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: I know, I know- I'm a terrible, terrible person, but it couldn't be helped. My computer was broken. I went away for a long time and University has been starting. Gosh- uni, I can't believe I've made it, but unfortunately, I'm back to slogging it, and if I go in the direction I want to, then I will have seven years of it, to attend. I am so sorry this has taken so long to upload, gosh, it definitely has, but chapter 8 is already started and there is definitely some interaction between our favourite couple next chapter, not that there isn't in this chapter. Thanks for all the reviews. There were so many, and I feel so blessed. You're all giving me a mighty big head, it's not healthy I tell you, not healthy!!
Anyway, on with the chapter, as people seem to want.
Cheers,
Cai
*~* means the beginning and end of a flashback scene as italics have decided to be little shits and not show up in the upload. Haha :)
Chapter 7
When the sun filters into your room, leaving everything but shadows to be desired, one seems to think that one should perhaps be awake, but at that present moment, the sun is but a blanket which covers me. I fold my hand over the silky cover of a pillow, which is smeared, into my side and clench my fingers. In the sunlight, the room seems at ease with itself, almost like it is rearranging itself around me and as I watch more carefully, the small particles of dust become illuminated in a waltzing dance.
A sigh escapes me as the sun's beams spring across my hands, and without the gloves to hide their shades they glow and shudder. In the sunlight, the veins, which line my hands with sea greens and tormented sky blues, seem to slip away from the sun, sidle deep into my hands so that a small cloud of colour illuminates them, instead of the deep set streams. Pin-pricks of pain seem to grow over my skin and as it always has, ever since the last year, the sun makes me want to hide and fold away my hands, so they're no longer under its full glare. I run them through my hair, stopping for a moment on the more incessant knots, which are amidst their mass and for a moment cradle my head in my hands, the shaking fingers shivering against my scalp as they pause.
A window, open in the corner of my room blows a faint breeze across the room, and despite the residing heat, which seems permanently settled over the whole of the castle, goosebumps rise across my skin. The curls of my hair rustle in the wind and a few strays rise up and out of the trellis of fingers, finding themselves drawn into its mess. Standing up, I sway lightly in my place, and for a moment darkness threatens to mingle with the light and I find myself falling forward and supporting myself on the chair as last night rises in my thoughts. His voice, his hands, his body against mine serve as another reminder for a past with which I wish to forget, but for some reason, he stays hidden no better than the blush that seems to rise in my cheeks.
I stumble away from the chair, a hand in my hair, grasping it, pulling it, until pain springs forth in my mind, and I perch on the edge of my mattress, fumbling, with hands withdrawn from locks of cluttered gold, to reach inside a draw and withdraw a single bottle. For months now I've been tossing this down my throat; over and over it's burned, its scolded and its saved me, but for a moment, I lose control of myself as my hands... MY HANDS... clench its exterior and suddenly the glass container is whirling through the air, and as it comes in contact with the wall it smashes and it's ghastly interior of black shining purple punctures the wall and dribbles to the floor.
The dribbling stuff breaks through my shell and I close my fingers around another familiar container and before I can mutter a word such as accio, I have removed the lid and tossed back its contents. It tingles my throat on its way down, slipping and sliding against my insides, and as it appears to reach my stomach, a feeling spreads throughout me, and I fall backwards onto a pile of doonas and pillows, covering my face with my hands and clenching my eyes shut. The skin of my hands and forearms seems to shift, moving from side to side, up and down and round and round, and finally, when the feeling stops and I glance again at my hands, they are normal again. They hover above my face, and they are no longer surreal, like a painting by Picasso or Van Gogh, or shuddering like a cloud about to burst forth its showers of glistening droplets, and I exhale, realising, like I have every other time, that I've been holding my breath.
I'll have to go and see Snape or Pomfrey about an extra bottle, because each bottle is specifically crafted to the needs of the potion, and I have just smashed the third in a month. Slowly, I get to my feet and after glancing at my watch- 6am- and then to the mirror, I strip down, mutter a cleansing spell and begin to dress for the new day. I pull on one of three grey, pleated skirts, a plain white blouse and straighten a tie, which slips over my head and settles beneath my collar, before looking back to the mirror. In the light, which shutters through ajar windows, my hair alternates between a boring, mousy-brown and a crisp, golden blond and then back again, and as I pull up socks, covering slim ankles to bony knees and shoe my feet with buckled Mary-Janes, I collect my thoughts, and after a minute, stuff away black leather gloves in my pocket's depths.
Homework, lying unrestricted across a small mosaic'd table is gathered in my arms, and as I glance again at my watch, I notice that there is still enough time to research and take a few notes on items to bring to Dumbledore's attention tonight. I stuff the folders of parchment and the packet of quills away in the recesses of a cotton shoulder bag and slip it over my shoulders before heading out the door and locking it. Holding the handle in my hand, I realise I have forgotten something, and slipping back into my room, I reach in, withdraw two bottles and once again, leave the room. In the common room between the blond haired boy of my nightmares and dreams and my rooms, I catch a glimpse of his tied locks behind a closing door, and on the air I can lightly smell the scent of cigarettes and shaking my head, I step into the hallway.
Harry and Ron and Ginny are probably still asleep in their beds, their dreams a mixture of dark tormented pasts, and sweet dreams filled with pleasantries of their significant others, and for a moment I feel a loneliness overwhelming me. Where is the person that is meant to save my heart and break it at the same time? Where is that one person who I can bear all my burden to and not get cut to pieces for my folly? And in the deep depths of my mind, a voice of considerable proportions rings out: Perhaps it was he who you wish not to think of, he who creates a fire in your cheek like no other did.
I pause in my steps stopping in a dark hollow of the hallway and feel a flush leaking into my cheeks as memories of the night before flood my mind.
*~*
He stands before me; not far away and his eyes, closed to my levelling glare, flutter as he inhales deeply and suddenly he leans forward and brushes his lips against mine. Despite myself, I respond to the light pressure that he applies, and the heat, which is always there now, when he stands close, looms to the surface and as he draws away, I am amazed at how sweet, how gentle the kiss appears. Like a delicious dish of precise meals, I feel drawn to him, and realise that no one, has ever presented me with such a kiss as this. Closed and delicate, the kiss is like fine cuisine, seemingly to be tasted only once.
*~*
And suddenly tears spring into my eyes, as I clench them shut to the memory, that it was he, he who has tormented me, who has insulted and ridiculed me, whose father stops at nothing; who has shown me such beauty in a single meeting, who has presented an entire world to me. A world, which I crave, with a vicious hunger to possess, if only he was not contained in it, if only it didn't come pre-wrapped and tied with the compliments of the Malfoy family and a bonus blond-haired god. His tongue speaks words of doubt and of being deceived, by me and mine but it is he who deceives and tricks, it is his voice, his touch, which plays with the memories of my past.
Peeling myself from the wall, I wipe a hand across my cheeks, catching the tears on hidden hands and shift back into the light.
"Hermione!" A voice slips into my thoughts and I look up to see a small, petite beauty with a stream of red hair, which flows behind her. Ginny almost bowls me over with enthusiasm and after hugging I find a smile on my face. "Oh Mione, what are you doing up this early?" She asks, finally catching her breath, and as she steps away, she clasps her hands behind her back and grins. The grin however, falters as she takes in the room that I stand before. "Dear God, woman, is there any other place where we can find you but the library!" She groans and I have to laugh. Ginny's antics and hysterics are a famous gene from the Weasley Pool, but hers have an ounce of her very own slightly peculiar personality.
"I have to meet Dumbledore tonight for a meeting and I haven't prepared anything." I explain, and she rolls her eyes, before looking serious.
"You could have asked us for help last night. You know any of us would be only too happy to help you. We've always explained this, Hermione." She tells me sternly and before I can stop myself, I speak words, which immediately seek the feelings of regret and remorse.
"Last night... last night was a complete waste of time." I mutter, and the change is almost instant. Her eyes widen in a second and they appear almost white, the blue so crystal that it seems to disappear. Her hand plays on the edge of her shirt, slipping her finger in and out of a loose button hole, and she bites down on her lip for a moment, as if trying to gain some of the little control that Ginny Weasley has left.
"I... I..." She stutters and I, as I knew I would, feel instantly sad, "We worried about you after you left; Harry most of all. What happened to you, Mione? We just want to help; we want to know what's wrong, that's all. We wouldn't hold it against you, you know we would never do that." She pleaded, and I turned my eyes just past her face so that I was looking at a space on the wall behind her, "Don't be angry with us, Mione. Don't punish us for not knowing how to speak to you, for not knowing what to say!" Her voice is calm for a moment, but at the end of the statement, the tone of it rises with strain. "And how could you think Harry would know? Of course Harry didn't know! Of course he didn't notice! How could you expect him to notice something which even Ron and I had trouble noticing? Every night, Ron tells me, Harry wakes shaking and trembling; his sheets soaked through with the sweat which streams off his cheeks and face. And then, the very next night, when they return, the elves have been about and the sheets are clean and whitened. Every night, Hermione!" Ginny is almost hysterical as she explains to me the things which I already knew, the things which were always known, just hidden.
"It's... it's not that... it's just, how can I ask Harry to look out for me, and show concern for me, when he needs that for himself. When every ounce of the dedication that he shows to his friends should be directed entirely at himself." My voice breaks with distinct clarity and I bite my lips and look to the side in a desperate attempt to stop any tears that might fall.
"Ask?" Her tone is hysterical, "Hermione, you don't need to ask. You don't even have to want Harry to look out for you. He'll do that on his own, I'll do it, Ron will. They wouldn't be alive if they didn't have you, if they didn't have your friendship, so don't wish for them not to see you, not to want to help you, because it's impossible." The words flew from her mouth, and she paused and breathed for a moment, her eyes thoughtful, so that when she began again, her voice was softer and more delicate. "Everyday you and Harry are off in another world, a world where we can't seem to get you, and even when you think no ones watching, we always are, we always see the expressions that you make, the way your voices rise in the aftermath, and we notice the tremble in your bodies when we touch you. Who else but Ron and I are going to notice the drinks that you toss back, when everyone else is distracted by the air of well-being but the look of absolute illness. Ron may sometimes seem completely oblivious to the obvious, but he notices his friends, he notices when the girl and boy who hold his heart in an iron grip are hurting. How could you think so little of him? And who but I is going to recognise the bottles that fit the potion? It would be an insult if I didn't." She whispers and my eyes widen considerably at her words, realising just how advanced in potions her mind really is.
How could they have noticed something, which I conceal from even myself? Why do they see what others can't even wrap their minds around? "Yes... I guess you're right." My voice sounds sullen and sad in my ears, and Ginny steps forward and wraps her hands around mine. Even with the potion concealing the changes made to my hands, sometimes, when I lie awake at night, I can feel the shaking beneath the veil of potion-brewed deception, but the minute Ginny's hands enclose mine, it's gone.
"I'm going to wake Harry," She whispers and there is a glint of something mischievous in her eyes. The depth of sadness is again hidden so well behind the image of a beautiful, happy, innocent child, and when I look again, she has turned and is running down the hallway, ducking beneath people's arms, in search of a boy.
After gaining my composure again, I continue my walk into the library, and head towards a desk in towards the back. "Hermione!" Seamus' voice erupts in my head, and a smile, at the mere sound of his voice is beginning on my face, and I turn to face the speaker. "Hi," he says, as he comes to a stop before me, and mouths a sorry at the Madame Prince, who shoots him a glare for raising his voice, "you wouldn't happen to know where I could find some research notes for that potions parchment, that Snape wants done?" He asks, and I immediately lead him to the exact spot where all the answers can be found. Here, as the academic, I am in my element.
Several minutes pass as I demonstrate to Seamus what needs to be done, and at the end, when I move to continue the work that I had intended to do, his hand reaches out and clasps my wrist. "Mione?" I slowly turn to look at his face, and my eyes widen as I take in the look of worry that it demonstrates. "Everything okay with you? You seem a bit distracted." His hold gently loosens, and he examines my wrist, "Where did you get these bruises?"
I look where his thumb moves gently across the skin of my wrist, where a faint bruise is gradually growing and for a minute my eyes become shadowed with a preceding memory.
*~*
"Where did you get such scars? Why are your hands such?" Draco's startled voice demands from me and his hold on my wrist tightens then loosens, then tightens again, and I flinch in pain as he examines my wrists and the abnormally coloured veins which present themselves as scars.
*~*
"I'm not quite sure, actually, they seem... seem... I probably just hit the corner of something sharp." I explain, and gently ease my wrist from his grip and take a step away, plastering a smile on my face. "Don't worry about me, Seamus, please don't. There's no need, honestly. It's pointless, and you know me, I'm always fine." Hesitantly I begin to walk away, but his final comment stops me in my tracks.
"There isn't someone, is there Hermione, who's bugging you." His Irish trawl, accents each word with clarity, and I flinch. "I've seen Malfoy watching you, following you, and lately you seem more aware of it, more acknowledging of him. You'd tell me, me at least, if anything was wrong with him, wouldn't you?" And I flinch, and shake my head, before looking over my shoulder.
"Oh Seamus, don't worry about me, honestly. Malfoy's not doing anything; I don't know what you're talking about. You know him; he's always such an arse- once a Slytherin always a Slytherin. And he's Head Boy, I've got to pay some attention to him, otherwise we'd never get anything done." The words tumble from my lips like a well practised speech, and I can see several different looks pass across face, but none of them rise to the surface, and I quickly take my leave.
Sitting down, I pull several pieces of parchment and a sharpened quill from my bag, and begin scratching a list of notes and specifics down on the page. Slowly the page grows, but as I glance back at what I have written, the words tailored to the page seem to make not an ounce of sense and I find my thoughts drawn to Seamus, a teenage boy, whose relationship with I is all and nothing like plutonic.
Seamus Finnegan, Irish man and friend extraordinaire, contains all the humour and joy of my world within his medium height, dark-haired, pale skinned and blue-eyed form. Since the beginning of the sixth year, his friendship with me has grown ever so large. He knows little of my experiences, or at least, knows little of the details of my preceding years, but there is a magic in Seamus, a magic not defined in this school, which lets him see things which open eyes refuse to acknowledge. His character, quirky in more ways than none, and flirtatious to a fault was always there to cheer his friends on, and to engulf them in his persistent character. A memory of a dream engulfs me, as I sit in the dimly lit chair, and I close my eyes, and embrace the moment.
*~*
In a darkened room, something crystal begins to glow, and as I walked deeper into the room, the glow grows from a faint sprinkle to a bright shine, and from every crevice and space in the room, a distant ticking and tocking, a heavy clicking and clacking descends. I am in THAT room. Again. On every surface of the floor and desk and shelf lie faces of twelve points, whose hand's every movement echo a single sound, which together as a chorus, resound, over and over in my ears. And then, as I step between the desks, moving towards the bell-shaped jar which lies central to the room, a purple flash lights up the room, and suddenly legs which were moving and arms which were steadying no longer move, and I slump to the ground. In my eyes, a world re-creates itself, and I watch as the figures of Harry and Neville lift me to the air and I try to move myself, blink my eyes, show some sign of my awareness- but nothing. It feels almost like the 'Petrificus Totalus', where one finds themselves entirely bound, from head to foot, but for some reason, the sensation is completely different, the feeling which is presently washing over my form is like a decisive cold shower and I try desperately to shudder.
Harry's and Neville's faces appear above mine, watching my reaction, and I feel Harry's tight grip upon my shoulder, become gentle for a moment and then tighten harder. Internally I wince, and I wait for Harry's exclamation that I am truly awake, but all I see is a curtain of concern across his glassy, green eyes and I softly hear his mutterings: "Please don't let her die! Please don't let her die!" I try desperately to move again, to shudder, scream, reach up and cower, but nothing and suddenly I feel overwhelmed, and I want to move, I want to get away. Neville lifts me from the floor to his arms, and as he stealthy follows Harry from one room to another, I can see his face where blood flows freely from a split lip and from each of his nostrils. He stumbles for a moment, and the blood, which is pooling at the base of his chin splatters onto my face, obscuring my vision for a short moment.
They stumble from room to room, and I watch silently and without movement as Neville flinches with each impact to different parts of his body. Ron and Ginny and Luna gradually find us and from my viewpoint, I vaguely notice the glossy gleam of sweat which sticks to Ginny's forehead as she slumps to the floor over her leg, and the pitiful look of distress as Luna speaks hushed to Harry, and finally Ron, whose face is falsely happy as a series of giggles and a set of laughter rings out from his lips.
Words of urgency erupt from Harry as a series of bangs and explosions echo from just beyond the doors just past, and suddenly we are racing towards another door, and we find ourselves, within a darkened room. From the ceiling hang several suspended lamps which cast an obnoxious light across the room, and my eyes widen in fright at what lies central to the room. A large green tank sits there, obviously familiar and I want to get up and back away, but before I can struggle to rid myself of the curse which lies across my frame, a series of curses, hexes and spells fly into the room.
A spell smacks Neville directly in the face, flinging him to the ground, and I slip to the floor, the ground, pain erupting from my rump. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Ron struggling to rid himself of the 'brain' which has attached several of its arm-type shapes to him, and all of a sudden a flash of green erupts and he crumples to the ground.
This is not how the memory is meant to go anymore.
"Ron!" The voice erupts from my mouth like a newborn's cry and I cradle my head in my hands, shuddering desperately as cries rack my frail form. I am inside the Hospital wing, a nightmare having awoken me from a potion-induced sleep, and I swing my legs over the edge of my bed and upon looking up, find myself not alone. "Seamus!" I manage at the last moment to calm the tone of my voice, and it comes out like a hiss, as I stare clumsily at the dark-haired boy before me, whose arms are full of papers.
"Sorry," he mumbles and quickly thrusts a pile of parchments in my lap. I gingerly rub my eyes, and try to focus on him standing not too far away, "McGonagall didn't want you getting too behind in your studies and thought that it was best that you get your homework sooner rather than later." He muttered, and I watched him for a moment.
"But why..." I began, but he quickly cut me off, "Why did she send me and not Harry or Ron. I'm pretty good with my work, usually have it done in time and pretty much 'lright, if I can say so m'self. They're good blokes, Harry and Ron, but McGonagall doesn't want them too far behind with there work, and they probably wouldn't get back to classes if they came and saw you." I smiled hesitantly, and remembered how cross Madame Pomfrey had been when Harry and Ron had stayed most of the second night. I was here to get some rest, to recuperate, she had sternly told the two guilty looking boys, not to chatter away.
When I had returned to Hogwarts, the sixth year just beginning, I found sleep the hardest thing to return to. No longer were my dreams pleasant or full of hope, but dark and sinister, and eventually, following my collapse in the hallways from sheer tiredness, I was forced into the wing. Downing a dreamless sleep twice a day, for a week, I spent most of my time in a desperate doze. "Hermione? You alright?" Seamus' voice broke through my thoughts, and I glanced at him, and grinned, "Yes, you were definitely a much better choice, though what will Padma think when she hears of your visits." I joked with him, hoping I wasn't too dull for this to go overlooked, but he quickly laughed and rubbed the back of his head.
Embarrassed, he spoke, "Ah, Padma, my sweet dove, the light of my life and glove for my hand. Alas, sweet Hermione, we are now apart. I fear my animal magnitude was too much for her." For a moment, in his company, my thoughts drifted away from the shadow, which crossed Harry's face as his Godfather disappeared behind a thin black veil, where voices of bodiless persons lay, and look of horror which strangled Ron's cry as a strange creature engulfed his form, suffocating him, and I openly laugh, feeling the unfamiliar sound ring through me. The look on Seamus' face is shocked for a moment, but he soon joins in, and slowly, through spluttering laughs, asks, "Why you in here, anyway, Mione?" the name rolls off his tongue, casually, and I'm glad to hear it, finding in such a very short moment of time, that I am bonding with this funny boy.
"Can't sleep." He cocks an eyebrow at my answer, and smirks for a moment, and I notice that his smirk is not cold and sneering but warm and affectionate. "Can't sleep, eh? Hermione, are you still having those dreams about me; I told you that I can't be with you." His response is so random, so funny, so endearing, and as the week comes to a close and I leave the hospital and make my way to the Great Hall, just in time for dinner, along with the greetings made by Ron and Harry and Ginny, and the screams of excitement made by Lavender, is Seamus' own smile and wave.
*~*
"Granger, what a pleasant surprise." I open my eyes and find myself already blushing as Draco Malfoy makes himself comfortable in the chair opposite me. "Irish men, I would never have picked them as your type, but I shouldn't complain at where you make your bed. One must, where one can." He continued, and I found my cheeks reddening, not in a blush but in a flush of anger.
"Where I make my bed? Where I make my bed!" I hiss at him, shooting him a glare and knocking back my chair as I get to my feet. "Well if I'm making my bed with him, then so must you be, because it seems two days now that I can't rid myself of you." I am inches from his face, the breath, which eases from my lips caressing his face in a gentle touch and I have to wrench my face away as his lips part and he exhales deeply, his eyes widening ever so slightly.
I stumble away from the cluttered mess of my chair upon the ground and into a cavity of books, which are shelved in rows of spines and bound pages. Leaning my face against the books, I cradle it and will away the flush, which spreads, desperately across my cheeks. I hate him even more for his rash comments about my relationship with Seamus, which always seems so open to attacks because of the chivalry of his character and the aloofness that I portray around him, but even more so do I hate how I recognised the anger, the hate, even the jealously which lay somewhere deep in those pools of crystal water. It shouldn't be there, and I should not feel so ashamed for being around Seamus and having Malfoy see it so. I should not.
A torrent of emotions stream through my system and I swing around and march back to my seat, slamming my book down on the table before Draco and I. "Here's a little hint, Mr Malfoy, and you'd do well to heed it. Don't accuse my friends, don't scandalise them or paint little scenarios for your enjoyment, otherwise you'll find that handsome face of yours corrupted by the spine of a book, which I'll shove so finely and delicately up you nostrils that there won't be a nose left to look at." I stammer out, and he looks at me, his eyes scanning my face, his cheeks seeming to redden at my account of torture.
"Handsome? Really, I never would have thought you would see it that way, but I guess, not even the infamous mudblood of Hogwarts can keep her skirt pulled down all the time." A growl escape me at his implications and I slide into another chair, and bite my lip, feeling embarrassed and tormented. "I wonder Granger, every night lately, why you seem to intrigue me more than ever before. Everything about you seems awesomely perfect, everything prim and proper but there is something I would never have guessed that is so deadly wrong." I turn for a moment, my eyes widening at his statement, and he doesn't sneer, he doesn't smirk, his eyes merely meet mine and there is a clash of something. "Your hands, Granger. What is wrong with your hands?" I manage to contain any gasp that I might have emitted and slowly drag my hands away from the centre of the table, but before I can, he has taken them and is gently looking at them. "They seem fine now, as real and as normal as you and me, but there is something hidden here, something not seen. What was it that I saw last night, Granger, that made you so angry like a fairy lit witt the fire of vengeance? Your scream pierced the walls and everything around you, and your hands glowed so bright like some goddess' magic."
Trying to contain myself as a blush rises on my cheeks, I gently take my hands back, and widen my eyes in what I hope is an honest expression. "My hands, Malfoy? Why I never thought you cared! As you can see, there is nothing wrong with them, and now, if you would be so well to oblige, if I must spend this time in your company, I would prefer to be doing something important, like Dumbledore's request." I immediately pull out a pile of papers, and spread them out between us, the parchments creating a barrier between the two of us, which is much needed, and I look him squarely in the eye. "I thought that a ball would be especially good for this year, but perhaps... with a twist." I will show this Mr Malfoy what it means to play with people's minds. I will show him how much I can change at the drop of the hat, and how probing too deep is the most dreadful of sins. "Perhaps, a game for the students, a hunt, if the professors agree." He looks at me, a gleam in his eye, and I recognise that he too is in his element.
"A ball you say, perhaps a masked ball, and partners." He smirks at me, and for a moment I pause, the scratching of my quill stopping mid-sentence at the top of the parchment, and I meet his eyes and shiver. Those eyes of his, which gleamed with a Dragon's lure from the previous night, are alight with the fire, and I hope that I am deadly enough to play with such a fire. Because it seems that magical minds are at play tonight, and everyone knows that Dragon's are terrible competitors.
"Hermione!" Ron's voice breaks through my thoughts, and he jogs towards my table, his legs taking long elegant strides as his robes billow out around him. For a moment I wonder if my friend has been taking lessons from a certain potions master. "Ginny said that we could find you here, but I could have guessed that for myself." He's at my side in a moment and he finally notices my companion and acknowledges him with a snarl and the furious tilt of his eyebrows. "You alright, Mione? Nothing bothering you?" He asked, implying, with a casual lilt of his head in the direction of the blond boy.
"No Ron, everything's fine. I've just got to get these papers together and folded, and then I'll be with you in a moment." I say to him, my face blooming with a smile, as Ron grins and nods and heads toward the open doors. "I'll see you later this evening, Malfoy, at Dumbledore's request." I take a step past his chair, but pause, feeling his hand tighten around my wrist and pull me gently back until I tumble into his lap. I place my hands on the front of his chest, bracing myself, and take a deep breath, as he invades my personal space.
"Don't think, Granger, that we're done here. I will find out what you're hiding, and you will no longer intrigue me. Don't think for a moment that a Malfoy will back down because some mudblood says he has to." He leans forward and his lips press down against mine, and his hands, which were rested against my hips move to my shoulder blades and hold me closer to him. Heat expands from the connection between us and I feel my cheeks flare to life, as his tongue surges between my lips and sweeps mine with it in a devilish dance.
His lips move to my cheek, where he presses a gentle kiss, and I swallow deeply, and clench the front of his robes in tight balls beneath my fingers, as he kisses me again. Forgetting myself and who I am with, I sigh and return the kiss, one hand moving to the back of his neck, which I cradle, the other holding his cheek. His tongue in my mouth is like a steaming demon and my mind flutters and screams in a chance to escape the fire, which is burning inside. Using the hand, which cradles his skull, I pull him closer, and squashing my breasts against the front of his chest, I pull at his lower lip and suck for a moment, on the ripeness of it like a fresh peach.
Slowly, his kisses ease into a slow passion, and as he draws away and gently massages the side of my neck with supple lips, he whispers: "What is it, Hermione, that makes you cower at the sound of my voice, when night falls across the castle? What is this charm that you've placed so carefully across yourself so that no one sees the real you, but those who stumble aimlessly across it? Don't think for a moment, that I won't find out why?" And like a cold shower, his words descend upon me, and I push myself away from him and stumble to the library entrance where Ron stands unknowing. All around me his voice echoes in my ears, and my cheeks and lips burn with exuberance as I realise that it is he, this golden haired boy who I've hated with a seething passion for years gone by, who's gradually breaking down my walls.
~*~
Well that ladies and gentlemen is the end of chapter 7, and since this has taken so long to post, and I'm sure you have all forgotten what you wrote, I will just send out to every single one of my readers and reviewers a heartfelt thankyou for your comments, your opinions and your words of encouragement. I hope you all enjoy Chapter 7 as much as the rest, and that it's not too strange, or different, and fits in well. Chapter 8 is on the way. Never fear, and I will always write on this until the end, it just may take a little while.
Thank you so much, again and again. Hugs for you all, and well deserved thanks!!
Cheers,
~Cai~
Author's Note: I know, I know- I'm a terrible, terrible person, but it couldn't be helped. My computer was broken. I went away for a long time and University has been starting. Gosh- uni, I can't believe I've made it, but unfortunately, I'm back to slogging it, and if I go in the direction I want to, then I will have seven years of it, to attend. I am so sorry this has taken so long to upload, gosh, it definitely has, but chapter 8 is already started and there is definitely some interaction between our favourite couple next chapter, not that there isn't in this chapter. Thanks for all the reviews. There were so many, and I feel so blessed. You're all giving me a mighty big head, it's not healthy I tell you, not healthy!!
Anyway, on with the chapter, as people seem to want.
Cheers,
Cai
*~* means the beginning and end of a flashback scene as italics have decided to be little shits and not show up in the upload. Haha :)
Chapter 7
When the sun filters into your room, leaving everything but shadows to be desired, one seems to think that one should perhaps be awake, but at that present moment, the sun is but a blanket which covers me. I fold my hand over the silky cover of a pillow, which is smeared, into my side and clench my fingers. In the sunlight, the room seems at ease with itself, almost like it is rearranging itself around me and as I watch more carefully, the small particles of dust become illuminated in a waltzing dance.
A sigh escapes me as the sun's beams spring across my hands, and without the gloves to hide their shades they glow and shudder. In the sunlight, the veins, which line my hands with sea greens and tormented sky blues, seem to slip away from the sun, sidle deep into my hands so that a small cloud of colour illuminates them, instead of the deep set streams. Pin-pricks of pain seem to grow over my skin and as it always has, ever since the last year, the sun makes me want to hide and fold away my hands, so they're no longer under its full glare. I run them through my hair, stopping for a moment on the more incessant knots, which are amidst their mass and for a moment cradle my head in my hands, the shaking fingers shivering against my scalp as they pause.
A window, open in the corner of my room blows a faint breeze across the room, and despite the residing heat, which seems permanently settled over the whole of the castle, goosebumps rise across my skin. The curls of my hair rustle in the wind and a few strays rise up and out of the trellis of fingers, finding themselves drawn into its mess. Standing up, I sway lightly in my place, and for a moment darkness threatens to mingle with the light and I find myself falling forward and supporting myself on the chair as last night rises in my thoughts. His voice, his hands, his body against mine serve as another reminder for a past with which I wish to forget, but for some reason, he stays hidden no better than the blush that seems to rise in my cheeks.
I stumble away from the chair, a hand in my hair, grasping it, pulling it, until pain springs forth in my mind, and I perch on the edge of my mattress, fumbling, with hands withdrawn from locks of cluttered gold, to reach inside a draw and withdraw a single bottle. For months now I've been tossing this down my throat; over and over it's burned, its scolded and its saved me, but for a moment, I lose control of myself as my hands... MY HANDS... clench its exterior and suddenly the glass container is whirling through the air, and as it comes in contact with the wall it smashes and it's ghastly interior of black shining purple punctures the wall and dribbles to the floor.
The dribbling stuff breaks through my shell and I close my fingers around another familiar container and before I can mutter a word such as accio, I have removed the lid and tossed back its contents. It tingles my throat on its way down, slipping and sliding against my insides, and as it appears to reach my stomach, a feeling spreads throughout me, and I fall backwards onto a pile of doonas and pillows, covering my face with my hands and clenching my eyes shut. The skin of my hands and forearms seems to shift, moving from side to side, up and down and round and round, and finally, when the feeling stops and I glance again at my hands, they are normal again. They hover above my face, and they are no longer surreal, like a painting by Picasso or Van Gogh, or shuddering like a cloud about to burst forth its showers of glistening droplets, and I exhale, realising, like I have every other time, that I've been holding my breath.
I'll have to go and see Snape or Pomfrey about an extra bottle, because each bottle is specifically crafted to the needs of the potion, and I have just smashed the third in a month. Slowly, I get to my feet and after glancing at my watch- 6am- and then to the mirror, I strip down, mutter a cleansing spell and begin to dress for the new day. I pull on one of three grey, pleated skirts, a plain white blouse and straighten a tie, which slips over my head and settles beneath my collar, before looking back to the mirror. In the light, which shutters through ajar windows, my hair alternates between a boring, mousy-brown and a crisp, golden blond and then back again, and as I pull up socks, covering slim ankles to bony knees and shoe my feet with buckled Mary-Janes, I collect my thoughts, and after a minute, stuff away black leather gloves in my pocket's depths.
Homework, lying unrestricted across a small mosaic'd table is gathered in my arms, and as I glance again at my watch, I notice that there is still enough time to research and take a few notes on items to bring to Dumbledore's attention tonight. I stuff the folders of parchment and the packet of quills away in the recesses of a cotton shoulder bag and slip it over my shoulders before heading out the door and locking it. Holding the handle in my hand, I realise I have forgotten something, and slipping back into my room, I reach in, withdraw two bottles and once again, leave the room. In the common room between the blond haired boy of my nightmares and dreams and my rooms, I catch a glimpse of his tied locks behind a closing door, and on the air I can lightly smell the scent of cigarettes and shaking my head, I step into the hallway.
Harry and Ron and Ginny are probably still asleep in their beds, their dreams a mixture of dark tormented pasts, and sweet dreams filled with pleasantries of their significant others, and for a moment I feel a loneliness overwhelming me. Where is the person that is meant to save my heart and break it at the same time? Where is that one person who I can bear all my burden to and not get cut to pieces for my folly? And in the deep depths of my mind, a voice of considerable proportions rings out: Perhaps it was he who you wish not to think of, he who creates a fire in your cheek like no other did.
I pause in my steps stopping in a dark hollow of the hallway and feel a flush leaking into my cheeks as memories of the night before flood my mind.
*~*
He stands before me; not far away and his eyes, closed to my levelling glare, flutter as he inhales deeply and suddenly he leans forward and brushes his lips against mine. Despite myself, I respond to the light pressure that he applies, and the heat, which is always there now, when he stands close, looms to the surface and as he draws away, I am amazed at how sweet, how gentle the kiss appears. Like a delicious dish of precise meals, I feel drawn to him, and realise that no one, has ever presented me with such a kiss as this. Closed and delicate, the kiss is like fine cuisine, seemingly to be tasted only once.
*~*
And suddenly tears spring into my eyes, as I clench them shut to the memory, that it was he, he who has tormented me, who has insulted and ridiculed me, whose father stops at nothing; who has shown me such beauty in a single meeting, who has presented an entire world to me. A world, which I crave, with a vicious hunger to possess, if only he was not contained in it, if only it didn't come pre-wrapped and tied with the compliments of the Malfoy family and a bonus blond-haired god. His tongue speaks words of doubt and of being deceived, by me and mine but it is he who deceives and tricks, it is his voice, his touch, which plays with the memories of my past.
Peeling myself from the wall, I wipe a hand across my cheeks, catching the tears on hidden hands and shift back into the light.
"Hermione!" A voice slips into my thoughts and I look up to see a small, petite beauty with a stream of red hair, which flows behind her. Ginny almost bowls me over with enthusiasm and after hugging I find a smile on my face. "Oh Mione, what are you doing up this early?" She asks, finally catching her breath, and as she steps away, she clasps her hands behind her back and grins. The grin however, falters as she takes in the room that I stand before. "Dear God, woman, is there any other place where we can find you but the library!" She groans and I have to laugh. Ginny's antics and hysterics are a famous gene from the Weasley Pool, but hers have an ounce of her very own slightly peculiar personality.
"I have to meet Dumbledore tonight for a meeting and I haven't prepared anything." I explain, and she rolls her eyes, before looking serious.
"You could have asked us for help last night. You know any of us would be only too happy to help you. We've always explained this, Hermione." She tells me sternly and before I can stop myself, I speak words, which immediately seek the feelings of regret and remorse.
"Last night... last night was a complete waste of time." I mutter, and the change is almost instant. Her eyes widen in a second and they appear almost white, the blue so crystal that it seems to disappear. Her hand plays on the edge of her shirt, slipping her finger in and out of a loose button hole, and she bites down on her lip for a moment, as if trying to gain some of the little control that Ginny Weasley has left.
"I... I..." She stutters and I, as I knew I would, feel instantly sad, "We worried about you after you left; Harry most of all. What happened to you, Mione? We just want to help; we want to know what's wrong, that's all. We wouldn't hold it against you, you know we would never do that." She pleaded, and I turned my eyes just past her face so that I was looking at a space on the wall behind her, "Don't be angry with us, Mione. Don't punish us for not knowing how to speak to you, for not knowing what to say!" Her voice is calm for a moment, but at the end of the statement, the tone of it rises with strain. "And how could you think Harry would know? Of course Harry didn't know! Of course he didn't notice! How could you expect him to notice something which even Ron and I had trouble noticing? Every night, Ron tells me, Harry wakes shaking and trembling; his sheets soaked through with the sweat which streams off his cheeks and face. And then, the very next night, when they return, the elves have been about and the sheets are clean and whitened. Every night, Hermione!" Ginny is almost hysterical as she explains to me the things which I already knew, the things which were always known, just hidden.
"It's... it's not that... it's just, how can I ask Harry to look out for me, and show concern for me, when he needs that for himself. When every ounce of the dedication that he shows to his friends should be directed entirely at himself." My voice breaks with distinct clarity and I bite my lips and look to the side in a desperate attempt to stop any tears that might fall.
"Ask?" Her tone is hysterical, "Hermione, you don't need to ask. You don't even have to want Harry to look out for you. He'll do that on his own, I'll do it, Ron will. They wouldn't be alive if they didn't have you, if they didn't have your friendship, so don't wish for them not to see you, not to want to help you, because it's impossible." The words flew from her mouth, and she paused and breathed for a moment, her eyes thoughtful, so that when she began again, her voice was softer and more delicate. "Everyday you and Harry are off in another world, a world where we can't seem to get you, and even when you think no ones watching, we always are, we always see the expressions that you make, the way your voices rise in the aftermath, and we notice the tremble in your bodies when we touch you. Who else but Ron and I are going to notice the drinks that you toss back, when everyone else is distracted by the air of well-being but the look of absolute illness. Ron may sometimes seem completely oblivious to the obvious, but he notices his friends, he notices when the girl and boy who hold his heart in an iron grip are hurting. How could you think so little of him? And who but I is going to recognise the bottles that fit the potion? It would be an insult if I didn't." She whispers and my eyes widen considerably at her words, realising just how advanced in potions her mind really is.
How could they have noticed something, which I conceal from even myself? Why do they see what others can't even wrap their minds around? "Yes... I guess you're right." My voice sounds sullen and sad in my ears, and Ginny steps forward and wraps her hands around mine. Even with the potion concealing the changes made to my hands, sometimes, when I lie awake at night, I can feel the shaking beneath the veil of potion-brewed deception, but the minute Ginny's hands enclose mine, it's gone.
"I'm going to wake Harry," She whispers and there is a glint of something mischievous in her eyes. The depth of sadness is again hidden so well behind the image of a beautiful, happy, innocent child, and when I look again, she has turned and is running down the hallway, ducking beneath people's arms, in search of a boy.
After gaining my composure again, I continue my walk into the library, and head towards a desk in towards the back. "Hermione!" Seamus' voice erupts in my head, and a smile, at the mere sound of his voice is beginning on my face, and I turn to face the speaker. "Hi," he says, as he comes to a stop before me, and mouths a sorry at the Madame Prince, who shoots him a glare for raising his voice, "you wouldn't happen to know where I could find some research notes for that potions parchment, that Snape wants done?" He asks, and I immediately lead him to the exact spot where all the answers can be found. Here, as the academic, I am in my element.
Several minutes pass as I demonstrate to Seamus what needs to be done, and at the end, when I move to continue the work that I had intended to do, his hand reaches out and clasps my wrist. "Mione?" I slowly turn to look at his face, and my eyes widen as I take in the look of worry that it demonstrates. "Everything okay with you? You seem a bit distracted." His hold gently loosens, and he examines my wrist, "Where did you get these bruises?"
I look where his thumb moves gently across the skin of my wrist, where a faint bruise is gradually growing and for a minute my eyes become shadowed with a preceding memory.
*~*
"Where did you get such scars? Why are your hands such?" Draco's startled voice demands from me and his hold on my wrist tightens then loosens, then tightens again, and I flinch in pain as he examines my wrists and the abnormally coloured veins which present themselves as scars.
*~*
"I'm not quite sure, actually, they seem... seem... I probably just hit the corner of something sharp." I explain, and gently ease my wrist from his grip and take a step away, plastering a smile on my face. "Don't worry about me, Seamus, please don't. There's no need, honestly. It's pointless, and you know me, I'm always fine." Hesitantly I begin to walk away, but his final comment stops me in my tracks.
"There isn't someone, is there Hermione, who's bugging you." His Irish trawl, accents each word with clarity, and I flinch. "I've seen Malfoy watching you, following you, and lately you seem more aware of it, more acknowledging of him. You'd tell me, me at least, if anything was wrong with him, wouldn't you?" And I flinch, and shake my head, before looking over my shoulder.
"Oh Seamus, don't worry about me, honestly. Malfoy's not doing anything; I don't know what you're talking about. You know him; he's always such an arse- once a Slytherin always a Slytherin. And he's Head Boy, I've got to pay some attention to him, otherwise we'd never get anything done." The words tumble from my lips like a well practised speech, and I can see several different looks pass across face, but none of them rise to the surface, and I quickly take my leave.
Sitting down, I pull several pieces of parchment and a sharpened quill from my bag, and begin scratching a list of notes and specifics down on the page. Slowly the page grows, but as I glance back at what I have written, the words tailored to the page seem to make not an ounce of sense and I find my thoughts drawn to Seamus, a teenage boy, whose relationship with I is all and nothing like plutonic.
Seamus Finnegan, Irish man and friend extraordinaire, contains all the humour and joy of my world within his medium height, dark-haired, pale skinned and blue-eyed form. Since the beginning of the sixth year, his friendship with me has grown ever so large. He knows little of my experiences, or at least, knows little of the details of my preceding years, but there is a magic in Seamus, a magic not defined in this school, which lets him see things which open eyes refuse to acknowledge. His character, quirky in more ways than none, and flirtatious to a fault was always there to cheer his friends on, and to engulf them in his persistent character. A memory of a dream engulfs me, as I sit in the dimly lit chair, and I close my eyes, and embrace the moment.
*~*
In a darkened room, something crystal begins to glow, and as I walked deeper into the room, the glow grows from a faint sprinkle to a bright shine, and from every crevice and space in the room, a distant ticking and tocking, a heavy clicking and clacking descends. I am in THAT room. Again. On every surface of the floor and desk and shelf lie faces of twelve points, whose hand's every movement echo a single sound, which together as a chorus, resound, over and over in my ears. And then, as I step between the desks, moving towards the bell-shaped jar which lies central to the room, a purple flash lights up the room, and suddenly legs which were moving and arms which were steadying no longer move, and I slump to the ground. In my eyes, a world re-creates itself, and I watch as the figures of Harry and Neville lift me to the air and I try to move myself, blink my eyes, show some sign of my awareness- but nothing. It feels almost like the 'Petrificus Totalus', where one finds themselves entirely bound, from head to foot, but for some reason, the sensation is completely different, the feeling which is presently washing over my form is like a decisive cold shower and I try desperately to shudder.
Harry's and Neville's faces appear above mine, watching my reaction, and I feel Harry's tight grip upon my shoulder, become gentle for a moment and then tighten harder. Internally I wince, and I wait for Harry's exclamation that I am truly awake, but all I see is a curtain of concern across his glassy, green eyes and I softly hear his mutterings: "Please don't let her die! Please don't let her die!" I try desperately to move again, to shudder, scream, reach up and cower, but nothing and suddenly I feel overwhelmed, and I want to move, I want to get away. Neville lifts me from the floor to his arms, and as he stealthy follows Harry from one room to another, I can see his face where blood flows freely from a split lip and from each of his nostrils. He stumbles for a moment, and the blood, which is pooling at the base of his chin splatters onto my face, obscuring my vision for a short moment.
They stumble from room to room, and I watch silently and without movement as Neville flinches with each impact to different parts of his body. Ron and Ginny and Luna gradually find us and from my viewpoint, I vaguely notice the glossy gleam of sweat which sticks to Ginny's forehead as she slumps to the floor over her leg, and the pitiful look of distress as Luna speaks hushed to Harry, and finally Ron, whose face is falsely happy as a series of giggles and a set of laughter rings out from his lips.
Words of urgency erupt from Harry as a series of bangs and explosions echo from just beyond the doors just past, and suddenly we are racing towards another door, and we find ourselves, within a darkened room. From the ceiling hang several suspended lamps which cast an obnoxious light across the room, and my eyes widen in fright at what lies central to the room. A large green tank sits there, obviously familiar and I want to get up and back away, but before I can struggle to rid myself of the curse which lies across my frame, a series of curses, hexes and spells fly into the room.
A spell smacks Neville directly in the face, flinging him to the ground, and I slip to the floor, the ground, pain erupting from my rump. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Ron struggling to rid himself of the 'brain' which has attached several of its arm-type shapes to him, and all of a sudden a flash of green erupts and he crumples to the ground.
This is not how the memory is meant to go anymore.
"Ron!" The voice erupts from my mouth like a newborn's cry and I cradle my head in my hands, shuddering desperately as cries rack my frail form. I am inside the Hospital wing, a nightmare having awoken me from a potion-induced sleep, and I swing my legs over the edge of my bed and upon looking up, find myself not alone. "Seamus!" I manage at the last moment to calm the tone of my voice, and it comes out like a hiss, as I stare clumsily at the dark-haired boy before me, whose arms are full of papers.
"Sorry," he mumbles and quickly thrusts a pile of parchments in my lap. I gingerly rub my eyes, and try to focus on him standing not too far away, "McGonagall didn't want you getting too behind in your studies and thought that it was best that you get your homework sooner rather than later." He muttered, and I watched him for a moment.
"But why..." I began, but he quickly cut me off, "Why did she send me and not Harry or Ron. I'm pretty good with my work, usually have it done in time and pretty much 'lright, if I can say so m'self. They're good blokes, Harry and Ron, but McGonagall doesn't want them too far behind with there work, and they probably wouldn't get back to classes if they came and saw you." I smiled hesitantly, and remembered how cross Madame Pomfrey had been when Harry and Ron had stayed most of the second night. I was here to get some rest, to recuperate, she had sternly told the two guilty looking boys, not to chatter away.
When I had returned to Hogwarts, the sixth year just beginning, I found sleep the hardest thing to return to. No longer were my dreams pleasant or full of hope, but dark and sinister, and eventually, following my collapse in the hallways from sheer tiredness, I was forced into the wing. Downing a dreamless sleep twice a day, for a week, I spent most of my time in a desperate doze. "Hermione? You alright?" Seamus' voice broke through my thoughts, and I glanced at him, and grinned, "Yes, you were definitely a much better choice, though what will Padma think when she hears of your visits." I joked with him, hoping I wasn't too dull for this to go overlooked, but he quickly laughed and rubbed the back of his head.
Embarrassed, he spoke, "Ah, Padma, my sweet dove, the light of my life and glove for my hand. Alas, sweet Hermione, we are now apart. I fear my animal magnitude was too much for her." For a moment, in his company, my thoughts drifted away from the shadow, which crossed Harry's face as his Godfather disappeared behind a thin black veil, where voices of bodiless persons lay, and look of horror which strangled Ron's cry as a strange creature engulfed his form, suffocating him, and I openly laugh, feeling the unfamiliar sound ring through me. The look on Seamus' face is shocked for a moment, but he soon joins in, and slowly, through spluttering laughs, asks, "Why you in here, anyway, Mione?" the name rolls off his tongue, casually, and I'm glad to hear it, finding in such a very short moment of time, that I am bonding with this funny boy.
"Can't sleep." He cocks an eyebrow at my answer, and smirks for a moment, and I notice that his smirk is not cold and sneering but warm and affectionate. "Can't sleep, eh? Hermione, are you still having those dreams about me; I told you that I can't be with you." His response is so random, so funny, so endearing, and as the week comes to a close and I leave the hospital and make my way to the Great Hall, just in time for dinner, along with the greetings made by Ron and Harry and Ginny, and the screams of excitement made by Lavender, is Seamus' own smile and wave.
*~*
"Granger, what a pleasant surprise." I open my eyes and find myself already blushing as Draco Malfoy makes himself comfortable in the chair opposite me. "Irish men, I would never have picked them as your type, but I shouldn't complain at where you make your bed. One must, where one can." He continued, and I found my cheeks reddening, not in a blush but in a flush of anger.
"Where I make my bed? Where I make my bed!" I hiss at him, shooting him a glare and knocking back my chair as I get to my feet. "Well if I'm making my bed with him, then so must you be, because it seems two days now that I can't rid myself of you." I am inches from his face, the breath, which eases from my lips caressing his face in a gentle touch and I have to wrench my face away as his lips part and he exhales deeply, his eyes widening ever so slightly.
I stumble away from the cluttered mess of my chair upon the ground and into a cavity of books, which are shelved in rows of spines and bound pages. Leaning my face against the books, I cradle it and will away the flush, which spreads, desperately across my cheeks. I hate him even more for his rash comments about my relationship with Seamus, which always seems so open to attacks because of the chivalry of his character and the aloofness that I portray around him, but even more so do I hate how I recognised the anger, the hate, even the jealously which lay somewhere deep in those pools of crystal water. It shouldn't be there, and I should not feel so ashamed for being around Seamus and having Malfoy see it so. I should not.
A torrent of emotions stream through my system and I swing around and march back to my seat, slamming my book down on the table before Draco and I. "Here's a little hint, Mr Malfoy, and you'd do well to heed it. Don't accuse my friends, don't scandalise them or paint little scenarios for your enjoyment, otherwise you'll find that handsome face of yours corrupted by the spine of a book, which I'll shove so finely and delicately up you nostrils that there won't be a nose left to look at." I stammer out, and he looks at me, his eyes scanning my face, his cheeks seeming to redden at my account of torture.
"Handsome? Really, I never would have thought you would see it that way, but I guess, not even the infamous mudblood of Hogwarts can keep her skirt pulled down all the time." A growl escape me at his implications and I slide into another chair, and bite my lip, feeling embarrassed and tormented. "I wonder Granger, every night lately, why you seem to intrigue me more than ever before. Everything about you seems awesomely perfect, everything prim and proper but there is something I would never have guessed that is so deadly wrong." I turn for a moment, my eyes widening at his statement, and he doesn't sneer, he doesn't smirk, his eyes merely meet mine and there is a clash of something. "Your hands, Granger. What is wrong with your hands?" I manage to contain any gasp that I might have emitted and slowly drag my hands away from the centre of the table, but before I can, he has taken them and is gently looking at them. "They seem fine now, as real and as normal as you and me, but there is something hidden here, something not seen. What was it that I saw last night, Granger, that made you so angry like a fairy lit witt the fire of vengeance? Your scream pierced the walls and everything around you, and your hands glowed so bright like some goddess' magic."
Trying to contain myself as a blush rises on my cheeks, I gently take my hands back, and widen my eyes in what I hope is an honest expression. "My hands, Malfoy? Why I never thought you cared! As you can see, there is nothing wrong with them, and now, if you would be so well to oblige, if I must spend this time in your company, I would prefer to be doing something important, like Dumbledore's request." I immediately pull out a pile of papers, and spread them out between us, the parchments creating a barrier between the two of us, which is much needed, and I look him squarely in the eye. "I thought that a ball would be especially good for this year, but perhaps... with a twist." I will show this Mr Malfoy what it means to play with people's minds. I will show him how much I can change at the drop of the hat, and how probing too deep is the most dreadful of sins. "Perhaps, a game for the students, a hunt, if the professors agree." He looks at me, a gleam in his eye, and I recognise that he too is in his element.
"A ball you say, perhaps a masked ball, and partners." He smirks at me, and for a moment I pause, the scratching of my quill stopping mid-sentence at the top of the parchment, and I meet his eyes and shiver. Those eyes of his, which gleamed with a Dragon's lure from the previous night, are alight with the fire, and I hope that I am deadly enough to play with such a fire. Because it seems that magical minds are at play tonight, and everyone knows that Dragon's are terrible competitors.
"Hermione!" Ron's voice breaks through my thoughts, and he jogs towards my table, his legs taking long elegant strides as his robes billow out around him. For a moment I wonder if my friend has been taking lessons from a certain potions master. "Ginny said that we could find you here, but I could have guessed that for myself." He's at my side in a moment and he finally notices my companion and acknowledges him with a snarl and the furious tilt of his eyebrows. "You alright, Mione? Nothing bothering you?" He asked, implying, with a casual lilt of his head in the direction of the blond boy.
"No Ron, everything's fine. I've just got to get these papers together and folded, and then I'll be with you in a moment." I say to him, my face blooming with a smile, as Ron grins and nods and heads toward the open doors. "I'll see you later this evening, Malfoy, at Dumbledore's request." I take a step past his chair, but pause, feeling his hand tighten around my wrist and pull me gently back until I tumble into his lap. I place my hands on the front of his chest, bracing myself, and take a deep breath, as he invades my personal space.
"Don't think, Granger, that we're done here. I will find out what you're hiding, and you will no longer intrigue me. Don't think for a moment that a Malfoy will back down because some mudblood says he has to." He leans forward and his lips press down against mine, and his hands, which were rested against my hips move to my shoulder blades and hold me closer to him. Heat expands from the connection between us and I feel my cheeks flare to life, as his tongue surges between my lips and sweeps mine with it in a devilish dance.
His lips move to my cheek, where he presses a gentle kiss, and I swallow deeply, and clench the front of his robes in tight balls beneath my fingers, as he kisses me again. Forgetting myself and who I am with, I sigh and return the kiss, one hand moving to the back of his neck, which I cradle, the other holding his cheek. His tongue in my mouth is like a steaming demon and my mind flutters and screams in a chance to escape the fire, which is burning inside. Using the hand, which cradles his skull, I pull him closer, and squashing my breasts against the front of his chest, I pull at his lower lip and suck for a moment, on the ripeness of it like a fresh peach.
Slowly, his kisses ease into a slow passion, and as he draws away and gently massages the side of my neck with supple lips, he whispers: "What is it, Hermione, that makes you cower at the sound of my voice, when night falls across the castle? What is this charm that you've placed so carefully across yourself so that no one sees the real you, but those who stumble aimlessly across it? Don't think for a moment, that I won't find out why?" And like a cold shower, his words descend upon me, and I push myself away from him and stumble to the library entrance where Ron stands unknowing. All around me his voice echoes in my ears, and my cheeks and lips burn with exuberance as I realise that it is he, this golden haired boy who I've hated with a seething passion for years gone by, who's gradually breaking down my walls.
~*~
Well that ladies and gentlemen is the end of chapter 7, and since this has taken so long to post, and I'm sure you have all forgotten what you wrote, I will just send out to every single one of my readers and reviewers a heartfelt thankyou for your comments, your opinions and your words of encouragement. I hope you all enjoy Chapter 7 as much as the rest, and that it's not too strange, or different, and fits in well. Chapter 8 is on the way. Never fear, and I will always write on this until the end, it just may take a little while.
Thank you so much, again and again. Hugs for you all, and well deserved thanks!!
Cheers,
~Cai~