Chapter 22
A Date To Remember
Terrence Higgs took daily swims. Everyone knew his hobby. Witches liked to linger in the outer corridors as he moved through the waters of the Black Lake just to catch a glimpse of his suit. He owned specialty swimwear that were charmed to endure the cold conditions of Scottish winter waters. The black fabric covered all his flesh. Just below his chin the swimsuit started and ended at his ankles. Winter cold did deter most of the prying eyes to the inner depths of the castle.
Today, he took a swim just after the evening meal. As far as Hermione could tell, she was the only one who watched him cross the lake. Terry rose from the waters a short while later. The bare of his feet as they stood buried in mounds of white snow looked painful. He remained unbothered.
The stack of his folded clothes levitated behind him as he traced through the rocky beach back to the Hogwarts. The long strands of his hair dripped water onto his shoulders. His flesh was animated with color; the blood brought to the surface from the cool waters of the Black Lake.
Hermione Granger pictured him as a Californian surfer as he walked. Had he swung a board beneath his arm, he would have looked the part. It was an intoxicating scene. He was fit, and beautiful. Something so relaxed yet regal in his demeanor as he walked.
He smiled politely and waited for a pair of Ravenclaws to pass on the narrow walkway carved through the snow drifts. They exchanged a few polite greetings. His voice carried on the wind.
She forced her knees steady when his eyes fell upon her, in the threshold awaiting his return, but they had other ideas. A tickle behind her kneecap nearly brought her to the ground. Her hands gripped the stone wall with all her might. Teeth clenched.
She begged her courage not to abandon her to her ethics, which would swallow her whole if she allowed herself to think on it much longer. This required no thought. Just action.
Terry entered the castle only adorned in his diving suit and wand. There was still the solid black necklace at his throat. A shiny single silver ring rested in his ear. A droplet dripped from the flowing black of his locks. She had to wipe away the drool from the corner of her mouth before he noticed the literal allure.
Damn Malfoy and the hormones he left unsatisfied. Would she ever be normal again?
"My, my. What a surprise." Terry pulled at the taut snap at the back of his neck. The top of his suit relaxed at it was pulled apart. "Managed to escape from him, I see."
"Seems like he has been yearning to escape from me," she replied.
Terry remained quiet. He did, though, mumble a charm to warm his dripping wet body.
Her eyes were too attracted to the silhouette he cut in that suit. She forced herself to glance back at her hands. "I thought I might take you up on your offer."'
She chewed her bottom lip. It was not easy to contain herself.
His brows were slow on their ascent upward. "Finally found something better to do."
"Well there was a line at the Astronomy Tower so…" Hermione grinned.
He chuckled. "Where's the prat at, anyway?"
"Probably planning his date." She shrugged.
Terry whistled a long, low note. "He's more of a wanker than I thought."
The question remained unanswered. It allowed room for the unwanted penetration of rejection as she waited, the quiet between them rather poised on the assumption that he would answer her request. Her finger hooked beneath another. She shifted her weight, moving more than an impatient six-year-old.
"Do you mind if we walk and talk? I am in nothing but a soaking bather."
Her face blushed. "Right. Of course."
They walked in a cloud silence. Hermione was uncertain if she should ask him out again. It was not reassuring that he did not respond right away. If he was being kind to let her down soft, she was irritated. It was best not to waste a person's time. Honest was best.
Terry's feet squeaked as he walked. It was like thousands of squeakers followed him throughout the castle.
He glanced over at her as she winced with each squeak. "That's a bit annoying, isn't it?"
"Only a tad," she replied.
"That better?" He asked after he motioned the end of his wand overtop his toes.
The noise was gone.
She nodded. "Better."
A silence fell back between them. It felt filled with some unspoken thing. She was not confident it regarded Draco or rather that he was not interested in her.
"You know," Terry said. It stirred her to attention. "I don't understand you."
Her forehead wrinkled. "Pardon?"
"You can't wait to be away from him, but you don't seem to hate him." The green of his eyes was calm as it regarded her. "What is it that Malfoy is to you? A passing fancy or lingering irritation?"
Her tongue was restrained by the cage of her teeth. The frustrations with Draco were more revealing than she wished them to be.
"Honestly," Terry clarified.
"A bit of both," she answered. "He's a lie. We both are."
"How do you mean?"
"You don't see Lucius allowing his only son to be with a muggleborn, do you?"
Terry pushed his lips together. "The chances are minimal."
"Exactly. It is all a lie. We've allowed ourselves to be caught in a realm of fantasy. Like it is normal to be in such a position with another person." She forced her voice to steady as it threatened to break as the words she said hit her mind. They were a fantasy. It was not real. All imaginary. Draco and she were not logical, rational, possible. They did not belong. "It is time to let it go before anyone gets really hurt."
"Do you love him?"
Her mind went blank. It was blasted through with the question, like it was an accusation.
She cleared her throat. "Of course not." She forced herself to chuckle at its ridiculousness. "The last person I want is Draco Malfoy. We've only gotten so comfortable because of his forced association. I'd rather not see him hurt. My hate has dissipated for him, true, but nothing else romantic has formed in its place." She stole a breath. Her thoughts were out of control as she searched for the rationalization she needed. "He's just illuminated the shade of Slytherin. They aren't so intimidating once you realize they aren't all hating your guts with their entire soul. That is just him, and Pansy. And Marcus Flint."
The Grand Staircase was packed full of students. Evening classes started soon. Hermione was one of the few who did not have to rush off somewhere. Terrence was apparently in the same boat. The leisurely way he swung his arms as he walked spoke to his comfort.
Hermione descended lower alongside him. She forgot what lurked below.
The dungeons. It was an invisible wall of chill that once pierced, filled the soul. Hermione could not have survived a Slytherin placement. Her teeth chattered in reflex.
"Not a fan of the cold, are you?" He smirked. In his hand was the offer of his striped Slytherin scarf.
"Not in the least."
She wrapped the scarf around her neck. Its warmth was nice. The fresh spring scent of his cologne ignited a bit of inner warmth.
"I'm not like him," Terry said. His eyes were strong, suddenly. She nodded in their light. "I'm not a hateful person. My family is not evil. We don't support the cause that the other families, like the Malfoys, have declared pureblood issue."
"I didn't think you did…"
"Slytherin is our history, but we are more than that. My mum raised a gentleman to respect a witch. You'll not find the desire to control you as he does."
Hermione nodded. "I understand."
"If it wasn't Valentine's Day weekend the next time we were in Hogsmeade - ."
"I'm fine with it," she said quickly. "Truly. I won't make any assumptions."
He chuckled. "I did not want to imply things."
"Totally. I understand," she said in relief. "Three Broomsticks at five, sound alright?"
Terry nodded. "Sure."
They parted, each with separate smiles. As one descended toward the dungeon common room, his smile widened. As Hermione climbed forever upward, the smiles drained away from her face. A hurt took its place.
She hated how it came to that.
Draco's date with his new girlfriend, Astoria Greengrass, was at four thirty at the Three Broomsticks on the same day: Valentines Day. Though, Terry had been concerned about a first date on the day of romance, apparently Draco was ready to dive straight through to his intention on his first date. It was the reason for Hermione's second step in her devious revenge plot.
Terrence and Hermione would arrive surely once Draco was there with his date. She would look stunning, sure to catch his eye. He would be caught in his own lie if he were to approach, but his anger over her own date would cause a rift to tear in him.
The lying bastard would either ruin his relationship with Astoria or Hermione. Possibly, both.
It was all the joy Hermione needed to fuel the charade of innocence to his plans. He pretended he'd spend his time out of doors, enjoying the solitude without a pet to fuss over, while in the back of his mind he played the role of the menacing spider about to consume two flies. Little did he know of a lion's rage. It would tear him to shreds.
She began to yearn for the taste of his delicious shock. It controlled all her thoughts.
Whilst in the DA, she thought of what his face might look like as Terry Higgs' eyes roamed all over her. Was it too casual to wear leggings on a first date?
Her eyes summoned the images of him as she trained. Spell after spell. Thrumming electricity zapped through her fingertips. The wood of her wand absorbed all that strength, that need, the focus of intensity, and thus surged with strength at each target. She left her friends stunned over mounds of ash at the remains of their practicing dummies.
Each dummy was equipped with a pair of arms, wand, a face devoid of features, and a painted chest with a center target drawn. After being obliterated, they reanimated themselves back to condition.
"Again," she said.
Before Harry could mutter a word, Hermione fired more shots. This time she took on three dummies at once. She moved in their paths. They surrounded her. Her wand shot the spell 'Reducto' at the first dummy. It exploded into thousands of tiny black pieces that flung throughout the room.
The other two rushed her. One of her legs shot out, kicked the dummy hard in the center of it's target, zapped another spell, before she ducked low, avoiding the swinging around of the other dummy, and shot another harsh spell into it's back.
She stood, out of breath, over the wreckage she made. Black dust, shocked faces, a suffocating silence.
Harry's blank expression was irritating. She snapped her fingers in front of his face.
He was thrown back to reality. "Well done." His voice was distant. But it still pleased her to have stunned her peers so. There was power they needed to believe her possible of. "Next?"
Cho Chang stepped up. Her voice was soft. It was not missed by Harry Potter. He was instantly dazzled, a bit flushed, as he challenged her to contend with the dummy.
Hermione lingered toward the back of the class as Cho took her turn. She was not calmed by the sheer expression of power, but she did feel better. The dedication to her plan reset. She knew that it was something she had to follow through with if she ever wanted to feel strong.
The pause in her mind was of the ethical dilemma it presented. It felt wrong to rile his anger. She could confront him in private and either conclude to a decision or remain at war with one another for the rest of their lives.
That wicked beast that Draco had woken did not take to the polite road. It wanted revenge. If she was not to be satisfied, he damn well wouldn't be either.
A red-haired witch appeared in her gaze; arms crossed at her chest. "Where did you find that tin of whoop-arse? Because I'm quite sure you bought too much."
Hermione laughed. "It wasn't that bad."
"You took them down like they were nothing. Kicking them and shit. That was amazing. Terrifying. But amazing."
"Thank you."
Ginny watched Hermione for a moment. Her blue eyes perused her friend's facial expressions with a changing face.
She knew something was up.
Cho Chang shot a spell close to the class. A burst of black and grey dust rained in a heavy cloud through their hair and eyelashes and clothes. Ginny had turned around to observe the commotion. In that instant, Hermione installed a feign expression that abandoned all joylessness thoughts of revenge to a more pleasant, blessed demeanor that they all demanded of her.
The suspicion was lost to the polite claps of encouragement. Ginny shrugged her doubts away.
"Plans for Hogsmeade?" She asked.
"Yeah," Hermione replied. "I'm spending some time with Daphne before I meet Harry."
Ginny patted her shoulder. "Don't be too hard on yourself. It's only taken him five years to admit something to himself. The prat can't dive into romance all at once. He'll come round. You'll see."
If only she knew just what he'd come around to. If only she knew what Hermione intended to fight his fire with: more fire. It was not the solution a level-headed witch, she knew. But Hermione was not in her right mind. Not with Draco. He was the source of her madness, the loss of control, the loosening grip of sanity to the thrills of the lust.
Hermione proceeded through her week as one expected. She made no explosions. There were no screaming matches in the halls. It was routine.
By the end of it, she wished for a bottle of firewhiskey to drown the struggle it took to reach the place she needed to be without blowing cover. She watched through a pair of eyes that were given the glasses to the truth. The depth beneath a Slytherin.
It was expected of Draco Malfoy. He couldn't be trusted as far as she could throw him.
But Daphne Greengrass? Her friend? The witch she confided in for everything?
That.
That was painful to endure. She was forced to remain happy and social with the witch who encouraged her own sister to attend a date with Draco, the wizard she knew Hermione's feelings for almost exactly.
Even worse, she aided his plan! She developed a cover so that Hermione might not discover his date with Astoria.
Daphne was his accomplice. It made sense. All the awkward tension that Hermione mistook for romantical was truly unrest in collusion.
Drogon was the only comfort that helped Hermione navigate her plot. He was patient. He allowed for extra cuddles during those days where she was so stretched thin that she wanted to scream. He kneaded her belly, as some kittens did, to give her a smile. It reminded her of Crookshanks. He loved to knead just about everything.
She laid on her bed with Drogon atop her chest when the shuffling of footsteps caught their ears. His ears perked high. The rumbling of his purrs stopped immediately.
It was no mystery as to who invoked such a response from Drogon. He hopped off the bed and ducked below just as the door swung open. Lavender Brown glided in, books and parchment in hand, a smudge of ink on her chin. She was quiet. That was atypical. Hermione was roused from the lull of thought when it hit her ears.
Her roommate placed her things away delicately. Too delicately. The rolls of parchment were secured in her satchel messenger bag. Two thuds of books echoed throughout the emptiness. Romilda was in the common room talking to some older witches. Pavarti was in the library, tutoring. Fay Dunbar left in her Quidditch gear, so she was bound to be out playing a fun game with her friends somewhere on the grounds. The beaters bat was missing from the end of her bed, as was her broom.
Lavender cleared her throat. Once. Then twice.
"Hermione?" She finally said.
The calm in her voice almost wretched Hermione out of bed.
"What's wrong? Has something happened to Harry?" Hermione questioned swiftly. Her feet were tossed into her trainers. "Where is he? Hospital Wing?"
The witch shook her head. "Uh, no. No. Nothing's wrong with Harry."
"Oh." Hermione slowed. She sat back on top of her bed. "Good."
"Ron asked me to Hogsmeade," Lavender said. When their eyes met, the witch offered a smile. It did not seem to be a bad thing. "Said you told him that I might like it."
She shifted for comfort. The probing gaze of her roommate ran chills down her spine. Any minute, she was bound to explode in some kind of emotion.
"I overheard Pavarti say it a while ago," Hermione explained. "It would take a year for Ronald to have noticed. It would have killed you to wait that long."
A pair of arms and strawberry-blonde plaits were thrown around Hermione's neck in a tight hug. "Oh, thank you, thank you." The witch cried out. "All this time I thought you didn't like me. No way, I thought that you'd ever ask him for me. But I'm so glad that you did. He is so handsome. And funny. I heard him say a joke one day, and I had to cough to hide my laughing."
It was not uncommon for Lavender to ramble. She liked to talk. A lot.
"He's invited me for window shopping. Isn't that sweet? A little simple, but I love it."
Not that Hermione was happy for her because she honestly did not care for the witch's overall joy, but she knew it was a moment that she was expected to smile. The witches of Gryffindor did not like those who did not smile. It made them suspicious.
That was one of the great things about Ginny. She understood that Hermione was not an outward person.
She forced a small smile. "Oh. I'm glad to have helped."
"I take back all that stuff I said about you!" Lavender was so overcome with glee that she did not register just how insulting it might sound. "I've got to go find Pavarti and tell her. She's going to be so rotten jealous."
Lavender dashed out of the dormitory. The echoes of her quickened pace an applause to Hermione's ears.
She leaned over the edge of the bed. "Thanks for the warning, you."
Drogon yowled. Like he could take that tone.
"Don't you sass me. You heard her coming. I could've fit under there with you."
His small white body emerged from shadow. He shook his head, as if in dismay or doubt. The little limbs of his front stretched out front, his butt hoisted high in the air, the dip in his spine as he yawned.
It was close to his nap time before he readied for the night. She expected him to take his place in his crate at the edge of her bed when all of a sudden, he shot out of sight. The dormitory door was left ajar. It left just enough room for his body to squeeze through.
"What was that about?" She pondered aloud.
She climbed into bed with the question of Drogon's disappearance on her mind. It wasn't solved until early in the morning when he finally returned back. The dormitory was pitch black. The only sound was the soft breaths of girl's snoring, Fay passing gas in her sleep, and Pavarti murmuring in Hindi as she dreamed.
Drogon put his paw against Hermione's face to awaken her.
She squinted through the darkness. "What?" She groaned.
It was complete black. The fire had long burned out to nothing. She smelled the smoke from the smolder. The scent of ash throughout.
He put his paw against her face again and meowed. His little meow stirred the breaths in the room.
Hermione rose to her elbows, closed the curtains around her bed until they were engulfed in privacy and ignited the end of her wand with 'Lumos'.
A small package rested within the sheets. Drogon sat. His eyes stared down at the small box adorned with a glittery gold bow. Her brow wrinkled as she caressed the fabric.
"Did you do this?" She asked him.
He shook his head.
That left only one other. Just one.
Her fingers parted the lid from the box where inside the white confines of a box was a necklace of entire silver. At its center rested a crescent moon and crafted within the body of the moon was the star constellation of which she was born under: Virgo. The shimmering stars were microscopic crystals that reflected a sparkly white, just as real stars did.
She pulled it from its box. "A guilt gift."
The necklace was so beautiful. She was taken with it the moment she touched it. Yet she hated what it meant to come from him, at that time before he betrayed her trust in the ultimate way.
"I should toss it," she murmured. "It's tainted."
Drogon nodded in agreement.
Gah! Why couldn't he have disagreed? She wanted to keep it. Really, really, bad.
"What if I wear it tomorrow on my date? He won't like that. I bet that will make him mental."
Her fingers were filled with tremors as she raised it to her neck. It was taut against the soft flesh of her throat. The moon rested flat against the skin. It's cool metal, a reminder of what was to be done.
In a way, her collar.
Whatever magic that was held within that tiny necklace proved stronger than her. She drifted into a peaceful sleep after that, not to wake until late morning, with a smile on her face. Her hips grooved as she slipped one of her pills into her mouth, unbothered by their uselessness now that she planned to stab Draco with the knife he left in her back.
She listened to imaginary magic as she glided down for breakfast. The Great Hall was quiet in the typical Saturday morning fashion. Hufflepuffs ate their dishes of Danishes. Their table always boasted a wide spread of pastries. The Ravenclaws were calm as they sipped their tea. Gryffindor was barely lucid. Most were still half asleep. Slytherin was spirited but not rowdy. It was their time to shine.
Draco had made plans to eat breakfast with her since they would go 'all' day without seeing one another. Or so he thought. Still, she complied with his wishes. She wore a smile as she took place at his side with the other Slytherins. It did not bother her one bit that Astoria Greengrass was present, closer than normal to him, and a bit green in the face. Not one bit. She feigned innocence as Draco watched her make her tea.
"Good morning, pet," he greeted.
"Good morning, Draco."
He smirked. "Awful chipper this morning, aren't you?"
If he only knew what she had to be chipper about. She gave a twisted grin.
"It is Valentine's Day."
His face instantly downturned. "Don't tell me you buy into all the nonsense. I thought you knew better than that."
"Are you kidding? I believe in the magic of today."
"Really?" He snickered. "I wouldn't wage much on a hidden lover exposing his feelings for you."
Hermione disliked his doubt in the matter. There were scores of wizards that wanted her. He spent all his time punishing them. Did he not remember that? It was a full-time job as he so declared.
The heat of the tea bubbled against her tongue as she suppressed her snarky comment that would allude to knowledge she was not supposed to have. It helped assert a centered focus. A target, a goal.
"Valentine's Day is the day of surprises. Anything can happen."
"I don't care for surprises."
She grinned. Of course, he did not. He liked the control. It held him together so tightly firm, and well composed. Today would not be the day for control. Not on his life.
The crisp flakey buttery roll did not distract from the pleasure she felt just knowing what awaited this evening. An entire day of waiting patiently for plans to come to fruition was delightful ecstasy.
If he wanted to train her like an animal, he should have kept an eye on her every move.
Draco lowered his voice. "Speaking of surprises."
"Yes?" She replied.
"How did you find yours?"
"My what?" She faked confusion.
It was not amusing to Draco. He shifted in his seat.
"The care package I sent last night," he said firmly.
She fluttered her eyelashes up at him. "I didn't get any parcel."
It was just another cruel side dish to the pièce de résistance. She had his gift hidden away in her pocket. That was to satisfy the need for his suffering sooner so that she might remember the pay off for her patience.
"What?" He hissed softly.
"I can check the Tower, but I do not think anything is there."
He was highly upset by it. "Well go look again. Find it. Look where that bloody cat of yours might have dropped it."
That was the last she would see of him until their final act at the Three Broomsticks. Daphne was poised right outside in wait. They planned their outing as early as possible. The witch wanted to scour the entire town. All day long.
The smile dropped from Hermione's face when she saw the blonde witch by the door, bundled up in her winter robes and cloak with a Slytherin scarf wrapped around her neck. Just the thought of the witch formed a knot in the base of Hermione's belly. The betrayal stabbed deeper than she expected.
Daphne was ignorant to the growing rage. "Ready?" She asked. Her tone so cheerful and light.
"Ready as I'll ever be."
It was not easy to shake off the witch in Hogsmeade. Hermione said she had wanted to visit Harry. It was not a lie. Carefully crafted to separate them from an entire day of being watched by one of Draco's minions, Hermione set up a meeting with Rita Skeeter and Harry so that they might craft an article that made a more believable story than what the Ministry was intent on publishing.
She wished that the Azkaban breakout and Voldemort's return were at the forefront of her mind. It deserved more attention. However, she was too drenched in the bloody path that she was set upon that there was no revoking her plan.
After the meeting with Rita, she sneaked back to the castle to ready herself. It was not easy. There were people all around the path back to Hogwarts. She had physically flung herself into a nearby snowbank to avoid Goyle.
She returned to Gryffindor Tower, covered in snow and shivering a little. Her hair was fuzzy. The tip of her nose was Rudolph-red. It was not a brilliant reflection in the mirror. That look would not cause sheer chaos from a wizard.
Hermione slipped into a bath in the Prefect loo. She washed her hair. All her curls were detangled. The smoothing hair potion applied throughout her brown strands. Thick black mascara clung to her eyelashes as she moved the spiked wand through the tiny hairs. It took loads on concentration not to smear the black tar against her face.
She found a shade in the limited collection of colored lip products of her belongings. There was a soft, modest pink. It was too pale. A vibrant shade of pink, almost neon, was in there, too. Ginny had given it as a gift once. The seal was still intact. Again, she shied away from it.
Her fingers landed upon a deep, rosewood red. It was darker than any shade she ever wore. It was close to the burgundy that adorned the common room in Gryffindor Tower. She nearly placed it back and went for clear lip balm, but the vengeful beast inside her chest commanded the lipstick. It slid along the length of her lips with ease.
The reflection changed in the mirror. A stunning witch looked back at her. She was flawless, mysterious, alluring. A true Gryffindor.
Next was the dress. It was ruby red with off-the-shoulder sleeves that left the base of her neck, clavicles and shoulders exposed. The waist cinched close. Hermione touched the mid-thigh hem with a shadow of doubt. It was shorter than she liked to wear. Much shorter.
One look in the mirror convinced her otherwise. She was Hermione Granger, mortal goddess.
Her teeth were brilliant white between the darkness of her lips. A smile transformed her face into that of a model. She was drawn to the image of herself. It was femme fatal. Morgana-esque. Her heart burned with pride at the outcome of her plotting.
The shine of the silver moon caught the candlelight. She smiled as she touched her throat. Draco's collar at her throat while she saw another wizard was bound to fuel the fire inside him.
She laced up her black heels. Their little bows were knotted against her ankle bones.
It was more than she liked to do. Her worth was not reflective of what she wore. Any witch with a grain of common sense knew an outfit was a costume that only ever aided, but never created their image. Hermione was the master behind her demeanor. If she was to be as ruthless as her plot, she had to assume the role.
"You can do this," she spoke to herself. "You can do it."
The Three Broomsticks crowd had thinned out. It was a popular place for Hogwarts students to spend their free time. The closer time drew to dark, the less the students perused the town. Their fear of the dark was unfounded, but rather childish.
Draco Malfoy shed the outer coat of his ensemble. It was draped against the back of his chair.
He scowled when he caught sight of the dirty wooden tabletop. A sticky puddle of spilled butterbeer and a beach of bread crumbles was not acceptable.
"Excuse me," he barked to the woman behind the bar. "Don't you ever clean this place?"
The woman groaned.
It was not his fault the place was a sty. The least she could do is properly present it for her patrons.
The witch used her wand to douse the top in water, scrub the filth away and blow dry. "Good enough?"
Draco sneered. "Good enough for this place, I suppose."
He took the seat at the table while he waited. The clock above the door read four twenty. Ten minutes. He hated waiting.
His jaw set on edge. Every minute he stared at the clock face with a sinking frustration. He did not need to be there. There was a witch that waited for him in the castle. The course of an entire day of denying himself to her whereabouts left him agitated. His hands tore through his hair. Its style was nothing like it had been that very morning in the mirror.
Distinct pine was the stench of the common pub. It was far preferable to the salty fish of Hog's Head.
Best could be done under the circumstances. It was not his arrangement. He would have chosen a more respectable, private place to have a first date. Of course, there were few places in Hogsmeade that earned that title. The bookshop was one of the only passable businesses in the village. That as a date only appealed to one type of witch.
The more he thought of her, the higher the tension climbed his spine. He adjusted his tie at his throat.
Just how late did the witch intend to be? His eyes glared up at the clock. Four twenty-three.
Daphne better have kept Hermione out of any trouble. It was not easy to imagine what the witches did with their day. There was little in Hogsmeade that did not consist of socializing. Socializing with who? Stupid Potter? The brainless Weasel that would hump a rock?
Draco's knuckles turned white. Again, he looked up at the clock. Little whispers of rebellion whispered up through his thoughts with seductive ideas.
Go to her. What will she do without you there? Engagement is enslavement. Are you a slave? Those delicious eyes are going to tempt another wizard. What did she buy for herself? Did it bring a smile to her lips? The Dark Lord won't know if no one tells him.
He knew the slippery ease of such thoughts. It absorbed his visions, the thoughts of Granger and him. Her soft lips pressed against his as her moans filled the air. The smell of her juices, the slick excitement as his fingers ruptured through the calm, her eyes shuttered close in ecstasy.
Hermione Granger enraptured his senses. Every little thing she did was exciting.
The way she got angry filled his body with excitement to fight against her with his strength and she did her best to use hers. It was never easy. The give and take swayed between them. He liked to overcome her best efforts to repel him. Something in the way her power yielded to his fed the need to control her further.
The victory of her love did things to him that were nothing short of ecstasy of the highest kind.
Now, she was too constant in his life to abandon. The melody of her voice was a tune he listened to every day without fail sang in her thoughts of recent readings. Her brown eyes when they beheld him when she thought he wasn't looking. So open and filled with admiration. Then there was way she allowed him to touch her.
The things they did in the darkened corners of everyone's vision was enough to keep him coming back. Her acceptance of his touch was instant. The connection they forged linked them. She assumed the status of his pet, touched him with the same love of pleasure as he did to her, and warranted the same need for him.
He knew, deep in his heart, that she was not interested in a single person other than him. Draco was the one that she held loyal to. And his mind trusted, no. Knew. He knew she would never allow another wizard to take his place.
Draco Malfoy wondered what the tension in their separation was, as he knew there would never be a wizard daft enough to try it and Granger, herself, would never be interested. Still, he felt that her absence was a giant black void that needed fixing. She belonged. Every day, every moment, she was meant to be with him.
It was hours since he heard from her. Goyle and Crabbe hadn't seen her either. They looked throughout Hogsmeade for Daphne and for Hermione.
Not that those two blind idiots focused on a thing except Honeydukes. They spent enough time in there to buy the bloody place.
He held his chin in his hand. If Astoria did not arrive in two minutes, he would leave.
Wherever she was, he knew how to find her. His feet led paths to her that his mind could not understand. The absorption of her soul in his was the compass he used without thought, or attempt. It was his true north.
The plan never set into action. At four thirty on the nose, Astoria Greengrass strode through the heavy door of The Three Broomsticks pub, found Draco's eyes through the crowd of patrons, a fair few being their own peers, and traversed the rows until she found her way to his table.
She was nervous. Her face, paler than usual.
Astoria wore a mustard yellow knit jumper with a plaid pleated skirt. It brushed against her kneecaps, covered in sheer white tights below. There were flats on her feet. Their shiny emblems of their make from the most expensive of retailers.
Her hands were clasped in front of torso. She remained silent as he appraised her.
"Please," he said. He'd forgotten how gentle Astoria was. She seemed afraid of him. That was not his intent to appeal to the witch. "Join me."
The top half of her hail was knotted at the crown of her head. A few strands framed her small face. She brushed them aside as she sat down, her handbag clutched against her person.
It was clear that Astoria Greengrass would become a stunning witch. Her looks were already angelic, in manner and application. She wore a kind expression. Her eyes were a soft blue, unable to pierce a peach.
Draco shifted. The initial plan to declare his disinterest in courtship with her was not the course that he wanted to take now that she was before him. He thought she might cry. She looked that it was easy to puncture that sensitive flesh. It was a witch's embarrassment to be rejected by a wizard. A pureblood witch would bear the identity of their denial forever. Being turned down by a Malfoy was a devastating blow.
A sliver of charm was needed to allow the witch to understand the idea, gently.
"I know we've not met properly," he started. "I'm Draco Malfoy."
She gave a small smile. "Astoria. You can call me Tori. Everybody does."
"Is that what you wish?"
"I prefer, Astoria, actually," she said. "Until we – well, we know each other better."
He nodded. "I understand."
A dinner rush started through the pub. A steady hum of the room filled their ears. Dishes clattered against tables, mugs of butterbeer with shots of firewhiskey, too.
Townsfolk filtered in through the front door. It was just out of the corner of Draco's eye. He noticed the uptick in patrons as time drew near the meal time. It was his goal to return to Hogwarts before dinner was done with so that he might have more time to find Granger.
A student adorned in blue hues entered the door. Eddie Carmichael was his name. Draco recognized him from around the castle.
"Can I buy you something, Astoria? A hot cocoa, some chips perhaps?"
"I'd like a cup of tea, if it isn't a bother."
He rose from his seat. Having the order delivered to their table was unlikely since the witch hadn't liked his critique on her cleaning ability. The bar was not too far. A few wizards sat on the bar stools with their hands on glasses. They spoke amongst themselves. Not too many people of the town interacted with the students of Hogwarts.
Draco was glad for it. Their small town minds were of no interest to him
The witch behind the counter was not eager to take his order but did with the flash of a coin. As she worked on the cup and his butterbeer, he examined the bar. There was a group of a few older students with trays of the muck of food offered at The Three Broomsticks. He upturned his nose.
The heavy door of the pub opened once more, slammed against the frame, as a pair of footsteps trekked past the bar. Draco caught sight of the wizard of his own house as he walked by, not noticing Draco against the bar, and took a private booth in the corner of the pub.
Higgs was not often the lonely type. He surrounded himself with a pack of obnoxious friends to fill content silence with his idiotic ramblings.
Something was different. Higgs chose a darker part of the place. A seat away from the rest of the students there.
It was not a leap to assume it was a date. The privacy, the dim that could cloud a kiss from the others, the nervous way his fingers drummed against the tabletop. Draco chuckled. The prat was bound to be a virgin with that behavior.
Draco Malfoy might have been a virgin, but he gave off the air that he was well skilled with witches. He did not hesitate, nor fidget. And as much as he wanted to take a seat to watch the train wreck take place, he had a witch to return to.
He carried Astoria's cup back to the table with his mug linked through his fingers. "One cup of tea." The ceramic was set against the top. Her hands moved with caution around the body.
Her voice hummed a soft thanks. It was a lost tone in the wave of voices throughout.
It was silent between them. They drank from their own glass without a word to express to the other.
The date was moving at a snail's pace. Time ticked away at his chance to spend time with Hermione. She was bound to be sneaking off with her bleeding wizards again.
"My mother said that your mother's Christmas Eve party was the best event of the year. It was all very beautifully decorated," Astoria said. "You'll have to give her our best."
He nodded. "Thank you. My mother's parties are always the event of the season."
The fell to a lull again. It was difficult to find something to say to the witch that was so much younger than him. Daphne was right. Astoria was inexperienced. She had no idea what to do with a wizard like him.
They were not to be.
"Astoria."
"Can I tell you something?"
He blinked a moment. "Sure."
As her mouth moved, words came out. He knew that. What they were was harder to riddle, because just as Astoria had spoken whatever it was that she wanted said, a flash of red caught the corner of his eye and his attention. It was in a shape that he thought he recognized.
The figure of a witch entered the pub. She shed her heavy cloak with a striped Slytherin scarf off her shoulders. Her body was dressed in a taut dress that hugged her features, over her hips and the slim of her waist. There was a lack of support in her chest as she moved. Her small breasts were freed from the confines of a bra.
A wizard approached from the back of the pub. Higgs offered out a hand. Her cloak was handed over. There was an awkward shift as he pointed to the scarf.
A pair of brown eyes appeared from the shield of brown curls. They sparkled alive as the scarf was pulled from her shoulders. A silver mood necklace against her neck.
Draco nearly let out an exclamation when he recognized the witch as his own.
His body tensed. His eyes refused to pull from the encounter. The light hairs of his brows topped his vision as he watched her move into Higgs' gesture. The broad expanse of her back was exposed in her dress. Where the hell did she get that from?
The entire pub of wizards noticed her. A sea of lustful gazes, all over her.
He nearly threw himself out of his seat as Higgs put his hand against the small of her back but a soft handheld his wrist. Astoria was still there. Her face fixed in confusion. Her mouth moved with the question if he was alright.
"I'm fine," he said, entirely too loud.
Draco looked back, right into the expectant eyes of a witch with whom he shared eye contact with often. They glanced back behind him. The sharp knowing gaze of just how much Hermione knew. Her lips curled to a too-happy smile when Higgs asked her something. She nodded. Two fingers rose as a response. Butterbeers!
He pulled at the collar, already too taut for comfort. His heart raced. The growing ache in his jaw pushed through his thoughts but was shoved and kicked back into submission.
All that mattered was Hermione Granger was there on a date dressed as the world's most irresistible witch for the entire village to gaze at. Their simple-minded drool was an insult. Didn't they know who she was?
His breath went ragged as she was lost to the crowd. Draco ripped his hands through his hair.
Two full butterbeers. Drunk. She would be drunk. Drunk, dressed like that, with a wizard she hardly knew. One, more importantly, that wasn't him.
"She's quite amazing, you know."
He shook the daze from his head. "What?"
"Hermione Granger. She is… one of a kind."
That she was.
One of a kind, and all his.
Draco Malfoy was overcome with a series of rapid fire emotions all from the source of anger that swirled around her. She was everything. She was his. She was a thing untouched by all, protected by him, the very essence of what he loved about being himself and who he saw as the one to make him happy.
Then there was Higgs. The charming, soft allure of a wizard too set upon being liked that he forgot what it meant to be powerful.
What did he compare to Draco? Nothing. Not a shred. He was a forgotten wizard in the middle of a memorable world.
Draco stomped back to the shared booth. He froze when he saw what was in that booth.
Higgs was on one side, his pet on the other. Ever so slowly, Higgs reached over and brushed a curl out of her face. His fingers lingered too long against her face.
Whatever possessed him to raise his wand was unstoppable.
"Stupefy!" Draco cried.
It caught the gazes of the entire establishment as the spell shot out from the end of his wand toward the booth. His eyes blazed with fury. All he saw was the blood red sight of Higgs with his witch.
The spell was stopped just in time. Higgs was wide-eyed, wand in front of his face.
Hermione's breath was rapid in her chest. She seemed to know the source of the spell. Her eyes flickered over to where he stood in accusation. There was very clear anger in her eyes as they danced together.
When she looked back to her date, he struggled to restrain a scream.
"Malfoy. What the bloody hell, mate?" Higgs jumped from his seat.
He shot the spell again. It was lucky how fast Higgs was with his wand. He moved to block the spell just as swiftly.
"I told you to stay away from her," Draco spat. "Rictusempra."
A flurry of spells shot through. Draco expelled them; Higgs blocked. They moved, just as in a duel. Their feet danced in a circle. The thundering beneath their feet from the rapid flee from the pub. Their sounds a distant memory to their ears.
It was quick. Their power shot through the place, back and forth, back and forth.
At one point, Hermione audibly gasped. The stupid Higgs didn't know what was good for him. He called out to her, asking if she'd been hit and although Draco knew she hadn't been hit, he glanced over his shoulder. Her eyes pleaded with his to stop. Their brown beauty swirled with upset.
Higgs caught him with a hex. His knees turned to Jell-O. He was unable to stand.
"I win, Malfoy. I win." Terrence Higgs took a deep sigh. "It is time to stop fighting. She's done with you. You have to let it go."
Let it go?
Did he know what delirium she gave? Did he know just what her lips did to him when they were through? The taste of her tongue, a delicacy. The thrill of her pure emotion as she fought against you. It was enough to die over.
It took resilience to the pain over his joints, but Draco managed to climb to his feet and tackled the unsuspecting wizard with his body. They both slammed to the floor. An echoing thud of their bodies.
Higgs fought to climb on top of Draco. His legs wrapped around Draco's body to lock him in place. But his arms were not stronger. The use of his Quidditch developed muscles did nothing to make him quicker to the punch. Draco slammed his fist into the side of Higgs' chin with a decided grunt.
To his credit, the wizard did not stop. Higgs found his own fists and punched into Draco's line of fire without care of where they landed: the ribs, the face, the arm. It took great effort to withhold their pain. Draco gritted his teeth as he sought to control his limbs. He took a knee, pinned it tightly against Higgs' shoulder, and slammed his fist once more into the wizard.
A sharp crunch of bone, the warm spray of red, the weakening of the body beneath him.
"Looks like you don't know just what's at stake, Higgs. There is never enough fight when it comes to her," he muttered as he released Higgs' collar. Blood was all over his hands. He wiped the hot crimson down the front of his suit.
Hermione held her hands over her face. She looked at the blood across the floor. Her eyes were wide with terror.
"Surprised at the depths I'll go to, pet?"
He took hold of Hermione's wrist, wretched it close to his body without hope of her escape and turned to leave. "No." She said under her breath. They fought over her wrists. "We have to help him. We have to help." She struggled with him. Her hands fought hard. They pulled away, yanked him off his balance more than once. He sucked breath between his teeth at the pain that rose from such actions.
Draco had a stronger strength to his hands. They gathered the pair of her wrists in one strong grip that he pulled tight until a sharp gasp of pain escaped her lips. It was small concession in the scheme of things. He pulled her through a side door of the pub, kicked through to the back of the building out of the public eye and rushed through the alley.
It was dusk. The threat of darkness upon them. A commotion was at the front of The Three Broomsticks. A gathering of their startled voices and confusion left him much need to disappear.
Hermione huffed beside him. The surrounding repetition of her resistance in his ear as they navigated through the filthy alleyway. Her effort to pull her arms away was nothing to the power of his rage. At times, her feet dragged in the effort to become an anchor to his efforts.
Draco growled. He pulled her wrists behind his neck, bent and lifted her body atop his shoulder.
"Let go of me." She hit her elbows against his back. "Get your hands off of me."
She struggled every moment harder. Each blow landed a larger fury inside that was on edge to coming out.
He pulled out his wand and turned it on her. "Silencio!"