Chapter Twelve: Invincible
"I want to find you, tear out all your tenderness,"
Howl-Florence and the Machine
Draco jolted awake, blinking furiously to clear the drowsiness in his eyes.
He was covered in sweat, his sheets clung to his pale skin, twisting around his legs and tangling in his arms. His boxers were hot and sticky, he could feel the result of his dream on his thighs.
What a dream.
His body ached-not out of pain, but desire. His penis was still erect, his hips ached to push into a body; a live, heated body, pulsing with blood and desire, not what was his dream had conjured for him. He pushed his hair back and cleared the mess wandlessly as he sat up in his bed, panting slightly.
His other hand was clenched into a tight fist; he must have had it that way for a while because his hand muscles were stiff and sore when he opened his hand.
Inside was her hair ribbon, the pink one he had taken from her room before the mission.
He wondered how he had got it in his sleep, seeing as he had set it on his desk earlier, but it didn't matter. He rubbed the piece between his fingers and brought it to his nose. It still faintly smelled like her.
Snippets of the dream flashed through his mind: a tangle of curls in his fist, a red mouth parted in a scream, soft white skin that made his nerves sing as he touched it. Mouths pressed together, her soft lips yielding to his demanding kisses, hands that explored freely, greedily taking in every detail, every curve. A heat that threatened to engulf him.
He had not seen her entire face or body in the dream, only brief glimpses of a certain part, a snatch of skin, a trembling chin, small hands, a wide eye, a fine leg.
Oh, but he had heard her.
Little cries and moans, desperate noises tumbling from her throat and past her plump lips that only served to drive his need further and further 'til he thought it could never be satisfied. He thought of the last time he had seen her, when he had held her pulsing throat in his hands as she kicked and twisted and scratched to get him away. He could still feel her warmth. In fact, at times, he could still feel her skin underneath his fingers, even though she was nowhere nearby.
He swore softly.
This was the fourth time he had had this dream, the first of them taking place the previous Sunday. Coincidentally it was Sunday again, and it was three in the morning as well. Draco tore his sheets away from his body and reached for the lamp beside his bed.
Now that there was some light, he stood and walked over to the bureau where an old Daily Prophet lay, the yellowed edges of its pages crumbling.
MALFOY ATTACKS IN HOGSMEADE, the headline blared up at him.
His eyes skimmed over the article, taking in the words but not really reading them. He knew them by heart, anyhow. A picture of him had been placed in the center of the front page, along with the details of the attack. What he found amusing was that they had not revealed whom he had attacked. Also omitted from the story was the involvement of Potter and Weasley.
Of course they wouldn't mention them, they're already under much speculation as it is, he thought. They know I tried to grab her before, and what with Potter's design to defeat Voldemort…
Irritation swelled up inside him but he forced it back down.
You lost control once, and if you let that happen again, it's all over, he scolded himself as he tossed the paper back down.
It had been weeks since then, and though he worked at finding another way to take her, he was no closer than he had been on the first day. His spy was tracking the girl, reporting everything back to him in case he could find something useful. He had bits and pieces, but he needed much more to be able to formulate a concrete plan.
But damn it all, as much as he loved this hunt, it was taking its toll on him.
His dallies in Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley with the random witches had ceased long ago. He was in no danger of being caught or linked to the kidnappings and murders, of that he was sure. But he was tired of the next best thing. He wanted the real thing.
He wanted her.
He could think of nothing else, of no one else.
He craved her, he needed her.
Each day that passed by that he did not have her, he could feel his frustration growing and morphing into a ravenous, dangerous beast that demanded her with every step, with every breath. He wished nothing more than to be able to simply walk into the great castle where the cherished princess was kept and claim her right there before hoarding her in his domain like the dragon he was.
If only it were that easy. He sighed.
A quick glance at his clock told him ten minutes had passed since he had risen. He briefly entertained the idea of going back to bed, but decided he had rather not. He was wide awake now so it would be pointless to go to bed again. His body itched for movement, and he stretched as he walked into his bathroom. He would need to make some 'calls' later.
The common room was empty and that was how she liked it.
Neville was rarely there anymore other than at night, he usually spent most of the day with Luna as soon as they were out of class. A while ago, Hermione would have been sad that she barely spent any time with him anymore, but now, she realized she preferred being alone, unless Harry or Ron were around. But at the moment, both were outside training for an upcoming Quidditch match. She couldn't remember if they were against either Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff, but it didn't matter.
It struck her as odd, the way they had been acting lately. Ron seemed to be stuck in a bad mood most of the time-on several occasions already he and she had got into silly little arguments over practically nothing. When he wasn't grouchy, however, she could plainly read there was guilt hiding in his eyes. She had inquired many times if he was okay, what was wrong, and if she could help, but each time the guilty look would worsen and he would hastily assure her nothing was wrong, and leave. Harry was mum on the subject as well, whatever it was. This frustrated her greatly, as she wanted to know what was going on with them. Part of her felt as though she were to blame; with everything that had happened, now Harry and Ron were constantly worried about her, fretting over every little thing that might upset her. She felt eternally grateful for them; for where would she be if they had not rescued her?
She had sat down on the couch with the intent to knock a few homework assignments out of the way but she had done that far too quickly, and had been left with nothing to do but continue reading. It was too cold outside for her to take a walk, and the library held little appeal for her on a day such as this. She had only ever gone back to her favorite spot once, earlier in the year, when she had wanted to be alone, but upon reaching it, she had been engulfed in a nightmarish memory of what had happened the last time she had been there.
She had not been back since. Hermione wanted nothing to do with the place after Malfoy and his despicable actions had besmirched it. That didn't mean she didn't miss it, though. That little spot in the library had been like a second home to her; a refuge of sorts, and she couldn't help but feel an intense hatred towards him for ruining it for her.
Now all she had was here, the Head Students dorm, and the Gryffindor Tower, the latter in which she spent less time than she would have liked to admit. Since the ambush, Harry and Ron had spent as much time as they could with her, and while most of the time their presence was welcome and enjoyable, at times she couldn't help but feel smothered. Which was why today, though they had not wanted to go to the practice, she had all but kicked them out of the room for some alone time.
She shifted in her seat so that she lay down on her back, and held the book just above her so she could still read its contents, though a bit awkwardly.
"Hermione."
She looked up, surprised at the sudden harsh voice that had broken her moment of peace.
Neville stood in front of her, arms crossed and a scowl on his face.
"What?" she asked stupidly, blinking. She had been lost in thought before he had accosted her; until now she had not realized she had been reading the same sentence over and over repeatedly for the last fifteen minutes. She thought she heard an odd sound by the door but could not ponder on it further because Neville was speaking again.
"This has to stop," he said, gesturing at her.
Now Hermione was utterly perplexed. "My studying? What are you talking about?"
"No, not that," he said impatiently. "You haven't been yourself at all this year."
"People change," she said dismissively.
"Not like you have," he said. "You're not the Hermione I used to know. You're a shadow."
"What is this all about?" Hermione demanded.
"You know it's true," he said.
Hermione sat up and closed her book, placing it upon her lap. "I can't be happy every second of every day when all this has happened. I've been through a lot, Neville. Surely you can understand that?"
More than you know, Neville thought sadly as he looked at her.
"Of course I understand, Hermione. But this isn't you. One thing I've always admired about you is that you never back down. You never let anything get to you. But now you're scared all the time-even if Harry and Ron can't see it, I can."
"I was attacked, Neville. He tricked me and-"
"I know it was Malfoy."
Hermione stared at him, wide-eyed.
"Harry told me everything that happened last year."
Upon seeing her face tighten with anger, he added, "He only told me because he was concerned about you, Hermione. He wanted me to look out for you. Don't get mad at him."
Hermione closed her eyes and cleared her throat.
"If you know, then surely Harry told you what he did."
"He didn't go into specifics," Neville said, "But from what he said, it was pretty bad."
"If you know that much, and if you know that he attacked me and tried to kidnap me, then how-how can you expect me to act like everything is okay?" she asked, clenching and unclenching her fists.
"No-that's not what I meant-"
"THEN WHAT?" she shouted suddenly, making him jump. "WHAT DID YOU MEAN?"
"Please calm down, Hermione," Neville pleaded nervously.
"DON'T YOU BLOODY DARE TELL ME TO CALM DOWN, NEVILLE LONGBOTTOM," Hermione screeched. "HOW WOULD YOU FEEL IF YOU'D BEEN STALKED AND HARASSED FOR A YEAR AND THEN NEARLY KIDNAPPED TWICE? HOW WOULD YOU FEEL IF YOU WERE TRICKED INTO TRUSTING SOMEONE YOU THOUGHT COULD HELP YOU?"
At this point, Neville was cringing at her words- he felt very stupid for having brought her to this state. Tears were streaming down her face, her nose had turned red and there were two pink splotches on her cheekbones to attest to her anxiety.
"TELL ME, HOW WOULD YOU FEEL IF SOMEONE HAD BEEN KILLED BECAUSE OF YOU? AND YOU COULDN'T PREVENT SOMEONE ELSE'S DEATH?"
She made a choking sound then, and covered her face with her hands, turning away from him, her shoulders hunching over.
"Don't you dare pretend to know what I've been through," she brokenly whispered.
A terse silence permeated the space between them, neither saying another word.
Neville was at a loss. He had never seen her this way. Of course, he had seen her snap at Harry and Ron before, it was a common occurrence that the rest of the Gryffindor House be treated to a random showing of Hermione berating the two young men for reasons aplenty. But she seemed utterly deflated now, and it scared him.
"Please leave," she whispered hoarsely.
"I'm not leaving you like this," Neville declared. "You can't keep doing this to yourself."
"Doing what, exactly?" she asked angrily, impatiently batting an errant curl out of her eye.
"You're letting him win, Hermione," he said exasperatedly. "You have to fight it."
"How?" Hermione breathed.
"You've always been strong. Don't lose that," he pleaded. She made no answer for a moment, she simply stared blankly out the window at the darkened sky.
"I'm not invincible, Neville," she whispered.
"I never said you have to be," he said carefully. "I only mean that you have to move past this. What he did to you was horrible and wrong, but it could have been worse. What matters is you are alive and well, and he can't get at you again. We'll make sure of it."
She nodded absently, and he worried that she did not believe him.
Wiping at her cheeks, Hermione stood slowly and shuffled over to Neville to wrap her arms around him. Neville stroked her head, which was buried into his shoulder.
"Thank you," she said quietly, and before he could reply she had broken the embrace and shut herself into her room.
The next day after the double Transfiguration lesson with Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, Hermione and Neville were pulled aside by Professor McGonagall, who advised them to begin planning for the upcoming Christmas ball.
Both she (Prof. McGonagall) and Neville were cautious in their approach on the topic, since they both knew what had happened at the last two balls, and while Hermione appreciated the sentiment, didn't really care much for the event. Of course she would help prepare it, but she simply would not go. Hermione had not bothered to tell either of them this, nor was she planning to. She simply would not go. She knew Harry and Ron would understand-at least, she hoped they would. She decided then she would go to the Gryffindor Common Room to speak to Ginny, as she hadn't spoken to her in a few days.
Hermione turned on the spot and headed in the opposite direction of which she had been going, since she had been headed back to her dorm before she had made the quick decision. Neville had gone off in search of Luna after their conference with McGonagall, and Harry and Ron were in the library, rushing to finish a Potions essay that was due later. Hermione quickened her pace, taking care not to bump into any of the nearby students. She nodded and smiled at those who greeted her in passing, but made no move to stop and have a chat. She felt on edge all of a sudden.
It was an odd feeling, as though someone or something was dragging a sheet of foil over her skin, making her feel prickly and strange. She cast a furtive glance around herself and noticed nothing out of the ordinary, and that reassured her a little. It was warm in the busy corridor so she raised her arms and began to twist her hair into a tight bun, finishing it with the elastic on her wrist. Just as she lowered her arms she walked right into Filch, who had been bent over scraping at something on the floor with a filthy mop.
"Sorry," she sputtered, stepping away.
She half expected him to yell at her. Instead, she was surprised (and relieved) when he merely clamped his lips shut and glared at her fiercely, his jowls quivering. She stood there stupidly for a second before she grimaced and walked away, raising her brows.
What was his problem? She wondered as she turned round a corner. He was probably having a very bad day, or maybe he just got crankier every year. Shaking her head, she pushed the incident out of her mind and continued on her way.
