Shaelune
Part 9
Seeing and Unbelievable Events
~~Author's Note~~
Hi everyone! I promised myself I wouldn't vanish for several months again, so here I am- keeping my promise! I'm kind of done with Struggle Between Souls for a while, and I've lost steam on Anyone Perfect Must Be Lying. So Shaelune is my new baby for a while! I'm honestly trying to make the chapters longer and more well-proofread this time; Chapter 8 was, like, 500 words longer than any of my previous chapters or one-shots. Also, I hope the plot is advancing a little more quickly for y'all! Hee hee! Seriously, though, I end up not liking most stories that have Hermione and Draco get together and by Chapter 4 they're making out (unless we're talking A Lesson in Something That's Not Quite Love, and then it's explained really well). I mean, seriously. Seeing as how they hate each other up until we make them fall in love, it doesn't make sense to just throw the romance in there. I really like the plot of this story, and want it to stay intact even if it takes a little longer for the love-connection stuff. But hang on! It's coming, I swear, starting maybe a little in this chapter hmmm perhaps you must read to find out yes ha ha haHA HA HA!
"What's love?
What's love?
It's about us, it's about trust
What's love?
What's love?
It should be about us, it should be about trust
When I look in your eyes, there's no stopping me
Come on
And put it on me
What's love?"
~~~Ashanti
"What's Love?"
Hermione instinctively clung tighter to Malfoy as he whipped around a craggy, snow-ridden mountain-peak and sped downward as a tree-filled valley came into sight. They shot straight through a cloud, and she whimpered in disgust at the mouthful of foggy vapor she'd gotten.
"Scared?" Malfoy said nastily, and turned the Firebolt downward sharply. Hermione could feel her hair flying straight up, and sighed. There went the carefully ironed waves Ginny'd installed that morning.
"No," she told him. "Can you skip the fancy Quidditch moves and just get us back to the inn? Maybe no one will miss you, but I have friends who are going to be worried about me." She leaned around him to look at her watch. "We've been gone for almost four hours."
Malfoy didn't say anything in response, but the broom straightened out its course, and the wind's volume in her ears told her they were flying faster.
There was silence for awhile; Hermione had found that the less talk there was, the more questions she invented to ask the parties involved. Finally, she broke down and said something. "Malfoy?"
She hadn't really expected him to answer her at first, and wasn't disappointed when he neglected to. "Do you ever get you know, lonely?"
"What do you mean?"
She took a deep breath. "I don't know it just seems like you don't have a lot of real friends. Crabbe and Goyle act more like servants, and Pansy's less a girlfriend and more a desperate follower who idolizes you."
Malfoy snorted in laughter. "What do you think a lover is supposed to be, Granger?"
"Well, I think you should be able to talk to them feel as though you're their equal. Love them." Hermione heard traces of wistful hope in her voice; she'd dreamed for years, ever since her parents had immersed her in Disney-animated fairy tales, of someone who would talk to and love her.
"Pansy isn't my lover, Granger," Malfoy retorted. "She wants to be, but she's just someone who happens to be convenient for ranting to and fucking once in a while."
Hermione laughed in disbelief. "Oh, my god! You are unbelievable, Malfoy. Pansy's, frankly, gorgeous and devoted to you, for reasons that are totally unclear, and the most you can say about her is that she's convenient for fucking once in a while?"
"You know what, mudblood?" Malfoy dipped the broom low and beneath a bridge to skim the surface of a desolate river. Hermione realized she hadn't seen any towns in a while, and that they were approaching the hill country in which the inn was nestled; she felt relieved with this reassurance that they'd be home soon. "Fuck off. This is none of your business."
Hermione bristled. "Excuse me?"
He was obviously enjoying this. "I said, fuck off."
"Fine. But Malfoy? This whole I've-got-an-attitude-don't-mess-with-me thing won't affect people once you get out of high school. Pansy's not going to worship you your entire life, and people won't be bribed by imaginary power forever. It might do you some good to treat someone else like they even register on your radar for once."
"Damn it, Granger, I don't want your advice. I don't need your advice."
Hermione had to object to the latter. "You might want to get a second opinion on that."
Draco really wished he could do something to Granger, anything, except just sit there on the broom with her slim arms around his waist and her hair fluttering against his shoulders. He wanted to punch her, slap her, make her so scared that she'd never say anything even remotely challenging to him again, but he was trapped; he couldn't touch her or even look at her from this position. How dare she ask him that, accuse him of that? Pansy's welfare wasn't his responsibility; it wasn't his fault that she insisted on throwing herself at him every chance she got when he clearly wasn't interested.
He retaliated by ignoring her nasty comment from a few moments ago and switching the focus from himself to her. "What gives you the right to start throwing out your opinions on how I should live my life?"
"I do have to live with you for the next week, Malfoy, as well as working closely with you on this project. At the point where you're flying me on your broomstick to your house- voluntarily, I might add- I deserve a little input on how you treat other people, including me, wouldn't you think?"
"No," Draco said indignantly, trying to convey his intense anger in his voice. "I really don't care about how you think I ought to treat other people. So don't elaborate. Please."
She sighed exasperatedly and didn't say anything else.
The inn came into view below them, a sprawling expanse of tidy hedges and shimmering ponds headed by the imposing, curving structure of the main building. Draco could even see the balcony his suite shared with Granger's and aimed for it, gliding to a halt just beside the wispy white curtains that trailed from the glass doors.
"Okay, now you come on," said Granger in an unexpectedly cheerful manner as she hurried to get inside; the first rays of shell-pink were already streaking the navy-blue horizon. "I've got something to show you."
Hold me back, Draco thought derisively, and set the broom inside his wardrobe lovingly before going out to the hallway. "What is it, Granger?"
"Hang on just a second," she called from her room, and he heard her wardrobe open and close, followed by the rustling of fabric. Moments later, she emerged, dressed in a long, clingy skirt and a simple shirt constructed of some kind of draping material. "Why the change?" he asked amiably, almost mocking himself.
"Oh, I always feel a little gross after traveling," Granger answered flippantly as she led the way down the stairs. Draco couldn't stop his eyes from following her backside, which was shapely, to say the least, as she sashayed away; he'd had somewhat of an epiphany regarding her appearance in the past week. If he wasn't interested, it was certainly not due to lack of incentive.
Hermione felt slightly satisfied at having focused Malfoy's attention on her. He deserved to be tripped up by her feminine charms after being such a jerk on the ride back (not that he wasn't normally, but he had seemed unusually angry).
The torches wavered eerily as they had much earlier that night, and Hermione carefully ducked through the back patio to avoid the concierge's desk; she didn't care to explain why she was sneaking around the inn at five-thirty in the morning.
The library seemed somehow less imposing now than it had before; the crystalline roses, while slightly chilling when she thought about their origin, were almost comforting compared to the horrific carvings at the Malfoy Manor. They swung, unassisted, inward, and Hermione breathed in the familiar scent of paper and aged ink: the columns of tightly packed books still held the same breathtaking resonance for her because of their sheer volume, but Malfoy seemed unimpressed. "Isn't it beautiful?" she prompted blissfully as she wove her way through the shelves.
"You remember, Granger, I've been here before," Malfoy said with amusement.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "So have I," she replied. "It doesn't really lose its charm after the first visit."
"So many things do," he said acidly, looking her up and down. "What are we here for?"
"Over here," she said, ignoring him and making her way to the corner where she'd found several related books a few days ago. They'd all been since replaced on the shelf; Hermione, however, with years of practice, quickly spotted the gold cover of the live-experience book and deftly removed it from its companions. Malfoy came to stand next her; his expression betrayed a little curiosity, and Hermione felt a connection with him. As much as she tried to overlook it, she really didn't have many friends who could match her intellectual level. Though she didn't consider Malfoy a friend, the kinship was refreshing.
As soon as she flipped it open, the light from the book's pages extended its shimmering fingers and engulfed both of them in its brilliance, catapulting them through an abyss of darkness before they emerged at the waterfall. The librarian was already sitting atop a rock there. "Where were you when we came in?" Hermione blurted unabashedly.
"I thought I'd leave you two alone," the statuesque woman said slyly to Hermione as she unwrapped the contents scroll. "You already know what you're here for, so I won't explain it."
Malfoy interrupted. "Actually, do. Where are we?"
The librarian simply smirked and waved a gold-ringed hand; Hermione felt the blackness overtake her briefly, and then she was suddenly awake and in the night-darkened garden.
A younger Chalybsis Malfoy led Alexandria de Lunariam into the garden, and though both their eyes seemed strangely glazed, Alexandria looked nervous but excited, and Chalybsis brooding in the traditional Malfoy fashion.
Draco Malfoy audibly inhaled beside her. "That's them," he said astutely.
"Yes," Hermione confirmed proudly. "Back in time, courtesy of the famous Granger research habits."
"Look at them," Malfoy observed with a trace of disgust in his drawl, circling the unaware couple as they kissed passionately. "That can't be non-magical- a Malfoy would never do that voluntarily with a mudblood."
"Thanks," Hermione said sarcastically, a little surprised at her informality with Malfoy, but she got up, too. He was standing beside his ancestor now as Chalybsis broke apart from Alexandria momentarily, and she swallowed at their uncanny resemblance. The pieces of this puzzle were all beginning to fit together, and Hermione couldn't deny the chill that slammed through her as she realized the full meaning of the enchantment, and the apparent repetition history was preparing to make. She saw her fear reflected in Malfoy's granite-colored eyes, and gazed at him warily.
This is definitely weird, Draco summed up mentally. He and Granger standing parallel to their medieval counterparts, who seemed to be totally enthralled in each other- weird- and the mudblood staring up at him, her eyes haunted with the sheer poignancy of what was happening- even more weird. In fact, he wasn't imagining that as the de Lunariam girl's velvet-hung hand moved closer to Chalybsis', Granger's was moving toward his. She stared at him in horror; Draco realized he was mimicking Chalybsis' motions as well, and his opposite arm was wrapping itself around her waist.
Too weird.
He wanted to recoil out of habit, yell something degrading at her and stalk away, but he was only (unwillingly, he told himself) closing the gap between them further by the second. His wrist was resting on the small of her back; despite the frigid winter breeze, she was warm, and Draco swore he could hear her pulse straight through her skin.
Or was that his?
And now Granger had affixed her extended hand to his, and her other was at his neck, tracing perfect patterns with her fingertips, sending unmistakable signals up and down his spine and to his brain. The couple beside them was fading into the purple twilight; Granger's fingers were entwined in his hair, which was disheveled from the journey, drawing themselves through it in involuntary wonder. Her eyes never left his, locking him into their rich chocolate gaze.
Draco had been in enough passionate embraces to know what the next natural step was, and though heady emotion was clouding his logic, he knew that he could live this down- his word over hers, who would everyone believe?- if he walked away now. But it didn't seem to be his choice, as the girl he'd hated- for her intelligence, her camaraderie, her popularity in spite of her impure blood, for just being so incredibly flawless- for five years applied pressure to his neck and pulled him down to her.
And God. She was so innocent yet experienced, so hesitant and addictive, all soft cool hair and hot slick lips, and Draco knew that although nothing else in the past few seconds had been their doing, this was all him, and he wanted it so incredibly badly that he couldn't breathe. Granger arched herself against him in an attempt to get closer, and Draco bent further down to her; and oh god, was that her tongue? Kittenish sandpaper in his mouth, and all he could think was Damn. Who knew? It was common speculation among Slytherins that mudbloods, as much as they acted studious and naïve, were really just common whores. But this wasn't the detached kiss of a Knockturn Alley prostitute; it was the urgent, deprived touch of someone who'd never been loved quite properly. The spell was telling him that he wanted to be the one to satisfy that need, but Draco didn't trust the spell after all, it'd tricked him into making out with someone who was admittedly his worst enemy.
Hadn't it?
Hermione was, quite frankly, shocked. She was kissing Draco Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. As in, her archenemy. As in, she was betraying her two best friends in the entire world. As in, she was doing exactly what she'd been half-wanting the entire week. As in, what the hell had possessed him? Or her?
The spell, she said, answering her own question as Malfoy- all of a sudden it sounded strange to call him that; she'd never kissed someone with whom she'd been in a last-name-basis relationship- adjusted the hand whose fingers were splayed across her back and slid them under the hem of her shirt. She gasped at the cold metal of his watch against her skin, then pressed harder into him, thrilling at his touch.
But then she felt him against her thigh, and Hermione's insatiable desire gave way to fear. This could only lead to one thing, and she realized that no one knew what exactly Alexandria and Chalybsis had gotten up to before he'd murdered her.
Just as Malfoy's hand found the clasp of her bra and began to work it open with knowing leisure that came only from years of practice, Hermione found the strength to overcome the spell and broke away. The overwhelming lust that had invaded her shattered around them, and the garden was quiet. Alexandria and Chalybsis were gone; Hermione recognized her own discarded clothes on the bed through the window beyond the balcony above them. How had they escaped the book?
Hermione took ragged breaths as Malfoy smoothed his blond hair back; it was useless, however, as the grease had worn off, and tousled strands of flax hung artfully into his eyes. "Was that what you wanted to show me?" he asked lasciviously, but the smirk that normally would have accompanied that remark was absent from his flushed features.
She glared at him. "So that's the spell."
"Judging by what's just transpired" Malfoy smirked knowingly, and Hermione blushed against her will. "I'd say so."
Hermione shifted. There wasn't really a polite way to refasten her clasp without taking off her shirt; she'd just have to live till she could get back to her room. The sun was beginning to rise over the scalloped line of the horizon. "I've got to get inside."
"Hey, mudblood," Malfoy called after her as she rounded the hedge to get back to the building. Hermione nearly yanked out her wand and cursed him, but managed to restrain herself. "We're meeting in say, my room tonight?"
She sighed. "I guess we've got to." She didn't want him in her room, and the pool obviously affected them badly.
"See you upstairs, then," he leered. Hermione scowled at him and went inside.
Where Harry, Ginny and Ron were sitting in the dining hall, conveniently placed so that if she left, they'd see her. Hermione resigned herself to her fate; apparently, she wasn't going to get any sleep tonight.
Ginny grinned and beckoned Hermione over to their circle of cozy chairs. "Hermione!" Ron yelled through a mouthful of croissant, and she smiled at her old friends. With the enchantment and Malfoy, she'd barely seen them over the past few days. But there they were, just the same, Harry's unkempt hair shadowing his slightly troubled green eyes (they'd never be innocent), Ron's cheeks lumpy as usual, stuffed with food (where he put it all, Hermione would never know), Ginny's scarlet hair stylishly arranged around her freckled cheeks. Hermione settled herself happily into the empty chair beside them, and thought for a moment before removing the lid from the small platter that had appeared before her. A frothy café latte, just what she'd wanted; caffeine, a staple for friends of the constantly adventure-seeking Boy Who Lived, was always in abundance around Gryffindors.
"We haven't seen you in days," Harry remarked as he spread jam on a biscuit.
"Yes, well," Hermione explained, shaking her head, "This project is really, er, difficult. We've been having to do a lot of research." While she didn't enjoy lying, being vague was always an easy out.
"We?" Ron asked. Small bits of buttery something flew from his mouth, and Ginny made a face.
"Her and Malfoy," Harry supplied. "How's that working out? You seemed pretty upset after the ball."
"It's interesting. He's" Hermione felt a pang of guilt at not telling her best friends everything, but she didn't think she could bear to see the looks of blame and disappointment and anger on their faces, though Ginny'd probably be excited beyond reason.
"A bastard," Ginny finished, but the younger girl glanced at Hermione suspiciously, giving her a look that said We'll talk later. "Right, Hermione?"
"Of course," she covered. "It's like constant competition. He obviously doesn't have much experience working with people who won't submit to him."
Ron nodded sympathetically and swallowed. "Yeah, Hannah's nice. Ours isn't hard- we got this rosebush where the flowers, they look like they don't have thorns, but they do. And they lash out and prick people," he added quite seriously. Hermione noticed a series of crimson scratches on the back of his hand.
"Susan's all right," Harry said. "She's pretty enough, but she's got about the IQ of a block of wood."
Hermione winced sarcastically. "Wishing you'd got Malfoy now?"
Harry gagged in response. "Not by half."
Ginny rolled her eyes and sighed. "You have no idea," she said, stirring her espresso. "Colin? Now I know why he annoys you so much, Harry. Every second, he's knocking on my door, popping in just to say hi,' offering to go down and get me a drink, showing me his latest research. It's a freaking doorbell, not the latest Middle East plot, for goodness sake." She sat back exasperatedly, her ears turning red with frustration.
Ron laughed. "Your project's a doorbell?"
"Sounds like someone's got a crush," Harry commented. Ginny quickly stopped laughing and looked down; the flush on her ears had spread to her cheeks, and her skin now matched her hair.
Hermione had already calmed down; the sun shining cheerfully through the picture windows, and her friends acting the same way they always had made everything that had happened last night seem sort of surreal. Malfoy was a million miles away, and she grinned in spite of herself, making Ron glance at her confusedly. "I'm just happy," she told them, and gave Ron a hug, then ruffled Harry's hair maternally. "You three are such good friends to me."
"Thanks," Harry said slowly. Ginny looked at her and motioned to the hall. "You, me, now," she mouthed, and Hermione nodded imperceptibly. "See you later, Harry, Ron," she said. "Ginny, I want to show you this hairstyle I found in Teen Witch Weekly. I think it'll look really good on you. The magazine's up in my room, though, want to come?"
"Okay, just a minute," Ginny agreed. As Hermione left, she decided that Ginny deserved one of the lead roles in this year's school production of A Tale of Four Founders; she was really quite a good actress.
~~~Author's Note~~~
Huh? Huh? So how was that? *nudge nudge* Hmmm, got some action there, didn't you, all you rabid D/Hr shippers? But, hang on, there's some big Days of our Lives-style drama coming up in the next chapter or so keep reading to find out! I just hope this doesn't become one of those stories you want to stop reading after the first eight chapters or so; I think when you put the first kiss in chapter nine, you sort of lose that possibility. All the people who stopped last chapter will be real sorry! I passed the 3700-word mark on this chapter (yay!), and I hope, just like the real HP books, my chapters will just get longer and longer (how long is the 5th book going to be? Does anyone know?)
My goal is to get 150 reviews for chapters one through ten, so help! I have 112 as of posting this one, and I hope the speeding up of the plot will help people to do that. And Hermione's right no one knows quite how far Alexandria and Chalybsis got before he, uh, murdered her.
Love you all, remember to review and keep reading! You have no idea how happy getting a review makes me, even if it says I suck and should delete all my fics for the good of the universe. I mean, at least you read it, right?
~~* goldenberry *~~