Author's Note: Apologies are in order, I went on a long vacation but now I'm back and ready to finish this story. Thanks to all those who have reviewed, keep your opinions coming, they make my day!
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o 0 o Through the Valley o 0 o
By FicklePen.
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Chapter Four:
Stupid.
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He stared too much.
He stared as if wanted to devour her. . . As if he wanted to suck out her soul with a Dementor's Kiss and put it away in his pocket.
It began towards the end of their sixth year at Hogwarts and resumed all too soon during their seventh.
She didn't know why he stared, couldn't decipher the meaning behind it, and it unnerved her. Terrified her, actually.
Harry and Ron had been furious when she pointed out the strange habit of the platinum-crowned Slytherin. It seemed that they understood his true intentions - but she did not - and they refused to tell her when she questioned them.
Why was he behaving so strangely? Why did it feel like she had pins and needles every time they were in the same room together? Why did the air around her become as thick as ebony treacle when those slate grey eyes were focused upon her? She had to muster all of her Gryffindor courage to be within spitting distance of him and even then, she felt as if the entire world had tilted on its axis when she caught him staring at her.
For the first time in her life, Hermione Granger didn't have an answer.
But that wasn't the only thing she noticed about him.
He had changed during the summer. Strangely enough.
Gone was the arrogant, pale, pointy-faced boy. Now, he was oddly quiet; tall and lean, broad in all the right places and. . . All man. All six foot, three inches of him.
Yes. . . Draco Malfoy was no longer a mere 'pretty boy'. He had grown up to be a handsome specimen, just like his abhorrent father. Cold and calculating. Deadly and cunning. She saw nothing of his former childish, outward brutality. He was far more subtle with his sharp insults - more like a true Slytherin. And that thought frightened her. It seemed that Lucius Malfoy's subsequent release from prison had affected Draco more than he could have realised.
It was strange how the girls in school had swooned at their first sight of the newly transformed Slytherin Prince, and even she could admit to admiring him from afar. She could admit to admiring his quiet dedication to his studies and the cool, collected manner in which he conducted himself, even if he was still a vile little ferret under the guise of a strong man. If she didn't have doubts about his true loyalties, she would have openly admitted that . . . Draco Malfoy made her knees turn wobble and turn into jelly.
That he made her blood bubble and simmer in her veins whenever they crossed paths, especially when he intentionally brushed his arm against her.
But Hermione Granger was no fan of school-girl crushes and fantasies - so she did the only thing she could do, and that was to ignore it. She ignored the sweaty palms and heart palpitations, just as she ignored the ache in her stomach and the urge to have him kiss her without restraint. To have him drink from her lips as if she was the only oasis in his lonely desert.
But that was before he began to continually stare at her.
Like she was some sort of difficult puzzle he couldn't begin to fathom. . .
She wanted to ask why he stared, but that would mean speaking to him. They hadn't had a full confrontation with one another since the end of their fifth year and she wanted to keep that record unblemished. So far, they had avoided the imminent train crash and she was infinitely relieved.
The relief was brief, however, and ended when she had found herself alone in the DADA classroom, having sent her two best friends ahead to the Great Hall for lunch without her. She had too much parchment and quills to pack away, she said, so she had insisted they leave and save her a seat. What a fool she had been.
Merlin, why had she done such a stupid, stupid thing? How could she have been so careless? So reckless?
She thought she had been alone as the sound of the other students drifted away, out of the door and down the corridor. But when the door to the classroom shut, she felt herself shaking at the strange yet familiar sensation of pins and needles prickling at her skin.
Her suspicions weren't confirmed until she felt a warm body invade her aura and his spicy breath caressed her temple like a forbidden lover's touch. His chest seemed to heave in a tumult of aching need and tempestuous torrents of self-hatred.
"Mudblood?" The whispered insult had almost caused her to collapse. So she returned the gesture.
"Ferret?" She was proud that her voice was steady and calm amidst the raging storm surrounding them.
He chuckled at that.
So deeply and darkly that it sent sinful shivers down her spine. And she found that she wanted to hear it again. Again and again and again. She never wanted him to stop because if he stopped, her heart would shudder and burst and --
"There's something I don't understand," he wrapped his finger in one of her loose cinnamon curls and tugged almost gently, possessively. "It's annoying me because I can't understand it." He was standing so close behind her. Only centimetres away. So close, and yet so far away. . .
Her wand was already in her trembling fingers, but she refused to turn around. Refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her fear. Of seeing her need.
"What don't you understand?" She asked, playing along with his little game.
"You. . . You dirty, mudblood bitch." She listened as he took a deep, shuddering breath, as if he were inhaling her scent like a bloodhound, imprinting it into his mind and branding it across his soul.
And then. . . He leaned even closer, so close that she felt as if her heart was about to claw free from her chest and fly away. Close enough that she nearly jumped out of her skin when he placed a soft, moist, butterfly kiss on the patch of naked skin behind her ear.
She didn't move - she was shaking too much for that. . . But when she finally did, when she finally garnered the famous Gryffindor bravery and turned with her wand out, he had already left. Left her to collapse heavily into the chair behind her desk, as she tried to collect the tattered pieces of her pride from the cold floor. Left her to feel the burning sensation of his lips - forever emblazoned and burned into the skin behind her ear. And what made it situation worse; what made it completely unforgivable?
She had wanted to feel it again.
She had wanted to feel his lips trailing all over her, branding her and marking her dirty, dirty skin.
That was when her tears began. The stupidity of it all? She couldn't seem to stop.
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Draco didn't know how it happened.
He didn't know how Hermione could be slapping him one moment and kissing him the next. He soon found out that she wasn't kissing him, but instead, trying to push him away. . . And it was then he realised that some time between her slap and the kiss, he had pinned her precariously to the wall behind her desk, her arms above her head in a delightful pose. . . That he was savagely attacking her pouted cherry lips with his own, in a reunion dance of lost souls and frayed dreams that would never come true.
Her resistance didn't last long.
It never did.
Instead, she melted into his kiss, like butter spread across crisp, hot toast.
For Draco, it felt like coming home after a long holiday.
It felt like raindrops and lilies and all things. . . Good and pure. Something he could never be, but something he was more than willing to taint and sully with his own darkness. . . . His own impurity. He was a Slytherin to the core, after all.
Tongues clashed, teeth collided - and it was every bit of insanity and want and burning need and. . . It drove him to distraction. Ruby lips glided over his in a familiar rhythm; her kiss seared him deep within. It was painful and glorious and he never wanted it to stop. Never ever, ever, ever. . . Don't stop. Please don't stop. And so the mantra repeated itself, over and over, escalating until he was screaming at himself to pull her closer, push her away. Anything to stop the burning! Anything to keep it going. . .
But as her curves began to mould into his solid frame, he knew it wouldn't last.
His utopia would be torn away from him again and Draco didn't think he could let her humiliate him a second time without killing her first. So he pulled back slowly, reluctantly - breathing as if he had just run all the way to Hogwarts and back again without a moments respite. And as his lips drew away, it felt as if she was still holding onto one of his essential fibres, and that every breath she took away from his mouth was, bit by bit, unravelling him. . .
Draco waited for the backlash but noticed that she was partly smiling, partly glaring at him in only a way that Hermione Granger knew how to.
"Arrogant, presumptuous arse!" Her breathy voice rushed straight through his blood, towards his groin and the prominent bulge in the expensive, tailored Italian trousers beneath his fitted robes.
He smirked through the silent but deadly pang in his heart, knowing that even if she reacted to him, she still didn't want him. And never would. "You were hardly complaining, Granger."
Hermione seemed to hesitate as she nibbled her lower lip; her doe eyes filled with unanswered questions and something . . . Something he couldn't quite put his finger on. "Draco. . ."
The way she said his name made him want to recoil.
It hurt much more than the slap. He straightened himself and forced his expression to remain blank. "I'll send the books in next week." Good. Proud and unaffected - indifferent - even if he was trembling inside with the desire to fuck her against the wall of her pristine office.
Somehow, somewhere deep inside, Draco found the courage to turn and leave - but not before hearing five whispered words that caused his entire world to come crashing down around his ears.
"Why did you leave me?"
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Love has made me a fool, set me on fire and watched as I floundered.
Unable to speak except to cry out and wait for your answer,
And you come around in your time, speaking of fabulous places.
Create an oasis that dries up as soon as you're gone.
You leave me here burning in this desert without you.
Sarah Mclachlan.
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