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
A/N: Here is chapter 9, hope you all enjoy it, I couldn't be bothered writing a long first authors note this time, but the one at the end is, nice and good. Thanks to all reviewers, now go read. Flash back scenes are within these symbols *~*. And there is a long one at the end :)
Chapter 9
The room has emptied and as I step into the hallway, my cheeks burning with desperation as I remember the feel of his fingers trailing the hem of my skirt, the feeling of his hand resting on my thigh, his fingers curled around its width. I glance at my hands, feeling a tingling sensation seeping through their veins and watching in awe as glistening silver seeps into the blue veins and slowly and surely takes its place. Scrambling within the confines of m y bag I grip the shape of the final bottle, which lies in a secret pocket, and withdraw it. My hands are shaking more than ever now, the signals of distress, which they relay, coming on quicker and quicker by the moment, and I tip back my head and down the bottle's contents in one gulp.
The feeling grows in my head, a buzzing feeling in my hands that seeps its way from my hands, down my throat, through my arms, and I smother my face in my hands. I clench my eyes shut, a feeling of pins and needles spreading through my forearms and I clench down on my lip, desperate to contain the whimper which I want to release as the skin follows the routine and begins to shift and shudder across the surface.
Slowly the feeling ebbs away, but it leaves in its place a gasping breath and a struggling return to sanity as I choke back a desperate sob, and turn half my face to meet the wall. The bottle still clenched in hidden fingers is pressed up against my face and I slip to the ground, squatting on the floor and hiding myself in the crease of my knees.
"Nothing wrong? Nothing to hide!" An eerily familiar voice whispers and I suddenly find myself hurled to my feet and shoved desperately and threateningly against a wall, a face of pale skin, framed by god's white hair inches from my own. He looks at my hands, a sickening sneer on his face, and I know he has watched this whole event. Taken in every action that I portrayed. Seen the weakness I admitted as I slipped to the floor, face hidden in hidden hands. I shudder, the tremble slipping through me like water through a crevice and I try to turn my face away from his and cower in my hands. His face is like an explosion, so angry, so betrayed, and so seemingly upset.
"Don't look away from me, Mudblood! There's nothing left to hide!" He reaches down and with his right hand he grasps my chin and pulls it forward so that we're a hairbreadths away, and with his left, he grabs the bottle and smashes it into the wall. "I always knew something was wrong with you, that something was different about you after last year. I knew that morning when I came to the hospital wing for a headache potion that something had happened. You stood there, white as a sheet, your hands clenched by your sides in fists so tight that blood splattered to the ground beneath them, but above it all rang Potter's cries. His screams sent shivers through me like someone had put me under the Cruciatus curse and his words painted the image of a scene of blood and murder." He raises his eyes to meet mine and in them I see a curiousity and fear. "And in the middle of it all your name was spoken; you were screamed for, whispered for, called for and cried for, and still you stood there. I couldn't take my eyes off you as your face grew paler and more ghostly and your eyes widened as you watched your friend withering and cowering within his bed-sheets, and through it all, more and more blood fell beneath you clenched fingers." As he speaks the memory of our time spent in the hospital resurfaces, and I clearly see the image before me, the pain that simmered in my hands from the self-inflicted wounds, and the screams.
The screams.
I tear my eyes away from his, desperate to look anywhere but in these glassy pools, which seem so much like a mirror reflecting what I'm feeling at the moment. "And then Pomfrey is there, and she's muttering charms and spells as she calms Potter, and then she looks at you. She hasn't seen me yet, her eyes are pivoted on you and on the bloody which drips from your hands and splatters on the white, marbled floor. And I wonder, does she wonder too whether this blood will ever come out, or will the floors be forever tainted with stains. It's not like normal blood, it a swirling mass of red, but within the red something glistens. Something silver, deadly and gross. I can't tear my eyes away from the puddle and as she hustles you back to your bed, your eyes already closing in an exhausted expression, and you're wrapped in a warm bed, you seem to look at me, and see me. But yet, you don't, and the curtains are closed."
I sag against his hold, finally giving up on resistance, and I clench my fists by my sides, opening old wounds, trenches deep, and wait for the blood which warmly trickles down my hand, but it doesn't, only slivers of metallic cold trace my fingers as the blood drips. He holds my chin almost gently. I can feel his fingers almost caressing it and then suddenly I remember.
~*~
"Come child, back to bed, child..."And somehow she manages to edge me towards the bed, where she pushes me down and tucks the sheets deftly around me. The room darkens despite the time of morning, and I turn on my side, watching bandages magically wrap themselves around my hands, curling my legs till they're at my chest. My eyes are heavy and I can feel a spell washing over me, making my lids weighty and loaded, and then, as I turn my eyes away, a figure appears and his hair is golden and his face is blurry, but surely he is an angel. His clothes are stainlessly white and his eyes, which pierce my soul as I close my own, are the bluest of blues and I reach out. My hand reaches with my mind as it pleads: you sent me an angel to break me and set me free, but God, I'm not ready to go yet. I'm not ready to accept this all.
*~*
"And you reached out for me..." His words trail off, and I want to strangle him as I stare at him. I choke and shudder, realising whom my angel is and thrash out at him.
"It was you! You were standing there watching and I thought... I thought... that maybe, just maybe, God hadn't turned his back on me, that he hadn't tainted my sleep and spoiled my self confidence as he did my hands, for no reason. That perhaps, he had finally remembered me and sent someone to rescue me. I didn't really want to go and leave them all, but I would. And then..." I stop beating down on his chest, gripping his shirt in my clenched fists and look up at him. Him who has grown so much that I truly have to look up at him now. "...when I woke up, I was still here and I thought: Really Hermione, did you think that you mattered so fucking much, that you'd be allowed some peace? Did you really think that an angel would wait for you and when you were ready lead you forward?! And in the end, it was you. It was you, the mongrel who took it upon himself to break my spirit. In end, it was you who I reached out for, who I wanted to hold my hand." I try to stagger away but his hold on my chin has moved to the back of my neck and he holds me in place, pulling me forward until I am seconds away from him.
"I would have held on." He whispers and as my eyes widen and tears dribble down my cheeks, he kisses me. The kiss is soft and gentle, his lips touching mine only slightly, no force or pressure exerted, but the heat, which spreads across my cheeks is like wild fire and I gasp. The hand, which holds my neck, massages and plays across my skin and I can't help but moan and finally open the way for his tongue's entrance. At first it is subtle and tempting, and I finally growl, frustrated to no end by the means at which this boy goes about this job, and with my hold on his shirt, I yank him closer. The hand, which encircles my waist, tightens and I whimper in pain as he painfully pushes me between him and the wall, but the kiss, which he places on my lips before he leaves, is apologetic and simmering.
The kiss, which then follows, is not.
It presses against the skin of my neck, just to the left of my chin, and I find myself unable to do anything but relax and tense at the same time. Heat burns at the bottom of my abdomen as his lips quiver against my skin and massage the base of my neck. And as my head lolls to the side, opening my skin further to his attentions and lie my cheek against the cold stone in an attempt to cool my heated cheeks. I gasp as his hand which cupped the base of my scalp shifts to rest underneath my arm, his thumb brushing my breast until it comes to rest on its under side. He pauses, his lips stilling on the skin of my neck and I drag my hand up to rest on his cheek and glance down at him. His head rests in the junction of my neck, his breath fanning across the skin, which is exposed by my open shirt, but I can see his ears, the very tips of them. They're pink and blushing.
"What are you doing to me, you beautifully dirty girl? I thought this would go away when I found out your secrets, this fire that erupts in me every time I'm in your presence, every moment that you stand before me. I wish for it to go away every night, but I couldn't imagine it, and my dreams plague my mind with subtle hints and scents, which wake me wanting more. You're like some drug, which I can't get off on, and oh god..." he trails off, the hand which rests beneath my breast moving upwards to cover it, and I gasp, and drag his face upwards. With tense fingers I look at the face of this angelic looking man who haunts my thoughts and his breath quivers on my cheeks and ignites a heat in my face, which punctures me somewhere in my depths, making me faint and hot. "...Hermione, I want to." And so I kiss him. For a moment as he speaks I can think of nothing to do and then, almost like my hands have a mind of their own, they pull his face towards mine and squash his lips against mine. His lips are like silk, tantalising, crushed silk which is still at first, but then suddenly it is like he has the energy of a thousand men and he has laced his other arm tightly around my waist and buries his lips in mine.
My face feels like it is on fire and I press myself closer to him, feeling his arousal pressing against me and gasp as he pulls me higher and more tightly against him. His knee presses between my legs and a heat, which wasn't there erupts and spreads through me like wild fire. I wrap my arms tighter around his neck and turning my head, angle it so that my mouth is further open to his attention, and his tongue thrusts in between my lips and licks at my insides. It takes a moment for me to react, but his tongue's movements are encouraging and I quickly respond, our tongues moving in a similar dance to one, which parts of us thrive to do, but can't. I moan, as his hand which lies beneath my breast, moves to cover it again, squeezing and caressing it through my cotton garment, and gasp as he props me up against the wall and sinks his other hand beneath the layers of my blouse, seeking out my skin with his burning fingers. He grunts as I squirm against him and savagely brings his teeth to rake across my lower lip and I whimper, in a mixture of pleasure and pain, before rolling my head back and feeling his lips move against the skin of my neck. I can feel him grinning, his smirk searing against my skin but he pauses in his actions, a moan of annoyance escaping my lips, and looks up at me, his own lips red and swollen, his tongue darting out in such a way to moisten them that I'm already hot in lust for his kisses.
"What happened to you, Granger? When did you grow up, realising you could tempt men and bring them to their knees?" I don't get a chance to answer, realising I haven't said a word since the beginning of this ordeal and I don't get one now. He aggressively brings his hands to my hips, rubbing himself temptingly against my centre and I quiver and feel nimble in my legs, grasping the tops of his shoulders to stay up. He yanks me up, so that I'm resting on his crotch, feeling him pressing desirably against me, and I can do nothing but wrap my legs around him and hang on as he staggers into the emptied classroom and props me on the edge of one of the tables. He moans as I move back and presses forward until I am lying back on the table.
He pauses in his ministrations for a moment, and a voice in my mind suddenly rings forward in my mind. What are you doing? This is Malfoy! His are those who bring you pain and nightmares. But my thoughts are cut short as he positions himself in between my legs and leans over, pressing his lips gently against mine and licking their outside lightly. My hands run to the back of his head, grasping his hair, and I play with the skin behind his ear, and delight in the groan of pleasure which erupts gutturally from his throat as I rake my fingers along this strip of skin. He takes the opportunity to spur his tongue forward and the kiss erupts in me like the very first time that our lips met, my cheeks flaring brilliantly to life, and then I feel his hands. They begin at my knees, squeezing gently and then as one stays where it is, caressing and touching, the other moves upwards. As it moves, it leaves a hot stream of molten heat behind it, and I gasp as goosebumps break out over my skin and as his hand pushes under my skirt and reaches the rim of my underpants.
His kiss gentles for a moment, turning endearing and I open my eyes, and find his too like that. His crystal blue eyes, like a dragon's, are hot and lusty, but the anger, which hides just in their corners, is like a cold shower and I shudder and release my hold on him.
Bringing my hands to rest on his chest I push and he stumbles back, his shirt creased and untucked, his pants crushed and bulging, much to my embarrassment. He hisses and takes a step forward, but already an anger is erupting in me that is echoed in his, and I slip off the desk and rub my hands across my face, feeling bruised, swollen lips, become sensitive beneath my touch. From the corner of my eye, I watch him lash out, and suddenly I am in his arms again, and the places where we touch are hot and heavy, but not even his lips, which brush my cheeks and the space upon my temple, break my thoughts.
*~*
"You Mudblood whore! Did you honestly think that something as dirty and pitiful as you could ever destroy something as great and powerful as the Dark Lord? You're nothing but Potter's hoe. He uses you over and over, sullying you and breaking you, but you just keep running back for more. No one could honestly ever want you around, no one could honestly need you!" The hooded man, his long, silver blond hair trailing out in sneaking tendrils from beneath his cloak, sneers at me, and without his common mask, I can just make out the faint smirk which laces his lips and the crease of his brows as he frowns at me. "You've been nothing but a thorn in my side since you came about and I'll take great pleasure in watching you tortured. Oh, don't think that death would be your only solace. No, Mudblood, when we're through with you, you'll have wished you'd never heard the name of Harry Potter. You'll wish that you'd never chosen them over your books." He takes a relaxed step towards me, his hand, curving around the curve of my cheek, and I shudder, the chill of his fingertips dipping into my very soul and I swallow and raise my eyes to look at him. His expression is lucid, his eyes torrential with crazy, maddened emotions and I try to control the urge to cower. This man, the father of a boy my age at my school, is terrifying and the air of crazed emotions is thick and daunting where he stands. His thumb brushes across my lips, and I whimper as his nail presses into them and draws a drop of blood.
Oh god, Harry! What are they going to do to me! Where are you? I can't help you! Please God, Ron, "HELP HIM!" The words erupt from my mouth and for a moment his eyes widen but then he cackles, the terrible, bone-chilling laughter rocks me backwards, and he stalks forward and takes hold of my hair and yanks me forward.
"Still thinking of that idiot, Potter! If you're so desperate to see your hero, then I'll show him for what he truly is! A spineless fool, who is delirious with thoughts that he can defeat a great and powerful wizard." The world spins about us and suddenly I am stumbling forward and collapse to my knees as Malfoy pushes me forward, to the edge of the bloodied scene where Harry stands, and I groan.
He stands not seven feet from a figure cloaked in ghastly black. At his feet I see a body, which, with every attack, he appears to protect with his own. A tuft of red hair can be seen and I recognise my copper-locked, gangly friend with his hot temper, lying bloodied and bruised on the floor, his wand lying broken to the side, his clothes shredded to his skin. His hands are cracked and blackened with burned skin and his hair is singed back to its hairline; his scalp bald in some places, and as I stare at him, I notice the scorched marks which lie about and upon his body, the telltale signs of the Cruciatus.
Almost immediately I can imagine the scene. And as if following my imagination, time rewinds itself and paints the image before my glassy eyes.
Deatheaters are everywhere, surrounding the two boys as the shorter of the two battles a deadly foe, and suddenly shoots of purple and gold fly from every which way, and Ronald Weasley can think of nothing but standing in their way. His past cries echo in my ears, as though the thick air of magic retains his screams and his eyes glaze over in pain as the bolts of pain and cruelty rain down, but not one gets to the scarred boy behind him, and as his hands, singed black from the heat crackling across his wooden wand, crush it in two, he slides to the floor. The warrior of muggle and wizard alike pauses in his battle, his body shuddering as the Dark Lord's spell strikes him square in the chest, but he can not draw his eyes away from his friend, and with a scream which rattles men's hearts and encases men's souls, he protects his wounded comrade. "INCINSERUS REPELLO!" Every body but the three who stand central to the battle are flung back, and it is only the Dark Wizard's inner strength that makes him fend off the Occlumency-based spell, which repels all that are tainted.
The ground and bodies surrounding the three figures is scarred and tainted with the spell of repulsion, which Harry's anger spurred forward, and I grow uneasy watching the inner turmoil, which clouds Harry's face. "See, Mudblood! Your Saviour, your friend, is a fool, believing he can take on the world's greatest Warlord!" He spits out the word of endearment which I so often used to describe the two males slumped before me and before I utter a word in their defence, I am smacked across the cheek, and by the collar of my shirt, flung against the trunk of a singed and burnt tree. "You still hold you wand, Mudblood, but I don't think your mind is rested enough to control the power which surges through you." He takes another step towards me, appearing to ignore the battle which rages between two of the strongest minds, and entangles his fingers in my hair, dragging me forward until my face looks over his shoulder and his mouth speaks to my ear. "Watch Bitch, as your precious boy dies for nothing and the world dives into darkness. He will not save you today, nor tomorrow, and when this is all over, the Dark Lord will seek you out and you'll realise that your place was always at his feet." Lucius Malfoy pulls away, a sneer across his face, and I recognise with distress that even if this man were to die, there would be another, just as powerful, just as dreadful to take his place. A boy only a month and several days younger then me, who is joined to this demon of a man, contains in him this tainted, deadly blood.
He grabs my chin pulling me forward, and shoving me before him he makes my eyes focus on the scene of the battling foes with painful clarity as his fingers and nails dig into my skin.
Harry's body shudders as Voldemort's string of curses hits him, but suddenly his form tenses and he lets out an almighty yell, "FOEDUS CAEDO!" which strips Voldemort of his first layer of coverings, and slashes the dark lord from neck to stomach. But as silvery green blood splatters across the courtyard, a hiss of words springs from the Devil's lips and a groan and cry of pain erupts from Harry's lungs as the words, "Enascor Cognatio!" come alive and a wound much like that just inflicted flairs across his chest and flings red hot blood to the stoned floor.
With a gasp he staggers, his eyes wide and clouded with pain and tears bloom in my eyes as he falls back and hits the ground with a thump. I struggle desperately against the hold of the blond foe, pining, agonising to be by their sides, to take them home, but before I can move, I am once again shoved into the massive trunk, my cheek making close acquaintances with its bark, and his face is moments from mine.
His face is etched with fear and anger, pain and an oddly triumphant expression, which creases it in a surge of destructive emotions, and I try to move as far away from him, but this tall man is strong and deceptive. He takes another step forward and his body presses against mine, holding me firmly, and then, he speaks, "You stupid, Mudblood! This is no place for a dirty little girl!" Slowly but surely the figures that laced the ground, get to their feet, Harry's spell dimming and weathering as its caster slowly fades, his power slipping away from him, and they begin to crowd in around me, whispering and muttering curses with their little strength which bite and scratch at my skin.
I tremble as the mass of human bodies surge against the dragon man and I, and in a moment of sheer terror as a glint of malice shows in Malfoy's eyes as his hand brushes against my thigh, I let go of a tremendous scream, which bears down on them, pausing them in their march. I reach for my wand as quickly as I can, and scream a string of hexes, curses and spells, anything that will cause the mass of bodies that bears down on me to back away and the words of the unforgivables, taught to us in our fourth year, pass my lips and I spare no look at the men who whither and scream in pain.
"Expelliarmus!" I scream, and the bodies closest to me go flying, springing away, flinging the patriarch of the purest and most tainted of wizard family's back and into the silver green blood which seeps from the wound inflicted on his master.
*~*
"What are you doing, Malfoy! You're a deatheater's son!" I croak at him as I return to the present world, and suddenly his body, which was pressed so hotly and perfectly up against mine, is tense and stiff.
"But I don't have a choice!" His voice suddenly breaks and his eyes are wide and almost frightened, "There are bonds, Granger which you and you're little, fucking friends can't see, but they're there, and they're cutting." He staggers further away from me, and I have to stop my hand from reaching out to him. Its already feeling the loss of the cheek which it was holding only moments before. "I want you here in my arms so bad that it hurts, hurts more than the fucking scars which lace my back." He rips off his shirt, fingers pulling on buttons and wrenching white cotton from his torso and I gasp at the site that he betrays to me. Across his chest and back are the marks of whips and blades, scars and smears of torn skin, which are silver and pink with new skin.
"I want you, Mudblood, with your dirty blood and scars and fucking airs and graces, like I've never wanted anything before in my life and when you're not right here I beat myself for the feelings which I long for every moment that you're here, dishevelled, tainted and wanting. I want you more than I want to see the sun rise, I want you more than I want my father dead and six feet under, but really, I just want you. This, Hermione Fucking Granger is what a Deatheater's son has to offer, this is what a Deatheater's son is." I shudder, and wring my hands out, taking a hesitant step backwards, but stopping and looking at him as he speaks. His face is creased and heavy, no longer hot and flushed with lust, but pale and clammy. "Tell me that you know all about the abuse that they offer. Tell me that you know about the predestined lives that they map out for you the minute you're conceived and I'll take a curtsy and bring you flowers, but don't remind me of the fact that he's my father because he's already engraved that fact on my back. Did you think that by killing Voldemort, you and your little buddies, that that would make him any less?" He takes a step forward, grasping the tops of my arms with tight fingers. "Well, Hermione? DID YOU?" His voice echoes throughout the classroom like an almighty explosion and I shudder and push at his fingers, which hold my arms like tightened clamps. "I... I can't escape it, I... he's like a plague in my mind, fighting every boundary that I place up to stop him, smashing every wall that I hold to stop myself from becoming any more like him." He whispers and I stop trying to pry away his fingers and dart my eyes to this face, taking in the green expression, which tints his skin and the hollow look, which encompasses his eyes.
"Have you ever seen a full grown man whip his son till he bleeds blood mixed with shards of bone from his very ribs? Have you ever looked down and discovered that you've been stabbed in the side by the very man who you thought was your father, your own flesh and blood?" I gag, looking to his side and seeing the freshly made silver scar, which punctures his side. "I won't be him, Hermione," he tells me, easing himself away from me and I slump back against the table top, and watch him pause. But suddenly, he returns, taking a step back towards me, and in a moment his hand has encased my cheek and he gently kisses the corner of my lips like a warm drop of rain. "These bonds hold me so strongly that I feel like I'm drowning beneath them, suffocating as he presses down on me, but I refuse to be like him..." And suddenly he is gone, nothing left to show he was here but the crash of my heartbeat and the white shirt, which he shed.
I slip from the table, pulling myself together, as I button up my shirt and pull back up my socks and I absently wipe away the tears which slips down my cheeks. I am halfway out the door, when I remember the shirt and pulling it from the floor, I tuck it beneath my arm, and reassemble my bag's contents, which lie strewn in the hallway outside.
My bag finally packed, I start to my feet, but the sound of ghastly sobs and shattering tears make my head snap back and I glance to a shadowed corner and see strings of red hair darting across a younger girl's face. I gasp and stagger forward until I am level, letting one word slip, "Ginny..."
A/N: Sorry Guys. Well that was chapter 9, and now its done after about a month or so. The time that it took for this one to be posted is about the reasonable pace for the forthcoming chapters as I'm coming up to mid- semester exams and other stuff like that. I'm sure you've all forgotten what you wrote in your reviews so I'm just going to send out a huge THANK YOU to all the people who reviewed chapter 8 and enjoyed it. I hope you like Chapter 9 and that it suits all your tastes. As you will have read, you have no received a bit of back ground knowledge and other stuff. I made up all the spells, based on Latin words and hope you liked them. It was my first go, so give me a little leerway :)
Anyway, thanks for reviewing,
Cai ^_^
Latin Words- SPELLS
INCINSERUS REPELLO- ward off or drive away the tainted. The spell drives off all who Harry deems as tainted or bad. (I guess :P)
FOEDUS CAEDO- to cut or slaughter your foe. Allowed Harry to physically hurt Voldemort.
ENASCOR COGNATIO- relationship or connection by blood, spring forth. Basically it meant that the connection between Voldemort and Harry allowed Voldemort to inflict any wound that Harry directed at him, on him.
A/N: Here is chapter 9, hope you all enjoy it, I couldn't be bothered writing a long first authors note this time, but the one at the end is, nice and good. Thanks to all reviewers, now go read. Flash back scenes are within these symbols *~*. And there is a long one at the end :)
Chapter 9
The room has emptied and as I step into the hallway, my cheeks burning with desperation as I remember the feel of his fingers trailing the hem of my skirt, the feeling of his hand resting on my thigh, his fingers curled around its width. I glance at my hands, feeling a tingling sensation seeping through their veins and watching in awe as glistening silver seeps into the blue veins and slowly and surely takes its place. Scrambling within the confines of m y bag I grip the shape of the final bottle, which lies in a secret pocket, and withdraw it. My hands are shaking more than ever now, the signals of distress, which they relay, coming on quicker and quicker by the moment, and I tip back my head and down the bottle's contents in one gulp.
The feeling grows in my head, a buzzing feeling in my hands that seeps its way from my hands, down my throat, through my arms, and I smother my face in my hands. I clench my eyes shut, a feeling of pins and needles spreading through my forearms and I clench down on my lip, desperate to contain the whimper which I want to release as the skin follows the routine and begins to shift and shudder across the surface.
Slowly the feeling ebbs away, but it leaves in its place a gasping breath and a struggling return to sanity as I choke back a desperate sob, and turn half my face to meet the wall. The bottle still clenched in hidden fingers is pressed up against my face and I slip to the ground, squatting on the floor and hiding myself in the crease of my knees.
"Nothing wrong? Nothing to hide!" An eerily familiar voice whispers and I suddenly find myself hurled to my feet and shoved desperately and threateningly against a wall, a face of pale skin, framed by god's white hair inches from my own. He looks at my hands, a sickening sneer on his face, and I know he has watched this whole event. Taken in every action that I portrayed. Seen the weakness I admitted as I slipped to the floor, face hidden in hidden hands. I shudder, the tremble slipping through me like water through a crevice and I try to turn my face away from his and cower in my hands. His face is like an explosion, so angry, so betrayed, and so seemingly upset.
"Don't look away from me, Mudblood! There's nothing left to hide!" He reaches down and with his right hand he grasps my chin and pulls it forward so that we're a hairbreadths away, and with his left, he grabs the bottle and smashes it into the wall. "I always knew something was wrong with you, that something was different about you after last year. I knew that morning when I came to the hospital wing for a headache potion that something had happened. You stood there, white as a sheet, your hands clenched by your sides in fists so tight that blood splattered to the ground beneath them, but above it all rang Potter's cries. His screams sent shivers through me like someone had put me under the Cruciatus curse and his words painted the image of a scene of blood and murder." He raises his eyes to meet mine and in them I see a curiousity and fear. "And in the middle of it all your name was spoken; you were screamed for, whispered for, called for and cried for, and still you stood there. I couldn't take my eyes off you as your face grew paler and more ghostly and your eyes widened as you watched your friend withering and cowering within his bed-sheets, and through it all, more and more blood fell beneath you clenched fingers." As he speaks the memory of our time spent in the hospital resurfaces, and I clearly see the image before me, the pain that simmered in my hands from the self-inflicted wounds, and the screams.
The screams.
I tear my eyes away from his, desperate to look anywhere but in these glassy pools, which seem so much like a mirror reflecting what I'm feeling at the moment. "And then Pomfrey is there, and she's muttering charms and spells as she calms Potter, and then she looks at you. She hasn't seen me yet, her eyes are pivoted on you and on the bloody which drips from your hands and splatters on the white, marbled floor. And I wonder, does she wonder too whether this blood will ever come out, or will the floors be forever tainted with stains. It's not like normal blood, it a swirling mass of red, but within the red something glistens. Something silver, deadly and gross. I can't tear my eyes away from the puddle and as she hustles you back to your bed, your eyes already closing in an exhausted expression, and you're wrapped in a warm bed, you seem to look at me, and see me. But yet, you don't, and the curtains are closed."
I sag against his hold, finally giving up on resistance, and I clench my fists by my sides, opening old wounds, trenches deep, and wait for the blood which warmly trickles down my hand, but it doesn't, only slivers of metallic cold trace my fingers as the blood drips. He holds my chin almost gently. I can feel his fingers almost caressing it and then suddenly I remember.
~*~
"Come child, back to bed, child..."And somehow she manages to edge me towards the bed, where she pushes me down and tucks the sheets deftly around me. The room darkens despite the time of morning, and I turn on my side, watching bandages magically wrap themselves around my hands, curling my legs till they're at my chest. My eyes are heavy and I can feel a spell washing over me, making my lids weighty and loaded, and then, as I turn my eyes away, a figure appears and his hair is golden and his face is blurry, but surely he is an angel. His clothes are stainlessly white and his eyes, which pierce my soul as I close my own, are the bluest of blues and I reach out. My hand reaches with my mind as it pleads: you sent me an angel to break me and set me free, but God, I'm not ready to go yet. I'm not ready to accept this all.
*~*
"And you reached out for me..." His words trail off, and I want to strangle him as I stare at him. I choke and shudder, realising whom my angel is and thrash out at him.
"It was you! You were standing there watching and I thought... I thought... that maybe, just maybe, God hadn't turned his back on me, that he hadn't tainted my sleep and spoiled my self confidence as he did my hands, for no reason. That perhaps, he had finally remembered me and sent someone to rescue me. I didn't really want to go and leave them all, but I would. And then..." I stop beating down on his chest, gripping his shirt in my clenched fists and look up at him. Him who has grown so much that I truly have to look up at him now. "...when I woke up, I was still here and I thought: Really Hermione, did you think that you mattered so fucking much, that you'd be allowed some peace? Did you really think that an angel would wait for you and when you were ready lead you forward?! And in the end, it was you. It was you, the mongrel who took it upon himself to break my spirit. In end, it was you who I reached out for, who I wanted to hold my hand." I try to stagger away but his hold on my chin has moved to the back of my neck and he holds me in place, pulling me forward until I am seconds away from him.
"I would have held on." He whispers and as my eyes widen and tears dribble down my cheeks, he kisses me. The kiss is soft and gentle, his lips touching mine only slightly, no force or pressure exerted, but the heat, which spreads across my cheeks is like wild fire and I gasp. The hand, which holds my neck, massages and plays across my skin and I can't help but moan and finally open the way for his tongue's entrance. At first it is subtle and tempting, and I finally growl, frustrated to no end by the means at which this boy goes about this job, and with my hold on his shirt, I yank him closer. The hand, which encircles my waist, tightens and I whimper in pain as he painfully pushes me between him and the wall, but the kiss, which he places on my lips before he leaves, is apologetic and simmering.
The kiss, which then follows, is not.
It presses against the skin of my neck, just to the left of my chin, and I find myself unable to do anything but relax and tense at the same time. Heat burns at the bottom of my abdomen as his lips quiver against my skin and massage the base of my neck. And as my head lolls to the side, opening my skin further to his attentions and lie my cheek against the cold stone in an attempt to cool my heated cheeks. I gasp as his hand which cupped the base of my scalp shifts to rest underneath my arm, his thumb brushing my breast until it comes to rest on its under side. He pauses, his lips stilling on the skin of my neck and I drag my hand up to rest on his cheek and glance down at him. His head rests in the junction of my neck, his breath fanning across the skin, which is exposed by my open shirt, but I can see his ears, the very tips of them. They're pink and blushing.
"What are you doing to me, you beautifully dirty girl? I thought this would go away when I found out your secrets, this fire that erupts in me every time I'm in your presence, every moment that you stand before me. I wish for it to go away every night, but I couldn't imagine it, and my dreams plague my mind with subtle hints and scents, which wake me wanting more. You're like some drug, which I can't get off on, and oh god..." he trails off, the hand which rests beneath my breast moving upwards to cover it, and I gasp, and drag his face upwards. With tense fingers I look at the face of this angelic looking man who haunts my thoughts and his breath quivers on my cheeks and ignites a heat in my face, which punctures me somewhere in my depths, making me faint and hot. "...Hermione, I want to." And so I kiss him. For a moment as he speaks I can think of nothing to do and then, almost like my hands have a mind of their own, they pull his face towards mine and squash his lips against mine. His lips are like silk, tantalising, crushed silk which is still at first, but then suddenly it is like he has the energy of a thousand men and he has laced his other arm tightly around my waist and buries his lips in mine.
My face feels like it is on fire and I press myself closer to him, feeling his arousal pressing against me and gasp as he pulls me higher and more tightly against him. His knee presses between my legs and a heat, which wasn't there erupts and spreads through me like wild fire. I wrap my arms tighter around his neck and turning my head, angle it so that my mouth is further open to his attention, and his tongue thrusts in between my lips and licks at my insides. It takes a moment for me to react, but his tongue's movements are encouraging and I quickly respond, our tongues moving in a similar dance to one, which parts of us thrive to do, but can't. I moan, as his hand which lies beneath my breast, moves to cover it again, squeezing and caressing it through my cotton garment, and gasp as he props me up against the wall and sinks his other hand beneath the layers of my blouse, seeking out my skin with his burning fingers. He grunts as I squirm against him and savagely brings his teeth to rake across my lower lip and I whimper, in a mixture of pleasure and pain, before rolling my head back and feeling his lips move against the skin of my neck. I can feel him grinning, his smirk searing against my skin but he pauses in his actions, a moan of annoyance escaping my lips, and looks up at me, his own lips red and swollen, his tongue darting out in such a way to moisten them that I'm already hot in lust for his kisses.
"What happened to you, Granger? When did you grow up, realising you could tempt men and bring them to their knees?" I don't get a chance to answer, realising I haven't said a word since the beginning of this ordeal and I don't get one now. He aggressively brings his hands to my hips, rubbing himself temptingly against my centre and I quiver and feel nimble in my legs, grasping the tops of his shoulders to stay up. He yanks me up, so that I'm resting on his crotch, feeling him pressing desirably against me, and I can do nothing but wrap my legs around him and hang on as he staggers into the emptied classroom and props me on the edge of one of the tables. He moans as I move back and presses forward until I am lying back on the table.
He pauses in his ministrations for a moment, and a voice in my mind suddenly rings forward in my mind. What are you doing? This is Malfoy! His are those who bring you pain and nightmares. But my thoughts are cut short as he positions himself in between my legs and leans over, pressing his lips gently against mine and licking their outside lightly. My hands run to the back of his head, grasping his hair, and I play with the skin behind his ear, and delight in the groan of pleasure which erupts gutturally from his throat as I rake my fingers along this strip of skin. He takes the opportunity to spur his tongue forward and the kiss erupts in me like the very first time that our lips met, my cheeks flaring brilliantly to life, and then I feel his hands. They begin at my knees, squeezing gently and then as one stays where it is, caressing and touching, the other moves upwards. As it moves, it leaves a hot stream of molten heat behind it, and I gasp as goosebumps break out over my skin and as his hand pushes under my skirt and reaches the rim of my underpants.
His kiss gentles for a moment, turning endearing and I open my eyes, and find his too like that. His crystal blue eyes, like a dragon's, are hot and lusty, but the anger, which hides just in their corners, is like a cold shower and I shudder and release my hold on him.
Bringing my hands to rest on his chest I push and he stumbles back, his shirt creased and untucked, his pants crushed and bulging, much to my embarrassment. He hisses and takes a step forward, but already an anger is erupting in me that is echoed in his, and I slip off the desk and rub my hands across my face, feeling bruised, swollen lips, become sensitive beneath my touch. From the corner of my eye, I watch him lash out, and suddenly I am in his arms again, and the places where we touch are hot and heavy, but not even his lips, which brush my cheeks and the space upon my temple, break my thoughts.
*~*
"You Mudblood whore! Did you honestly think that something as dirty and pitiful as you could ever destroy something as great and powerful as the Dark Lord? You're nothing but Potter's hoe. He uses you over and over, sullying you and breaking you, but you just keep running back for more. No one could honestly ever want you around, no one could honestly need you!" The hooded man, his long, silver blond hair trailing out in sneaking tendrils from beneath his cloak, sneers at me, and without his common mask, I can just make out the faint smirk which laces his lips and the crease of his brows as he frowns at me. "You've been nothing but a thorn in my side since you came about and I'll take great pleasure in watching you tortured. Oh, don't think that death would be your only solace. No, Mudblood, when we're through with you, you'll have wished you'd never heard the name of Harry Potter. You'll wish that you'd never chosen them over your books." He takes a relaxed step towards me, his hand, curving around the curve of my cheek, and I shudder, the chill of his fingertips dipping into my very soul and I swallow and raise my eyes to look at him. His expression is lucid, his eyes torrential with crazy, maddened emotions and I try to control the urge to cower. This man, the father of a boy my age at my school, is terrifying and the air of crazed emotions is thick and daunting where he stands. His thumb brushes across my lips, and I whimper as his nail presses into them and draws a drop of blood.
Oh god, Harry! What are they going to do to me! Where are you? I can't help you! Please God, Ron, "HELP HIM!" The words erupt from my mouth and for a moment his eyes widen but then he cackles, the terrible, bone-chilling laughter rocks me backwards, and he stalks forward and takes hold of my hair and yanks me forward.
"Still thinking of that idiot, Potter! If you're so desperate to see your hero, then I'll show him for what he truly is! A spineless fool, who is delirious with thoughts that he can defeat a great and powerful wizard." The world spins about us and suddenly I am stumbling forward and collapse to my knees as Malfoy pushes me forward, to the edge of the bloodied scene where Harry stands, and I groan.
He stands not seven feet from a figure cloaked in ghastly black. At his feet I see a body, which, with every attack, he appears to protect with his own. A tuft of red hair can be seen and I recognise my copper-locked, gangly friend with his hot temper, lying bloodied and bruised on the floor, his wand lying broken to the side, his clothes shredded to his skin. His hands are cracked and blackened with burned skin and his hair is singed back to its hairline; his scalp bald in some places, and as I stare at him, I notice the scorched marks which lie about and upon his body, the telltale signs of the Cruciatus.
Almost immediately I can imagine the scene. And as if following my imagination, time rewinds itself and paints the image before my glassy eyes.
Deatheaters are everywhere, surrounding the two boys as the shorter of the two battles a deadly foe, and suddenly shoots of purple and gold fly from every which way, and Ronald Weasley can think of nothing but standing in their way. His past cries echo in my ears, as though the thick air of magic retains his screams and his eyes glaze over in pain as the bolts of pain and cruelty rain down, but not one gets to the scarred boy behind him, and as his hands, singed black from the heat crackling across his wooden wand, crush it in two, he slides to the floor. The warrior of muggle and wizard alike pauses in his battle, his body shuddering as the Dark Lord's spell strikes him square in the chest, but he can not draw his eyes away from his friend, and with a scream which rattles men's hearts and encases men's souls, he protects his wounded comrade. "INCINSERUS REPELLO!" Every body but the three who stand central to the battle are flung back, and it is only the Dark Wizard's inner strength that makes him fend off the Occlumency-based spell, which repels all that are tainted.
The ground and bodies surrounding the three figures is scarred and tainted with the spell of repulsion, which Harry's anger spurred forward, and I grow uneasy watching the inner turmoil, which clouds Harry's face. "See, Mudblood! Your Saviour, your friend, is a fool, believing he can take on the world's greatest Warlord!" He spits out the word of endearment which I so often used to describe the two males slumped before me and before I utter a word in their defence, I am smacked across the cheek, and by the collar of my shirt, flung against the trunk of a singed and burnt tree. "You still hold you wand, Mudblood, but I don't think your mind is rested enough to control the power which surges through you." He takes another step towards me, appearing to ignore the battle which rages between two of the strongest minds, and entangles his fingers in my hair, dragging me forward until my face looks over his shoulder and his mouth speaks to my ear. "Watch Bitch, as your precious boy dies for nothing and the world dives into darkness. He will not save you today, nor tomorrow, and when this is all over, the Dark Lord will seek you out and you'll realise that your place was always at his feet." Lucius Malfoy pulls away, a sneer across his face, and I recognise with distress that even if this man were to die, there would be another, just as powerful, just as dreadful to take his place. A boy only a month and several days younger then me, who is joined to this demon of a man, contains in him this tainted, deadly blood.
He grabs my chin pulling me forward, and shoving me before him he makes my eyes focus on the scene of the battling foes with painful clarity as his fingers and nails dig into my skin.
Harry's body shudders as Voldemort's string of curses hits him, but suddenly his form tenses and he lets out an almighty yell, "FOEDUS CAEDO!" which strips Voldemort of his first layer of coverings, and slashes the dark lord from neck to stomach. But as silvery green blood splatters across the courtyard, a hiss of words springs from the Devil's lips and a groan and cry of pain erupts from Harry's lungs as the words, "Enascor Cognatio!" come alive and a wound much like that just inflicted flairs across his chest and flings red hot blood to the stoned floor.
With a gasp he staggers, his eyes wide and clouded with pain and tears bloom in my eyes as he falls back and hits the ground with a thump. I struggle desperately against the hold of the blond foe, pining, agonising to be by their sides, to take them home, but before I can move, I am once again shoved into the massive trunk, my cheek making close acquaintances with its bark, and his face is moments from mine.
His face is etched with fear and anger, pain and an oddly triumphant expression, which creases it in a surge of destructive emotions, and I try to move as far away from him, but this tall man is strong and deceptive. He takes another step forward and his body presses against mine, holding me firmly, and then, he speaks, "You stupid, Mudblood! This is no place for a dirty little girl!" Slowly but surely the figures that laced the ground, get to their feet, Harry's spell dimming and weathering as its caster slowly fades, his power slipping away from him, and they begin to crowd in around me, whispering and muttering curses with their little strength which bite and scratch at my skin.
I tremble as the mass of human bodies surge against the dragon man and I, and in a moment of sheer terror as a glint of malice shows in Malfoy's eyes as his hand brushes against my thigh, I let go of a tremendous scream, which bears down on them, pausing them in their march. I reach for my wand as quickly as I can, and scream a string of hexes, curses and spells, anything that will cause the mass of bodies that bears down on me to back away and the words of the unforgivables, taught to us in our fourth year, pass my lips and I spare no look at the men who whither and scream in pain.
"Expelliarmus!" I scream, and the bodies closest to me go flying, springing away, flinging the patriarch of the purest and most tainted of wizard family's back and into the silver green blood which seeps from the wound inflicted on his master.
*~*
"What are you doing, Malfoy! You're a deatheater's son!" I croak at him as I return to the present world, and suddenly his body, which was pressed so hotly and perfectly up against mine, is tense and stiff.
"But I don't have a choice!" His voice suddenly breaks and his eyes are wide and almost frightened, "There are bonds, Granger which you and you're little, fucking friends can't see, but they're there, and they're cutting." He staggers further away from me, and I have to stop my hand from reaching out to him. Its already feeling the loss of the cheek which it was holding only moments before. "I want you here in my arms so bad that it hurts, hurts more than the fucking scars which lace my back." He rips off his shirt, fingers pulling on buttons and wrenching white cotton from his torso and I gasp at the site that he betrays to me. Across his chest and back are the marks of whips and blades, scars and smears of torn skin, which are silver and pink with new skin.
"I want you, Mudblood, with your dirty blood and scars and fucking airs and graces, like I've never wanted anything before in my life and when you're not right here I beat myself for the feelings which I long for every moment that you're here, dishevelled, tainted and wanting. I want you more than I want to see the sun rise, I want you more than I want my father dead and six feet under, but really, I just want you. This, Hermione Fucking Granger is what a Deatheater's son has to offer, this is what a Deatheater's son is." I shudder, and wring my hands out, taking a hesitant step backwards, but stopping and looking at him as he speaks. His face is creased and heavy, no longer hot and flushed with lust, but pale and clammy. "Tell me that you know all about the abuse that they offer. Tell me that you know about the predestined lives that they map out for you the minute you're conceived and I'll take a curtsy and bring you flowers, but don't remind me of the fact that he's my father because he's already engraved that fact on my back. Did you think that by killing Voldemort, you and your little buddies, that that would make him any less?" He takes a step forward, grasping the tops of my arms with tight fingers. "Well, Hermione? DID YOU?" His voice echoes throughout the classroom like an almighty explosion and I shudder and push at his fingers, which hold my arms like tightened clamps. "I... I can't escape it, I... he's like a plague in my mind, fighting every boundary that I place up to stop him, smashing every wall that I hold to stop myself from becoming any more like him." He whispers and I stop trying to pry away his fingers and dart my eyes to this face, taking in the green expression, which tints his skin and the hollow look, which encompasses his eyes.
"Have you ever seen a full grown man whip his son till he bleeds blood mixed with shards of bone from his very ribs? Have you ever looked down and discovered that you've been stabbed in the side by the very man who you thought was your father, your own flesh and blood?" I gag, looking to his side and seeing the freshly made silver scar, which punctures his side. "I won't be him, Hermione," he tells me, easing himself away from me and I slump back against the table top, and watch him pause. But suddenly, he returns, taking a step back towards me, and in a moment his hand has encased my cheek and he gently kisses the corner of my lips like a warm drop of rain. "These bonds hold me so strongly that I feel like I'm drowning beneath them, suffocating as he presses down on me, but I refuse to be like him..." And suddenly he is gone, nothing left to show he was here but the crash of my heartbeat and the white shirt, which he shed.
I slip from the table, pulling myself together, as I button up my shirt and pull back up my socks and I absently wipe away the tears which slips down my cheeks. I am halfway out the door, when I remember the shirt and pulling it from the floor, I tuck it beneath my arm, and reassemble my bag's contents, which lie strewn in the hallway outside.
My bag finally packed, I start to my feet, but the sound of ghastly sobs and shattering tears make my head snap back and I glance to a shadowed corner and see strings of red hair darting across a younger girl's face. I gasp and stagger forward until I am level, letting one word slip, "Ginny..."
A/N: Sorry Guys. Well that was chapter 9, and now its done after about a month or so. The time that it took for this one to be posted is about the reasonable pace for the forthcoming chapters as I'm coming up to mid- semester exams and other stuff like that. I'm sure you've all forgotten what you wrote in your reviews so I'm just going to send out a huge THANK YOU to all the people who reviewed chapter 8 and enjoyed it. I hope you like Chapter 9 and that it suits all your tastes. As you will have read, you have no received a bit of back ground knowledge and other stuff. I made up all the spells, based on Latin words and hope you liked them. It was my first go, so give me a little leerway :)
Anyway, thanks for reviewing,
Cai ^_^
Latin Words- SPELLS
INCINSERUS REPELLO- ward off or drive away the tainted. The spell drives off all who Harry deems as tainted or bad. (I guess :P)
FOEDUS CAEDO- to cut or slaughter your foe. Allowed Harry to physically hurt Voldemort.
ENASCOR COGNATIO- relationship or connection by blood, spring forth. Basically it meant that the connection between Voldemort and Harry allowed Voldemort to inflict any wound that Harry directed at him, on him.