AHH I'm extremely sorry. It's been another seven months. and I've been so swamped by schoolwork I haven't had the chance to update at ALL. I think I'm just going to stop promising to update, and just do it whenever I have a chance. I promise I'll finish this fanfic though… eventually...
Disclaimer: Not mine, la de dah de dum.. de dum.
Okay recap!:
Malfoy's mind was racing. He had promised to relinquish Hermione to the Gryffindors in a week. But a week wasn't enough. It took three years for him to learn how to be a competent Shadowstalker; how could she, only nominally more intelligent than he, learn three year's material within seven days?
Malfoy's mind went blank. He had promised a week, and a week it would be.
But what if Hermione doesn't want to return to Potter?
Then what?
Chapter 11
The wood was a dark, rosy grain, and it stretched seven and a half feet above the stone ground on which Hermione was sitting. Her behind ached where it had been pressed into the cold floor, and the wood door frame upon which she was leaning pressed hard grooves into her back. Hermione's quill darted quickly over the parchment draped across her knees, scratching out runes and filling in translations.
A knock shook the door slightly, causing Hermione to jerk involuntarily, and drop her quill. "Come in," she called, quickly gathering her belongings.
The door clicked open and a blonde head stuck itself into the room. "Busy?" Draco Draco asked.
"Just finishing up Arithmancy," Hermione replied, stacking her books and parchments into neat piles on her table.
Draco crossed the room and wrapped his arms around Hermione's waist. His fingers, laced at her stomach, rubbed lazily across the zipper of Hermione's velvet hoodie. Happy surprise jolted into Draco's mind, and in spite of himself, he smiled. Burying his lips into the hood of the jacket, Draco murmured, "Want to get a start on those lessons then?"
Hermione was confused. "Lessons? Lessons for what?" She flinched slightly as she felt a foreign annoyance lick at the edge of her conscience.
Draco groaned silently. Don't tell me she's forgotten that she is a shadowstalker? Slightly annoyed, Draco stepped away from Hermione, then led her to the bed. "Sit down," He ordered, and began to explain.
"Hermione, you are a shadowstalker. Shadowstalkers have traditionally been pure bloods descended from long lines of aristocracy, but once every few decades, a half-blood or mudblood shadowstalker shows up. The concept of shadowstalking is simple: the stadowstalker can, at will, remove his or her spirit from its residence, the body. He or she can then either traverse in an alternate conscience, or jump from body to body, similar to the Dark Lord's previous residence within bodies that were not his own. Although there are many who hold the potential to become Shadowstalkers, a majority of these people do not realize that they have this talent. A majority of the rest, those who can tap into their abilities, are too weak to control their powers, and either are stuck in said alternate conscience forever, or become suspended mid leap between two consciences. The ending result is similar to a dementor's kiss, where the person's body becomes an empty shell."
Draco paused, noticing Hermione's look of skepticism and disbelief. Laughing lightly, he poked her in the ribs. "Don't believe me, eh?"
Hermione, smiling, shook her head no. Draco winked, and laced his fingers with Hermone's. Rubbing his thumb gently across her index finger, he sqeezed Hermione's hand.
Draco's body suddenly went slack, and slumped forward. His head fell forward onto Hermione's bed, and blond hair obscured his suddenly blank eyes. His hand was limp in Hermione's, and the pulsing warmth faded slowly. Hermione leapt up, horrified, and shook Draco's lifeless fingers from her grip. Heart racing, her mouth formed the beginning of a terrified scream.
"Don't scream," a deep voice commanded.
Hermione impulsively shut her mouth. "Who's there?" She called out, eyeing Draco's body and searching desperately for a sign of life.
"You know, your voice is unusually high when you're scared. It's quite amusing." Lightly derisive, the suddenly familiar voice brought a wave of relief that washed away Hermone's terror.
On Hermione's bed, Draco stirred lightly as his muscles jolted themselves awake. His eyes opened, then closed and opened and closed and opened as he blinked blearily. Brushing hair from his eyes, Draco stood up and stretched.
Hermione fumed. "How could you have done that? You scared me to death! Don't you EVER dare do that again without a warning! You little…" Hermione searched in her mind for a proper obscenity, and coming up blank, left her sentence trailing.
Draco laughed, dodging Hermione's accusing jabs. "How I did that is a matter of practice. The process itself is not hard; it's a bit like apparition. You think hard about where you want to go, and then you fill yourself with a seemingly insatiable desire to be there. Then, click your heels together, and there you are. Well… not literally clicking your heels, but you know what I mean. Also, physical contact makes the jump from mind to mind much easier. Y'know how I squeezed your hand? That by itself saved me a lot of pain in the process."
"The thing with Shadowstalking, though, is that, unlike apparition, you can't just aim blindly and hope you don't miss your mark by too far. The consequences of incomplete attention while attempting to transipsysome, which is what we call moving the soul, are much worse than splicing your body. If you ever do practice it, make sure that nothing will disturb you. If you are distracted at all, you may end up splicing your soul."
Draco smiled darkly, and foreboding curled itself around Hermione's thoughts. "Would you like to try?" He asked softly.
Hermione's stomach clenched nervously. To do or not to do? Hermione wondered, her imagination conjuring unpleasant thoughts of floating in oblivion, and the horrible, hollow stare of her own, empty body. Steeling herself at the thoughts, she smiled with a confidence she did not have. "Let's do it."
Pansy knelt by the keyhole of the mahogany door. Blocking out all extraneous noise from her perception, she strained to hear Hermione's conversation with Draco. The last few sentences of Draco's ominous explanation floated through the door. Splicing your soul, Pansy mused. It didn't sound particularly pleasant. She smirked, already calculating the dozens of ways she could use her new knowledge to her advantage, and sauntered away.
Gripping Draco's hand with an iron-set determination, Hermione hardened her mind. Draco's mind, she thought. Her nails dug into Draco's flesh, tearing small gashes in his palm. Draco made no noise of complaint, and stared in Hermione's eyes, doubting that she could see him. In her eyes he found willpower stronger than any he had ever seen. Her eyes were cold, and drilled into his own. He felt her grip tightening as she prepared for the mental leap. Draco's eyebrows furrowed slightly in worry; although Hermione seemed confident, she had no idea what she was dong. He had seen past her facade and realized the insecurity behind her insistent strength. But sooner or later, it had to happen; the first leap could not be put off. The first leap was unforgettable… it always has been.
Focus. Focus. Focus. Draco's mind. I want to be there. I MUST be there. Focus. Hermione's mind reeled in an unending chant. Focus. Hermione gagged as she felt the edges of her conscience blur and contract, and the shock waves of constriction hit her like a wall. Focus. She forced her mind to remain on her destination. Draco's mind. This time, her conscience expanded, stretched until Hermione felt like she would break. Her hand jerked and shook in Draco's. Focus, dammit. Hermione felt as if she was insubstantial, stretching to fit into the bigger universe outside her body. Her mind painfully continued expanding, and her body, although not harmed at all, protested weakly. Her limbs were on fire, her skin peeled back, raw and bleeding. Bones snapped and arteries broke, and an icy blade plunged into her stomach, once, twice, three times. A phantom hand wrapped itself around her heart, choking and squeezing until…
All at once, the pain stopped. Hermione's soul was suspended, spinning dizzily, caught in a vortex of color and confusion. Swirls of black and reds and blues and greens throbbed, each wave nudging Hermione's soul gently and sending it slowly in a different direction. Hermione felt a sensation akin to pricking at the back of her neck. Something felt wrong.
And she reeled, as they hit her. Billions of consciences, tearing at her own, each seeming like it wanted to take a piece of her with them. Take me with you, they seemed to beg, save me! Hermione tried to wrench her conscience away from the tendrils of souls, but her lack of substance prevented any result. Focus, focus! Her mind cried. Focus! But already, Hermione felt her conscience losing focus, slipping away as it began to relinquish itself to the unrelenting pull of the lost souls.
Through the vortex, a particularly strong tendril reached for her. It bore the resemblance of a knife hurtling through space, and Hermione recoiled as it came plunging towards her. Expecting to feel a blade's sharp edge biting into her skin, Hermione tried to pull away. Instead, the tendril tugged slightly at her conscience, and slightly curious, she merged herself with it.
"Not bad," Draco's voice echoed in the wake of the retreating consciences.
Hermione shuddered. "That was horrible. Why would anyone willingly subject themselves to that?
Draco rolled his eyes, annoyed. Of course Hermione wouldn't understand the power that came with complete control of one's own mind. "Think of it," he said. "You can do anything: take over someone or something, escape your body before it can be dealt mortal damage. Think of all the possibilities, Hermione. Endless power over the weakest part of a mortal being: his soul."
And with a gentle push, Hermione's conscience was extricated from that of Draco's, and she felt the inexplicable pull of her body yearning for its core. With a gentle shudder, her body and spirit melded back together, and Hermione blinked, finding herself crumpled on the floor with Draco collapsed almost completely on top of her. Feeling horrendously sore, she pushed futilely against Draco's body, willing his weight to shift. Giving up, she relaxed her body, and allowed Draco's warmth to seep into her skin.
Draco had woken up seconds before Hermione had, and watched her shudder to life through slitted eyes. Sniggering silently at her attempts to shift him, he feigned sleep and concentrated on the push of Hermione's small, soft hands against his waist. Strangely, he had stopped feeling repulsed. What had once been to him filth, unworthy of even a look, had now become something normal, expected, even comforting. He tried to push the thoughts away, but no matter what he did he just could not extricate himself from the fact that he was beginning… to like her.
Draco sighed silently, the expelling breath causing his body to sink into Hermione's. God, her small body felt so good pressed against his. Relishing the slow rise and fall of her chest against his, Draco gave up his inhibitions, and ran his tongue up the side of her neck, where his own head was comfortably rested.
Hermione's eyes popped open. "Draco!" She yelled, trying to push away from his head. The tip of his tongue left a wet trail on her neck and where skin met skin, chills burnt with a tiny but significant flame. Against her will, Hermione moaned.
Draco took that as a sign to continue. He let his tongue drag up the side of her neck to her ear and propped himself on his elbows. He nibbled the lobe of her ear gently and breathed a gush of warm, then cold air into Hermione's ear, eliciting fresh moans and a slightly painful grip on his waist.
Hermione had no idea what to do. She supposed they'd done this before, considering he was her boyfriend, but as far as Hermione's memory went, she could not dig up a single recollection that gave her any clue how to react. Helpless while pinned under Draco and utterly confused, Hermione gave in and allowed Draco his will.
Draco was getting bored with just playing with Hermione. He had tired of licking and biting her ear, and had moved back to her neck. But he dreaded the idea of kissing her on the lips. He had done it already, but it was a rash decision, made to shut Hermione up from saying anything she shouldn't have. Now, he hesitated. To kiss her properly was to confess to his inner demon that he felt an attraction to this girl, this ordinary, muggle-born girl. At the same time, he longed desperately to feel again the soft warmth of her lips on his, the hesitant hand placed gently on his hip. His tongue traced its own way up her chin, and around the curve of her lips. His tongue flicked the underside of her lip. Then, abruptly, he stopped.
Hermione felt Draco's tongue leaving the edge of lip, and the gush of cold air that indicated a sharp intake of breath. She was instantly alert, and worried. Draco's thoughts betrayed no emotion; it was as if a stone wall had come between the two consciences. "What's wrong?" Hermione asked, her voice soft, smooth, slightly hoarse from gasping her lust into Draco's shoulder.
Draco started to shake. Swinging his head from side to side, he looked at Hermione through pleading eyes, willing her to understand. Of course she wouldn't. She didn't know. She couldn't recall the hatred, the spite; she was not reliving six years of undeniable antagonism within a single second. Draco knew he was being unfair, but he felt as if he had no other choice. He shook the last doubts from his mind, and muttered, "I can't," a slight tremor in his voice betraying confusion and nerviousness. "I can't," he repeated to Hermione's confused look, then lifted himself off the floor and walked out the door, forcing himself not to look back.
YAYYY DONEE!! THAT TOOK SO LONGG!!!!
Okay so I hope you guys like it… and REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW PLEASEEEE!!!
yes, i thrive on the fluffy goodness of reviews. :smiles sappily:
x3
Princess of daemons