Obsession
By
Aeriel Ravenna
Rating: PG-13 (for brief mentions of non-con sex, will move up if needed)
Summary: "You're mad," he said in fearful disgust. "What are you—obsessed?" Hermione loves him. And he, quite obviously, loves her back. (REALLY BIZARRE) OneShot.
A / N: Okay, guys. This is really, really, really strange. I wrote it in the dregs of last night, between about two-thirty AM and four AM. It's not my typical style, and you might not like it. But it just kind of poured out. I'd love to hear some feedback!
He made her drunk and she really didn't need the whiskey in front of her. But she wanted it. Oh, Gods, she wanted it. She wanted to drown her thoughts and her feelings and her love and her madness and be nothing but a body taking up air.
He made her do crazy things and the scene in front of her portrayed that perfectly. There he was, trussed up like a prize pig ready to be slaughtered. His eyes were coldly dangerous, the look she had loved from afar and near. They were steely gimlet, but she couldn't feel his gaze piercing through her skin. He growled deep in his throat but he was gagged, so it wasn't like he could do much more than that.
He made her feel undone and half complete in his stark beauty. He had a straight, fine nose, and high cheekbones that could cut glass. His lips were full, almost feminine. His brows were straight over the fine grey of his eyes. His hair, white blond and brushed away from his face, was in disarray and she felt a kind of animalistic satisfaction that he was in such disorder because of her. He was breathtakingly unconventional but beautiful none the less.
He made her life worth living with his gorgeous visage and his witty, cocky comments. He had never shown her a scrap of pity but she loved him for it. She wanted to be the best, with him, only him. She thought that if she could have one wish it would be to be stranded on an island with him for all eternity, speaking or not, just watching his beautiful body and mind. She would take his aging hand even when he was mere hours from death and bring it to her lips, wrinkles not taking from the vision before her.
He made her feel worthless and she almost hated him for it. She was mousy and small and brown and plain and slightly freckled. She didn't deserve him and she knew it, and he knew it. He was smart but cunning and clever and sly, not bookish and intellectual like her. He was serpentine and Slytherin, she was wormy and Gryffindor. The scale tipped in his favor so far that she wasn't sure that even if she had pure blood she would be qualified even to look at him.
He made her feel like a paragon of virtue compared to him. He was sin incarnate and knew it. He was lazy and selfish and cocky and lusty and evil. He was everything she wasn't, everything she had almost wished to be. She supposed she might even be a little jealous. She gently, oh so gently, untied and tugged away the gag. She was a little surprised that he did not scream in anger.
"Why are you doing this?" he spat and his eyes added the necessary "Mudblood."
"I love you," she told him consolingly. She smoothed his blond hair, treasuring every second of contact.
"This isn't love, Granger. You don't know me. You can't love me," he told her angrily. Why could he not see?
"I do know you, love. I know day in and day out. I can tell you that your best friend is Gregory Goyle and that you hate Snape. I know that you hate black pudding but love peppermint humbugs. I know that on your last Arithmancy test you got an eighty-seven percent and that you think you deserved higher. I know that you love your father but hate your mother. I know that your favorite color is blue and that you hate the color green. I know that your philosophy in life is to live each day as your last and that you think Mudblood are worse than Muggle. I can keep going, if you like?"
"You're mad," he said in fearful disgust. "What are you—obsessed?"
She was quiet for a while. Was she? His life blended with hers. Every breath he took was observed by her. But that wasn't obsession—that was love. She knew it.
"No."
He snorted. "What are you going to do to me?"
"I haven't decided yet," she sniffed, a little offended by his actions. But, ah, how could she stay mad at him?
"Well, hurry up with whatever you're going to do. I don't have time to waste on pathetic Mudblood you fancy they love me like yourself," he spat. He obviously hadn't thought that she would do anything drastic.
But his words showed her knowledge. Ah, what a wise man he was! They could never be together. Surely he was just trying to let her down easily? Yes, that was it, he didn't want her to know that he loved her as well. Poor, sweet, beloved boy!
That still didn't solve the problem of what to do with him. She couldn't have him, yes, he had demonstrated that perfectly. But she wasn't about to let any other girl just up and take him, either! No, they had to be together, somewhere where no one would ever bother them and they could live and love together freely.
It was the only way.
Seeing the dawning light of comprehension on her features, he spoke. "Have you decided yet, then?" His tone was drawling, disgusted, and a bit fearful, but she could only tell that because she knew him that well. Her heart felt full to the bursting point was she swooped down, cheek to his, and spoke.
"I know you love me, love. And I of course love you back. We must be together—but not in this world. No, not in this world. We must flee," she told him soothingly, turning her head to place a chaste kiss on his lips.
Ah, what lips! She savored the taste of him, the feel of his sensual mouth on her thin-lipped one. He tried to wrestle his face away but she had a strong grip on him. Obviously he was worried he would seem too eager! What a sweet man she had.
"What exactly are you saying?" he asked, eyes narrowed, when she pulled away.
"I'm saying," she told him, rubbing the pad of her thumb across his jaw line, "that there is no place for us here. We can meet in heaven," she smiled. A look of horror crossed his face.
"You mean that in sixty or seventy years, right? After we've lived out our lives?" he asked desperately.
"No, silly! We can't wait that long. First we will consummate our love, and then we will be gone. I will kiss your lips, love, to take away from the pain, if that's what you're worried abut," she said, tracing hearts with her fingertip on his cheek.
"You're absolutely starkers," he said, eyes wide with both awe and fear. He was shivering slightly. "If you love me so much, why do you want to kill me?"
"Really, now! I don't want to kill you, love. I just want us to be happy, together. And we can't do this here," she whispered fondly. "Oh, love, I have waited for this so long!"
He turned his head away. His expression was of stone except for a stray tear that trickled down his face, over the sharp cheekbones to the corner of his lush mouth. She took it that he felt the same. Of course he did!
It was a job, stripping him while he was bound. She eventually had to rip most of his clothing, not that he'd need it soon, anyway. She was dismayed to find him unmoved and unexcited, but decided that it must the coldness of the stone floor.
He wouldn't look at her. He wouldn't speak, or moan, or even snarl. He was probably just savoring the moment.
When she was replete, she laid over him and pulled out her wand. Letting it drift fondly over his heart, she pressed her lips to his the best she could while his face was turned away and prepared to mutter the word that would send him to peaceful oblivion.
"Wait!" he cried first, muffled slightly by her lips.
She pulled away questioningly, a smile gracing her graceless face. Perhaps he wanted to tell her he loved her!
"Wait. Let me do you first," She started to frown but he hurried on. "I mean, after all, do you really want to be alone here with my body? I know how sensitive you are," he said, licking his lips, getting into the role.
She beamed. What a thoughtful, thoughtful man he was! She nodded in approval.
"I knew you loved me!" she said, giddy with love and awe and wonderment. He forced a thin smile. No doubt he was dreading hurting her.
"Yes, ah, of course I do. But you need to untie me," he reminded her. She hastily moved her hands to his bindings and with nimble fingers had them off in a trice. She handed him her own wand. He leaned over her, swallowing heavily as he pressed his lips as lightly as possible to hers.
"I love you," she told him whole-heartedly. "I love you, Draco."
"Stupefy," he muttered. There was a flash of hurt in her eyes for a second before she froze.
He couldn't kill her. He wasn't a murderer.
But there was no way in hell he would die for her silly, maniacal whims.
Breathing heavily and wiping away the repulsive traces of her saliva on his lips, he stood. The door before him was wooden and opened easily with a muttered spell.
He needed to get help.
And—oh, damn it—he needed clothes to wear as well.