Disclaimer- I do not own Harry Potter© or any of the concepts derived from the book series. The book series is the soul property of J.K. Rowling.
To Keep it Simple
Previous Chapter
She thumbed through the pages of Sigmund Freud's An Interpretation of Dreams.
Tunnels.. here they are.. she thought to herself as her index finger slid across the page. Tunnels can represent an invitation by the conscience.. can represent exploration of new places..
Hermione froze as she read the next interpretation. Of course, it was very possible—but she felt extremely awkward reading it. Maybe this was what she wanted—but she had never been so dangerously risk-taking. She regarded the words, but each time she read it over again, they held a different meaning. Without thinking, she grabbed her bag and left the library. Madame Pince watched the frantic witch disappear down the corridor.
The final interpretation at the bottom of the page was tempting. As she dashed down the hallways to return to Gryffindor Tower before the Slytherin first years arrived, she heard the words run non-stop through her head.
The most popular interpretation—where as a train or car and or other vehicle enters the tunnel can represent sexual intercourse or the conscious need for physical and or sexual attention.
Chapter 5- Revelations
Draco shook his battered head as he tried to recollect his thoughts. The simple magnetism he felt when he stood around Hermione shook him to his core, new feelings always arising that made him feel vulnerable and insecure. He had to put an end to them for the sake of his morals and the sake of his family name. He had run head first into his plan believing that physical attraction would forever act as his cause. Even as he touched her, kissed her, felt unwanted emotions when around her—he guaranteed himself marital freedom in the days to come. She hadn't become apart of him, as an accusing Weasley had said.
"Ferr—Malfoy, we need to talk," Ron called, rushing down the deserted corridor. Draco slowly turned, brow raised in suspicion, books clutched loosely at his side.
"Weasley—if you're looking for a loan, I don't donate to the poor. You of all people should know that they're not very reliable," he said with a grim snarl upon his features. He was tempted to annihilate the red-haired crackpot before any more mishaps could unfortunately take place—and cause the structure of his plan to crumble even more. Ron's face slowly turned a red shade, but surprisingly enough, he controlled his growing anger.
"It's about Hermione, you arse," he managed to say between gritted teeth.
"I'm listening," Draco replied rather calmly.
"Is she okay?" Ron asked.
Draco thought the answer over in his head, pondering how to best word his statement and inflict the most pain at the same time.
"She got better after I tended to her."
"What is that supposed to mean, Malfoy?"
"I gave her some sexual healing," Draco responded, his laugh echoing through the hall. Ron's eyes widened in a mixture of disbelief and hatred as he launched himself towards the opposed, snatching his collar in the all too familiar action.
"Ah ah ah—" Draco began, waving his index finger back and forth as if he was speaking to an animal. "You wouldn't want to find yourself in even deeper water with Professor McGonagall, would you?"
Ron immediately let go of the Slytherin, purposely adding force into the push. Draco took a step back, then straightened his uniform tie with a brief smirk.
"You just keep away from her—it's obvious that the charade you two are trying to fake isn't pretend anymore—or at least not with you," Ron said with a sneer.
"And what exactly do you mean by that, Weasel?" Draco said, stopping before he could fully turn to face the opposite direction.
"Don't act stupid with me," Ron threatened.
"Wouldn't it be more convenient for you though—for me to speak at your level?" Draco said with a laugh.
Ron ignored the tasteless comment and continued, noticing that Draco was trying avoid the topic entirely.
"You're attached to her, aren't you? You thought that you could pull this off, easy, no complications and all the more benefits for you—but you didn't imagine ending up like this—unable to get her out of your mind.. she's attached to you now, isn't she?"
"You're speaking like a deranged git. I suppose it runs in the family," Draco answered with a shrug. Ron dared to take a step closer, his finger pointed out and accusing. He raised a brow as he did so, a smile on his face.
"You—" Ron started, shoving the pad of his finger into Draco's chest, "Love- her."
With a cocked brow, the Slytherin took another step back. Ron dropped his hand at the lack of his response, a startled expression beginning to slowly spread over his features.
"I'm afraid you have lost ever single grain of common sense left in that head of yours, Weasley. The only way that she could ever become attached to me is by way of my pe—"
Ron launched forward again, grabbing Draco once more by the throat.
"I dare you to finish that, I dare you, Malfoy," he said as he narrowed his eyes and bundled his hand into a fist. Draco smirked, barely feeling the brunt force of Ron.
"By way of my peni-"
"What's going on here?" a voice suddenly called from down the corridor. Filch clambered down the hall, one eye giant with suspicion and the other narrowed with pure hatred for all youths. Ron quickly let go of Draco, who proceeded to dust himself off with the casual air that he performed all other actions with.
"A misunderstanding," Draco said, a threat laced into his glare. Ron sneered and finally complied.
"Yes, a misunderstanding."
Hermione waited for the Slytherin first years at the door to the Gryffindor common room, unconsciously praying that Draco would not show. As she saw him turn the corner, she silently cursed to herself. He slid up alongside her, slipping his hand onto the lower of her back. When all of the first years finally climbed in, he pulled away as suddenly as he had sidled up by her and headed into the common room himself. Hermione, confused but relieved, disregarded the lack of conversation and followed him.
Draco fell into his seat, completely unaware that he had chosen to sit in an armchair where there was little room for Hermione. She saw this, ignored it and moved to sit on the edge of the plush red couch of which the two usually sat. The first years took notice of this, but said nothing as they gathered around the feet of Hermione—and not Draco.
"Did it hurt?" a curious Gryffindor girl asked. Hermione touched the side of her head where Ron had inflicted the deadly blow. A dark blue bruise would probably be taking up the side of her head if not for the chocolate that Madame Pomfrey had so considerately fed her. Even though the external appearance was missing, the internal pain was magnified beyond belief. The only way Hermione kept herself focused was by telling herself that she had been through far worse—which she had slowly begun to believe was the truth.
"Just a bit," she lied. "It feels like.. there's a constant tapping on my skull."
Obviously the news had spread about the horrendous fight that had taken place on the Quidditch field. The first years were reacting quite reasonably in response to the contradicting information presented to them.
"Are there any.. questions?" Hermione asked as she leaned her non-pained side of her head on her propped up hand. The room was completely silent. One prefect felt awkward, while the other smirked.
"None? At all?" she inquired again. No hands rose and no sounds were spoken.
"I don't quite understand what happened," another Gryffindor girl said. The other first years around her hissed and tried to silence her while Hermione looked on in grim hatred. Her intuition was screaming. They were not acting polite and quiet because they wanted to—but because somebody was making them.
"Draco, dearest, a word if you will?" Hermione managed to get out as she forced her teeth to unclench. This was one of the few occasions where she used his first name when speaking. Draco climbed out of his armchair and with his hands stuffed into his slacks' pockets, he neared her.
"What did you tell them?" she sneered when they finally managed to separate themselves in a corner of the common room. The first years sat quietly, afraid of whatever punishment had been placed before them.
"Nothing, Granger, surprised that they're acting civilized? Your guidance was leading them nowhere."
"Now you listen here, I did not waste time snogging you to get this far and have you ruin my reputation. If you have told them one tiny bit—one minuscule amount of slander—I will have Professor McGonagall on your case for that prefect badge in no time," she hissed beneath her breath.
"Tsk—empty threats. You should be bursting with joy at this change—they're not asking you too many questions, are they? And they're not pestering you about unwanted memories.. just admit that this time around—my word was the one to save our arses."
With that said, Draco pivoted and casually walked back to his single seat. Hermione allowed herself several moments to steam away the frustration, then returned to the awaiting first years. She fell into her seat and watched as all attention shifted to her once more.
Hermione slept peacefully that evening. With her hands splayed along her plump pillows, she dozed. Her blankets swept about her body, covering her like water. The sun was yet to replace the moon, it's rays barely reaching the horizon. She tossed her head, strands of silk auburn sliding along the sheets.
"Wake up," a voice silently called from one of the hidden corners. With lithe movements, Hermione sat up in her bed, eyes refusing to focus. As she swept a hand over her lids, she caught sight of the all too familiar face of Ron. Her brow furrowed, her arms moving to cross over her chest.
"What are you doing in here, Ron?" she said angrily. Ron neared the bed very slowly, departing from his sanctuary of darkness. Bags lay beneath his eyes and his red hair was tousled.
"I have to save you," he mumbled, clutching onto the edge of the blankets as he stumbled. Hermione climbed out of the bed and stood, opposing him. He narrowed his eyes and tried to stagger around the canopy bed.
"From what?" Hermione asked as she quickly stumbled back onto her bed, slipping off the other side.
"Stop running or else—or else—he'll get you and he'll get you.. and he'll get you," Ron replied weakly.
She glanced over at Ron, figuring that he was stuck in some sort of drunk stupor. With a sigh, she walked over to his side and patted him on the shoulder.
"Calm down—go get yourself some res—"
Ron lunged towards Hermione, knocking her to the ground. He placed his hands around her throat and stared down at her, his eyes filled with an insecure madness.
"You're c—choking me," Hermione managed to utter as his digits clenched down on her soft skin. Ignoring her pleads, he pulled her up by her neck and stared menacingly into her terror-filled eyes.
"I have to save you—from Draco.." he whispered, then slammed her head down into the floor.
Draco awoke in a cold sweat. Without thinking, he launched from his bed, knocking his sheets to the floor. Dressed in only a pair of dark green boxers, he rushed to the window, snatching his broom from it's post. He pushed open the gold frame with nervous motions, then grabbing his wits, threw himself from his room's window.
Hermione woke up to the loud fidgeting from outside her window. She allowed her vision to focus, but regretted doing so moments later. An all too familiar Slytherin burst in as he finally unlocked the window, stumbling into Hermione's room.
"What in the devil are you—"
She was cut off as Draco lunged towards her, tightly winding his arms around her nimble body, then releasing her. Hermione froze at his touch, his skin frigid with the torture of the winter's evening weather. When he finally released her, she gave a hasty glance to her muggle clock.
"It's two in the morning, Malfoy—what are you doing here—and you're absolutely freezing," she scolded.
Draco swallowed as he tried to gather his breath. His excruciatingly speedy escapade had left him breathless and yearning for a specific reward—one that he doubted he would receive.
"You—I dreamt—I thought.." Draco uttered as he tried to get his thoughts together. It was hard when his entire body was shivering from cold and his circulation refused to kick into gear.
"Oh—come here you big git," Hermione commanded with a furious expression. She pushed off her blankets and padded over to Draco, grabbing his icy wrist with force. He tripped as she pulled him forward, his body doing little to acknowledge the witch's actions. She gently pushed him onto her bed but he did not allow her to place him into any further positions. He sat on the canopy bed's edge and stared upwards at her cherubic face.
"Well—what're you staring at? Get warm, you oaf—you'll catch a cold," she blurted out, feeling awkward.
Draco reached out his hands and grasped onto her waist. He pulled her forwards, her body fitting perfectly between his legs. She jumped at his freezing touch and tried to remove his digits with her own. However, she could not budge his fingers as they clutched to her. The coldness quickly moved through her nightgown, biting her skin and causing her to shiver herself. He placed his forehead against her abdomen, then pulled back several inches. He repeated the action over and over again—a rocking motion that sent shivers down Hermione's spine. She stared down at him as his hands grew warm from the heat radiating from her body.
"Malfoy?" she asked to reassure if the stranger before her was really the boy who had so harshly insulted her less than 24 hours ago. The change seemed too abrupt- too sudden—it wasn't realistic.
"Hermione," he replied, the sound of her first name dancing on his tongue. She blinked in surprise and pulled back rather forcefully, his grip finally loosening and letting her free. His hands moved to rest over his knees, turning his palms to ice once more.
"Is this some sort of joke? Is the Slytherin Quidditch team waiting outside? Is the entire Slytherin house riding on brooms outside my window this very minute? Say something, Malfoy!" Hermione yelled.
Draco slowly turned up to look at her, shaking his head. Hermione continued to move towards the door, her eyes watching him the entire time. If he wasn't going to give her an explanation—then she wasn't willing to stay. It wasn't that he scared her—not at the least. She worried if the entire scene had been set up in hopes of humiliating her—in hopes of discovering her vulnerability and spreading it ruthlessly about. She melodramatically admitted that this had been the exact moment she had dreamt about, but dreams were meant to be yearnings of the human mind—not actual premonitions for the coming reality.
"I.. I think," he said quietly, a harsh whisper that nipped at Hermione's patience. She slowly turned the knob as it jabbed into her back, her chest rising with slow and even breaths.
"I can't stand this—I have to leave," she said silently as she turned to fumble with the door, forgetting she had locked it using her wand—which she conveniently kept on her nightstand. Draco suddenly rose from behind her, bending his head to rest his lips by her neck—his breathing almost at the point of soothing.
"Don't leave, Hermione. I dreamt—a nightmare.."
Hermione silently cursed. Dreams, the source of all their problems, worries and actions. She wondered if this was fate's comical way of bringing two beings together. If it was, it was barely enough to make Hermione smile, if not laugh. She did not bother to ask what Draco had dreamt of, his bearings his own problems—as her burdens had been her own. Hermione decided to avoid the entire subject completely—moving on to the second most obvious topic at hand.
"You're freezing," she said, his chin even cold to the touch. She turned and met his chest with hers. Draco exploded with impatience.
His lips came down upon hers, relentless and searching for the drug that could solve his craving. He was addicted to the uncontrollable urge that he was supposed to be so strongly opposed to. His family's morals suddenly became synthetic to him, a useless list of rules that kept him confined in the box his father had created for him. He could feel her body's reaction beneath the thin layer of night gown that she wore—his body moments away from responding. His body was chilled and he could only feel the perfect fit of her against him—his limbs and finger tips too numb to cooperate. One hand roamed down her back, while the other raked through her smooth tresses of auburn. The intoxicating scent wafting from her hair was enough to send him spiraling, endlessly and out of control.
He felt her hands slowly running up the expanse of his chest, the smooth and extruding muscles barely rough terrain for her neediness. She finally reached his cheeks with her hands, controlling the movements of his head. With their eyes closed tight, they fell into a dream—together, where no problems haunted them and no worries sucked their hopes from them. Draco found his external answer, but he wanted more, more from the girl he had vowed to humiliate and taunt for the rest of his life. It was no longer a battle about egos and intelligence. A month's worth of time had been enough to entwine the two prefects.
His arousal suddenly alerted Hermione to her senses. She pulled back, her eyes intense with confusion and perhaps regret. With her hands clutched to his face, his own somber eyes staring down at her, half closed with a drugged slumber, they fell back into reality.
"I think I—" Draco started, his voice ragged, but Hermione quickly silenced him with her hand. He was still cold, a slight disappointment. He kept his hand tangled in her hair and his arm around her waist. Not now—when they were so close. He was sure that if he said it, they could get the entire ordeal over with. The temptation and passion that drove the two wild was slowly breaking from it's bonds and even Hermione had to admit to herself that it felt good. She had to defeat the growing allure in order to maintain her self control. The questions she had seemed pointless now.
"You're freezing," she reminded him. He nodded, her hand still placed protectively about the words she dared him not to say. She pulled his hands from her and led him towards her bed—only intending on preventing him from catching pnemonia. As they burrowed under the sheets, sitting up atop the feather light mattress, she pulled her hand away, reassured that he would speak no more.
"Love you," he dragged out. Hermione wanted to slap him and force him to take it back, but it was of little use. After all, what's said was said and what he felt for her was none of her business. He could dig his own grave. However, it hurt to lead him on like this. She turned towards him, unbelieving of the transformed Slytherin before her. It felt like a dream, but she knew it wasn't. She couldn't play this role any longer.
"No, you don't."