FORTY-SEVEN
Tuesday, 2 December 1944
Draco sat across from Hermione in the library on Tuesday. As usual, he found himself unable to concentrate on his notes or assignments when she had her nose buried in a book. He enjoyed how animated she was while she read. The way her eyes would widen and then narrow in scrutiny. The way her nose would scrunch when she disagreed and the small grievances she would utter under her breath.
It made him smile to see her like this. As if she were back to normal. Something had happened at the party on Saturday. Even if he hadn't grown to know her like he had these past few months, he would have at least picked up on that much. But all he had been able to get out of her was that she was overwhelmed with all the people around her and she went to the loo for a moment to herself. Everything he knew about Hermione and her anxiety around crowds told him that there was no reason to doubt her. That it was just classic Granger.
But there was that overpowering sense of doubt at the back of his mind that told him there was more to it than that.
Sunday, like most of the student body, especially Slytherin House, Draco had slept well into the next day. When he woke, Hermione was no longer in bed next to him. Instead, he had found her curled up in her own bed with tears still drying on her cheeks, but still asleep. He had been tempted to slip into her mind and erase her nightmares, but she had woken with a start and put on that mask she had developed too easily.
She was still a little off as far as his instincts were concerned, but outwardly she appeared to be the same old Hermione Granger.
A smirk took hold of his lips as he looked around the library. They weren't in their normal seats as a group of Fourth Years had beaten them to it. Which worked for what he had in mind because they had found themselves a small table off to the far wall. The selection of books around them were probably the dustiest things in the castle; a clear indicator that the subjects were past their prime.
He studied her carefully and moved slowly as to not break her concentration. He slid out of his seat and crawled beneath the table until he was crouched before her. He used his wand to scoot her chair back and she gave a stifled shriek as he gently pried her knees apart.
"Draco!"
She squirmed and tried to shove him away and get up, but he laid his hands on her thighs and looked up at her. "Just keep reading."
She looked around the room with panic in her eyes and shook her head. "There are too many people."
"Says the girl who blew me in the Quidditch stands," he said without missing a beat. "During a game."
She turned a lovely shade of red that made him grin wolfishly up at her. His fingers walked across the flesh of her thighs beneath her skirt as he pleaded with his eyes at her. She whined in the back of her throat and sighed before tipping her head back and closing her eyes.
"Is that a yes?" he asked and after a moment, she drew her bottom lip between her teeth and nodded.
He smirked again and pushed her skirt up, tucking it around her so that it stayed out of the way. He then let his hands glide up her skin until his fingers could curl around her knickers and drag them down. He removed them from her legs with ease and then placed his hands at the backs of her knees, lifting them over his shoulders. She inhaled sharply above him and took the initiative to place her feet on the table behind him, her legs falling open for him. He went his lips and then closed the distance to taste her.
She moaned quietly and he felt her slide forward on the chair just enough. He felt one of her hands in his hair, her fingers just threading through his locks as his tongue ran up the length of her slit. He hummed against her as pushed the muscle into her opening. She immediately clenched at him, begging for more, but he noticed the way she winced. He pulled his head up and looked at her.
She shook her head at his silent question and pushed his head back down. He took her word for it and resumed his ministrations, alternating between tasting, licking, and sucking at her clit in between devouring all she had to offer. He told himself if she did it again, he would stop. He lifted his right hand to her thigh and she laid her hand over top of his.
Distantly, he heard the sound of the bell and when she tried to move, he tightened his hold on her and shook his head against her lap. "Draco, class-"
"Fuck class," he mumbled, moving to nip at the inside of her thigh. His gaze flickered upwards as she looked around at the shuffling sound of students coming and going. "Do you want me to stop?" he asked.
She shook her head immediately, her eyes begging. "No," she replied, her voice faltering. "Don't… Don't ever stop."
He didn't think he could get as hard as those words made him just then. He licked his lips, moaning at the taste of her there and inclined his head. "Then quit moving."
She nodded again and sighed with relief as he leaned in again. He traced figure eights up and down her slit, making sure to alternate missing and hitting her clit at different intervals. He could feel the tremble in her thighs and judging from the way her fingers were practically ripping his hair out of his head, she was close to coming. Her moans were still stifled, but they were becoming more frequent. And soon, with one well timed suckle to her clit, her body seized with a heavy sigh before she fell apart around him. He lapped at her through her orgasm and pulled away when she was too sensitive to let him continue.
Licking his lips and wiping them on the back of his hand, he got off the floor and slid in to the seat beside her. He summoned her knickers and after she caught her breath, she cleaned herself up, slid back into her knickers, and smoothed down her skirt. "You really should go to class," she said pointedly.
He sighed and smirked at her. "Next time will you please keep reading the damn book?" he asked as he stood to pack his things.
"Next time?" she squeaked.
He grinned and winked at her. "I've had you in the pitch, my bed, my childhood bed, a classroom, and now a library. I want you everywhere, Hermione. All the time."
She looked down, but he still saw her blush profusely. "Technically you've only tasted me here and in the pitch."
He groaned as the strain of his pants became borderline painful. "Please tell me you plan on letting me fix that technicality," he begged.
She swallowed hard and then looked up at him, a slight tilt to her head. "I can be persuaded."
"Thank Merlin."
She laughed and it brought a smile to his face. She packed her things as well and then reached for his hand when she came to stand beside him. "I'll walk you to class," she said and began to lead the way.
On the way out, he did a double take at the sight of Riddle down one of the stacks near where they had been. He smirked at his dormmate and licked his lips for added measure. He hoped he had seen them; watched as he made his witch come under his tongue. Maybe the more Riddle saw that she was Draco's, he would leave her alone.
"Meet me in the kitchen's after for lunch," she said and kissed him goodbye once they arrived at the classroom for Ancient Runes.
After class let out, Draco stayed behind a moment to finish his conversation with Kerus and the Hufflepuff that had partnered with them for the day. As he stepped into the hall, Kalista pushed off the wall and fell into step next to him. "Hey, Draco, can I talk to you for a minute?"
He looked around the corridor as the majority of people filtered towards the Great Hall for lunch and nodded. Hermione knew he was coming; he could take a minute to talk to her dormmate. "Sure, what's up?"
"Has Harmony spoken to you about what happened on Saturday?"
He looked around again and then gently cupped her elbow before leading her off to the side near one of the windows. "She told me that she was overwhelmed and went to catch a breath. She gets anxious in crowds like that."
Kalista nodded and he saw the conflict in her eyes. "I guess I could see that," she muttered. "It's just… When she came out of the bathroom with Tom-"
"What?"
He hadn't meant to make her jump, but he couldn't contain the rage that boiled up inside of him at her words.
Kalista gave him a pained expression and he forced himself to soften his features. "She didn't look very good. Tom said it was that she'd had too much to drink and needed help to the loo. It makes sense if she wasn't feeling well, but it was just… Odd."
He bristled at that. He remembered Hermione having one drink. One. One that she had been nursing for quite some time and still was when he left. "Odd how?"
"Someone said they saw her throw her drink in his face and when I saw her…" She let her voice trail off and smiled apologetically. "I don't want to get in the middle of anything."
"The rumors are just that," he assured her with gritted teeth. He forced himself to remain calm so he could get all the facts straight. "He just escorted her to the loo?"
"I'm pretty sure they were both in there."
"How long?"
"I- I don't know, Draco. You should really talk to Harmony. I have to go."
He watched her walk away and leaned back against the wall, letting his knuckles scrape briefly along the jagged stone. He felt as though he had been hit by the Hogwarts Express. He had left the party for five, maybe ten minutes. He had left Hermione with her friends. She had been herself; smiling and having a good time. No Riddle in sight. Then when he had returned, Hermione wasn't there and he'd asked Kalista to check her room and see if she was in there. Hermione hadn't said anything upon her return about seeing Riddle. In fact, she had avoided all questions pertaining to the party whenever it came up.
His mind raced with thoughts of all kinds while his gut told him he already knew the reason. He just didn't want it to be true. He would get to the bottom of it. He just needed a way to talk to Riddle. A way that Hermione wouldn't have any idea about.
"Y-you're book," she stammered. "The one I linked to mine. Where is it?"
"In my bag."
"I wrote to you," she whispered.
The memory of that day came rushing back to him. He had recalled the panic in her eyes as she brought it up; the way her voice trembled and fell when she said she had wrote to him. But he hadn't received any messages. The book never warmed or gave any indication she had written him.
He thought of the other day when she had met him after class; the day where he had asked about her book and she played it off as having gone for a walk.
Lastly, he recalled when she had first made the books. She had explained to him later that she had gotten the idea from the first Horcrux they destroyed. The diary.
Riddle.
It always came back to him.
Draco pushed himself away from the wall and made his way towards the kitchens. He needed to cool down and find a way to get Hermione's book from her. He had theory to test.
For the rest of the day and the next, Draco watched Hermione and Riddle like a hawk. He tracked their every move, every interaction. He cataloged everything they did against what he thought he knew. He recalled Hermione's nightmares and wondered how many of those were based on reality. He stacked what he knew against what Kalista had told him on Tuesday as well.
Wednesday night, as they cozied up in front of the fireplace in the mock Gryffindor tower, he came to the conclusion that something was going on. He knew he had had this thought before; that either she didn't remember the incidents after they happened or she did and he wasn't forcing her compliance. Either scenario left a sour taste in his mouth. One thing he knew for sure was that the book was a key piece.
When Hermione went to the bathroom before they needed to head back to the dorms, Draco removed the book from her bag and stashed it into his own. He had to think about his next move, but he intended on making one soon.
Wednesday, 3 December 1944
Each night that she spent in her own dorm, Hermione found herself in the bathroom practicing Grey magic by altering her appearance. Wednesday night was no different. Draco had made an excuse to turn in early and she tried not to take it personally. Something had happened between when she walked him to class to him meeting her in the kitchens the day before. But she couldn't fault him for keeping secrets when she had been keeping rather large ones of her own.
But after a whole day of a strange indifference, Hermione's guilt prevented her from sleeping. Instead of going back to her bed, she slipped out the door and took off towards the library. She sat at the back of the room on a windowsill that overlooked the grounds. She could see the hut in the distance and tried not to focus on it too much. Instead, she thought of the plants that Hagrid always tried so hard to keep alive. Of the rose bush that she had only seen bloom once in Fourth Year.
Just as with changing her appearances and bringing the bird back to life, she wondered if she could push more boundaries. She spread her palms before her and concentrated on her magic. She thought of the roses Hagrid had been so proud of. They were small and yellow; beautiful. She focused on her breathing; slow breaths in and slow breaths out.
Her eyes went wide she felt the air shift above her palms. Slowly, her magic lifted up from her skin in dust like particles, swirling and knitting together to form the yellow rosebud in her thoughts. She smiled in triumph as it settled into her palm, registering that she only felt faintly nauseous in her endeavors.
"Impressive."
She wasn't surprised that Riddle had sensed her leaving the dungeons and followed her here. She curled her fingers around the flower and it disappeared in a burst of colorful smoke. "I suppose I should thank you."
"It is long overdue," he said, moving to stand beside her, his hips resting near her shoulder.
"Conjuring the rose didn't make me die, so there's that."
"How fortunate for us," he said, reaching down to pull her to her feet.
She didn't say anything as he spun her towards the window and gently bent her forward at the waist. She swallowed hard and stared out at the hut as he hooked his fingers around the waistband of her pajama bottoms and pulled them along with her knickers down her legs. She widened her stance automatically and moments later he was pushing into her.
She steadied herself with her palms flat against the window. She barely registered his hands on her hips as he rocked in and out of her at a steady rhythm. This was nothing like their encounter at the party. She supposed she was grateful for that, though it still shattered her soul.
She continued to stare at the hut and think of nothing but yellow roses while he took what he wanted from her. When he was finished, he bent down to bring her clothes back up around her waist and left without a word. She only knew he was gone by his retreating reflection in the panes of glass where she had disturbed the frost with her hands.
Ignoring his release that pooled in her knickers, she sat at the windowsill again and conjured up another rose, her tears falling on her cheeks like the snow on the window.