The Rape of the Lock

Chapter five: Girl Power

Reminder: This story rated 'R'. Charge your cell phone.

THERAPEOFTHELOCK

Hermione, heading out of the library, spotted Harry and Ron, conversing animatedly, walking towards her. She turned and flattened herself against the inside of the doorway, still holding back screams or tears from her encounter with Malfoy and panting with the effort. Unfortunately, when Ron and Harry came through the door, her heavy breathing made them notice her and turn around.

Harry immediately came forward, offering her a dinner roll from his pocket. "Sorry, it's the only thing that would survive my pocket."

Hermione took the roll and smiled a little, glancing over at Ron, who was looking hurt and suspicious, still standing behind Harry trying to compose himself.

"How's the studying going?" Harry looked over across the library. "Is that your fort?"

Hermione smiled at him, looking down at her shoes. This was difficult. Really, really hard. She could still feel Draco's hand down her skirt. The roll, squeezed in her fist, was oozing between her fingers.

Harry scratched the back of his head. "Look, I'm going to go back to the common room. All that's been going on lately has gotten me kind of behind, so . . . ."

Hermione nodded at him, now picking apart the roll.

Ron still stood there after Harry had left. Alone with Ron, Hermione finally let herself feel her emotions, and she immediately began to cry. Ron was hugging her before the first tear hit her chin. For the first time since they broke up, she didn't fight it. It felt so good to be held so tightly with love instead of malice.

Her head buried in his chest, she cried herself out while he silently enveloped her, chin resting on her head. She sniffed a little, and looked up at him wetly, and suddenly, their lips were touching. They wordlessly traveled over to a little spot in the stacks that was seldom traveled by innocents looking for books. As they reprised old habits, Ron studiously avoided her ears, and Hermione wondered why.

THERAPEOFTHELOCK

Ron couldn't help but know her and himself. Know that he shouldn't be kissing her, touching her. Know that she knew the same thing. But he couldn't pass up the chance to be near her like this. Gods, he loved her so much. But the idea was planted in his head of Malfoy's lips where his were touching, Draco's hands roaming where his were now.

However, Ron knew other things about Hermione, for instance that her and Malfoy were apparently no longer together, because no matter how pained she was, Hermione would never cheat. Her nails ran across his back under his shirt and he stopped pondering the situation intellectually.

THERAPEOFTHELOCK

Ron was like magic, erasing the marks that Draco had left. Malfoy's breath on her neck, him pressing against the small of her back, the snake's hand tracing down her stomach and under the waistband of her skirt, all went away when Ron was here like this. She thought of the first time, when they figured out how to bypass the 'no boys allowed' charm on the girls' dormitory, and ended up frantically loving each other out of shared achievement and exuberant mutual admiration behind bed curtains during dinner.

This time was quieter, darker, and impersonal. They were selfishly using each other the way only good friends could.

When they returned to the common room, Harry was sitting in an armchair reading Defense Against the Dark Arts. He looked up at them, Ron's shirt untucked and Hermione decidedly flushed, and feigned obliviousness as usual.

"How are you feeling, Hermione?"

Hermione smiled tightly at him. "Better." She knew that Ron would probably tell Harry all about it later, and didn't really care. Ron wasn't doing her in the library, he was making love to his memories of her, and his sadness at her leaving. And she was fucking her friend, not her lover.

Harry smiled back at her and turned to Ron. "Have you started research on your mid-term thesis yet?"

"Um, no. It's still September. Mid-term is December. They sound similar, see, but really they're very different."

Hermione decided to leave them at it. There was a stack of books up in her room she meant to read before the Cogito started. She had been feeling a little better after Ron and their mundane conversation in the hallway, and she flopped into the chair in her room to read.

THERAPEOFTHELOCK

After Hermione disappeared up the stairs, Ron slouched down into a couch next to Harry. He looked over at his reading friend.

"Do you want to talk about Hermione again?" Harry lowered his book.

Ron snorted. "You act like I'm obsessed with her or something."

"Isn't that what you want to talk about?"

"Well, yeah, but she isn't ignoring me anymore. Far from it."

"Really?"

"Well, you know I'd never shag and tell, but I need to talk to you about it anyway."

"Is there any way we could skip the play-by-play? I mean, I understand the mechanics and everything, but Hermione's my friend."

"Not about that part." Ron leaned in and handed Harry a slip of paper. "I found that in the waistband of her skivvies."

Harry held the paper decidedly more carefully after that revelation. "Why didn't you just give it back?"

Ron was speechless for a moment. "Because it's obviously from Malfoy. Why would she be carrying it around like that?"

"Maybe it's personal. A love note."

"That's what I thought until I read it. It's weird, though, a prophecy, or a warning or something."

"You thought it was a personal love note, so you read it?"

Ron snorted. "I don't have to justify myself to you."

"Are you and Hermione back together now?"

"Just read the thing already."

"One head downed forever from the pride, a lock from the mane I must divide."

Ron laid back exasperatedy. "What the hell does that mean?"

Harry shrugged. "I didn't know Malfoy was a poet. Besides, if she's messing with you, why would she have a note from him, y'know, there?"

"She started bawling right after you left. I think they just broke up or something."

"You don't know for sure?"

Ron pulled a face. "I don't want to get involved in her business."

"Right. Just her pants." Harry smirked.

"It's not like that and you know it." Ron stared into the air and paused for the moment. "I love her. She just doesn't want to be with me."

THERAPEOFTHELOCK

The knock on the door got louder, more persistant.

Draco, sitting that night in his room, turned away from his desk. "I thought I told you to go away," he yelled through the door.

"You told me to come back in an hour."

"Very well, then."

Mindy, a thirteen-year-old second year, was striking with jet-black hair and blue eyes. He could stand to be near her, she was smart and amoral enough. She desperately craved to be both popular and powerful, and was willing to demean herself to who she needed to. At Hogwarts, in Slytherin house, that was Draco.

Sometimes she wanted to talk, and most of the time he humored her. He didn't love her. He barely liked her, but she was there, and someone filling her position seemed necessary.

"Draco, do you do this with anyone else?" He watched somewhat bemusedly as she took off her shoes and blouse.

"Does it matter?"

She folded her clothes carefully on his chair, and sat down on the bed in her bra and panties. Her toenails were painted red. "Do you?"

Malfoy sighed and joined her on the bed. "Why do you care?"

"Don't worry. I know what this is." She was tying her hair back; Draco didn't like it to get messy. "I was just curious."

"All right then, just you. I don't have time to fool around with people."

It was a twisted picture, this barely teenager in black lacy underwear there for him to do what he pleased. But it wasn't nearly as exciting as it used to be.

"Pansy asks after you," Mindy intoned, leaning in close, unbuttoning his shirt. "She sits in her room pining after you."

He put his hand over her mouth. "You know I don't want to hear about her."

She kissed his hand and maneuvered out of his grip. "Well could you have someone tell her to leave me alone?"

Draco considered. "I suppose." Once or twice during the next hour with Mindy, images of Hermione Granger, breathless with terror, flashed through his head white-hot.

THERAPEOFTHELOCK

Sunday morning, the usual three were eating breakfast together, and reflexively pretending like nothing happened.

Hermione grabbed the Daily Prophet from a passing owl. "Have you seen the shiner on Pansy?"

"Seriously," Ron agreed.

"Shouldn't someone be worried about the girl getting beat up?"

Ginny shrugged. "She's a cow, she probably deserved it."

"Even so, I mean, she's even walking strangely. Limping." Harry wasn't alone in noticing. Pansy was quickening her pace and lowering her head as half the hall turned to look at her, whispering and pointing. Most of Slytherin, however, had their eyes stuck to their plates. Harry looked more carefully at the table. Malfoy was quietly grinning at a girl with dark hair sitting on his right side. "Ginny, who's the girl sitting next to Malfoy?"

Ginny looked over then shook her head.

Hermione didn't even look up. "Mindy something-or-other. His beard."

"Whoa, harsh." Harry laughed into his juice.

Ron just stared at the top of Hermione's head as she shoveled in food.

THERAPEOFTHELOCK

They studied in the library, side by side, not daring to even glance at one another. Draco knew about Granger's encounter with Weasley in the stacks, and knew he needed to re-gain the upper hand. She didn't seem overly worried about his little note. In fact, she seemed almost happier than usual. Something had to be done.

He was distracted by the feeling of someone watching him, but when he turned to look all he saw was an unmistakable second-year disappearing behind a bookshelf.

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Author's Note: More to come, and soon. Meanwhile, learn a new language so you have an excuse to but Harry Potter in French, Spanish, or German! Don't forget to drop me a line review-style so I can read your stuff!