong; she couldn't fight him off. It was this realization that locked Hermione's muscles into place, choked off her screams for help. She might be excellent at magic, brilliant at recalling facts and information, but when it came down to a simple, physical fight, she knew she couldn't win. She was at Blaise's mercy and the look in his dark eyes was sadistic and cruel.
"Get off me, you creep!" Hermione heard herself hiss, though her voice shook too much to sound as brave as she wanted. The dark amusement vanished from Blaise's expression at her words, and Hermione squeezed her eyes shut as his hands gripped her arms harder, his head ducking down toward her face with a sudden lunge.
"Someone needs to put you in your place, Granger." Hermione jerked violently at the feeling of Blaise's hot breath against her neck, his drunken threat hissed against her ear. "I could use my wand, but there's something to be said for doing it the old-fashioned way, wouldn't you say?"
Her heart skipped a beat at the undeniable meaning in Blaise's words, and Hermione felt herself go cold all over. She couldn't breathe. Then she was breathing too much. Her head swam and she had to fight to hold onto reason, a struggle when icy fingers of fear were closing tightly around her throat.
"Do you suppose Draco would mind if I had the first taste?" The words were whispered low in her ear, but before Hermione could properly comprehend them, rough fingers forced her chin up, and then Blaise had released her wrists to clamp his hands against her face, framing her jaw with an unyielding grip as his lips found hers in a brutal and savage kiss.
For several seconds Hermione just lay there, barely fighting this unwelcome touch for the absolute shock of it. Then all at once her body reacted of its own accord and she began to resist, clawing at Blaise's wrists, trying to pull them away from her face, wrenching her chin out of his grasp and nipping his lip with her teeth in the process, an action that caused Blaise to curse loudly and pull back sharply.
For a moment Blaise looked so deranged that Hermione feared he might strike her, but all he did was glare down at her with glittering eyes as he rubbed the back of a fist against his mouth, bringing his hand away with a smear of blood across one knuckle; he glanced at it with mild curiosity before licking the knuckle clean. "Like it rough, do you?" the Slytherin boy murmured coldly, breathing hard from the exertion of their struggle. "It's always the bookish ones…" And then his lips curled up into a grin that was all teeth despite the fact that he'd barely opened his mouth.
She hated Blaise for what he was doing to her, holding her down and forcing her to feel powerless and weak and afraid in the way that only the worst of men can make a woman feel. Taking the choice to submit from her, just because he could. When he reached for her again Hermione felt something snap inside her, and then she was writhing and thrashing, grinding grit into her hair and skin, ripping one of the straps of her dress; it didn't matter, all she wanted was out from under Blaise and she didn't care what she had to sacrifice to do it. Above her, Blaise was sneering as he wrestled her into submission, his eyes wild, and hungry for… something. She couldn't let herself think about the look on Blaise's face for too long, if she did, Hermione knew panic would overwhelm her.
xXx
Draco was out the door and halfway down the nearly-empty high street before he registered the sound of running feet behind him. He counted to five then skidded to a halt, whipping around with his wand drawn and a snarl on his lips. He didn't have time to deal with Blakely or Burlington or the rest right now, and the first person who tried to stop him leaving was going to end up cursed within an inch of his life and damn the consequences.
"Whao, hold up!" Phil bleated in surprise, stumbling to a stop a few paces behind Draco and throwing his hands in the air to show he was unarmed.
Draco lowered his wand but glared at his friend. "What is it it?" he demanded, already itching to turn and bolt back down the street.
"That's what I wanted to ask you, Draco," Phil replied cautiously. "I saw you talking with Melville and then you practically apparated into the street you were gone so fast. What happened? Is everything ok?"
"No," Draco bit out, voice sharp with anxiety. "Melville told me Granger went off somewhere with Blaise and she—" He swallowed, feeling his nerves buzzing with apprehension and wondering if he was overreacting. "She wasn't in a good way," he finished, feeling his muscles tensed to run but having no idea where to run to.
"I'm sure it's not as bad as all that," Phil began, looking a little uneasy but also as if he were trying to be reasonable. "Granger is the cleverest witch in school, everyone knows that. Surely she'll be able to look after herself—"
Draco was seconds away from telling Phil that if he delayed him any longer their friendship would be no more, even if he did support Draco's attempt at a relationship with Granger, when—
Boom!
A wooden crate far up the street exploded in the darkness like a grounded firework and Draco spun around with a muttered oath.
"What's happened—?" Phil began, but Draco was already moving again.
"That way," he shouted, his wand clutched in one hand as he pounded down the street.
Most of the shops had closed for the night, their windows dark and doors shut tight, so no one came running at the sound of the small explosion, no one but Draco and Phil, who, to be fair, was mostly chasing after Draco for fear of Draco getting into trouble. Though he wasn't particularly brave, Phil was extremely loyal to those he considered friends, and he had decided that whatever had Draco in such a tizzy tonight, it was likely that he would need backup.
A second flash of sparks lit the night, though the running boys only caught the edge of the magic, for it had originated deeper down the narrow alleyway, whose sign, as they neared it, Draco saw read Buaireas Close. How apt that name was he was soon to find out.
xXx
There was a noise somewhere down their alley then, something that sounded like maybe someone, possibly several someones—it was really hard to tell—was coming toward them. The footsteps, if indeed that's what they were, were lost to the gasps and grunts and cries of the struggle in the shadows though, and neither noticed the new arrivals until a shadow fell across them, backlit by the faint strains of light leaking in from the street beyond.
Everything happened very fast then. There were shouts, curses—of both the mundane and the magical sort—and a great deal of flailing limbs. Hermione gasped as Blaise's weight was yanked off of her, letting out a strangled cry as someone's swinging fist thwacked into her stomach, doubling her over. Not knowing if the assault had been accidental, or if the new arrivals meant to join in the fray of Blaise's attack, Hermione wrapped one arm around her midsection and crawled over to the side of the alley, huddling on the ground next to the bench Blaise had been sitting on earlier. Flashes and sparks seared her closed eyelids, flaring briefly and then fading as Blaise and the other boys—she had ascertained the newcomers as male by their voices—duelled, shouts and spells flying through the cramped space with reckless abandon, making Hermione cry out and cower into the bench for whatever menial protection it might offer her. The fight was blocking her escape into the street, and with her own wand still speared through Blaise's belt like medieval sword, there was nothing else she could do except try and stay out of the fray.
Hands reached for Hermione, pulling her up off the ground, away from the fighting. As she felt herself rising up, a wild desperation seized her, and Hermione clawed her way up her rescuer's chest with frantic fingers, throwing her arms around his neck and clinging like a frightened cat. If she let go she would surely collapse back to the ground, her legs were shaking so badly there was no way they'd support her weight. Strong arms wrapped around her back, holding her tightly as she buried her face in the shoulder of whoever held her. They were muttering in her ear, words that were at once dark curses and gentle soothings, as hands stroked her hair, trying to calm her. A strange sound broke through the words, insistent in its distress, and it was several long seconds before Hermione realized the frightened keening was emanating from her own throat.
A cloak was drawn around her, hands settling it about her shoulders and tucking the ends in; the warmth of the material helped to ward off the chill of the night air but did little to stop the violent trembling that had seized Hermione. The whimpers coming from somewhere deep inside her soon faded, but with them went the last of her strength. With her head spinning from an over-excess of oxygen born of hyperventilation, an exhaustion so bone deep that she might have passed out from the sheer weight of it swept over Hermione, and she collapsed.
There was a grunt as the person holding her took her sudden weight, and both of them went down, Hermione slumped half-aware against the boy's chest as he dropped to his knees, only barely managing to hold on to her. Now she found herself sprawled across the boy's lap as he fought to hold her against his chest, struggling to keep the cloak wrapped around her.
"Draco!" came a sharp male voice near Hermione's ear. "Draco, get over here. Granger doesn't look so good."
Phil. Hermione thought dazedly. That sounded like Phil's voice. She liked Phil; he was kind. She wished he'd been the one she'd met in the pub. He would have seen her back to the castle safely. He would never have— No. Her mind shied away from Blaise's attack. She couldn't think about that now. It might all have been some twisted game to Blaise, he might never have intended to do anything more than scare her—and Merlin knew he'd succeeded in doing that—but it was just all too much to process right then.
It seemed like the fighting lasted a very long time, though it was probably no more than a few minutes, and when the scuffle ended, silence descended on the alley with all the weight and solemnity that might follow the aftermath of a great disaster, with people moving about slowly, carefully taking note of damages that had occurred and tallying their injuries.
Footsteps pounded across the alley then, skidding to a halt before them and throwing a shadow across Hermione. She flinched, turning her face into Phil's chest with a small cry of distress. "No, please—!" She wasn't sure if the words were audible or if she'd only thought them, but the shadow eased away from her, the figure who'd cast it seeming to realize he'd scared her, and thusly adjusted his movements so that they were much more careful.
"Granger?" came a low voice, deceptively calm, though Hermione could somehow sense the barely contained tension vibrating beneath her name. A pause, then, "Hermione?"
She could feel Phil's body shift at Malfoy's unabashed use of her given name, and a vague, far away part of her mind latched onto the wonderment of whether or not Malfoy had discussed their growing friendship—or anything else—with the more rational of his two friends. Phil would definitely have been the better choice for any sort of relationship advice, given the option between him and the other boy who'd thrust himself into that role earlier that night. There was a pregnant pause before Malfoy spoke again, and when he did, his words sounded forced out.
"Are you…okay?" He paused again, seeming to have to rally himself to speak the rest of his question. "Blaise…" He halted again, then pushed on, his voice shaking slightly. "Did he—he didn't…hurt you, did he?" Now the words seemed to come in a rush, Malfoy unable to stop now that he'd begun, though Hermione's conscious understanding of his questions faded in and out. "I mean," Malfoy continued, his words sounding frenzied now, "I saw him—that is, he was on top of you and—Merlin, Granger, if he did anything, if he forced you to—"
Oh god, Malfoy was asking if Blaise had—
She felt sick all over again, and tried to shrink back into Phil's chest, hiding from the very real possibility that if Draco and Phil hadn't come upon them when they did, Blaise might have crossed the line between sadistic teasing and criminal assault. Not that what he'd done to her hadn't been bad enough, but—
In front of her Malfoy started swearing, low and vicious, and Hermione realized that her silence had led him to believe that they'd arrived too late. Rallying the last of her mental presence, Hermione forced words past her numb lips. "N-no…" she choked out, her voice so hoarse from crying that she wasn't sure either of the boys heard her at first. Then Malfoy's cursing broke off, and Hermione thought she heard him murmur "Thank Merlin," on a deep exhale of breath, so low that she wondered if he'd meant anyone else to hear.
A hand landed on her arm then, and Hermione tensed, though her body was already so tightly wound that she felt like she would explode at the slightest provocation—but the touch was gentle, and slowly, slooowly, she began to relax. Somewhere over her head she could hear the two boys talking in low, angry voices, but couldn't muster the strength to do anything other than cry softly. Distantly she thought she must be experiencing some form of traumatic shock.
Phil and Draco conversed for an intense minute, though their words sounded muted, a low buzzing in Hermione's ears, and she couldn't make out what they were saying. The next moment they must have come to a decision, because she felt Phil shifting around, trying to get both himself and her to their feet with as little movement as possible. Hermione wasn't so sure this was a good idea—her legs still felt shaky, and her head was still dizzy with both the lingering alcohol in her bloodstream and residual trauma of Blaise's attack—and she swayed a little as she got her footing, unsure if she could walk.
xXx
Sorry for the dark chapter! *hides* I hope you'll continue to read! :) Please review!