Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, though I wish I could come up with something amazingly similar so I could be a multimillionare. J.K. Rowling is the author of those wonderful novels. This fanfic is my own invention however. DON'T STEAL IT! hehe :P
Author's Note: Okay, well thank you all so much for your reviews- you have now gained my luv for life, and gallons and gallons of hugs. Okay, some thanks are in order, but I will do that at the end. Okay, I was asked how old I am- 17years, a few months back. I have just finished school. Also, thanks to Gazy- for those questions, you've given me heaps to work with and I'm grateful (sounds sarcastic, is not meant to be). Okay, Draco and Hermione stories, as was said in some of the reviews often move extremely quickly, and I know mine is no different, but I'm trying to give mine a bit of an edge. I usually find there are only specific genres for Draco/Hermione stories: Draco is trying to be the dominant, overbearing male, taking advantage of Herrmione; or there is a gradual descent from anger to love between the two. Do not get me wrong however, because I know there are definite stories (many of them ^_^), which do not follow that, and even if they do, I still like them. My story, however, I'm trying to do something a little different with it, I don't know if I'm achieving it, though.
Tribegirl17 mentioned that Draco seemed a bit abusive, and he is, but as she mentioned as well, he also seems confused. This story is based upon, a relationship which is purely confusing, that is aggravating and furiously passionate in an angry manner. To me, Hermione has always seemed very prim and proper, but also very 'up on her pedistool' (but I still like her character- she's an amazing person!) and I'm trying to make this appear as aggravating to Draco, her new look just adding to it. In a way, if I let a relationship evolve between the two, I wouldn't want to resolve the angst between the two, because that's where the passion seems to come from. The fact that Hermione hasn't given in completely to Draco, who is also, obviously confused is keeping me going on this. I'm going to be changing the view point randomly between the two characters each chapter, just to give you a bit of Draco's perception. Okay, I have no idea if any of that made sense, and feel free to reply to that in any way, I will understand, if you're confused (I AM!) or don't like anything I wrote, and I'm open to any suggestions ^_^ Thanks: Ghost, Sirius Black11, Miranda, Jessica, TribeGirl17, Eventuality, Yun Fei, Eventuality, Danish Girl, Hogwarts, A History Girl, Miyashiko. Tristanlover59, Jackeline, TribeGirl17, daintress, Gazy. Thanks guys, I hope I keep pleasing you guys with this story, and that you keep going with me. I'll keep updating, but I don't know how regularily, depending on my holidays. Want to know anything about mwa, go to my bio page. And writing, I love it. It's one of my passions. I've written a book, which I am in a process of editing and changing slightly. Cheers, ~Cai~
Chapter 3
My eyes are hazy as I realise what I am doing, but I can't help and regard her as she dashes from this windy enclosure, and from my obvious advancements. My entire body is aching with want and satisfaction, and I growl in anger. I check myself in the reflection of the glass doors, swinging easily in the breeze and find a completely new sight. My hair, every stand usually in its place, is rustled and dishevelled; my cheeks, usually pale in the light and ghostly white in the dark, are red; and my chest is heaving with deep breaths which are erupting from my bruised lips, each one making my pale, watery blue eyes glow brighter and brighter. My appearance aggravates me, and sparing one look at the damning sunset, I storm inside.
Her door has just slammed shut, and I echo her sentiments with ones of my own. In my room, everything is confronting and chaotic, and at the sight of my full-length mirror, my appearance seeming to smirk at me, I tip it over with a sweep of my hand, and step through the shards of glass with cracking promise. What is she doing to me? So good and so much a Gryffindor, so obviously in need of change and disruption in her life. And I'm so enthralled with the idea of handing it over to her.
At the far window, I sweep them open and perch on its sill, rummaging behind a seat cover until I extract a packet of cigarettes. As I place it in my mouth, searching my pocket for my lighter, an image of Hermione deftly rolling one for me minutes earlier and then returning it to me, erupts in my mind, and I sigh. Lighter found, I singe the cigarette's end and inhale deeply. Smoke billows from my nostrils, creating a thin grey film before me, and I close my eyes.
"What the hell are you, to look so proper and so perfect when you kiss like some enchantress?" I take another drag on my cigarette and conjure an image of her in my mind. Even when she's not present in person, she infuriates me, has always infuriated me. Always a book in her arms, her long bushy hair sailing around her as if she's friend of the lightly, blowing breezes, and her face, glowing with the satisfaction of yet another successful class. Even now, when her appearance is so much more attractive, her figure so much less a girls, does she entice me with aggravation, rather than attractiveness. She seems to crave only books and intelligence. Her mind appearing, as I watch her prancing down the corridor, laughing or conversing with her two knights, to still be sorting through the work of a preceding class, and I want to growl from my hidden place in the shadows. How can she be so focused, when the world around her is so not!
Potty and Weasley, standing every moment by her side, treating her like their princess, who is forever precious to them. How can she be so precious when she's so devious, so god, forsakenly damning? I slam my hand into the window frame, and moan in pain as I retract it from the woodwork, drops of blood dripping onto my pants. Kissing her is encompassing and enraging at the same time, and I wouldn't stop doing it if she didn't run away. Hearing her cry out in pain, is overwhelming, but having her return my favours, with ones of her own, makes me intensely obsessed with every inch of her. Like I am finally seeing Hermione Mudblood Granger loose control. When she returns the kisses, when her nails rake along my skin, like she's leaving her very own seal across my body, I feel like I'm drowning in some thick, murky ocean of passionate, hateful extremes, her golden tresses, leading me away to some hidden world.
I smirk, even as pain ricochets through my hand. I bet Weasley never made moan. Again she appears on my mind, her hair hanging across her cheeks, and her eyes and lips quirking in a familiar smirk, and I realise that she's teasing me. Up on her pedistool, her intelligent mind is constantly working, going over some hidden problem known only to her, and when she catches me looking she smirks regally, and I'm tempted to return it, but all I feel is annoyance.
Why haven't you come first in potions yet, Draco? Why is some mudblood beating you at everything! Lucius' words hiss in my ears and I scrunch my finished cigarette on the sill beside the other ten or so, and stagger once again through the glass, which litters my floor. Always right, always high and mighty, always someone to be proud of. That was Granger through and through, she was a huge thorn in my stye, and I am was hell-bent on ridding myself of her.
I want to see her messed up, dishevelled, less than perfect, and I am already on my way. My body tingles as I step through the doorway and into the room, which acts as common ground between the two of us. And there she is, staring at the walls covered in books, and again I am enraged. Her robes are gone, and she is dressed in a grey, pleated skirt, which reaches her mid-thighs, and a loose, white, button-up blouse. Her hair is obviously wet from a shower, but even when she is oblivious to the world around her, does she still seem perfect, perfectly, and dauntingly flawless. In the dimmed, candle-lit room, she looks completely unspoiled, and it enrages me. Her lips are moving slightly as she catalogues the collection of novels in her mind, and I vaguely noticed the tinge of red, which labels her cheeks, but other than that; she seems no different to how she was that morning in the library.
I am vaguely aware that she is turning around and that in a few moments, she is going to see me, but I can't seem to move. I'm seething with anger, as she moves away from the shelf and comes face to face with me. How... how dare she be unscathed? There is a small packet of cigs in my room; half finished during the time that I've fretted over what is going through my mind, and here she faces me, completely unchanged.
Upon seeing me, she gasps, and retreats several steps, and finally I see a reward for my services. Her face immediately comes alight and the book, which she has, only moments before cradled in her arms, topples to the floor, resting against the stone floors.
She looks... she looks nervous, and unsure, and I almost leap with joy. I have succeeded where I have seen everyone else fail. Hermione Granger, the great mudblood herself, and defender of her muggles, is anxious and jittery. I feel a smirk playing on my lips, and it spreads as she curses loudly and reaches down to retrieve the novel from the floor.
"Don't do that!" she wails in annoyance, and after inviting the books back into her arms, she backs further and further away until a chair is between us. "Just leave me alone, Malfoy! I'm not going to play these sick, little perverted games of yours anymore! You... you... what are you doing?" She scrambles to get further away, only just noticing that I'm beginning to approach her. Her hair, is in disarray and draped across her eyes as she hurries to get out of my reach, but I'm oblivious to all this as I realise I must find out if she is real.
In the twilight of the early evening, she looks anything but real, a faery in some schoolgirl disguise, and I find myself unable to stop my advance. She stumbles slightly as she backs away, her eyes wide in fright, her hands clutching the book to her front like some shield, and then she falls. She lets out a gasp of pain as her back and bottom collides with the rug-covered floor, and I pause, towering over her form, which lies below me. Her skirt is hitched even further up her thighs and her white skin, only slightly tanned by afternoons of reading under some tree, is visible and enticing to me. She appears almost bathed in a pool of milk, which has covered her from head to toe, and she glares up at me, the book lying lifeless beside her as she rubs her lower back in obvious pain.
"What the hell is wrong with you? BACK OFF, MALFOY! JUST BACK OFF NOW!" Her voice is quivering with fear, and I glance her over. Her chest is heaving against the buttons of her shirt, exposing perhaps, a bit too much skin, and her face, usually so calm and restrained, is red and torrential. Her hazel eyes, flecked with small bits of green, which sparkle beneath layers of hair, are staring up at me, seemingly tired. Desperate to prove that only one, not of this world, could look as she does, but behave as she does, I reach out and grab her wrist, listening to the gasp, which erupts from her as my fingers collide with the skin of her thigh, and pull her forward. Finally realising just how real she really is.
"You're real..." I mumble absently as I stroke her wrist, and suddenly I feel a stinging sensation erupting in my cheek. I snatch the offending limb in my other hand, and twist it menacingly behind her back, trapping her against me. That's the second time this little bitch has hit me.
She too is now seething, and I'm beginning to wonder, why exactly I don't release her now that I've accomplished my goal. Hermione Granger is frustrated. "Get your dirty, sleazy, mother fucking fingers off me now, Malfoy, or I swear I'll more than just slap you next time." She threatens menacingly, and I'm tempted to believe her. She is obviously not entirely real, because whose eyes can flare to life like an erupting flame, if they're some boring mudblood.
I lean forward, pressing my lips against her ear, waiting and being granted the shiver that she emits and speak, "Ssshh... little mudblood, for someone so prim and proper, something's obviously got you slightly flustered." I nip gently at her ear, and then move my lips to her cheek, where I graze them along its width until I reach the corner of her mouth. I fold her other arm in line with its partner against her back, and she growls in annoyance.
"What are you doing? Let me go..." her words trail off into a spiral of nothingness as my lips graze her chin and lower lip, grinning in satisfaction as she again shivers against me, but I am only just barely controlling myself. I pull her even more firmly against me, and finally I meet her lips with mine, allowing them a mind of their own as they plunder and control the kiss which is suddenly reaching dizzying heights. Her hands are struggling against my hold on them, and I release one of them as I let my own travel around her waist where I splay my fingers across her stomach. She gasps against my lips and I pause for a moment, but only a moment because suddenly Granger is firmly against me, her tongue sneaking deviously into my mouth where it runs along the outside of my teeth and plays a game of 'one-on-one' with my own. Her hand, which I've released only moments earlier, is now buried in my hair, and pulls me closer, if it's even remotely possible.
I stagger backwards, my back meeting the edge of a table, and I lean against it, pulling her between my thighs till she is nestled against me completely. Her kisses, which have left my mouth are leaving a light trail to my temple, where she stops for a moment as my own lips move to her neck, and gently run my tongue over a sensitive spot. She groans, squirming slightly against me, and I exhale deeply, causing goose bumps to rise over her skin as I moan gently. Ready to return my attention to her neck, I ready my lips, but suddenly find myself yanked upwards to her lips, where she whispers against them, "Why are you doing this?" and then wraps her arms around my neck, and kisses me hard and with furious anger. "I hate you! I hate you!" She whispers like a mantra against my lips, and I'm determined to cut her words short as I grasp her hips with my hands, and swiftly capture her mouth with my tongue.
"Hermione!" A voice springs from the doorway, and we spring away from each other in time to see Harry entering the common room, his back to us. "I just thought I'd come and get you for dinner." He explains and turns to face the two of us, his eyes widening with surprise as he sees the two of us, not two metres apart, gasping for breath.
"Harry!" She croaks, a small grin crossing her lips as she meets her old friend, the fa
Author's Note: Okay, well thank you all so much for your reviews- you have now gained my luv for life, and gallons and gallons of hugs. Okay, some thanks are in order, but I will do that at the end. Okay, I was asked how old I am- 17years, a few months back. I have just finished school. Also, thanks to Gazy- for those questions, you've given me heaps to work with and I'm grateful (sounds sarcastic, is not meant to be). Okay, Draco and Hermione stories, as was said in some of the reviews often move extremely quickly, and I know mine is no different, but I'm trying to give mine a bit of an edge. I usually find there are only specific genres for Draco/Hermione stories: Draco is trying to be the dominant, overbearing male, taking advantage of Herrmione; or there is a gradual descent from anger to love between the two. Do not get me wrong however, because I know there are definite stories (many of them ^_^), which do not follow that, and even if they do, I still like them. My story, however, I'm trying to do something a little different with it, I don't know if I'm achieving it, though.
Tribegirl17 mentioned that Draco seemed a bit abusive, and he is, but as she mentioned as well, he also seems confused. This story is based upon, a relationship which is purely confusing, that is aggravating and furiously passionate in an angry manner. To me, Hermione has always seemed very prim and proper, but also very 'up on her pedistool' (but I still like her character- she's an amazing person!) and I'm trying to make this appear as aggravating to Draco, her new look just adding to it. In a way, if I let a relationship evolve between the two, I wouldn't want to resolve the angst between the two, because that's where the passion seems to come from. The fact that Hermione hasn't given in completely to Draco, who is also, obviously confused is keeping me going on this. I'm going to be changing the view point randomly between the two characters each chapter, just to give you a bit of Draco's perception. Okay, I have no idea if any of that made sense, and feel free to reply to that in any way, I will understand, if you're confused (I AM!) or don't like anything I wrote, and I'm open to any suggestions ^_^ Thanks: Ghost, Sirius Black11, Miranda, Jessica, TribeGirl17, Eventuality, Yun Fei, Eventuality, Danish Girl, Hogwarts, A History Girl, Miyashiko. Tristanlover59, Jackeline, TribeGirl17, daintress, Gazy. Thanks guys, I hope I keep pleasing you guys with this story, and that you keep going with me. I'll keep updating, but I don't know how regularily, depending on my holidays. Want to know anything about mwa, go to my bio page. And writing, I love it. It's one of my passions. I've written a book, which I am in a process of editing and changing slightly. Cheers, ~Cai~
Chapter 3
My eyes are hazy as I realise what I am doing, but I can't help and regard her as she dashes from this windy enclosure, and from my obvious advancements. My entire body is aching with want and satisfaction, and I growl in anger. I check myself in the reflection of the glass doors, swinging easily in the breeze and find a completely new sight. My hair, every stand usually in its place, is rustled and dishevelled; my cheeks, usually pale in the light and ghostly white in the dark, are red; and my chest is heaving with deep breaths which are erupting from my bruised lips, each one making my pale, watery blue eyes glow brighter and brighter. My appearance aggravates me, and sparing one look at the damning sunset, I storm inside.
Her door has just slammed shut, and I echo her sentiments with ones of my own. In my room, everything is confronting and chaotic, and at the sight of my full-length mirror, my appearance seeming to smirk at me, I tip it over with a sweep of my hand, and step through the shards of glass with cracking promise. What is she doing to me? So good and so much a Gryffindor, so obviously in need of change and disruption in her life. And I'm so enthralled with the idea of handing it over to her.
At the far window, I sweep them open and perch on its sill, rummaging behind a seat cover until I extract a packet of cigarettes. As I place it in my mouth, searching my pocket for my lighter, an image of Hermione deftly rolling one for me minutes earlier and then returning it to me, erupts in my mind, and I sigh. Lighter found, I singe the cigarette's end and inhale deeply. Smoke billows from my nostrils, creating a thin grey film before me, and I close my eyes.
"What the hell are you, to look so proper and so perfect when you kiss like some enchantress?" I take another drag on my cigarette and conjure an image of her in my mind. Even when she's not present in person, she infuriates me, has always infuriated me. Always a book in her arms, her long bushy hair sailing around her as if she's friend of the lightly, blowing breezes, and her face, glowing with the satisfaction of yet another successful class. Even now, when her appearance is so much more attractive, her figure so much less a girls, does she entice me with aggravation, rather than attractiveness. She seems to crave only books and intelligence. Her mind appearing, as I watch her prancing down the corridor, laughing or conversing with her two knights, to still be sorting through the work of a preceding class, and I want to growl from my hidden place in the shadows. How can she be so focused, when the world around her is so not!
Potty and Weasley, standing every moment by her side, treating her like their princess, who is forever precious to them. How can she be so precious when she's so devious, so god, forsakenly damning? I slam my hand into the window frame, and moan in pain as I retract it from the woodwork, drops of blood dripping onto my pants. Kissing her is encompassing and enraging at the same time, and I wouldn't stop doing it if she didn't run away. Hearing her cry out in pain, is overwhelming, but having her return my favours, with ones of her own, makes me intensely obsessed with every inch of her. Like I am finally seeing Hermione Mudblood Granger loose control. When she returns the kisses, when her nails rake along my skin, like she's leaving her very own seal across my body, I feel like I'm drowning in some thick, murky ocean of passionate, hateful extremes, her golden tresses, leading me away to some hidden world.
I smirk, even as pain ricochets through my hand. I bet Weasley never made moan. Again she appears on my mind, her hair hanging across her cheeks, and her eyes and lips quirking in a familiar smirk, and I realise that she's teasing me. Up on her pedistool, her intelligent mind is constantly working, going over some hidden problem known only to her, and when she catches me looking she smirks regally, and I'm tempted to return it, but all I feel is annoyance.
Why haven't you come first in potions yet, Draco? Why is some mudblood beating you at everything! Lucius' words hiss in my ears and I scrunch my finished cigarette on the sill beside the other ten or so, and stagger once again through the glass, which litters my floor. Always right, always high and mighty, always someone to be proud of. That was Granger through and through, she was a huge thorn in my stye, and I am was hell-bent on ridding myself of her.
I want to see her messed up, dishevelled, less than perfect, and I am already on my way. My body tingles as I step through the doorway and into the room, which acts as common ground between the two of us. And there she is, staring at the walls covered in books, and again I am enraged. Her robes are gone, and she is dressed in a grey, pleated skirt, which reaches her mid-thighs, and a loose, white, button-up blouse. Her hair is obviously wet from a shower, but even when she is oblivious to the world around her, does she still seem perfect, perfectly, and dauntingly flawless. In the dimmed, candle-lit room, she looks completely unspoiled, and it enrages me. Her lips are moving slightly as she catalogues the collection of novels in her mind, and I vaguely noticed the tinge of red, which labels her cheeks, but other than that; she seems no different to how she was that morning in the library.
I am vaguely aware that she is turning around and that in a few moments, she is going to see me, but I can't seem to move. I'm seething with anger, as she moves away from the shelf and comes face to face with me. How... how dare she be unscathed? There is a small packet of cigs in my room; half finished during the time that I've fretted over what is going through my mind, and here she faces me, completely unchanged.
Upon seeing me, she gasps, and retreats several steps, and finally I see a reward for my services. Her face immediately comes alight and the book, which she has, only moments before cradled in her arms, topples to the floor, resting against the stone floors.
She looks... she looks nervous, and unsure, and I almost leap with joy. I have succeeded where I have seen everyone else fail. Hermione Granger, the great mudblood herself, and defender of her muggles, is anxious and jittery. I feel a smirk playing on my lips, and it spreads as she curses loudly and reaches down to retrieve the novel from the floor.
"Don't do that!" she wails in annoyance, and after inviting the books back into her arms, she backs further and further away until a chair is between us. "Just leave me alone, Malfoy! I'm not going to play these sick, little perverted games of yours anymore! You... you... what are you doing?" She scrambles to get further away, only just noticing that I'm beginning to approach her. Her hair, is in disarray and draped across her eyes as she hurries to get out of my reach, but I'm oblivious to all this as I realise I must find out if she is real.
In the twilight of the early evening, she looks anything but real, a faery in some schoolgirl disguise, and I find myself unable to stop my advance. She stumbles slightly as she backs away, her eyes wide in fright, her hands clutching the book to her front like some shield, and then she falls. She lets out a gasp of pain as her back and bottom collides with the rug-covered floor, and I pause, towering over her form, which lies below me. Her skirt is hitched even further up her thighs and her white skin, only slightly tanned by afternoons of reading under some tree, is visible and enticing to me. She appears almost bathed in a pool of milk, which has covered her from head to toe, and she glares up at me, the book lying lifeless beside her as she rubs her lower back in obvious pain.
"What the hell is wrong with you? BACK OFF, MALFOY! JUST BACK OFF NOW!" Her voice is quivering with fear, and I glance her over. Her chest is heaving against the buttons of her shirt, exposing perhaps, a bit too much skin, and her face, usually so calm and restrained, is red and torrential. Her hazel eyes, flecked with small bits of green, which sparkle beneath layers of hair, are staring up at me, seemingly tired. Desperate to prove that only one, not of this world, could look as she does, but behave as she does, I reach out and grab her wrist, listening to the gasp, which erupts from her as my fingers collide with the skin of her thigh, and pull her forward. Finally realising just how real she really is.
"You're real..." I mumble absently as I stroke her wrist, and suddenly I feel a stinging sensation erupting in my cheek. I snatch the offending limb in my other hand, and twist it menacingly behind her back, trapping her against me. That's the second time this little bitch has hit me.
She too is now seething, and I'm beginning to wonder, why exactly I don't release her now that I've accomplished my goal. Hermione Granger is frustrated. "Get your dirty, sleazy, mother fucking fingers off me now, Malfoy, or I swear I'll more than just slap you next time." She threatens menacingly, and I'm tempted to believe her. She is obviously not entirely real, because whose eyes can flare to life like an erupting flame, if they're some boring mudblood.
I lean forward, pressing my lips against her ear, waiting and being granted the shiver that she emits and speak, "Ssshh... little mudblood, for someone so prim and proper, something's obviously got you slightly flustered." I nip gently at her ear, and then move my lips to her cheek, where I graze them along its width until I reach the corner of her mouth. I fold her other arm in line with its partner against her back, and she growls in annoyance.
"What are you doing? Let me go..." her words trail off into a spiral of nothingness as my lips graze her chin and lower lip, grinning in satisfaction as she again shivers against me, but I am only just barely controlling myself. I pull her even more firmly against me, and finally I meet her lips with mine, allowing them a mind of their own as they plunder and control the kiss which is suddenly reaching dizzying heights. Her hands are struggling against my hold on them, and I release one of them as I let my own travel around her waist where I splay my fingers across her stomach. She gasps against my lips and I pause for a moment, but only a moment because suddenly Granger is firmly against me, her tongue sneaking deviously into my mouth where it runs along the outside of my teeth and plays a game of 'one-on-one' with my own. Her hand, which I've released only moments earlier, is now buried in my hair, and pulls me closer, if it's even remotely possible.
I stagger backwards, my back meeting the edge of a table, and I lean against it, pulling her between my thighs till she is nestled against me completely. Her kisses, which have left my mouth are leaving a light trail to my temple, where she stops for a moment as my own lips move to her neck, and gently run my tongue over a sensitive spot. She groans, squirming slightly against me, and I exhale deeply, causing goose bumps to rise over her skin as I moan gently. Ready to return my attention to her neck, I ready my lips, but suddenly find myself yanked upwards to her lips, where she whispers against them, "Why are you doing this?" and then wraps her arms around my neck, and kisses me hard and with furious anger. "I hate you! I hate you!" She whispers like a mantra against my lips, and I'm determined to cut her words short as I grasp her hips with my hands, and swiftly capture her mouth with my tongue.
"Hermione!" A voice springs from the doorway, and we spring away from each other in time to see Harry entering the common room, his back to us. "I just thought I'd come and get you for dinner." He explains and turns to face the two of us, his eyes widening with surprise as he sees the two of us, not two metres apart, gasping for breath.
"Harry!" She croaks, a small grin crossing her lips as she meets her old friend, the fa