Thanks for everyone's support, it's much appreciated.
There was no natural sunlight in the dungeons where the Slytherin boy's dormitory was, so when Draco woke up he could scarcely tell how long he'd slept in. Pulling the bed curtain aside he found the room completely empty. He laid back down wondering why he even bothered to get up. He wasn't leaving Hogwarts; he couldn't go back home until either he or Dumbledore, were dead. He would be alone for Christmas and for New Years, which at this point he didn't really mind, except his mother would be alone and he couldn't stand the thought of that.
Then his mind went to Granger, who would have probably left by now. Granger who had discovered him crying, who he was ninety-nine percent sure knew that he had taken the Dark Mark, whose hand he had held. He covered his face with a pillow and considered asphyxiating himself. He wasn't sure which was worse, the crying, her knowing he was a Death Eater or the wrist kiss. He groaned into the pillow.
At least now it didn't matter, she'd tell Potter, or Dumbledore, or everyone. Oh Merlin, would she tell them about the kiss and the crying or would she leave those parts out? Well, he would just wait in bed till someone came to put him out of his misery, probably Potter or Weasley. Stupid Mudblood, she ruins everything. She's a ruiner. She's… she smells nice. Then Draco spent some time wondering whether it was her shampoo, perfume or if it was just the scent of her skin. He wondered if she smelt the same everywhere.
He rubbed his face vigorously. What the hell was he doing lying there thinking about what Hermione Granger smells like! He needed to stop her, he needed to — to — to do something! He couldn't just sit next to his father in Azkaban while his mother suffered the consequences of his failure. He swung his legs off the bed and walked over to his open trunk. While rummaging through, trying to find the protean-charmed coin, he tried thinking of different ways to shut her up. But what could he possibly say to dissuade her? He couldn't think of a single reason, at least no sane reason. He'd just have to… have to… to kidnap her. Yes! Just until this was all over. Yes, kidnap her, get her alone somewhere, grab her, blindfold her, take her somewhere isolated where no one can hear her scream, lock her up in a room, tie her to the bed… his mind went a little quiet. He mentally slapped himself.
Can't kidnap her, he thought. She'll hex me, besides Potter and Weasley will go nuts, not to mention the girl-Weasley. Bat-bogey hex? No, thank you.
Finally, he saw the coin peeking out between the folds of his robes. As he picked it up, the surface shimmered and words began to appear: Library, Disappearing Isles of Bryn, 0920.
He frowned.
She'd messaged him which meant she was up to something, but he couldn't figure out what.
He re-read the words. He'd never heard of the Isles of Bryn, but he assumed it was a book in the library.
A book, he wrote.
He received a reply almost instantly. Yes, at 0920.
What was 0920? Oh, the time! Little swot, speaking in riddles. He checked the clock on the wall and realized he was already late. But — was it possible that she was trying to lure him there with a band of Aurors laying in wait? Pulling a shirt over his head he decided to go find out.
Entering the library, it hit him just how deserted the castle really was during the Christmas holidays. There wasn't a soul to be seen, except Madam Pince who was always there. He reluctantly approached her to ask after the book. She gave him a distrustful look before pointing to the back of the library.
"Last shelf on the last aisle to the left, under lost things."
Furrowing his brow, he made his way over. Where was this book, the last aisle on the left... "Bout time!" Granger exclaimed, startling him. "Where were you?"
"Slow morning," replied Draco. He was feeling a little awkward sneaking around in the back aisles of the library with her in broad daylight. It would've been easier on his nerves if there were Aurors. Why was she here, did this mean she would be staying at Hogwarts over Christmas as well? "I thought… weren't you going home?"
"I am, I only have a few minutes."
Oh...
She was staring at him and he didn't know what to say, not after last night. Should he be begging her not to tell anyone? Maybe she didn't even know, maybe she thought he'd injured himself and was being a big cry baby about it — that was possible.
"Aren't you?" she asked with a small smile. "You always do."
"Not this year," he replied.
He could tell by her worried expression that she didn't like that answer.
"Well," Granger huffed opening her bag. "I wanted to give you something before I left —" What, a prison sentence? "—I think you should read it."
Draco couldn't believe it. Hermione Granger wasn't turning him in, she was giving him homework. He took the book and examined it.
"The Picture of Dorian Gray," he murmured reading the cover. He hadn't heard of the title or the author before, it must've been... "A muggle book."
"Yes," she replied with her chin raised. "Yes, it is."
He clenched his jaw angrily. "No. I'm not reading this."
"Yes, you are." She pushed the book to his chest, her fingers on his. "Consider it a Christmas gift." They were staring each other down. Draco felt like he was caught in some kind of game with her but he didn't know the rules. He studied her pursed lips, the colour on her cheeks, her eyes set in a deadlock and he was furious — not with her but with himself. He'd been letting things fall through the cracks. Letting her fall through the cracks.
"I said no," he gritted placing the book on the shelf.
She seemed to deflate, her shoulders sagging and he thought for a moment he'd won. But then she was looking at him with her big brown almond eyes and saying, "You could do the right thing Malfoy. It doesn't have to be this way."
There was a rising panic within Draco threatening to unravel him as he gazed at her incredulously. He hated how she spoke as if she seemed to know everything, hated the way she felt safe enough to ask him, hated the way she made it sound so simple. There was no 'right thing'. No right and wrong. There was surviving. There was his family. There was don't-get-eaten-by-a-fucking-snake. She was trying to kill him. Ruiner, she ruins things.
Gripping her arms in a tight vice he pushed her into the bookshelf. "Don't you ever get tired of being so fucking virtuous all the time?" he hissed. "That's the thing about you, you prance around thinking you're so smart, so brave, so much better than the rest of us, Hermione-Fucking-Granger, Gryffindor's little angel, Brightest Witch of Her Age, Saint Potter's pet! But in truth… you're beneath me, you'll always be beneath me. A Dirty. Filthy. Mudblood."
And he was panting over her, his breath hot and heavy. Hermione had held his stare throughout his tirade without some much as a flinch.
Her tongue darted out to wet her lips and his gaze followed the movement. He waited for retribution, a hex, an outcry of indignation but when she spoke it was calm and calculated.
"Careful Draco—" His name seemed to roll off her tongue as if it were familiar to her. "Keep cornering me like this and claiming how filthy I am beneath you, well, people might start getting ideas."
Then she yanked her arms out of his grip and stomped off.
He was dumbstruck, the book forgotten.
Feeling a little lightheaded, he walked back to the dungeons in a sort of daze. He was tired, he reasoned. He just needed to sleep, he felt like he hadn't slept in months. When he finally slid into bed and closed his eyes though, all he could do was turn and twist under the sheets, painfully aware of how aroused he was by the mere thought of having Granger naked, filthy and under him.
And he could say it had all began when he showed her the conjuring charm, or when Theo had made that comment over summer, or the way Pansy had berated him Fourth-year but it had started far earlier than all of that.
It had been Third-year when she'd slapped him, or more accurately, after that. He remembered how angry he'd been, how obsessed he was with getting his revenge. He'd swore to Crabbe and Goyle there'd be retribution, he'd get her alone and make her pay… but he'd bide his time, he'd be smart, patient — and he had been. He'd followed her to the library and waited for her to disappear into the labyrinth of shelves. Silly little witch liked studying in remote little corners.
There was something so exciting about finally catching the Mudblood alone. He could feel his entire body vibrate. Quietly rounding the corner, he saw her. She couldn't see him though. Her back was to him and she was kneeling down on all fours. Her wand had fallen through the thin gap between two adjoining tables. Her hips swayed back and forth trying to reach for it. Then her bum dipped and came up again and he had his wand clenched so tightly in his hand he thought it would break.
This was the image that conquered him, that had his hand reach for his hard length. He groaned because it'd been so long since he'd had an erection, and so long since he'd allowed himself to think of that day in the library when he'd walked away from Hermione Granger still reaching for her wand on all fours.
Except now she was naked and he could hear his name fall from her parted lips.
And every inch of her, like being buried in soft earth and gardenias.