The next morning she runs from him.
Cowardly.
But after laying awake half the night, trying to think rationally.
To stop her thoughts constantly flickering back to his lips on hers,
his body pressing her against the wall.
And the other half, dreaming of water and dark marks and naked bodies.
She can't face him!
Can't take whatever must be coming.
But she hears him running after her.
Because of course this is not a morning he's going to skip the morning run.
He doesn't call for her. But she hears him breathing, ragged hard breaths, that make her think other things he might be doing breathing like that.
She speeds up, trying to outrun her wild thoughts. But the speed only makes them go wilder.
So she stops, and he almost crashes into her as she spins around to face him.
He's sweaty and out of breath and today, his eyes are frustrated.
"No." She tells him.
He lifts an eyebrow.
"I'm not going to do this! I'm not going to spend all my time being awkward and on the edge with you!"
He opens his mouth to speak but she stops him, "I'm not going to listen to excuses how it's about this solitude messing with our heads! Or any other blame of ill judgment!"
"Granger…"
But she carries on, "We have just started to get along! I'm not going to give you the satisfaction of telling me how we should stay away from each other, because you were the one who followed me…"
"HERMIONE!" He looks irritated as he takes a step closer.
"DON'T invade my space!" She yells, "I can't think when you're that close!"
The moment the words leave her lips she realizes what she's saying.
"Then tell me, how do I get you to shut up!?" He answers with a similar volume.
She snaps her mouth shut.
"I was never going to say any of those things you tried to put in my mouth." He tells her firmly, still invading her space.
She glares at him.
"What's a little kissing?" He asks then shrugging, "You didn't seem to mind," He looks at her suggestively, "and there's no one else here. No audience, no need to define, no need to explain."
How she hates his smug certainty!
She wants to tell him she doesn't do things like that.
But her eyes are fixated on his moving lips.
He steps closer and she needs to close her eyes to gather her thoughts.
"There's no one watching." He whispers close to her ear and makes chills run down her whole body.
No one watching...
No need to explain…
But she's not used to being irresponsible like that.
His hand caresses her arm lightly.
She trembles.
"Why?" She manages to get out, keeping her eyes shut.
She can't look at him now.
He laughs a little, "why not?"
"I'm a mudblood."
His hand grips his arm now, "Who's defining?"
"You?"
"So, it's in my hands?"
She won't dare to look at him.
The ghost of his kisses from last night still lingers on her lips, and she already knows she's lost this game.
if she refuses him now, she has to go back to avoiding him.
Because how can she stay away from something so tempting?
No one's watching.
Ron and Harry will never know.
Ron… Ron will never know.
"You're not. And if you want me to define, dirty might mean many different things."
She can feel his lips move close to her mouth…
Remotely she knows his words should offend her… but spoken in almost sinful tone… offended is not how she's feeling at the moment.
"I swear," She forces the words out, "If this is some sick joke you're playing on me, I'll hex your balls off!"
"No doubt…" He murmurs and then his lips are back on hers,
salty from sweat and all-consuming.
.
.
.
She can't quite define when the silence stopped bothering her. When it turned from threatening to welcoming?
Maybe it was when they stopped thinking they should get out.
Or maybe when they decided to make the most of it.
Maybe when it turned from prison to freedom.
Because when there's no one around, no one looks at them disapprovingly.
No one comes to tell them it's prohibited to drink whiskey on school grounds.
No one tells them they should keep it quiet in the library and not yell information across shelves to one another.
No one questions her motives of helping him research the vanishing cabinet.
No one comes to tell her she's franchising with the enemy.
No one looks at her with disappointment when she kisses him in the hallway.
This silence gives them freedom.
Freedom, that might not be even possible anywhere other than here.
And to be completely honest, they kind of deliberately forget to attempt to find a way out of there.
She has found a way to him. It's his eyes and lips and hands.
His arms around her and his body pressed against her.
When her lips are on his there's no doubt they understand each other.
That they make sense.
That they fit.
And she doesn't have to hide it.
Doesn't have to question it.
Doesn't have to second guess.
Why should she?
He's all she has, and somehow that doesn't bother her anymore.
One night, they're sitting in the library. He's reading a book, sleeves rolled and his dark mark clearly visible.
He doesn't hide it anymore. She thinks he doesn't even think much of it these days. Because there's nothing to remind him what it indicates.
But today she wants to talk about it.
So she takes his hand,
and travels her index finger along the lines.
He looks at her questioningly.
"Did it hurt?" She asks, not looking at him, but at the brand.
"like hell."
Then she raises her eyes, "Do your friends…?"
He's shaking his head, "They don't normally mark underaged."
"Would you have taken it, if you had a choice?"
He's silent for a while.
She knows it's a dangerous topic.
But she's Hermione Granger! She can't stay ignorant forever.
"Probably, for my family and for loyalty to my house. Maybe even for what it stands for. Once..."
"But not anymore?"
She wants to close her eyes and pray the answer is no.
"I'm not a hero,." He tells her, refusing to meet her eyes.
"But you're not a villain either. Not a killer. Not a death eater."
"How do you know?"
She leans closer to him, "We've been here for months, Draco. Even you can't put on a show for that long."
"You're too pure for your own good, Granger." He whispers.
"Hermione." She tells him.
"Huh?"
"That's my name."
"Still, too pure for your own good."
"Nothing pure in good observation." She smirks slightly.
Silence falls.
Then she continues, "I just… I guess all I want to know is that I won't have to fight we ever get out of here."
He's looking at her, only inches from her face, "You always fight me."
"You know what I mean." She bores her eyes into his.
He puts his hand on the side of her face, "No."
And then his hands are in her hair and she's leaning onto him.
Briefly, she wonders if she should have fought more? not give in so easily?
But his lips are intoxicating.
And somehow, she believes his no means that she doesn't have to fight him. Not now, not in the future.
He pulls her to his lap, and she straddles him, fisting her own fingers into his hair.
She could never get enough of kissing him.
It's exhilarating and igniting, like she never knows what to expect of him.
Sometimes he's rough and possessive, almost bruising.
And then other times tender and sweet.
Sometimes he takes the lead,
and then he doesn't, letting her guide.
But in every action, he gives the impression he knows exactly what he's doing.
She's not experienced. And if she paused to think about it, she doesn't even know what she's doing.
But her body does.
Like now as she's grinding her hips against him, making him groan against her mouth.
His hands are gripping her bottom and he pulls her closer, his movement becoming more feverish.
And she's burning up.
needing…
wanting…
But it's her brain that still stops her, when his hands find the clasp of her bra.
Not yet!
So like so many times before, she stops him.
He doesn't protest.
Never does.
But she can feel his frustration. And his unfulfilled desire pressing against her.
She's not even sure why she still refuses it go further than heavy snogging. Maybe she is a prude.
Or a coward.
It's the doubt. The feeling he has done this a million times before, and she hasn't.
She doesn't want to seem like she doesn't know what she's doing. But the books can't teach her this.
She is in a roadblock. And it probably frustrates her more than it does him, to be honest.
She doesn't want to be some blushing unsure virgin for him! She wants to be bold and experienced and certain.
"Come sleep in my bed." He whispers against her neck because despite the halt she's still on his lap.
She's about to shake her head, but then again, he does let her set the rules.
"Just sleep?" She leans further to look at him.
"If that's what you want."
"Okay." She says and gets up pulling him with her.
But he's not done yet, because he grips her from behind, pulling her against his hard chest and speaks in her hair, "One day, I'm going to take you here, between the shelves…"
Chills run through her and all she wants to do is to throw her insecurities into the trash, invade his lips and tell him that fuck it, let's do it now!
But she doesn't.
Just laughs and leads him out the library.
.
.
.
She doesn't know why they kept sleeping alone for so long? Why did they keep sleeping in different dorms for so long? Why did she waste precious time when she could have slept here, wrapped around his warmth the whole time?!
That's how they sleep now, arms and legs tangled around each other. And it does occur to her, that maybe she was a fool to deny him anything. Because this feels more intimate than any sex could be.
When they slept separately, she could fool herself it's not that serious.
But this…
This makes it all feel like they're,
almost lovers.
And it doesn't get better!
Waking up in the morning light, looking at his sleep-mussed hair, makes her feel warm and soft and mushy, like it's more than the situation driving them together.
He doesn't seem to care though.
She's not sure if she should be bothered or relieved how at ease, he handles everything. Like it's nothing short business as usual. When, if you stopped to think about it, it was anything but.
But it's not for too long before she, too, gets over herself.
Then one night she wakes up to a nightmare that makes her shoot up in the bed,
and finds him gone.
It's usually him who has nightmares and those nights she soothes him, tells him, it's just a dream and holds him close until they both fall back to sleep.
But now, when she needs him to do the same,
he's gone.
She stands up and listens but hears nothing.
"Draco?" Her voice echoes in the empty dorm and briefly, she wonders if she didn't wake up at all.
In her nightgown, she walks to the common room.
Everything is eerie silent.
There's just once she has felt the same: when she first woke up here.
What if he's gone?
If she's left alone?
She's alone! In this silent castle! He has been taken away and she's left alone.
"DRACO!"
She half walks, half runs through the corridors, not even knowing where she's going.
There's no rational thought in her brain. Only this overpowering dread.
She screams his name so long her voice goes harsh.
Only silence answers her.
Tears run freely to her cheeks and the cold floor feels like it's burning her bare feet.
He's nowhere!
There's no reason he would leave and wander somewhere without making sure she knew where he was going.
He's gone!
This can't be happening!
She's going to die here! First, go mad and then die,
alone.
That stops her.
No! She's not going to be left here alone forever! She has a way to make sure of it! A way he once showed her!
And just like that panic disappears.
She turns with certainty in her steps and starts to make her way up.
up to the astronomy tower.