Pairing: Hermione/Rodolphus
Prompt: A seduces B into stepping back/backing them against the wall (oh, look, how did that mistletoe get there?)
The moment Hermione Granger stepped into the Great Hall, her periwinkle blue dress billowing around her ankles, her eyes wide with amazement, Rodolphus Lestrange knew it was time to make his move. He'd been in love with her ever since he had seen her at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters seven years ago, but he had never been able to show her how much she meant to him. There were people who would love to harm her just to see him suffer. But not anymore. Tonight, he decided he would find a way to kiss her once and for all.
He walked up behind her as she gazed at the decorations around the Hall with awe evident on her face. He stood there watching her, his hands clammy with nerves. "Hey, Granger," he drawled, shoving his hands in the pockets of his black slacks, attempting to look calm.
Hermione whirled around when she heard his voice and gasped. "Lestrange! What are you doing here?"
"Just wondering if you'd like to dance with me," he said, extending his hand out to take hers. She stared at his hand for a few moments before gazing up at him in confusion.
"You want to dance with me? A Gryffindor? But… you're a Slytherin," she murmured thoughtfully. "What are you up to, Rodolphus Lestrange?"
The way she pronounced his name caused shivers to travel up and down his spine, and he barely kept himself from leaping forward and slamming his lips against hers. Be patient, Rodolphus. He cleared his throat, but his voice was still husky when he said, "I'm not up to anything, Hermione. Come and dance with me."
She nibbled on her lower lip as she pondered over his request, and Rodolphus clenched his fist in his pocket, his nails forming indentations on his palm, to tone down his animalistic urges. All he wanted to do was to throw her over his shoulder like a bloody caveman and show everyone who she belonged to. He had a feeling she wouldn't appreciate his sentiments, so he reminded himself to be patient.
"Okay," Hermione finally said, placing her hand in Rodolphus', and his breath caught in his throat at the feeling.
He took a deep breath in before he pulled her hand up to his face and pressed his lips to her wrist, his eyes locked with hers. He swelled with pride when her eyes dilated at his small gesture, and he slowly lowered her hand but didn't let go. He walked her towards the middle of the large hall, and ignoring the shocked looks on everyone's faces, he gently twirled her under his arm, his eyes still trained on her, and pulled her flush against his chest.
As the hauntingly beautiful melody began to resonate through the air, he wound his arms around her waist, holding her close, and swayed to the music, not bothering to really dance. She sighed softly as she rested her head right under his collarbone, listening to his heart thump rhythmically under her ear.
"This is nice," she murmured appreciatively. "I didn't expect you to dance with me, Rodolphus…"
"And why wouldn't I want to dance with you?" he asked, dropping his chin onto her head, inhaling the soft scent of orange blossoms that clung to her hair.
"We're not really friends… We're not enemies, either."
"We're… us. Just us," he murmured, silently categorizing the people in attendance into two groups. He knew exactly which ones would want to make life hell for the young woman in his arms — most of the purebloods — and which ones would simply stand by and ignore the taunts and jeers.
She didn't say anything else as they danced, and he remained silent as well, fully invested in keeping her close to him for as long as he possibly could. And then, he saw his chance.
An inconspicuous sprig of mistletoe dangled a few feet away from them, and he smirked as a plan formed in his mind. He continued to sway to the music with her, gently gliding his hand through her hair. He subtly manoeuvred them along the dance floor, and once they were under the plant overhead, he smirked and said, "Oh, would you look at that? How did that mistletoe get there?"
Hermione glanced up at the little plant hanging over their heads, her cheeks tingeing pink at the realization. "You did this on purpose!" she whisper-yelled, slapping his chest lightly.
"Oh, did I? Anyway, it's a tradition, and you wouldn't say no to a tradition, would you?" he teased, tightening his arm around her waist.
She laughed but tilted her head up in answer, and his shoulders straightened as he readied himself to do what he had been dying to do for the past seven years. As they gently swayed to the music, he gently cupped her face in both hands, as if she were the most precious diamond in the world, and pressed his lips to hers, locking them together insistently, amazed at how pliable she was. Neither of them cared about the whispers and rumours that began to spread as the world ceased to exist for them, blurred and indistinct, and the sensations caused wild tremors to glide along their nerves.
The music slowly came to a halt, and they gently parted, their hearts hammering, their skin flushed, both silently begging for more. Hermione's eyes were still closed when he let his hands drift back down to her waist, and the sight only caused Rodolphus' heart to clench with the desire to do so, so much more. She whispered, "Thank you for the dance, Rodolphus."
"It was my pleasure. Would you like to get something to drink?" he asked, his eyes fixated on her mouth. He could still taste the sweetness of her raspberry lip balm, and his mouth instinctively watered at the memory.
"A Butterbeer would be nice," she admitted, fanning herself with her hand even though it wasn't that hot inside. Still, sweat beaded on her brow, and Rodolphus was hit with the sudden urge to shove her up against the nearest surface and lick her off.
He quickly nodded and hastened to get away from her before he could do something he'd regret later. He stormed over to the drinks table and picked up two bottles of Butterbeer, waving his wand over them to make sure they weren't laced with anything. Even with the Professors on hand, he knew it was too dangerous to leave drinks unattended. He looked around the Hall for Hermione and found her in conversation with a Gryffindor boy.
Recognizing the look of lust in the boy's eyes, Rodolphus bristled as the green-eyed monster in his chest rose from its sleep and focused on the scene. His fingers gripped the glass bottles so tight that his knuckles almost popped, but he ignored the stinging pain as he shoved past the gyrating students and made his way towards Hermione.
"Here's your drink, love," Rodolphus drawled loudly, making sure the Gryffindor heard his intention loud and clear, but the boy was either hard of hearing or foolish enough to stand his ground.
Hermione smiled up at him as she took the drink from his hands, thanking him softly. "Oh, Rodolphus, this is Eddie Winickus — he's Rufus Winickus' younger brother," she introduced them politely, sipping on her drink. "Eddie, I'm sure you must know of Rodolphus Lestrange."
"Pleased to meet you, Lestrange," Eddie said, extending his hand, and Rodolphus made sure to squeeze tighter than normal. "Ow, that's some grip you've got there, mate."
"I'm a Beater," Rodolphus deadpanned, "and I'm not your mate." He turned to Hermione and said, "Would you like to go out for some fresh air?"
Hermione's eyes widened at his tone, and she said, "Okay, why don't you go on ahead and I'll meet you in the courtyard in a few minutes?"
Rodolphus didn't want to leave her alone with the preening Gryffindor arse, but he had no choice. He nodded stiffly and walked out of the Hall, ignoring the amused smirk on his younger brother's face. Rabastan was the only one who knew Rodolphus was attracted to the witch for so long, and he had often teased him about it.
Exiting the castle, Rodolphus stood in the courtyard, breathing in the cool air, not bothering to use a Warming Charm on himself. He liked the bitter cold; it was something about him that had always confused others. He was lost deep in thought when he heard someone creep up behind him. He whipped out his wand and whirled around, ready to attack. Behind him stood a blonde dressed all in green.
He sighed as he put his wand back in his slacks and said, "What do you want, Parkinson? I'm not interested in hearing anything you wish to say."
"Oh, come on, Dolphy! I said I was sorry! How many times do I have to say it for you to believe me?" Her high-pitched voice grated on his nerves, and Rodolphus reminded himself that she was a woman — and his mother had taught him never to hit a woman.
"Saying you're sorry doesn't mean I can just forget the fact that you tried to climb into my bed without my consent," he growled, his eyes darkening with rage. "Don't you know that's rape?"
"You could have enjoyed it!" she cried, and Rodolphus pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to block out her voice. Merlin, how idiotic was this witch!
"I said I didn't want to have sex with you, and that means I don't want to have sex with you. No means no," he stated, stepping away from her, mentally counting backwards from ten to calm himself. He had always had a quick temper, and he didn't want to get into trouble — especially at their Yule Ball.
"But you—" Dorothy Parkinson started to say, but then, they both heard a soft voice call out for Rodolphus. "What does that Mudblood whore want now?"
Red-hot fury blinded Rodolphus, and the next thing he knew, his fingers were wrapped around Parkinson's neck. "Don't call her that," he hissed, spit flying from his mouth. If looks could kill, Dorothy Parkinson would have been ashes by then. "She's worth so much more than you."
"Rodolphus?" Hermione called out from behind, and he stiffened as he realized the compromising situation he was in. "What are you doing?" she whispered, confused.
Parkinson's face was almost blue and she looked ready to pass out, but as Rodolphus' back was towards Hermione, she didn't see that. All she could see was him on top of some girl, and the sight caused her heart to pang with hurt.
He let go of Parkinson's throat and leaned down to hiss, "Don't you dare say a word to her. And if you bother me again, I'll destroy you. I swear."
Hermione watched him get up and smooth out the wrinkles from his shirt, her heart wailing in agony. "I'm sorry if I interrupted something," she mumbled, turning away to give him the semblance of privacy. "I'll just go now."
"No, please, don't," Rodolphus blurted out, latching onto her hand and pulling her towards him. "It's not what it looks like, I swear."
"You don't have to explain anything to me," she protested, trying to extract herself from his arms, but Rodolphus held onto her for dear life. "It's fine, Rodolphus. I'll leave and you can get back to snogging her or whatever you were—"
When they heard the sound of footsteps nearing, he instantly pulled her behind the nearest pillar and placed his finger on her lips. "Shh…"
Hermione's breath hitched in her throat as the footsteps came closer to their hiding-spot and then, the person walked away slowly. She let out a soft sigh of relief, but she was confused as to why they had been hiding. They hadn't been doing anything wrong, were they? When the person had left, she looked up at Rodolphus, who stood almost pressed up against her, and whispered, "They're gone. You can let me go now."
"And why should I do that?" he purred, shifting his hand to cup her face. "Now that I've finally got you where I wanted you… I don't think I want to let you go."
"What are you talking about? You were with Parkinson just now! I didn't think you were that much of a—"
"I wasn't snogging her, Hermione," he said through gritted teeth. "To say the least, she said something I did not appreciate, and I might have attacked her."
"Rodolphus! Are you crazy? You could get in trouble! Oh, Merlin, is that why we were hiding? Rodolphus Lestrange, how could you have attacked her just because she said something you didn't like? Does this mean you'll attack me if I said something you didn't like? I am shocked you'd resort to such things, and—"
"She called you a Mudblood whore."
Hermione stopped ranting and gawked at him, unable to believe what he had just said. His face was taut with tension and barely suppressed rage, and her heart secretly fluttered at the protective glint in his eyes. Did he attack her for me? "She what?"
"You're too pure and innocent to be called something so vile," he murmured, tracing her lips with his thumb absentmindedly. "She deserves to—"
"She can say anything she likes, Rodolphus! That doesn't mean it's true," she argued. "Please, don't do anything like that again… You'll regret it."
Rodolphus gazed down at her, his heart pounding in his chest at the worried look on her face, and whispered, "Tell me, Hermione, were you... jealous of Parkinson?"
Hermione was grateful for the darkness that hid her reddened cheeks. "J-jealous? Why would I be jealous? I've got nothing to be jealous of… Jealous of Parkinson? Pfft! No way was I jealous!"
"Oh, really?" Rodolphus smirked as he finally managed to steer the conversation where he wanted it to head. "Look into my eyes and tell me you didn't want to be in her supposed place… Tell me you didn't want me to press you down into the earth and kiss you so deeply that you'd see stars… Tell me you didn't want me to run my hands over your body and whisper in your ears all the filthy things I'd love to do to you… Come on, Hermione, tell me."
Hermione's face almost exploded in embarrassment at his phrasing, and looking over his shoulder, she stammered, "No, I wasn't jealous…"
"I bet you can't say that while looking into my eyes," he teased, tilting her head up. He let his breath ghost over her lips as he whispered, "I dare you, Hermione."
Hermione had never backed down from a challenge, and she mustered her courage to lock her gaze with his. His icy-blue eyes seemed to be looking straight into her soul, and she somehow managed to lie. She whispered, "I. Was… Not. Jealous."
"Really? Hmm… So, you wouldn't mind if I went back to Parkinson and asked her to come up to my room with me? Or if I tugged on her long blonde hair while I kissed her against the wall? Or if I snuck my hand into—"
"Okay, fine! I was jealous!" she cried, her heart hammering at her admission. "I wanted to rip her hair out! I wanted to hurt her so bad! Are you happy now?"
"Immensely," he whispered as he backed her up against the wall. He gazed down at her with pure love and smiled, stroking her cheek with his thumb. "You're so beautiful…" he trailed off when she sighed contentedly. "I'm going to kiss you now."
"But there's no mistletoe here," she murmured, frowning up at him, and he chuckled.
"If you want me to carry mistletoe with me everywhere I go just so that I can kiss you, I will… but I was thinking that this time, I could kiss you without the mistletoe."
She let her lips turn up into a shy smile and nodded slowly. "I wouldn't say no to that mistletoe thing, though."
He grinned as he lowered his mouth to hers, and as their lips met for the second time that evening, their hearts burned with an ever-bright flame, creating a connection that showed the strength of their mutual need.
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