A/N: Thanks for reviewing! The votes are in and the rating for this story will be T. I feel comfortable with this and it does not hinder me nor does it make people uncomfortable. Also, I would like to make everyone aware that this story has been nominated for Dramione Awards under marriage law fic, notable plot on Live Journal and I would greatly appreciate your support. Also, thanks to the reader who thought to nominate my story!

Stolen

Chapter 15: Control

As the rain assaulted the windows and Hermione's wrist collided painfully with the ground, she wondered for a second: was it wrong what she was doing? Wiping the blood from her mouth, she reciprocated upon her attacker, sending him into a heap on the floor at the opposite side of the room. Draco coughed fiercely. She wondered if he was hurt, but before she could ask if he was alright, a spell pulled her feet out from beneath her and dangled her upside down in the air. The blood rushing to her head kept her from thinking about much of anything after that. She had to focus. She had had to control her anger, her thoughts. He released the spell and she hit the floor with a thud, knocking the breath out of her. Acting quickly, she managed to momentarily blind him. That was a new one, and, being nonverbal as well, it took him by surprise, giving her just the upper hand she was waiting for. In a few moves she had him right where she wanted him…

She kept an unlabeled tally in her diary, just marks, no title or anything. Anyone reading it wouldn't know what it referred to, but it referred to their fights. They totaled 23 so far and she had won six of them. Tonight made seven. Proudly, she made the next mark in her diary. Wouldn't it be fitting, she briefly thought, to make the marks in blood? Catching herself smiling, her body was swept with cold chills. She shook the thought from her head, and then moved over to Draco's bed to finish mending his wrist and applying a little more salve to the burn she had made on his arm.

"What are you writing in that blasted diary all the time, Granger? Confessing your secret, undying love for me?"

"Of course," she answered sarcastically, avoiding the subject. He caught on to her diversionary tactics too quickly.

"You didn't answer me." She made no move to do so. "Answer me," he repeated. She glared in response. "What are you writing?" he tried again. She smiled at his curiosity. She could have fun with this.

"Wouldn't you love to know?"

"We'll make a deal."

"What kind of deal?" she asking, wrapping his arm.

"You only tell me what you were writing today,"

"And?"

"And what?"

"And what's your end of the deal?"

"I'll teach you something."

"You teach me something…" she said, unsure.

"You'll like it, I promise." She wasn't sure she liked the gleam in his eye when he said that, but she couldn't help but be drawn in by that morbid curiosity. That old adage about a cat came to mind, but now she brushed it away. She could not even recall how it went exactly anymore and she couldn't say that she cared. The thirst for knowledge won out again.

"What is it?"

"A bit of a surprise."

"Is it a spell?"

"Maybe."

"A dark one?" she worried.

"How about let us have a look at that diary page…" She moved cautiously from him, a strange instinctual reaction.

"And you promise you'll show me?"

"I promise."

She opened the page slowly and he leaned forward to see. "It's just a list." She told him.

"A list of what?" He took it from her. She hesitated in her answer.

Thus far, they had not spoken of what they did in the evenings, not even in private. Though it was deliberate, they seemed to be unable to admit it. Therefore, the event was never planned, nor was it openly proposed at the time or acknowledged afterwards. One of them would always start an argument and one would egg on the other until they were mad enough to cast the first curse. From there, they took out their aggressions brought on by every bother of their day upon each other. It was liberating, because the violence was guiltless. It was then seen as justified. The other deserved it; they asked for it; they were hurting them too.

'Besides, thought Hermione to herself, 'As soon as someone got hurt, they lost, and the game was over. Game? No, that was the wrong word, wasn't it? Whatever it was called, they had never spoken of it, before or after, even one it became part of their nightly routine. But,' she supposed, 'It was inevitable.'

"Our… battles." She called them, for lack of a better word.

"You keep score?" he asked in disbelief and partial amusement.

"Yes." She said defensively, taking back the book.

"If I had known that, I'd have tried harder."

"Oh."

"That gives me an idea." He got up suddenly and went to his drawer from which he extracted a familiar looking quill. "We can make the lines in blood, you know, to make it a bit more proper and…interesting."

She was startled that he had the same idea, and even more startled that he would actually propose it. However, what really disturbed her was that she was considering it.

"If I lose, I make a tally mark under your score in my blood and if you lose you make a tally under my score in your blood." He explained. "Unless you're scared of a little blood Granger..

She held out the diary in response. "Make your mark then." He did. The blood glistened on the page for a moment, and then it dried. His hand showed only a scratch.

"Now show me like you promised." She requested quietly. He raised an eyebrow, but acquiesced.

"Stand on your side of them room." She did so. "I'm going to teach you a very dark spell, Hermione and its counter curse." Hermione said nothing as, slowly, grinning like a jackal, he circled around her. "Are you familiar with the Dark Lord's favorite method of, shall we say, bending the will of his victim's."

"You mean his favorite torture?"

"In a word, yes. He's a master of his craft. Do you know how? The same way any ordinary tradesman is. Olivander is the best wandmaker because he best understands the wand. But what does the Dark Lord so greatly understand and respect?" She did not answer.

He went on, "Every one of the unforgiveable spells has the same goal, and do you know what that is?"

"To inflict pain upon the victim?"

"Wrong. You inflict pain upon the victim with Crucio, but that's only half the battle. It's not only about disabling them; it's about taking their dignity as well. Control. Imperio ultimately controls the victim's actions in a blunt sense. Avada Kendavra: the ultimate act of control and the most blasphemous, control over another person's life. The Dark Lord isn't dangerous because of what he can do to your body. People can endure pain. It's not even about the fear he instills. People can overcome fear. The source of the Dark Lord's power is he knows how to take your control. He gets into your head and you panic. Then, the loss of control drives you mad. You can't think, you can't react, and then he has you. Panic. I'm going to show you some of that now. Are you ready?"

"When you say show me-"

"I'm going to teach you how it was taught to me. You must understand what you are doing to your victim. That's what this school doesn't teach you. How are you going to properly fight something you don't understand?" he was getting frustrated, his distaste for the school's approach to Defense Against the Dark Arts more than evident in his voice. "You must understand if you want to fight it. You do want to fight it, don't you?"

She hesitated. "Yes."

"Are you afraid already?" his voice mocked her cruelly.

"No," she defied him. "Aren't you going to tell me what is going to happen so I can brace myself for it?"

"You won't know it's coming if someone hits you with it. Besides, it won't help to know. Abaero!"

She braced herself for the harsh blow that she was certain was to follow, but it did not come. No pain swept through her body and no wicked thoughts entered her mind. What did come did not come abruptly, but quite the opposite. She didn't feel any effect at first at all. Then, it dawned on her: she was not breathing. Her chest muscles instantly constricted, and she gulped for air. The cool gusts filled her mouth and throat, but it did not reach her hollow lungs. Impulsively, she gripped her throat, pounded her chest, gasped and gulped. Try as she might to force it in, it would not come. Every nerve in her body and her mind screamed at her, but it was like the air was pressing in on her like a heavy ocean, the weight of the water pressing down on her, suffocating her. She could think of not think of a jinx to throw at in return and no spell to try to relieve her suffering. She could think of nothing but oxygen and of her own helplessness as she breathed deeply and frantically in the midst of clear air. The terror of her former experience, of being poisoned back at Malfoy Manor, came over her. That terror began to consume her. It didn't take long for it to render her powerless, just as Draco had predicted. In spite of her previously bracing of herself and her usually strong self-control, chaos took over her mind and she fell to floor on her knees, gasping for breath she could not feel. She was begging Draco to release the curse, clinging to his robes, to undo it. At long last, he complied.

She lay helpless at his feet drawing in deeply breath after breath.

"Are you okay?" he asked her reluctantly.

"It was horrible." Evidence of her shame and fear slid down her face, so she kept her head low to hide it from him.

"I know."

"I couldn't breathe!"

"Actually, you could. The spell doesn't constrict your airways. It just makes you feel like you aren't breathing. Now you know."

"Now I know," she panted. With an extended hand, he helped her up.

After that, they had no need to pick fights anymore. Unsure of when or how to start them, one would catch the other off guard in their dormitory at night and jinx them. A mock battle would ensue. The unwritten rules were still followed and this time the score was kept in blood. It was not very painful at all.

Hermione was surprised to find she quite liked their little event being more out in the open and certain. At least she was able to take out all her anger, show all her skill. Draco's eyes burned like hot smoke and his hair flew into his face. Sometimes, he removed his shirt to show a pale, nicely formed chest, smooth with a few scars she found also surprisingly appealing. The way he looked at her sometimes, hungrily like a lion readying to pounce on his prey, vexed her for some unknown reason. Occasionally his coy or suggestive smile as he prowled made her squirm uncomfortably, but it also made her think, perhaps he too liked seeing her angry in they way she somehow enjoyed watching him.

Slowly, gradually, it became even more routine. They studied, they fought, they read, they went to bed. Still, nothing was said of it. They put away their books and stood, bowed, and the fighting commenced. However, it no longer ended quickly in a fiery outburst. Instead they skillfully worked their way up to an enraged state, adding stinging insults, and even crude threats, as they circled one another like expert swordsmen. Deny it as they might, it was a game she knew, and one full of taunts intended to get the other into frenzy, provoking violence. Each week however, the element of innocence faded and the level of violence intensified. Like any addiction, for that is what it had become for both though they would not admit it, each time they needed more to satiate their thirst for it. Each time it went further, became more dangerous, and therefore exciting. It was seductive, just as Snape said the dark side would be. Of course, she frequently reminded herself, fighting with Draco was hardly the dark arts.

It was mid October before they could bear to speak of it public, and then it was in a sort of code. "Meeting at six?" one would say in passing.

"Yes." The other would say. Sometimes though, Draco couldn't make it and Hermione would frankly be lost without her routine, her outlet.

"Out? Out where?" she snapped at him one evening he had to cancel.

"Nowhere, Mother." He growled, grabbing his cloak.

"What are you going to do?"

"Nothing." He was irritated.

"Well, you can do nothing right here."

"Try not to miss me too much." He shut the door with a snap.

She yelled furiously and threw an ink jar at the door in anger. "Damnit!" she shouted, surprising even herself. 'Perhaps it was an unhealthy addiction,' she thought. 'On the other hand, perhaps going a few days without it would make it better the next time around.' It did. That time, it was so long and challenging that afterwards they did not read as usual, but went straight to bed.

That night, it stormed terribly. Hermione awoke with a jolt to hear soft footsteps crossing her room. She peaked through her curtain, breath held in suspense, to see it was Draco. He was opening the window upon which the rain was falling. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, his figure became clearer. It had never looked more appealing. His robe was open allowing the cold rain to blow in on his bare chest. He breathed deeply. She took in the sweet smell of it too. Her sniff brought his attention to her. He squinted through the darkness and, realizing it was just her, proceeded to climb onto the ledge and out the window. A tiny gasp of surprise escaped Hermione. She left the warmth of her bed to investigate.

He was standing on the edge of the tower roof, looking like another black silhouette of the castle statues cut out in the darkness. The rain pelted him, smoothing him over. A chill from the cold, wet night breeze shook her and she rubbed her arms to rid them of goose pimples. Draco looked like he belonged out there on the ledge, as strange as it sounded. She felt that biting in her stomach that she feared he may fall to his death. He did not seem to notice her until she spoke over the gale.

"Draco, be careful!" He turned and looked at her then, strangely. It was as if she was someone he had not seen in a very long time and then he did something completely unexpected. He smiled at her. Genuinely smiled. As much as she fought it, as weird as it was, she couldn't help but return it in the slightest, even if only for a fraction of a second.

Draco must have known she hated heights. She certainly knew she hated them. Everyone knew Hermione Granger hated being off the ground, but for some strange reason she found herself accepting a hand and stepping cautiously onto the roof of the castle. Maybe she did it because he made it look so inviting and exhilarating. Maybe she was more afraid of backing down than of being out there. Mostly however, she was pretty sure she did it to see if she dared to take such a

risk, simply for the thrill it would give her, like any other reckless teenager. Dangling so dangerously close to death made her feel more alive.

It was not the same young man that watched the storms that she had hated throughout her early school years. It was not the same young man she hexed earlier that same night. She wondered what it was about the weather that transformed him.

After a while, the two sat down, wrapping their legs around the stone gargoyles for support, and dangling their feet off the side of the tower over the courtyard. There, in the silence and the rain, they watched the dark clouds roll over the Hogwarts grounds, the trees of the Forbidden forest blow over, and the bolts of lightening strike the ground. While, she may not have understood what attracted Draco to the storms, she couldn't argue with their appeal. It was not visual appeal alone, though the effect of the lightening on the landscape was hypnotizing. It was not just the soothing rumbling of the thunder and of the rain tapping the roof. The storm also had a scent, and there was something in the air that was physically intoxicating. It was a hum of power and palpable vibrations from the massive release of energy that captivated all of one's senses. The way Draco looked when he sat there was, well, odd. It was like it was more than that. The flashes of light revealed something else. His experience frightened him and comforted him at the same time. He looked wistful at times, almost lustful at others. He looked completely mad with his eyes wide, but at other times on the verge of tears. Though she did not know what came over him, she did not mind and she did not want to break the serenity that surrounded him by pestering him with her questions. Besides, his obsession lured her in.

They sat there until it slackened of to a misty drizzle and he stood, looking downcast. She followed his lead, entertaining no desire to stay out there alone. He climbed back in the window, but she hesitated. The thing she hated most about climbing up somewhere high was getting down. It seemed so much further to the floor of her room than it had coming out here. Draco, as out of it as he was, may only have noticed her still out there trapped on the ledge because he turned to close the window. He actually seemed surprised to see her there. For the third time he extended an arm, but this time it wrapped around her waist, shocking her. It squeezed lightly and lifted her up enough to place her down on the floor of their room. Her wet feet slipped a little on the hard wood floor as he blindly placed her down. She fell towards him. As he still had a hold of her, they were pressed uncomfortably close.

Their faces actually brushed softly together and the brief moment was surprisingly intimate. Perhaps it was the dark that made it seem so, or the fact that their clothes were soaked through and sticking to their chilled bodies, pressed up against one another. What was most strange was that they held each other tighter for a moment, catching their balance or absorbing body heat. Only once they had let go of each other and looked away, Hermione blushing, did they notice they were both trembling quite a bit. They stepped behind their dressing curtains, and proceeded to strip their wet clothes off in the dark, unable to keep from listening to the other do the same. Without a word each crawled into their respective beds.

This occurrence was not spoken of either. Hermione did not join him on the roof again. She heard him get up some nights, felt the rain blowing in, but she stayed put and listened.

After a short while, Draco no longer required Hermione's help studying. Instead the two became competitive in their grades as well and shared no more peaceful moments. The fighting continued. Each time the line of quitting slipped a little further and the stakes grew. As it grew, she felt herself on the edge of great discovery, but perhaps a bad one. The way things were going she knew it could be dangerous. So far all their injuries had been minor, and easily healed, but what if there was an accident. It happened to even the best of wizards. What if something else was happening, something underneath that was not as obvious as bruises and cuts. Soon, it became apparent what was going on.

After a particularly grueling day, having not fought Draco in two days straight, Hermione retired to her school work. Binns' test had been especially lengthy and the potion had been especially difficult. The homework had been pilled on. Under the school books were a plethora of restricted books she had lifted, all of them to help Harry with his all important search. Then, in from an extra long quidditch practice in the muggy weather outside, a flustered looking Draco requested while still out of breath: "Let's do it now."

Against her better judgment, Hermione Granger put away her books and took out her wand. She was changing. She could feel it deep within her, in the way the magic coursed through her body, and the way Draco made her feel with his burning eyes.

A/N: Thank you for reading. Please review.