Thank you all for such wonderful reviews! They are so eloquent and encouraging. You've really brought my spirits up, and I love you guys like crazy.
I will say that I did have one review that threw me off…it was my first truly negative review. I understand giving someone a scathing review for a story that is just downright offensive. I don't understand the need to make an author feel small simply because you don't like one aspect of a story. This person thought that having the Daily Prophet being interested in a couple of school children was stupid, and snidely commented on how silly it was that Hermione was suddenly getting all of this male attention…I appreciate the commentary, I really do – I've told you all that I will always be grateful for any review, the good and the bad – but this is a Fanfiction story. This isn't a novel. It's not to be taken too seriously. Besides, it's one thing to offer constructive criticism – it's another to belittle someone and make them feel like their story is stupid. I mean I'm a fairly confident person, and like I said at the beginning of this story I am under no illusions that I am some fabulous writer, but this is my story and if you don't like it, just stop reading it. Unless you have something useful to say and can say it in a polite, respectful way, then just don't comment. I can handle it – I'm not some overly-sensitive crybaby – but it's just common decency. (Besides, it's not like they were on the first page of the newspaper – but think about it, the wizarding world is pretty small and tight-knit, and the fact that two people from across the world have suddenly been dropped right down into its midst is bound to have some tongues wagging. And Hermione isn't getting male attention because she's suddenly the prettiest girl on earth – she's getting attention because she's interesting, and new. Fresh meat, so to speak. Does that make sense? Maybe?)
Anyway. It was just a tad bit…irritating. I don't like it when people are rude. There are ways to be critical in a helpful, respectful manner. But thanks for listening to me whine. You guys are the best.
This chapter will include some mild sexual content. This is me satisfying my (and your) love of Dramione. But, like I've said before, this isn't, primarily, a Dramione story (sad, I know, but Tomione needs its time in the spotlight. Besides, Tom Riddle? Ultimate bad boy. This is an area in which he does outstrip Draco). And please don't make the mistake of thinking that they will somehow be fighting for Hermione or something. Like I've said before, this isn't a love triangle. Draco and Hermione have feelings for each other, and they've been through a lot together, but there's just too much history there. And Hermione isn't getting involved with Tom because she loves him or wants to be in a relationship with him – she's getting involved because a) it might put her in a position to influence Tom or, if things go south in the future, terminate him if need be, and b) so she can potentially keep herself in a safe place with him. Men are ruled by their bodies much of the time – especially young men – and Tom Riddle isn't immune to the weaknesses of mortal men.
So anyway, this little Dramione snippet won't be as graphic as the scenes between Hermione and Tom will be. And this is the only time they will be together in a less than platonic atmosphere. Don't get hooked on the idea of them as a couple. Alas, it was not meant to be.
Also, I had a question about how long I thought this story was going to be…originally it wasn't going to be more than 100K words, but you can see how that worked out. Honestly, I just don't know. Probably over 200K words though. I guess we'll find out.
oooo
If you love large, you've got to hurt large. If you've got a lot of light, you've probably got an equal amount of darkness. –Sarah McLachlan
Time flies over us, but leaves its shadow behind. –Nathaniel Hawthorne
Where do you find the strength to brave a barrage of enemy fire and to bring your wounded friends to safety at great risk to your own life? Conviction. –Guy Verhofstadt
oooo
Saturday, August 17, 2002
Indonesia
"God, Hermione, how do you manage to look so nonchalant in this place? It smells like...peat, and rotting carcass, and spoiled milk, and that old couch that was in Grimmauld Place – "
Hermione rolls her eyes and continues to slog through the swamp, murky water swirling around her knees. She does not respond. Pansy doesn't mind, just keeps rambling, pushing her sweaty bangs from her eyes.
Hermione stops, exhausted, and looks at her watch. "Draco, would you be a dear and cast a point-me spell?"
"Finally admitting that you've gotten us good and lost, Granger?" Zacharias Smith sneers from the back. "You have the navigational abilities of a fly trying to find an open window."
Draco sets his wand flat on his hand and starts the spell, murmuring Harry's name. He sneers at Smith. "Oh, don't act like you could do much better, Smith. Every fucking tree in this godforsaken jungle looks the same."
Zacharias sits down on a log. "I could do better, you arseh – "
A green flash zaps the air around them; Zacharias is dead before he hits the water. The three Order members that remain all duck at the same time – a blue jet of light skims the very top of Pansy's right ear, and she shrieks as the skin splits.
"Run!" Draco roars, grabbing them both by the collars and shoving them in front of him. Pansy automatically maintains a shield charm at their backs while Draco and Hermione hurl offensive spells over their shoulders into the small horde of werewolves that chases after them. Fenrir Greyback is at their helm, his foul pale gaze gleaming with shards of feral yellow; the full moon is five days away.
"Up the bank, Granger, get up," Draco says impatiently, scrambling up the side of a hill in an effort to get to higher ground. He reaches down and hauls her up behind him, and Pansy has latched onto a protruding root and is climbing up beside them. "Come on, Pans."
Hermione casts a killing curse at Greyback, who yanks one of his companions in front of him to die in his place – he is too slow to dodge her subsequent Expelliarmus, though, and howls in rage as his wand flies into the still, smelly waters of the bog. He launches himself at her, and she pulls herself up higher on the dirt, anxious to get away.
She screams in blinding pain when he digs his claws into the fleshy part of her calf and latches onto her heel with his inhuman teeth, the razor sharp incisors slicing through her boot to sink shallowly into her skin. He tries to pull her down, but Draco is there at the top of the hill, stabilized against a tree, and he casts shield charm after shield charm and reaches down with his right hand to grab her left arm and yank her to safety. Fenrir's teeth detach from her ankle but his paw rakes down her leg as he begins to lose purchase, and she howls as she feels the tip of one of his claws sink deep into her flesh and scrape against her fibula. Blood is everywhere; it soaks through the torn fabric of her pants and gushes down into her shoe, and the warm surge of it is sickening. Coming to her senses, she twists long enough to lift her wand and blast him away from her. He falls and lands hard in the water, immediately surging to his feet again, snarling.
Hermione is pulled up to safety by Draco, and he leans down to grab Pansy; but he is not fast enough.
They watch in horror as a poorly-aimed slicing hex takes off two of their friend's right fingers – her wand slips out of her bloody, mutilated hand and Hermione looks on as Pansy struggles to get it back, leaning backwards precariously as the little twig of cherry and unicorn hair goes flying towards the werewolves at her back.
Pansy's left hand slips from the root she clings to, and Draco's fist catches thin air as the brunette plummets backwards as if in slow motion. There is a brief flash of awareness and apology in her blue eyes before she lands in the water with an almighty splash.
Draco's eyes bulge. "PANS!" His voice cracks.
Immediately Pansy is set upon by the snarling crowd of cannibalistic werewolves, who are eager to get a taste of her milky white flesh. Hermione and Draco desperately try to stun and kill as many of them as they can, but they begin tearing and ripping at Pansy's skin and Hermione cannot stand the sounds of her friend's agonizing screams.
"Draco!" Pansy cries desperately. "Draco, please! Hermione! PLEASE!"
Hermione sees Pansy's face surface for just a moment – it is bloody and bruised, and pain contorts her pretty features as a new set of teeth joins the fray. Her eyes, though – her eyes are what will come to haunt Hermione forever.
The cobalt blue orbs are beseeching and full of anguish, but she is not asking to be saved. She knows she is beyond help.
She is asking for the deliverance of a quick death.
Hermione raises her wand, but the words die in her throat – it is like watching Seamus die all over again, and she is just as helpless now as she was then, and she is useless, useless, useless –
"Avada Kedavra." Draco chokes out the spell and it hits Pansy squarely in the forehead. Hermione sobs in despair as the life leaves those royal blue eyes. Draco hauls her up the bank and suddenly Harry and Oliver Wood are there, helping them to their feet and shielding them from the peppering of spells that are still being thrown their way by the werewolves that aren't feasting.
Harry looks down on the grisly scene and Hermione shrinks back in fear as his bright green eyes turn hot with rage. He doesn't say anything, just raises his wand and brings it down in a sharp, staccato movement – the bog around them begins to bubble and froth, and Hermione watches through a haze of tears as Greyback snatches the wand from a member of his pack and apparates away with a grin, Hermione's blood still dribbling from his lips and hands. Four others have the sense to do the same – the rest of them are consumed in the roiling water of the lagoon, which has taken on a life of its own with Harry's magic and has become a deathly trap for those caught in it.
They all watch, heartbroken and in shock, as Pansy's petite form is swallowed up in the froth. When they are all gone, Harry stops, and the waters settle down below. There are no bodies, no sign of conflict…the only indication that there was ever anybody there is the thin reed of Pansy's wand. The delicate red stem, decorated with small carvings of the blossoms of the tree from which it was made, floats listlessly on top of the still water. It is the only part of its master that is left. None of them make to summon it.
Hermione floats along in a daze as she feels Oliver and Harry grab Draco and her and apparate them away from the scene. They pop into the cave that they've been camping in for the last few nights. Luna is there, and Hermione feels the Ravenclaw's soothing aura surround her, feels a pale hand smooth over her hair.
Oliver is struggling to contain the vicious wound on her leg, and Hermione watches through blurry, tearful eyes as Draco drops to his knees and lets out a chilling keen – it is the noise of utter heartbreak. He begins to sob noiselessly, scrubbing his hands across his face. Hermione has never seen him like this. Even when his mother had died, he'd not broken down like this. But he is weeping openly, without abandon, and her heart aches.
What a terrible burden – the memory of killing one's best friend.
Harry whirls away, his hands tangling in his shock of rebellious black hair; he begins to pace, and the mad light in his green eyes frightens her. Suddenly she feels afraid for Voldemort, because he has always underestimated Harry's power, and now that power is fueled by even greater anger –
Because Pansy had been his. Pansy had been Harry's. It was a quiet possession, one that no one mentioned but everyone could see. Everyone knew it was only a matter of time before the two of them allowed themselves to officially come together. Pansy had brought him back to life after Ginny's death. She was his, and he was hers, and it just…was.
But that future was gone, now; unable to be finished, like so many others.
"Harry." Her voice is hoarse and pained, and her leg trembles as Oliver tries to staunch the bleeding as best he can. Luna's hands still stroke over her hair. "Harry."
Her oldest friend turns to look at her, his gaze burning with the fires of an anger that she knows all too well; that they all know, by now. As he looks at her – at the girl with whom he shares an unfathomable bond, forged by years of love and friendship – the fire dies, and all that is left in its wake is a tremendous amount of sorrow.
"'Mione," he says, tears springing up into his eyes. "Hermione." He sits down on a stone and buries his head in his hands and cries, his muffled sobs joining those of the devastated blond that still kneels on the hard ground, trembling.
It takes an hour of spell casting for Hermione's wound to stop leaking, and the last pain potion and a full night's rest before she is fit to travel. The next day they portkey back to Munich, where the Order has set up a safe house.
When they arrive Molly instantly bursts into tears, because Pansy is not with them, and she sees the truth of her death on their solemn faces; they can offer her no words of comfort. There is none to be had, now that she only has one biological child left. Charlie puts an arm around his quaking mother's shoulders. Pansy had become like a daughter to her, one of her children – much as Harry and Hermione are.
Hermione's leg gets infected a few days later – Hannah Abbott and Madam Pomfrey do the best they can to heal it, but supplies are dwindling and potions ingredients are getting harder and harder to come by. As soon as the infection clears, Hermione tells them to keep what they have left for more serious injuries. After about a week she is walking again, and in two weeks she is running again; it is not easy, or comfortable, but she has no choice. The gashes caused by Greyback remain angry and red for weeks, and she knows they will scar badly.
From the time she had been accepted into Hogwarts, Hermione Granger has studied all of what magic can accomplish…in the past few years of war, she has become more acquainted with what it can't do. It cannot heal everything. It cannot save everyone. It cannot keep people safe. It cannot bring the dead back to life.
Sometimes, she wonders if magic has really helped them at all. Sometimes it seems more like a curse than a blessing; like it does more harm than good.
She misses Pansy dearly. Her Slytherin smirk, her girlish giggle, her fondness for Pepper Imps, her snobbishness, her love of Michael Jackson…the way she looked at Harry when she thought no one else could see her. Hermione had loved Pansy as a sister, and now she is gone, and the hole in Hermione's heart widens.
She tells no one, but the darkness in her soul swells.
oooo
Tom sat in the silence of his destroyed suite, staring into the empty fireplace.
"My – my Lord?"
"Get out," he hissed, his head snapping to look at the group of sniveling idiots that cowered by the door. Even Dolohov looked cowed – as cowed as a psychopathic killer could look, at least.
They needed no urging. Rosier was the one to yank open the portrait.
"Wait."
They froze.
"None of you touch her."
"My Lord?" Rosier said skeptically. "But she –"
"I don't care what she's done," he snarled, striding forward until Rosier stood plastered against the wall next to the door. "She hasn't done it to you. So you don't touch her unless I tell you. Is that clear?"
Rosier nodded. Tom saw the spark of rebellion in his eyes. He ignored it.
"If at any point you can get her alone over the next few days, then do so. Bring her to me," he said, Hermione Granger's stupid fucking face sliding across his vision. "Convince her, and do it without hurting her. I have a feeling it won't be hard to get her to come to me. She craves the confrontation." He paused, and fixed them all with an icy stare. "But if I find out she's been harmed by any of you, I will cut your hearts out and chop them into tiny little pieces and feed them bit by bit to your familiars. Is that clear?" He didn't wait for them to answer, just yanked the door the rest of the way open and gestured for them to leave.
"Avery, stay," he said. Conan obeyed, watching Tom with flat, wary eyes. "Sit."
Avery say down on one of Tom's ruined couch cushions, goose feathers floating into the air around him. He looked unfazed, just waited for Tom to speak. Tom shut the door behind the rest of them, lit a fire in the hearth, and began to clean up, waving his wand lazily and watching as the room righted itself.
Unfortunately, Tom had always had a temper. He just wasn't usually beholden to its whims…but where that girl was concerned, he felt totally out of control.
He wanted that control back.
"Meet her out by the lake again tomorrow," he said without preamble, his voice still harsh with anger. "She won't be expecting it."
Conan cleared his throat. He looked…uncomfortable. Well…Conan Avery didn't ever look anything, but Tom imagined that if he was uncomfortable, it would look something like this.
"Permission to speak freely, my Lord."
Tom sneered. "Fine."
"There isn't much Granger doesn't…expect."
Foregoing his wand, he reached out with his right hand and threw Conan up off the couch and back into the wall, suspending him there with magic. The boy grunted in pain, but there was still no change in those dead blue eyes.
"If all you're going to do is sing her praises – "
"You are the smartest person I have ever known or even known of," Conan interrupted quietly. "This isn't flattery. This is fact. And I'm telling you, my Lord – she might not be your equal, but she is as close as you'll ever get to having one, at least in your age group."
Tom breathed heavily through his nose. "Your point, Conan."
"You need to make up your mind, Riddle," Avery said, staring into his eyes coolly. "Kill her now, or get her on your side. If you hem and haw, she'll rip you apart while you're trying to decide."
Tom strode toward him, coming to stand in front of the younger boy. Still, Conan showed no emotion, besides a sort of physical discomfort. He shoved his wand into the pale skin of the boy's neck.
"And should I, Avery? Kill her?" he asked quietly.
"Does my opinion have any bearing on your decision?" Conan replied, eyebrow raised.
"No," Tom said, seething. "Probably not. I'd like to hear it anyway."
Conan rested his head back against the wall, seemingly content to just hang there. "I like her. But she isn't someone, I don't think, you can mold to suit your needs. She's been shaped by her life experiences, and I doubt she'll be easy to reshape."
"I don't want to reshape her," Tom said, letting Avery down with a wiggle of his fingers. "I want to own her."
"You can't own her without reshaping her," Conan said, landing on his feet and straightening the collar of his shirt. "You can't possess her as she is now. You can't control her. She's dangerous."
"Then I will break her," Tom said with a scoff, cracking the bones in his neck and sitting down in one of his armchairs. "I'll break her, and then I'll own her."
Avery shrugged. "The question is – what will she look like after you've broken her?" He leaned up against the portrait hole. "Will she be something that you'll still want to own?"
Tom was silent, staring at the fire in the hearth.
He did not notice when Conan left, minutes later; did not hear the click of the door. He only stared into the fire, seeing her, hearing her – her face, her shape, her laughter, her biting words.
Even if he did try to break her…
Could he?
oooo
"Your eyes are your most arresting feature."
Hermione sat on the bed, staring down at her overnight bag. She'd made sure Sabrina and Kat had seen her up in the girls' dorm before she slipped on the invisibility cloak and stole out, creeping past the number of people in the common room and out the portrait hole to come to Draco's.
Malfoy paced back and forth in front of his bathroom door, wearing pajama pants and a white undershirt. She swung her bare feet back and forth and tried in vain not to feel nervous.
"And?"
He scrubbed his hands over his face. "And looking into them makes the heart beat faster. Tom Riddle isn't immune. I've seen it. You'll want to make frequent eye contact – it'll suck him in."
"Makes the heart beat faster?" she asked, finally looking up at him and getting caught in his argent stare. "What does that mean?"
"There's something…compelling, about your eyes," he said quietly, looking away. "Something mysterious that makes one want to look closer. And with Fawkes twiddling his thumbs in there," he said, gesturing to her body, "they've become even brighter. They aren't just brown anymore. They're…just different. It's easy to get lost in your stare."
"Do phoenixes have thumbs?" she said, trying to lighten the mood.
Draco rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. "You're trying my patience, Hermione."
"Sorry," she said sheepishly. "I know you're doing me a favor – "
"Enough." When she met his eyes, she saw a spark of sadness before they hardened, turning to stone. "I don't want to talk about it. I want to do it, so that you won't make a fool of yourself when the time comes."
"If the time comes," she said with a snort. "Now that I've made a fool of him in front of hundreds of people…somehow I get the feeling that his desire for me might have cooled a bit."
He snorted. "I would have given anything to see that," he said. She had told him about her lunch today – from her beat-down of Riddle to her conversation at the Ravenclaw table. "But you may have made things more difficult for yourself. You've made him angry."
"I've made him furious," she corrected softly.
"You don't seem very afraid," Draco said, crossing his arms and smirking at her.
She shrugged. "We all die, Draco," she said quietly. "I'm not afraid. I would rather die than lose myself in his darkness."
"You won't lose yourself," he said in return. "I know you've had some…issues. With dark magic. But the goodness in you, Hermione Jean Granger, runs deeper than almost anyone I know. You are compassionate, and just – and yeah, these days you might have a tendency to get a little carried away with violence, but you'd never hurt an innocent. I know you, Granger. I'm not worried."
She heaved out a sigh. She couldn't help the relief that came with his words. "Do you think he'll kill me?"
Draco cocked his head and looked up to the ceiling, thinking. "I think he might give it a halfhearted try – more of a test, to see how far he can push you. Despite your little episode of verbal diarrhea, I still don't think he wants to kill you. You're too interesting. And he's bored."
She smirked. "He is that. Also, the whole Grindelwald thing – he wants to know why Grindelwald wants the two of us."
"Grindelwald wants us because he naturally wants what Dumbledore has," Draco said dryly. "And we are a bit…abnormal. If we're being honest."
Hermione giggled. "Abnormal. Were we ever not abnormal?"
"No," he answered, amused. "I was a rich, snotty, prejudiced pureblood that got to sit next to the Minister of Magic at the World Cup and wore three-hundred-galleon Italian shoes." He chuckled. "You were a rich, snotty, ridiculously intelligent muggleborn girl that was best friends with the Boy-Who-Lived and was fighting the world's darkest wizard by age twelve."
She laughed. "And then we both got sucked into a fight that changed us forever."
"Our roots never change, Hermione," he said wistfully. "Our beginnings in life will always be a part of who we are." He fixed her with a piercing stare. "Are you ready?" he asked softly, changing the subject.
She swallowed as the air thickened in the room. "Do you feel nervous?"
He leaned back against the wall. "No."
"You're used to this…kind of thing, though. Sex things."
"Yes."
"How many women have you…?"
He rolled his eyes. "I haven't kept count, Granger," he said, exasperated. "Nineteen? Twenty, maybe? Somewhere in that ball park."
She swallowed. "I'm nervous."
"I can tell." He moved forward and took her hand. "You trust me to watch your back out in the field, right?"
"Of course," she said, squeezing his hand. "More than anyone."
"And you trust me with your secrets, and your feelings."
"You're my best friend," she said softly. "My confidant."
"Then do you think you can trust me with your body?" he asked.
She nodded, swallowing. Her mouth felt dry. "Yes. Without a doubt."
"Then relax," he said, smoothing a comforting hand over her hair. "Think about that trust, and just relax. You're safe here. And you're beautiful. You have no reason to be nervous, or self-conscious."
She cleared her throat, feeling her heart swell in love for him. "Okay."
He backed away from her once more. "Another thing – the lip chewing."
Hermione crossed her arms. "Listen, I know it's a bad habit, but –"
"I'm not asking you to get rid of it." He smiled, amused. "I've gotten used to it, by now, but it's utterly infuriating, and very distracting. It draws the eye to your mouth, which is, quite frankly, very pretty."
"My mouth is pretty?" she said incredulously. "Out of all of my body parts, my mouth is the one you single out?"
Draco shrugged. "Which of a man's fantasies revolves around a woman's mouth, Hermione?"
She blushed. "Oh."
"Although believe me when I say that the rest of your body parts are not lacking." He gave her a slow once over, and her mouth parted at the heat in his eyes. She stiffened when she felt the beginnings of arousal.
"Your hair should be left unbound most of the time," he continued, taking a lock of her curls and tugging on it. He released it, and the corkscrew sprung back into place. "But if you put it up, make sure it's in a way that exposes your neck and face in the most flattering way. And don't hesitate to do so in front of Riddle. Pull it up into a messy bun and secure it by sticking your wand through it. Or throw it up in a quick ponytail." He gathered her hair at the base of her neck. "Men like hair. Especially when it looks like yours."
"You always teased me for my hair growing up," she scoffed. "Said it looked like a bird had nested in there."
"I was trying to convince myself, at the time, that you weren't pretty," he murmured, twirling a strand around his finger. "Of course, first and second year it was pretty dreadful, simply because you didn't do anything with it, just let it frizz out. It started to smooth out a bit come third year. Still, you have hair that looks like you've just come from a wild romp in the sack. Automatically when guys see it, they think of sex. Also, shiny, voluminous hair is a biological sign of health – and all men, even Riddle, automatically look for women who are fit enough to bear children. It's a chemical thing. Everyone is susceptible to it – besides perhaps the homosexual. But that's still being researched."
"I'm glad my hair eventually started to become more manageable," she said sullenly, thinking of her rebellious locks. "Fawkes has helped."
"He's helped your skin, too," Draco commented, running his thumbs along her jawline. "You look healthier. Not so much like you've been in hell for the past few years." He tapped the pad of his thumb against her bottom lip. "And you have beautiful teeth." He smirked. "You're welcome."
She smacked him in the stomach with the back of her hand. "Ferret."
He stepped away from her and walked over to sit in the armchair in the corner, much as he had the night before. "You're thin, but you're starting to fill out a bit now that you have regular meals." He pointed his wand at her uniform skirt. It shortened. "Half an inch," he said casually. "Not enough for it to be obvious that you've shortened it, but enough that it will draw the eye to your knees."
"My knees are bloody awful," she said. "Knobby and scarred and – "
"They aren't as bad as all that," he interrupted. "Yeah, that left knee does look like you set it down on some broken glass," he continued, referring to the little ridges of a handful of scars that littered her knee. "But they aren't ugly, Granger."
"You aren't too far off," she said, smoothing her fingers over the scarred flesh. "It was stone and bone, though, not glass."
"When?" he asked, cocking his head.
"First Battle of Hogwarts," she returned. "I tripped like a clumsy idiot when Ron and I were down in the Chamber of Secrets. My knee dropped down right on a pile of rat bones, and you wouldn't believe how sharp they are. Not to mention all the rubble down there as well."
He hummed. "Make up a cool story for them."
She raised her eyebrow. "I have a cool story for them."
He rolled his eyes. "You can't very well tell Tom Riddle that you tripped down in the Chamber of Secrets, Granger."
"Oh, yeah – point taken," she said with a grimace.
"The best lies are built on truth," he said. "Use the same premise, just a different location."
"Okay," she said, twisting around on the bed to better look at him. "And the rest of them? They are ugly, Malfoy."
Draco shrugged. "So you aren't Iris Fawley," he said matter-of-factly. "So your skin doesn't look like 'peaches and cream' or 'freshly fallen snow' or 'caramel' or any of that rubbish." He waved his hand in dismissal. "You wear your experiences on your body, Hermione. Every scar tells a story. All of your adventures and misadventures and all of your hardships are written on your skin. Your loss, your pain, your fear. Most of all, those scars say one very important thing about you."
"What's that?" she asked curiously.
"You survived," he said softly. "You survived hell. You have all of these horrendous scars, which came from some obviously very serious wounds, and speak to terrible pain. They show your power, and your bravery. Your scars say 'I am powerful, and as close to immortal as anyone is ever likely to be.'"
"And Riddle covets power, and immortality," she murmured.
"Exactly." He stared at her. "To us, these scars on our bodies have become normal. That's just what we all started to look like, after a while: Potter, Pansy, Lovegood, Longbottom. But to others, to people who have always had a soft warm bed and full meals and safe homes – these scars are shocking. They are both disgusted and intrigued by them. Many of these people long for adventure, long to have scars of their own that tell their stories."
"Bloody naïve, is what they are," Hermione grumbled. "It's all so glamorous to them, you know?"
"I know," he agreed with a sigh. "If they knew, truly knew, what we've gone through to get these scars, they would think differently."
"Even hearing the story about the manticore, though, and how Greyback gave me the scar on my leg – it's like it doesn't fully reach them," she said, frowning. "Like it's not real."
"They have nothing with which to compare it to," he said, wincing as he shifted in his chair. He conjured a glass and some water and gulped it down. "It's fantasy, to them. Before all of this shit happened to us, if we read a story about a group of people fighting against a dark lord and having to deal with manticores and werewolves and acromantulas and dragons and the bloody kraken – we would think that it sounded so cool. We would long for that sort of adventure."
"In those stories the good guys don't die, though," Hermione said with a sigh. "They defeat the bad guys and all live happily ever after."
"That's why they're fantasy, and not real life," Draco agreed tiredly, looking dejected. He looked back up at her. "There's no way for you to make them see, Hermione. Short of getting a pensieve and selecting some of your most horrific memories to throw them all into. You'll have to get used to their morbid curiosity, and the 'oh my God, can I touch them's, and the comments over how exciting it all must have been. You just have to smile and nod. You can make scathing comments all you want, but it won't change things."
"I guess." She huffed, and dropped down onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. "I feel bad for making you do this."
He chuckled, and she whipped her head up to look at him. He looked amused. "You could never make me do anything, Granger. I'm doing this of my own free will, because you're right: it will help you. I want you to be safe. I know you're doing all sorts of research on my condition, and believe me, I've read up on it myself," he said, patting a stack of books on his dresser, "but if and when I die, Hermione, I want you to be prepared for what lies ahead. If you're serious about jumping into bed with Riddle, then I don't want you to be blindsided when you get there. A certain amount of innocence is attractive – too much is off-putting. You say you've only ever been with Ron, and that he was a gentle and playful lover. The two of you were comfortable with each other."
"We were in love," she said dreamily, laying her head back down on the duvet. "He didn't have the…intensity of someone like Riddle – or you, for that matter. He wasn't dominating. He didn't make my heart feel like it was going to beat right out of my chest. He didn't make me nervous. It was familiar. We were friends before we were lovers, you know?"
"Yes, I do know," he said, watching her from where he sat. "I grew up watching it. Envying it." He paused. "I'm going to ask you some really personal questions now, and it's going to make you uncomfortable."
She sat up, maneuvering so that she sat up against his pillows. "All right."
"How often did Weasley make you orgasm?"
She blushed. "Er, one out of two times?" she guessed. "Roughly. Though sometimes I…helped it along."
"Okay – Riddle is going to want to bring you off every time, perhaps multiple times. That's exhausting, Granger, and can also be painful. We'll have to replicate that feeling tonight, so that you're prepared for it. He'll relish in his ability to make you lose control; he also won't want to be seen as being bad at anything, and I doubt sex is any different." He paused. The muscles in her abdomen quivered. "And what positions did the two of you try out?" he asked, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.
She cleared her throat. Her heart ached, talking about Ron, but she pushed the pain down. She herself had said the word "clinical," and now she had to follow through with it. "Missionary," she began, looking anywhere but at Draco, "erm, girl on top…doggystyle, once," she said with a blush. "It was odd. He didn't like not being able to see my face."
"But you liked it?" Draco asked, his head cocking curiously.
She blushed even more. "Yes. I did. Or at least I would've, if he hadn't been so uncomfortable."
"And what about oral and anal?" he asked casually, tapping the tips of his fingers together.
She recoiled. "Never anal. I've never – it wasn't…we just never felt any desire to go there. But yeah, I sucked him off a few times. And he reciprocated, though he wasn't particularly successful in getting me off that way. I think I felt too exposed to be able to relax fully."
She watched as he reached into one of his dresser drawers and pulled out a bottle of Blishen's. He tossed it to her, and it bounced on the bed. He raised his eyebrows. "Three shots worth," he ordered.
"But that won't even get me tipsy," she said, puzzled. "You know what my tolerance is like."
"It will loosen you up enough that you won't feel so tense when I finally touch you," he said, settling back into his chair. "But it won't dull your senses. Drink it." He paused as she uncapped the bottle. "Keep in mind that Riddle isn't some shy, inexperienced boy. I can tell just by the way he looks at you that he's been around the block, so to speak – who knows what he'll want to do with you? And like I've said before, you'll want to submit to him sexually. Which means you'll have to go along with whatever…appetites…he might have."
She shivered, her mind wandering. The image of Tom Riddle looming over her in all of his naked glory while she lay tied to a bed entered her mind, and she felt her heart rate double. She swallowed heavily from the bottle of firewhisky, enjoying the familiar sharpness on her tongue and down her throat. After she capped it, she looked up at him. "Now what?"
He cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. "Whenever you drink from a bottle, do it like that," he said, staring up at the ceiling. Two pink spots appeared high upon his cheeks before they faded away.
Hermione grinned. "Am I making you uncomfortable?" she asked teasingly.
He narrowed his eyes. "Take off your jumper."
The order was abrupt and unexpected, and Hermione lurched. She began to pull at her sleeve.
The clucked his tongue, and she paused. "Not like that, you silly girl," he said with a roll of his eyes. "That is the least sexy way to take off any article of clothing. You do it that way in private, when it's just you. Not in front of a man you intend on seducing. Grab the bottom hem, and pull it off over your head."
She was quick to obey.
"Not so quickly," he instructed. She slowed down. "You want to do it slowly, but not so slowly that it looks intentional. And don't worry about it mussing up your hair. Your hair is in a permanently mussed state as it is."
She tossed the jumper aside, and glared at him. "Was that to your satisfaction, O Enlightened One?" she asked scathingly.
He grinned. "Could have been a bit slower, but it was effective. Whenever you get warm in class or at meals, take your jumper off like that." He nodded towards her shirt. "Unbutton your shirt in the same way. Slowly, deliberately, methodically, but not at a snail's pace. Every move you make needs to be fluid and purposeful. Undress like you walk: with poise and confidence."
She cleared her throat uncomfortably, unbuttoning her shirt and pulling her arms out of it. She had been this undressed around Draco before; but never in this context. She felt her heartbeat stumble.
"Good," he said, his voice becoming rough with desire. Still, his eyes were calm.
Clinical, Hermione reminded herself. This is a lesson. He can't allow himself to feel. Neither can I.
"Alter your posture," he instructed, tapping his fingers against his thigh anxiously. Hermione very purposefully did not look at the impressive bulge that had started to form beneath his cotton pants. "Sit up straight. Hold your head high. Push your chest forward ever so slightly." She obliged. "Try to always sit like this. It draws the eye to your neck and breasts."
She began to breathe heavily, feeling exposed. Was she really about to do this? Was this really about to happen? With her best friend?
The man you've wanted to be with for years, Hermione, her inner voice said. Don't deny it. Let this be your chance to be with him as more than friends, and then let it go.
"Hermione."
She swallowed and looked up at him.
"Relax," he murmured, giving her an encouraging smile. "Trust me."
"I do, Draco," she said, her stomach quivering. "I do."
He nodded. "Get off the bed."
She complied, tugging at the hem of her skirt and looking down at the carpet.
"Confidence, Granger," he said, his voice sharp. "You want him to think that you're relatively inexperienced, compared to him – which you are – but not shy. Walk that line between nervous and bashful. A little nervousness is good. It'll make him feel in control. But you have to hold your head high. You want your body to say 'Sure, you make me uncomfortable, but I know my mind and my body and take pride in them; do your worst.'"
Hermione lifted her chin, defiance in her eyes, but clutched at the fabric of her skirt to keep her hands from trembling.
Draco smiled wickedly. "Perfect. That look right there will destroy his self-control." He nodded towards her skirt. "Unbutton your skirt, and let it fall."
She gulped. She did as he asked, and her body quaked as her skirt fluttered to the floor. She stepped out of it daintily.
He breathed in heavy through his nose. "Bless your obsession with pretty knickers, Hermione Granger," he said huskily.
She squirmed, looking down at her matching peach bra and panties, complete with the garter set and stockings that she'd already come to hate. He wasn't lying, though. Hermione did have one particular vanity: she liked her underwear to be pretty.
"But remember not to wear anything too racy," he said, his eyes gleaming with impeccably controlled desire. "This time period won't allow for that. Even if you claim you're from China and that things are different there, you shouldn't push your luck on some things. Tom Riddle isn't a fool."
"No," she said, swallowing harshly. "He isn't."
His lips turned downwards. "The likelihood is that he'll want to undress you," he said quietly. "Remember, he's all about control. But if not, now you know how to go about undressing in front of him. Think you can remember all of that?"
Hermione smiled. "Photographic memory, remember?" she said, rapping her knuckles against her head.
Draco bowed his head. "Walk over here."
She let out a shaky breath, and complied. He held up a hand, and she stopped immediately. "Now what is it?" she asked, rolling her eyes.
"More slowly," he directed. "Everything you do in the bedroom should be slower than what you do outside of it."
She nodded, and began again, floating towards him as if in a dream. He nodded in encouragement. "That's good," he said. "You have a naturally feminine gait, even when you get stroppy and storm off in a huff."
She crossed her arms, but straddled his lap when he beckoned with his hands. "I do not storm, and I do not huff," she said, narrowing her eyes defensively. "You exaggerate."
"Oh sure, Hermione." He chuckled, and she swallowed as his erection brushed the space between her legs. She put her hands on the arms of the chair to steady herself, suddenly feeling light-headed.
"What's next?" she asked, surprised to hear no tremble in her voice.
"Now you kiss me," he said, pressing his thumb against her bottom lip. "Kiss me like you're trying to bring me to my knees. Remember – confidence, but some hesitancy at first. Don't just jump right into it eagerly."
She clutched onto the arms of the chair even tighter. "Kiss you? Just like that?"
"Yes, you see: kissing is sometimes what two grown-ups do to show affection for one another – "
"Oh, don't be smart," she said, whacking him in the chest. She brought her shaking hands up to cup his jaw. "So I just…?"
"Do I need to show you the mechanics?" he said, raising an eyebrow imperiously.
She scowled. "No, thanks, I think I can manage," she retorted scathingly.
"Then –"
She tentatively pressed her lips to his, effectively cutting him off. She pulled away slightly, looking into his silver eyes for encouragement; his gaze gave her the push she needed. More bravely this time, she slanted her lips across his and ran the tip of her tongue across his bottom lip.
Something happened then: his whole body shuddered in a deep, primal way that had all of her womanly instincts on high alert. His hands came to rest rather innocently on her waist, and then he squeezed, encasing her petite ribcage with his long fingers.
They were hands that, six years ago, had been smooth and polished – the hands of a pampered aristocrat. Now they were calloused and rugged and heavily scarred from years of hard labor and even harder violence.
Funny, how time and cruelty had aged them.
She sighed into his mouth and deepened the kiss. He opened up to her immediately, and their tongues tangled briefly before he pulled back and nipped at her lips. She shuddered.
"This doesn't feel as strange as it should," she said quietly, stroking her hands through his hair.
"No," he confirmed. "I didn't expect it would."
"Perhaps in another life," she whispered, tracing her fingertips along his lips. "Unhindered by memories, and death."
He smiled at her, and brushed his lips against her jaw. "I'd like to think that there is an alternate universe out there where I can be with you; absent of dark lords and dead spouses and years of animosity."
She nodded, and she felt tears hang on the edge of her eyelashes before she blinked them away. "That sounds nice."
He kissed her then, and she fell into his embrace and snogged him as best she knew how. When they broke apart a minute later, he slid his hands down to her hips.
"Was that – did I – am I good at that?" she asked, her brow furrowed.
"Very good," he said breathlessly. "There is literally nothing I can teach you about snogging, Miss Granger," he said with a smile. He leaned his head back against the chair. "However, and correct me if I'm wrong, you taste very distinctly of mandrake leaf. It's not unpleasant, sort of like a…candied mint leaf, sweet but slightly bitter – but it leaves me wondering why you still have that damn leaf in your mouth almost a month after you should have taken it out."
She clapped a hand to her mouth. "Oh my God, I'd totally forgotten! I magicked it under the skin on the roof of my mouth, you see, just so it wouldn't fall out –"
"You can do that?" he said incredulously. "Didn't it hurt, peeling the skin from your mouth and shoving something under it?" He wrinkled his nose.
"It was…uncomfortable," she admitted with a shrug. "And there was a bit of blood involved. You should have seen Harry's face; he turned a very intriguing shade of green."
"I knew you had started the procedure to become an animagus, but I never knew you went to those lengths to get the leaf to stay. Where was I when you did that?" he asked curiously.
"Albania, I believe – with Viktor," she said.
"Is he the one who taught you how to kiss like that?" he asked, raising his eyebrow in question.
She blushed. "Maybe. And Ron – Ron was a good kisser. He taught me a lot. But anyway," she continued, "after it came time for me to remove it, I couldn't figure out how to get it out." She looked at him, slightly embarrassed.
He roared in laughter. "The great Hermione Granger couldn't get a bloody leaf out of her mouth?" he asked incredulously. "Unfuckingbelievable. Of all the things to stump the brightest witch of her age…mandrake leaf? Really?"
She rolled her eyes. "Yes, well, it seemed like a good idea at the time." She paused. "'I suppose I'll have to learn how to shift, now…it feels weird, doing it without Harry. We were supposed to learn it together, you know? We just didn't have time."
"There were a lot of things that were supposed to happen, Granger." He sighed, his eyes solemn. "Funny how most of them didn't pan out, after all." He tapped her on the hip with his hand. "Sometime tomorrow we can use the Room of Requirement and maybe get started on doing the incantation."
"I wish you could do it with me," she said with a pout.
"Believe me, turning into a bloody dragon would be cool as hell," he said with a huff of disappointment. "Too bad the last wizard who tried it couldn't handle the size change, and got stuck halfway."
Hermione grimaced. "Seems odd, that Rita Skeeter could shrink down to the size of my thumbnail, but going the other way isn't possible."
Draco shrugged. "Maybe it is possible. Maybe Arnold Auldbury just didn't do it right, or he wasn't powerful enough to control the change. But I'd rather not risk being stuck with the hindquarters of an Antipodean Opaleye and the head and torso of a human, if I can help it."
"Actually," she began, thinking back to her studies, "Arnold Aulbury got stuck in the middle of the transition and all of his body was affected. He had a snout and horns and a tail and claws, and his skin turned rather scaly –"
She was silenced by a finger over her lips. "If you're quite finished, Professor…?"
She cleared her throat. "Er, yes. Sorry. Where were we again?"
"We were snogging," he said, his eyes flickering back to the calm, steady, objective grey they had been before she'd disrupted everything with her sentiment. "Clinically."
"Oh, yes, right." She cleared her throat. "So that – that was good?"
"Yes, Granger," he said, smirking at her. "You've been blessed with a rather impressive ability to kiss. Well done."
"Well, I'm sure it wasn't like that at first, you know – Viktor was ever so patient, and he was just such a nice guy…" She trailed off, swallowing when she felt his fingers slide around her hips and down the smooth skin of her buttocks, unhooking the velvety straps of her garters from her traditional sheer silk stockings. He moved his hands around to her thighs and repeated the procedure in the front.
She closed her eyes and breathed deeply through her nose, feeling her resolve strengthen. She opened her eyes. "I thought you said no intercourse."
"And I meant it," he said seriously. "I won't cross that line with you. For my own peace of mind. This is difficult enough as it is, knowing that it can't go anywhere."
"So…?" She swallowed.
He stood with her in his arms and gave her a slow smirk that had her heart pounding in her chest, disturbing Fawkes from his peaceful sleep within her. His fire flared when he felt her desire.
It almost occurred to her to be embarrassed, that Fawkes would bear witness to everything she was about to do; and then she felt stupid, because Fawkes was a bloody bird – not even, now; just the spirit of one – and he was now a part of her. His heat pumped through her blood, and she saw, just for a second, how her skin glowed golden-orange.
"So…what other things can be done that fall outside of the realm of intercourse?" he asked slowly, carrying her effortlessly over to the bed despite his poor health and diminished strength. "Can you name them for me, Miss Granger?" he said teasingly.
She smiled as he laid her back on the bed. This was an area that she was comfortable with – education. She would answer his question and tell him all that she knew, and then he would instruct her as he saw fit. Yes, this was familiar. And he knew her well enough to know that it was a good place to start.
She took a deep breath, and looked up at the ceiling.
"Well, there's…"
oooo
She woke early in the morning.
She stretched, touching the headboard of Malfoy's bed with her fingers. It was still dark outside, but she heard the shower running. She sat up, pulling the old t-shirt that Draco had given her to sleep in down from where it had ridden up. She'd brought her own nightgown, but it had been nice to wear something that smelled like him. It was comforting. Draco was safe.
Blinking her eyes to adjust to the darkness, she looked over and saw the crack of light coming from beneath the bathroom door. She slipped out of bed and stood, shivering as her newly bared skin came into contact with the cool air of the room. Hogwarts had always been cold. Stone walls and floors weren't exactly conducive to being warm. Besides, it was big and drafty, and magic could only do so much.
She slipped into the bathroom quietly, and Draco turned around in the shower stall, shaking his wet hair out of his eyes to look at her.
"Morning," she said hoarsely, moving over to the sink to brush her teeth.
"Good morning," he yawned, running soapy hands over his chest and under his arms. "Care to join me?"
She spat into the sink and rinsed her mouth out. "Yeah, just let me pee first."
He rolled his eyes at her. "Delightful, Granger."
She grinned as she sat down on the toilet and relieved herself. She hissed at the burn, her genitals raw and sensitive from the night before. She wiped and stood, stripping her nightshirt off over her head and stepping under the hot spray of the shower when Malfoy opened the door for her. She let the water run over her mass of hair and down her body, easing her sore muscles.
"Feeling all right?" he asked quietly, peering down at her with eyes that had darkened to charcoal with his sleepiness.
She stepped forward and laid her head against his shoulder. He let his arms come up to circle around her shoulders, his hands slick against her skin.
"Yeah, all right." She breathed into his shoulder, pressing the tips of her fingers into the muscled flesh of his back. "You?"
"Fine," he said softly. "Didn't sleep too well last night."
She hummed. "Nightmares?"
"Yeah."
"Which ones?"
He pressed his cheek against the top of her head. "The usual."
"Yeah," she whispered, thinking about her friend's past.
Lucius Malfoy had never raised a hand to his child – he was above such things – but he would give the whip to his personal house elf and make him do it, the poor thing crying all the while. It was only ever two stripes at a time. At first, they hadn't scarred. But over time, they'd begun to build up, and now the skin of his back bore ropey scars that were far worse than the four slashes that marred her own. Lucius had never allowed Narcissa or any house elf to heal them. He'd claimed that a real man bore his scars proudly – and if Draco wanted the abuse to stop, all he would have to do was be better.
But Draco had never been good enough to suit Lucius' standards. He was always in the top five students in his class, but never the first. He was a fantastic seeker, but had only ever beat Harry once. He was proficient at all kinds of magic, but had struggled to do it nonverbally while the likes of the mudblood Granger was well on her way to becoming an expert by sixth year. He was one of the best duelists Hermione had ever seen – skill-wise he'd ended up being better than any of the people their age, including Hermione herself – and was incredible at Potions…still, none of this registered with Lucius. He was never able to look past Draco's flaws to see his talents.
And Draco had ended up dueling him years later, both on opposite sides of a war, and he'd killed him. Those dueling skills that Lucius had been so intent on ignoring had taken his life.
"Are you going to go run with Avery this morning?"
She snorted, still cuddled up to his chest. "I'm going to go out there, and if by some miracle Riddle lets him continue associating with me then yes, I'll run with Avery."
"I think you underestimate his interest in you," Draco said quietly, pulling away from her and handing her a bar of soap. "Riddle's, I mean. Besides, even if he does now see you as the enemy – you keep your enemies close. He won't want to give up that connection with you through Avery. He'll want to keep eyes on you, whether for nefarious purposes or otherwise." He paused, and shrugged. "Still, it's a good idea for you to be wary when you go out this morning. Have a shield charm ready just in case. Maybe in a few days when I get my strength up, I can join you."
She nodded. "That would be nice." She paused. "So you really don't think he'll try anything?"
"Not yet," he murmured, running conditioner through his hair; even though he was the last person on earth to need conditioner. Still, she would allow him the last vestiges of his vanity. There wasn't much of it left, since the war; there'd been no room for it.
She sighed and worked shampoo into her hair. Her brow creased in worry as Draco rinsed the conditioner from his hair and then slid his back down the wall, coming to sit beneath the spray.
"You all right, Malfoy?" she asked softly.
"Just feeling a bit weak," he replied with a tight smile. "As the days go by though, I feel stronger. The pain doesn't change, though."
She slid down to the floor with him, sitting across from him against the opposite wall and tangling her legs with his. "I'm sorry. What's the pain like?"
"Not as bad as the Cruciatus. But worse than everything else." He sighed, and rubbed his fingers against his temples. "It feels like I'm melting. Like everyday my insides liquidate a little more. It's hot and sickening and I feel like I'm constantly about to vomit. And it's…very slow. Like even if Madam Soranus hadn't told me that it would take weeks or months, I would know anyway. It's excruciating."
"How do you function, Draco?" she asked, her voice trembling with sadness for him. "How do you even walk?"
He shrugged, squeezing her ankle as it brushed against the outside of his thigh. "Sometimes it's not as bad. Mostly I just think about how bored and frustrated I would get if I just laid in bed all day. And I know you are more than capable of taking care of yourself – more capable than anyone I know – but I still like to be able to watch your back if I can. Especially with the likes of Riddle and Dolohov in the school, Grindelwald's interest in you, and the potential for more Death Eaters strolling through a hole in space-time."
Hermione sighed. "I wish that Harry would stroll through. I miss him."
Draco snorted, and leaned his head back against the wall. "Me too, Granger. I miss him too."
She grinned. "Glad the two of you finally decided to admit your love for one another – "
He pinched her foot vindictively and she hooted in laughter, standing up and continuing to wash so that she could go get sweaty again.
When she stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around her body, she looked back at him through the glass. He was still sitting there with his head leaned back against the wall.
"You going to be okay?" she asked, rubbing another towel over her rebellious hair.
He opened his eyes and smiled at her. "Fine, Hermione. I'll probably be down by the lake before you get done with your run. Thought I might try some yoga."
She rolled her eyes and sneered. She hated yoga. It was so…boring. He, Luna and Cho always talked her into doing it with them, and she always made the mistake of saying yes. She wasn't terrible at it, but she didn't enjoy it, either, even if she knew it was good for her.
"You and your yoga," she said with a shake of her head. She twisted the towel around her head and made to leave. "I'll see you out there, I suppose."
"I'll bring an extra mat," he said with a laugh as she stepped out into the room and closed the door behind her. She scowled.
Dressing quickly in the darkness of the cool room, she snuck out of Draco's quarters, looking both ways down the hallway. It was dark and free of people. Because it was after five o'clock, sconces flared to life as she passed. She jogged down to the ground floor, the pressure of her wand against her forearm a comforting one. She moved quietly and swiftly, her eyes and ears open for any disturbance.
She reached the lake without incident and noticed that Avery was already there, scuffing his shoes against the sandy ground.
"Hello, Avery," she said softly, coming to stand beside him.
"Granger," he said in acknowledgement, looking out over the still mirror of the lake's surface.
She cleared her throat. "On a scale of one to ten – "
"Ten," he said quickly. "He's pissed."
"And does his anger include any desire to, I don't know…assassinate me?" she asked casually, crouching down and grabbing a smooth, flat stone. She leaned back and skipped it across the lake, smiling as it bounced six times. She thought of Ron, and how he had been so patient with her in trying to teach her.
He barked out a laugh, and she looked sideways at him, surprised when his eyes crinkled with mirth. It was the only time she'd ever really seen him smile, or heard him laugh.
"You have a way with words, Hermione Granger," he said with a shake of his head. "Does it not bother you, knowing that he's angry with you?"
She shrugged. "Draco said something along the same lines. But as I've said before, death doesn't scare me. Everybody dies. In fact, we're both dying right now. Living is just slowly dying."
Conan squinted at her. "I never thought about it that way." He looked back out at the lake. "To answer your question, his anger does not include murder. It does include quite a bit of pain, however."
Hermione smirked. "I can suffer through a few Crucios if it will appease him."
"I wouldn't be laughing," he said solemnly. "It's not the torture you need to worry about." He paused, and she stared into his pale, impassive face for an explanation. "He wants you, Granger. Badly. You have made yourself all the more desirable by not only resisting, but also having the balls to humiliate him. He hates you for it, but wants you all the same."
"As in…sexually?" she asked, cocking her head. She already knew he wanted her that way.
"Perhaps," Conan confirmed softly. "Of course, he would never reveal that sort of thing to us. All I know is that he wants to break you, and to have you become one of us; or something like that. You're a woman, so I'm not sure how that will affect things. I'm almost certain that, because of your gender, the rest of the group wouldn't take kindly to you joining. I'm not sure what you would become."
Hermione skipped another rock across the lake, and then wiped her hands on her pants. "I have no interest in becoming one of Riddle's possessions," she said sharply. "He bores me." She registered the brief flash of surprise in his eyes at the lie, and turned away, wishing it were true. "Are you ready to run?" she asked, beckoning him towards the far bank.
He ran a hand over his dark hair. "I hate running, Granger." Still, he walked towards her, and they broke out into a jog.
She giggled. "It'll be good for you," she said cheerily. "Make you big and strong."
"And I suppose I should drink all my milk and eat my vegetables too, then?" he asked wryly.
She sniggered, but did not respond.
They ran for several minutes. She breathed through her nose steadily and deeply, used to the strain; Avery puffed away beside her, sweating bullets – but he kept up with her, and never complained.
When they got to the opposite side of the lake, she stopped on top of the tall rocky cliff she'd sat on Saturday morning to feed the Giant Squid – he was back again today, holding a tentacle up for her to deposit some toast. She did so with haste, giving him all six slices in one go. He seemed satisfied, and retreated back down to the water, that giant eye watching her all the while until it disappeared beneath the murky depths of the lake.
She looked over to the sandy bank of the school, smiling as she saw Draco in the distance, rolling out a bamboo mat in which to practice his ridiculous yoga. Avery came up next to her, peering down at her best friend with curiosity.
"What's he doing?" he asked curiously, cocking his head.
"Yoga," she responded simply, offering him no further explanation.
"A Chinese thing, I presume?" he said.
"Indian, actually," she corrected. "But you get the idea." She sighed and sat down on the rock, dangling her legs down over the edge. She patted the space next to her. "Come on," she instructed. "Next lesson."
With a huff he sat down, and she transfigured two stones into goblets and filled them with water with a whispered Aguamenti. He nodded to her in thanks and drank heavily, and then splashed the last bit of water on his face and neck, despite the chill.
This time around he was far more successful in navigating the corridors of her brain. They practiced for nearly an hour until he was too exhausted to continue.
They chatted idly on their way back down to the south edge of the lake, and Draco hailed them from his position on the bank, his mat resting on the place where grass became silt. He was only in a pair of pants, shirtless and barefoot, his nipples pebbled in the cold fall air. He was sitting cross-legged, his feet tucked under his legs.
"How are you feeling, Draco?" she said, coming to lay her hand on the top of his blond head.
He hummed. "Not bad. Stronger. See?" He stood and then went down into a squat, and then put his hands on the ground and lifted himself up into the crow pose. He held it for six seconds, and then gently let himself back down. "I can't hold it like I used to be able to, but it's a start."
Hermione had somehow forgotten just how attractive he was in the two hours since she'd seen him; seeing his body on display like this, his lean form taut with exerted muscle, made her swallow.
He looked up at her as he sat back down into his meditative position. "I did bring an extra mat, you know," he said with a grin, gesturing to the bamboo mat he'd laid down beside him.
"Yes, I noticed," she said sourly, rolling her eyes. "Maybe we can take a rain check?" She looked at her watch. "Breakfast starts in forty-five minutes, and I'd like to go change into my robes and freshen up."
"All right." Draco stood, stretched, and pulled his long-sleeved t-shirt down over his head. He looked over at Conan, his expression inscrutable. "Good morning, Avery. Have a nice run?"
Avery shrugged. "Nice enough, if you consider the fact that it's my new least favorite pastime."
Draco chuckled. "You'll get used to it. Hermione hated it too, once upon a time."
Hermione snorted, scuffing her shoe on the sand and turning up towards the school, her two companions in tow. "I used to say that the only things that could make me run were the promise of doughnuts, or if something very large and scary were chasing me." She shrugged. "Turns out that the latter was in high supply. I got so used to being chased that I started to enjoy the rush. The wind against your skin, the way your heart pounds, the struggle for breath – it became addictive after a while. That's when I started doing it recreationally."
"I suppose you would have to be in impeccable shape to be running from the likes of manticores and werewolves all the time," Conan said casually. "I won't lie – it sounds terrifying."
They did not respond. He was right.
When they reached the courtyard, Conan bid them both goodbye with promises to see them the next morning, if not at meals. Draco turned to her as the sun came over the horizon. He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and skimmed his thumb over her cheek.
"All right there, Granger?" he asked, his clear mercurial eyes staring deep into hers.
Her eyes fluttered closed when he brought his lips up to brush her forehead.
"Thank you, Draco," she breathed, leaning into his touch. "For everything. For being here with me. For having my back." He pulled away from her, and she threw her arms up around his neck and felt his arms encircle her back. He laid his head against her shoulder.
"Anything for you, Hermione," he breathed into her skin. "Surely you know that."
"Yes," she said into his hair. She pressed her lips there. "Yes."
He pulled away from her, playfully twirling her ponytail around his hand. He smiled. "Love you, Granger."
She smiled back. Her bond of friendship with him was so deep, so profound – besides Harry, there was no one she loved more in the world. "Love you too, Draco." She pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, as she had a thousand times before. "See you at breakfast?"
He sighed a long-suffering sigh. "Someone has to keep you from making a spectacle of yourself."
She giggled and twirled away from him, hopping agilely up onto a low stone wall before hopping down the other side.
"You act like it's such a chore!" she called back to him, walking backwards so she could see him there in the courtyard, leaning on his cane, his hair like spun sunlight.
He grinned. "It is a bloody chore!" he yelled back.
She chuckled, shook her head, and turned, crossing the threshold into the castle's interior.
She did not see either of the sets of eyes that watched her go.
oooo
A snippet from the next chapter:
"Getting him to help you with your school work?" Granger inserted smoothly, a wicked smirk crossing her delicate features. "If you need a tutor, Black, I know a few second years that would be better suited for the job. I can talk to them, if you like – get them to help you with your spell-casting."
Thanks for reading! Sorry there wasn't any Tomione interaction in this one. Don't worry – there will be plenty of that in the chapters to come. Drop a line in the review box, if you feel so inclined.
Y'all are such gems.
Giraffe :)