Purely Physical 6

The cool air wrapped its slender fingers around her and she shivered involuntarily. She rubbed her eyes and stepped away from the castle, her feet moving noiselessly on the damp and dewy grass. The night was nearly pitch black, except for a faint glimmer of the moon-light, in which she could make out the same silhouette, of the person on the broomstick. Lucky one, whoever he or she was—didn't have to worry about everything she had to worry about.

She never used to indulge in self-pity. Self-pity was stupid, an automatic turn off to any prospective friend or confidant. Self-pity stemmed from boredom, or melodramatic times. And here she was now, absolutely wallowing in it. She had promised herself she'd survive Hogwarts and graduate with absolute flawlessness in everything, so what was she doing now? In honesty Hermione didn't even know the answer to the question. What was she doing here? Why wasn't she up in her dorm, asleep with Lavender, Parvati, and her other dorm mates? The chilly air, with its smoky ice scent answered for her, as she inhaled the healing coolness with an aura of relief. It was because she just needed a small break. Maybe she'd take a walk, who knew… a walk would be nice, refreshing, and maybe by dawn she'd be ready to do it over again.

Maybe not.

She didn't want to go back anymore. Maybe one night wasn't enough. Maybe she should just… run away. Only cowards ran away, only those who weren't brave enough to face their problems properly. She remembered an old saying that her grandmother was very fond of—"When going through hell, keep going". Hermione had kept going. She'd gone until her feet had screamed in agony, protesting against this hurtling rush for academics and saving the world and being a model every bloody thing. But she was still in hell; there was no end in sight. Maybe everything related to Hogwarts was hell.

She remembered talking to Alicia Spinnet two years before. Alicia had been a seventh year then; Alicia had said some words…what were they, oh yes… "Seventh year is the best year of my life. The freedom yet the structure, it's so much fun! Hermione, you will love it!" Hermione also remembered being ten years old, having an older cousin who was in senior year—12th grade—the grade before escape… and that cousin had said the same thing. How wonderful it was to be at the top of the ladder, to have to work yet have so much fun without responsibility…

How come she was different? She wanted to have fun, too! Ron seemed to enjoy his seventh year, Harry seemed to love it, even Draco probably found it much better than the previous six. But for Hermione, every year save first year was better than this one. What was so different about her? What was missing?

She intended to find out on this little break. It might be a little too early to go around 'discovering herself' but you had to do it sometime, and now was the time for her. She'd always planned on going to university right after graduating. She had an early acceptance into United Kingdom Magic University, UKMU for short. UKMU was top notch, of course, because absolutely everything had to be top of the line when concerning Hermione. UKMU only accepted one hundred students per year, and thus was so tiny, so brilliant—guaranteed a job anywhere.

Hermione didn't want to go there anymore.

She hadn't realized it, but as she was walking, she had walked right onto the Quidditch pitch. The flyer was directly above her now, and as she looked up at the broomstick, the person saw her and began to spiral downwards. The soft moonlight reflected on his hair and Hermione noticed the silvery blonde. Well, of all the people… she knew that hair anywhere. Draco, again. What was the significance of him always popping up into her life? Damn it, she was trying to get rid of him, get rid of everything she knew right now, and here he was ruining her "discovering yourself" moment! Who did he think he was!

Her anger subsided as he slid gracefully off the broomstick and made his way to her. It wasn't his fault, really. He'd been out here before she'd even stepped out of the warm dorm room. Their lives were coincidental. Coincidentally they hated each other, coincidentally they spoke to each other, and coincidentally they fucked each other. Hah, hah, Hermione thought dryly as she remembered each time with him. She was a whore. A whore. Whores weren't perfect role models; therefore, she could never be a role model. Somehow the thought was utterly and completely relieving. Happiness surged through her as she looked upon his face.

"You," he said slowly, looking at her. She trembled under his gaze. She didn't know why she was afraid of him. She was in Gryffindor; she was supposed to be so brave! Then again, here she was, contemplating running away. That wasn't bravery; maybe she'd been put in the wrong house or something. Probably belonged in Hufflepuff—somewhere safe, somewhere boring, somewhere ordinary.

"Hello," she finally replied, staring at him calmly, effectively masking her fear.

"What are you doing here?" he asked the inevitable question—she knew it was coming, and had prepared a response.

"Could say the same to you," she countered with an air of snootiness. Anything for him to leave her alone and go back inside.

He smirked. "Want me to leave then?" he asked, reading through her every word. He was good at discerning anything concerning a lie or a cover-up. It was another reason why he fit so marvelously into Slytherin.

"Not at all," she said nervously. "It's just not too ordinary for someone to be flying about at nearly one in the morning."

"Not so ordinary either for someone to be…what are you doing? Taking a walk? Not so ordinary for you to do that at nearly one in the morning," he said saucily, the smirk never leaving his face.

Hermione knew her face betrayed her; she knew the confusion etched on it. Why was he behaving like this? He hadn't been like this since fifth year, since… so long ago. He was quiet now, unprovoked, sullen, the disaster waiting to happen. What was wrong with him?

She did not question, merely raised an eyebrow at him and turned away, not even bothering to answer his question.

This proved to be not such a wonderful idea, because the second she took two steps away from him, a strong hand grasped her shoulder and spun her around. He spoke something unintelligible, but she could make out that his voice was thick with need and longing. Similar feelings rose from her own stomach and she cursed herself inwardly—it had been a very long time since they'd done this, maybe two months—but it seemed that her body had not forgotten.

Everything seemed to be betraying her. She hated him for doing this to her intellect; she loved him for doing this to her body. Horrid paradox of unhappiness! His mouth crushed hers so forcefully that her lips were nearly numb but she crushed his back, using that anger, directing it towards him. They moved slowly but surely towards the bushes, even though it didn't matter, as nobody was out. But both of them were cowards, she knew, and cowards had to hide, no matter what. This was merely a way of hiding.

His hands worked wonders again and after a few moments her weak mind had stopped protesting, knowing it just didn't matter anymore because she was going to do this. She was going to break down and use her anger, her distrust, her unhappiness in one unholy act and put it all behind her. Then she'd go back, and everything would be normal again… just maybe.

They finished up their 'romp' so to speak and remained quiet afterwards, just sitting in the clearing near the bushes, looking up at the sky. There weren't any stars out at all, and Hermione briefly wondered if that actually symbolized anything. "Have you ever star-gazed?" she found herself asking him.

He turned towards her, surprised. "No," he finally said.

She looked down at the ground as she spoke, almost afraid to bare her feelings naked on the ground. She didn't share these types of things; she shared her homework answers and exactly how they'd conquered the Dark Forces. Nothing personal escaped her lips. She was a helper, an accessory, never the center of attention… so why would she share with Draco of all people?

But there was that same aura of trust about him. He was a Slytherin, a conniving, untrustworthy and cunning Slytherin, but yet she felt like she could confide in him. It was the oddest sensation. "I used to star gaze when I was little," she said slowly. "My dad and I… we liked to pick out shapes."

He shrugged. "My dad and I liked to look at his dark artifacts. Some of them were really rather interesting."

She gaped at him. Had he really admitted to her that he was indeed deeply involved in the dark side? This was a statement Harry, Ron, and the rest of the deeply rooted light-side people had been hoping for. Yet he had remained quiet as usual, lost in his own thoughts, never speaking a word about his family life.

He laughed bitterly at her reaction. "Did I ever say I have the Dark Mark? That I am definitely getting secret information on you with our little sessions? Going to hurt Potter, am I? Hurt you all? Kill you maybe? Think I'm capable of that?"

As usual, you couldn't hear the anger, or see it.

But Hermione could feel it. She was naturally perceptive and empathetic as well. Everyone assumed he was evil… and he had it in him. He could kill; she was sure if pushed to extreme lengths he would kill. But maybe he could do a three sixty and change sides, or remain neutral. Neutrality seemed to suit him best; he wanted to be on the winning side, and that wasn't always possible if you were deeply loyal to one end or the other. So you had to wait, and then claim you'd been with the winning side the whole time. A shrewd, clever, manipulative way to weasel your way to riches and fortune and fame.

The old Draco would have hopped at the opportunity. The Draco in front of her… well, she couldn't tell what the Draco in front of her would do.

"Sorry," she said shamefacedly, looking down at her hands. Short and stocky compared to his long and silken ones. More symbolism, perhaps? Maybe her life was symbolism. At the moment it seemed to be nothing else.

He shrugged again. "Doesn't matter," he said seriously. "Think what you wish, assume all you want. I shan't tell you if it's the truth or not."

"Well, why not?" she demanded, tiring of all this game-playing and guessing.

"Why should I?"

"Maybe because we're intimate," the words came out before she could stop them. She had to stop assuming that just because she slept with him meant that they were really intimate. Intimacy wasn't just sex; it was bonds, closeness, even love… and she didn't have any of that with Draco. In fact she'd never even thought about loving him…she wanted to be friends with him, yes, but love? Love was for much, much later… love was eons away, perhaps even unattainable, for someone as career-minded as she supposedly was.

"We aren't intimate," he said softly. "Nobody is intimate."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked crossly, half-laughing at the situation in her mind. Here she was, all riled up with their conversation, heated and passionate and wild, and there he was, cool and calm and collected, yet his words were stronger than hers. How was that possible?

He didn't say anything, merely got up and pointed towards Hogwarts. "Intimacy… you want to be intimate with your studies, so close it hurts, doesn't it? You hate it though. You want to escape."

She stared at him.

"You want to run away. That's why you're here, aren't you? You're too perfect, your tired of being perfect, you crave imperfection. That's yet another reason why you fuck me. Because it's wrong. I am wrong."

She was speechless.

He ambled away, calling back to her as his voice grew distant. "It's true, isn't it?"

She was cold all of a sudden. For a while she'd ignored the air but now it came onto her full force, back to her and she was really, really cold. She was tired and sleepy. She was surprised. He knew more about her than she did… he could read her so beautifully it was unnerving. How could he tell?! And yet he had implied something that wasn't quite correct. At first she did think she'd only slept with him because it was wrong and she was oh-so-exhausted of being good but now… now she knew there was something else to it. Something she couldn't quite place; something other than lust and the thrill.

"Wait," she said weakly, and he turned around. "That's not true," she said desperately, suddenly aware that she had to convince him. "I didn't just… I don't just… do it for the wrongness, I swear."

He cocked a perfect eyebrow at her and stared for a second. She continued, hoping and wanting to convince him. "I don't, I promise. I… there is something more. I don't know what it is but there's something more. I need…I have…" she couldn't continue because she didn't know what it was—how was she supposed to explain something that she couldn't quite fathom herself?

"Oh yeah?" he said condescendingly, and once more she wondered what was bothering him (she'd always prided herself on being able to read people…why couldn't she read him as thoroughly as she could read, say, Ron?)

She nodded at him.

"Well… that's why I do it. Because it's wrong."

The words sliced through her. Just when she'd laid her soul down for him, he'd closed his off. She knew he didn't mean what he had said but the words did imply one thing: he wasn't going to tell her anything. She was wrong about everything and for once in her life didn't know where to go from here.

Why did he make her so curious? Why did she have to know? What impelled her to hunt him down like this?

If she could answer those questions, she thought sarcastically to herself, then there wasn't a point in anything. She needed the answers—needed to know more about him.

It was like an infatuation with his closed-off mind. She was so weird. She was like a bloody stalker. It was completely different than anything she'd ever been before. She'd always been so wrapped up in herself, and here she was probing so deeply into someone else's life only to be rebuffed so completely. Yet another oddity in her current life.

"Draco," she suddenly called out, stumbling over his name, which was unfamiliar because she usually avoided saying it.

He whipped around as if he'd been expecting her to call him.

"I… I have to go away," she said, the words sounding stupid to her.


He didn't say anything, but he did walk back towards her.

She looked at him and suddenly understood something about herself. It was an urgent need and she had to ask him right away, never mind the consequences. She wasn't even afraid of rejection right now. At least she wouldn't be until the words came out. She wondered briefly if this was how a boy felt when he asked a girl out, except there was nothing even remotely romantic about the situation, to her at least.

"Draco, run away with me."

He hadn't expected this one. "So you're really going to run away?" he asked, seeming to be mildly interested.

"Yes," she pleaded, "please come with me. I can't go alone. I mustn't be alone. I… have to know…just… come with me. Please."

He walked away from her and her heart surged with adrenaline. He'd just turned her down… so this was what it felt like to be rejected, to be forgotten…the second time in one night, he'd rebuffed her openings towards him. And he was the one who wanted to be acquaintances! What was he playing at?

A few moments later he returned with his broomstick. "Where to?" he asked softly.

Hermione gazed at him in surprise. Where to? Well, she didn't really know, and even though somewhere in the back of her mind a warning bell about being expelled from Hogwarts was going off, but right now she ignored it. "Wherever," she whispered. "Let's just leave Hogwarts. Forever."

A/N: Yikes! Sorry, again, but I'm glad I updated now because I'm going on holiday later this week and shan't be able to update for a bit, so I absolutely had to get this out. Well, not too much happened in this chapter except for subtle references, and also an in-depth exploration of her feelings, heh, heh. Thanks a million to everyone who has reviewed, it makes my day! Please review this chapter as well… I'm really uncertain about it.