A/N Hey, everyone! I'm so happy to be back with another chapter.
I had a feeling not everyone got alerts when this story updated last time and someone later messaged me to say that theirs didn't come through, so you might want to double check that you read Chapter 15 before you read this one.
The pocket watch in Hermione's hand ticked into life, demonstrating that her latest spell had been successful, but she clamped down on any resulting emotion. She was almost done. Next, she magically inscribed a message on the timepiece's brass casing, attached a chain of small metal links she'd transfigured from a shoelace, and finished by casting an anti-theft spell. As dispassionately as she could, she turned the watch over to check that all was as it should be before she placed it on Professor Snape's desk.
The temptation to relax and let her mental shields down forced her to grip her own fingers behind her back in an effort to maintain control.
Snape watched her with his typical inscrutable expression for a few seconds, the only sounds the ticking of her watch and the crackling of his fire. She squeezed her fingers even tighter, she would not break now. To her relief, Snape moved his gaze to the product of her labours, bending his nose over the happily ticking watch. He peered one way then the other, the small grunt he made indecipherable as either satisfaction or disapproval. The wailing the watch made when he picked it up was expected thanks to her spell to prevent burglaries, but its piercing pitch still made her flinch. Snape's eyes flew up to hers but she was strong. She didn't let him in.
"Cancel it," Snape instructed, holding the screaming device out to her.
"Yes, sir. Finite incantatum," she complied, the quiet blessedly returning at once.
Snape brought the watch up to his eyes for a closer inspection, his gaze returning to hers every few seconds - normally after he made some comment about perceived deficiencies in her spellwork. She knew that he was making these negative remarks to try and get her to lose focus (he'd caught her out that way last time) and most of them weren't true because she'd have spotted them herself if they were. So she let his words brush over her far more effectively than she would have if they were in a normal lesson, and spoke evenly to him when he questioned her about every stage of the complicated process he'd given her for transfiguring the potted plant into the final product.
Eventually, Snape nodded. "The exercise is over. You may relax your shields."
Hermione almost did as instructed - she was extremely tired of maintaining her mental defences for so long and through all the challenging spellwork she'd been asked to complete - but instinct told her to hold on. She eyed Snape warily and he just gazed coolly back. "Truly, sir? It's definitely over?" It would be like him to tell her to relax and then launch one final assault to teach her another lesson. She could almost hear Moody's passionate Constant vigilance! resounding in her ears.
Unless she was imagining it, there was a hint of amused approval around her professor's eyes and mouth. She blinked and it was gone. "Truly," Snape confirmed with a small nod. He lowered his wand. "We are finished for the evening."
Hermione tried to be discreet in her relaxation (even though she actually wanted to groan and melt into a puddle) and let out a quiet breath whilst giving her temple a quick rub to try and relieve the ache that had been building. She was burning to ask him for a comment on her performance whilst simultaneously trying to hide how eager she was to hear him praise her. She'd kept him out the entire time and completed all her spells. She'd done well. She knew she had, but she still needed validation and approval from him.
"Your performance was adequate," Snape said and Hermione tried not to wince at the unenthusiastic adjective. She knew that Snape wasn't prone to handing out flowery praise to anyone who wasn't from Slytherin and that she should see it as a compliment, but that hardly made it easier to swallow. "We both know that there were moments of weakness but your defences held out for the entirety of your task for the first time. You have progressed far this term. You have…" He paused and Hermione couldn't help holding her breath. "… exceeded my expectations," he admitted. The words seemed reluctant to come out of his mouth but she was too full of happiness and pride (yet trying desperately not to show it) to care.
"Thank you, Professor," she replied, hoping her tone wasn't too gushing. "I obviously couldn't have done it without you and all the time you've given up to teach me. I really do appreciate it."
He showed no reaction to her thanks. "One can only become proficient in Occlumency with frequent practice. Even those who have mastered the art must train and discipline their mind daily if they wish to maintain their grasp on their defences - it is not something that can be learnt once, neglected and then called upon once more with the same expectation of strength. You must not let the stamina you have built up over these months deteriorate during the Christmas holidays. Foregoing our usual session this Friday due to Professor Slughorn's soiree -" He paused to swallow with a grimace, the word seeming particularly distasteful in his mouth. "- means that it will be three weeks before we meet again. I don't want my time to have been wasted."
Hermione shook her head vehemently. "It won't be," she insisted. "I'll practise every day - two, three times a day even. Believe me, I don't want my skills to go backwards any more than you do, sir."
Snape continued to survey her impassively for a few seconds and she tried not to fidget or squirm under the scrutiny. All the weeks of receiving private tuition from him and it had never gotten the least bit comfortable for her. "We shall see what January brings," he eventually said and Hermione nodded, swallowing nervously.
Screwing up her courage, she said, "I was wondering, Professor, whether next term we might be able to attempt - well, I would be the one to attempt it, of course - but I'll need your guidance - "
"Get to the point, Miss Granger," he interrupted, an eyebrow raised in clear irritation. Hermione could feel heat rising in her face again.
"False memories, sir," she said quickly. "During our first session together, you mentioned how some occlumens resist intrusions into their mind by erecting false emotions and memories, therefore protecting what's hidden within."
Hermione wasn't sure that she wanted to know what her professor was thinking as he stared at her in the wake of her suggestion, but her heart pounded in her chest as she awaited his response.
"How do you anticipate developing such a strategy would benefit your situation?" he questioned and she was thankful that his tone wasn't derisive or dismissive.
Reassured by this, she explained, "I think that focusing on creating such falsehoods in my mind while I'm with Dolohov might help to further distance myself from the effects of his touch. I believe that giving myself an extra layer of inner protection will give me a better chance at retaining greater control during my visits."
Snape inclined his head ever so slightly. "Retaining control around him is still a concern despite the progress you've made in the art so far?"
Hermione willed herself not to blush, dreading where this conversation could potentially lead. "Our sessions together have made it so much easier for me to remember myself, sir, but some visits are more successful than others," she revealed carefully. "I would be more reassured with further shielding if it's possible."
"Of course," he murmured, but his eyes were still focused on her in a calculating way. "I will consider your request over the Christmas holidays."
Hermione nodded. "Thank you, sir." She eyed the door, immensely relieved that the conversation was shorter and far less awkward than she'd feared.
Just as she was about to bid Snape farewell, he cleared his throat and said, "Have you made any progress with Dolohov on a personal front?" Through her own embarrassment, Hermione could tell that her Defence professor was equally uncomfortable with the subject matter, but that gave her little comfort.
Since Snape's tentative suggestion a few weeks ago that there might be something salvageable within Dolohov, she had made no effort to ascertain whether or not that was true. Initially, she'd been too furious with the Death Eater for manipulating her after the scar incident to consider the minute possibility that there was anything good about the man. After that, she had been doing her utmost to employ her Occlumency skills in his presence to keep him and his touch at bay as much as possible, and there had been no opportunities for discussions of a more personable nature, thank Merlin.
Except, of course, for that night. The night following the quidditch match and her attempted curse, when they'd hurled insults at each other and yet somehow come to an understanding. She didn't like thinking about that particular encounter for a variety of reasons. Firstly, because she still felt sick to her stomach everytime she remembered what she'd nearly done to Ron (and she knew that instance would haunt her for the rest of her life).
But she also disliked recalling Dolohov's words when the subject of a potential prison break was raised: What'll happen to you, milaya? That is the scary question, no? Although she had braved it out at the time, Hermione did find that question very scary. Simply put, if Dolohov escaped before they could break the curse, she would die. Despite the recent understanding that had been reached in regards to their mutual enjoyment when he touched her, Hermione knew that if Dolohov was no longer imprisoned, neither of them would willingly risk capture by the other side to meet and treat the curse again.
On top of all that, she hated remembering how good Dolohov's touch had felt that night. It had been the only occasion in the last few weeks that she'd had no Occlumency shields in place. The potency of the relief had been even sweeter than she'd both hoped and feared it would be. And she'd admitted it to him now, admitted it to herself - she wanted his touch, wanted the bliss that only he could give her, yearned for the way he could both soothe her and make her burn in the most exquisite, maddening, exhilarating way.
But she couldn't let him. She couldn't allow his intoxicating relief to have that much influence and power over her. As that night had shown, she could easily lose herself to the compelling desire and craving she had for Dolohov's touch.
She had tasted him.
For just the briefest moment the tip of her tongue had made contact with the thumb that he was using to trace her sensitive lips. A spark had raced through her, like she'd been electrocuted, and it fortunately brought her back to her senses so that she could push him away. The incident had scared her. She never would have thought of herself stooping to such behaviour, and she was appalled and humiliated whenever she recollected what she'd done. And yet… her body pulsed with desire too. Even now, the taste of him seemed to linger on her tongue, simultaneously sickening and thrilling her, but ultimately leaving her frustrated. She hated that she craved Dolohov, but no matter how much her body wanted to feel him, to taste him, she had to deny herself. It was an exhausting internal battle that she couldn't afford to lose.
And so, given all that had happened in the last few weeks, trying to connect with any humanity Dolohov still possessed hadn't been a priority for her. "I'm afraid not, Professor," she confessed. "I've been more focused on maintaining my Occlumency shields."
Snape inclined his head a little. "I understand that doing so would be a priority for you." He hesitated for a moment then added, "Has he shown further indications of forming an attachment to you?"
Against her wishes, Hermione could once again feel her cheeks warming. She longed to glance away and avoid Snape's eye, but she knew that he would view that as her being evasive, which would only lead to more awkward questions. Maintaining eye contact, she replied, "We've barely spoken to each other in the last couple of sessions and his touch has only been appropriate." She chose not to inform him that the preceding session had involved a number of questionable moments, and she felt justified in withholding this as nothing concerning had happened between them since.
He nodded more decisively this time and she tried to avoid any indication that she was relieved by his acceptance.
"Given that your Occlumency defences are now steadier and more maintainable, perhaps now might be an appropriate time to work on Dolohov and try to prise him open," he said and Hermione was unable to hold back a slight grimace. "I can appreciate how you might feel towards the matter given, well, everything," Snape continued in what appeared to be an attempt at a sympathetic tone, "but I truly believe that this is a vital opportunity to give you an advantage."
She glanced away, unable to hold his gaze any longer. Her best chance of not losing herself was to keep her distance from Dolohov, to only allow him to touch the necessary parts of her. Seeking out some sort of an emotional connection with him was risking all the defences she'd fought so hard to build up. Snape had to understand that, surely? Or maybe he didn't. Perhaps he could remove his feelings from difficult situations far more easily? Afterall, he was infamous at the school for his cold, almost cruel, demeanour. Anger flared up in her at his suggestion and his attempts to empathise with her. How the hell could he possibly know what she was going through? Of what he was asking of her? With a deep breath she looked up at Snape once more, her emotions still simmering. His overall expression was unreadable, but his gaze was oddly intense.
"This is a fight for your life, Miss Granger. You must never forget that."
A chill ran down her spine at the gravity of his words. She had never really forgotten the seriousness of her curse, and it had become even more stark with Dolohov's recent haunting words: What'll happen to you, milaya…? But sometimes she thought that everybody else seemed to think her sessions with the Death Eater (horrible as they obviously were and deserving of great sympathy) simply had to be endured until she was cured. They expected a solution to be found. They believed that she was no longer in danger; that she would ultimately be safe.
But Professor Snape understood that her life was still in the balance. With his knowledge of Death Eaters, he would be aware how precarious her situation was as Voldemort slowly but steadily grew stronger: That is the scary question, no? Snape knew better than anyone that Dolohov would let her die if he escaped Azkaban. And yet her professor was telling her not to accept that possibility, that her life was worth fighting for. She could sense it quite powerfully in his gaze, far more strongly than in his words.
Despite all his years teaching her and their recent work together, Hermione had never felt him to truly be on her side until that moment, and her previous anger drained away. "I- I know," she said hoarsely, her throat suddenly tight. Her head throbbed with the emotional upheaval after their intense Occlumency session and a wave of hopelessness swept through her. Snape actually seemed to believe that there was something she could do to tie Dolohov to her in a way that might give her some sort of an advantage going forwards into an uncertain future - a lifeline, as it were. She, however, was less than convinced and her shoulders slumped at the impossibility of such a task.
"His family," Snape said simply.
Her brow furrowed and she rapidly blinked away the sheen that had started to form in her eyes. "Sir?"
"That would be a good starting point should you wish to try and reach him," he explained.
Hermione swallowed thickly, recalling how she had sneered at Dolohov that he'd been lied to from the moment he was born. "I see."
Snape nodded. Hermione got the sense that he wanted to say more because his mouth shifted a couple of times, but all he eventually said was, "Good evening, Miss Granger."
"Goodnight, sir," she replied and thankfully strode for the door.
Her journey back up to Gryffindor Tower seemed to pass in no time, lost as she was in her thoughts about Dolohov and, in particular, Snape's renewed suggestion. Her mind chased itself around in circles, performing loops of disbelief, despair and determination, leaving her head throbbing worse than ever by the time she muttered the password to the Fat Lady and climbed through the portrait hole.
The common room was busier than usual as most students started to relax with the beginning of the Christmas holidays only a few days away. However, she couldn't see Harry and Ron, which meant that they were probably still in the library where she'd left them, trying to finish their Charms essay before tomorrow's lesson. Despite her ever-increasing tiredness, she considered turning around and joining them. They'd want her to read through her work when they were done and she'd rather do it sooner rather than later.
Besides, the library was one of the few places where it was almost guaranteed that Lavender wouldn't be there because Madam Pince absolutely wouldn't stand any public displays of affection. Having thrown Ron and Lavender out once already, the librarian always watched the offending pair like a hawk if they dared to enter either together or apart, which Lavender hated. Hermione had overheard her begging Ron to study with her in the Common Room instead (which everyone who had witnessed the couple together knew was just an excuse to snog) but Ron generally refused.
To his credit, Ron didn't seem as keen on shameless makeout sessions as his girlfriend, always throwing a somewhat embarrassed expression in his friends' direction before he ushered Lavender away somewhere more private. Hermione was very grateful. She felt no animosity towards Ron for having a girlfriend - she was even pleased for him as long as he was happy - but it made her uncomfortable to be around him when Lavender was there. Partly because it reminded her of that terrible night (when her pain and anger at what Dolohov had cost her inexplicably caused her to lash out at Ron in the most horrific way) but also because Lavender was so saccharine and cloying in her interactions with Ron that Hermione felt fairly disgusted. Thankfully it wasn't just her - she and Harry had exchanged some rather bewildered and revolted expressions over the last two weeks that had seen her dissolve into uncharacteristic giggles on more than one occasion. But apart from those moments, Hermione tried to be as supportive as she was able. The morning after the quidditch match, she and her two best friends had cleared the air by making heartfelt apologies all round. Consequently, the dynamic between the three of them felt more settled and amiable than it had for quite a while.
Hermione started moving back towards the portrait hole so that she could meet up with Ron and Harry, a small smile on her face, when she became aware of a loud voice somewhere to her right and she froze. "... still can't believe Harry's taking her to the party - he could do so much better. I mean, she's not exactly pretty, is she?"
The smile dropped away instantly and her mood plummeted even lower than before. Without even looking she knew exactly who was speaking, and it took a lot of restraint on her part not to stalk over to Romilda Vane and the giggling fifth and fourth years to give the girls a piece of her mind.
"I mean, she doesn't even try to make herself look attractive, does she? Just walks around with her nose in the air like she's above everyone and everything," Romilda continued. "Ugly on the outside and on the inside. Poor Harry probably just feels sorry for her."
Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione could see the group of girls nodding their heads in agreement and whispering to each other. Romilda was being so blatant that Hermione was sure that they wanted her to hear what they were saying. It wasn't the first time it had happened and it probably wouldn't be the last before Friday's party. She knew that the girls were just jealous that the 'Chosen One' had overlooked them and wounded their pride, but she was having a hard time ignoring their bitchy comments.
"After all," Romilda added with a spiteful edge to her voice, "she's only using him because Weasley finally ditched her. She's been stringing both those boys along for years. Rita Skeeter had her figured out ages ago - remember all that stuff with Krum? Makes you wonder, doesn't it, how exactly she's keeping them interested."
Involuntarily, Hermione's gaze flew straight to Romilda Vane and she wasn't surprised to find the younger girl already looking at her, a calculated smirk in place as the others attempted to shoot more covert glances at her.
It had seemed like such a sweet idea when Harry had suggested they attend Professor Slughorn's Christmas party together as friends. Finding a date had been the last thing on her mind with her mood so low after the quidditch match, so who better to spend the evening with than her best friend? She was well aware that Harry had many admirers but she hadn't anticipated the vitriol she would receive by agreeing to go with him. She should've known better after everything that had happened with Viktor but she'd forgotten that other people seemed to think that they had a right to comment on what she and her friends did in their private lives. Somehow, she'd been able to cope with it better when she was younger but, then again, the Hermione of two years ago didn't have as much on her plate back in Fourth Year. Harry's admirers were clever enough not to openly criticise her when he was around and she hadn't bothered to tell him because it would only make him feel bad for something that wasn't his fault. It had crossed her mind to see if Harry wanted to ditch the party altogether (she knew that he was only attending reluctantly) but that would be seen as a victory for Romilda and all her other haters.
Hermione absolutely refused to let them win.
So she held Romilda's gaze for a couple of seconds, keeping her expression as serene as possible, and then continued on her way out of the Common Room without a second glance.
The situation didn't improve over the next couple of days. It seemed to Hermione that wherever she went there were people nearby gossiping none-too-quietly about her. She expected as much from the Slytherins - Pansy Parkinson had never failed to miss an opportunity to tear her down - but comments from the other houses (and the Gryffindors in particular) were taking their toll no matter how much she told herself to ignore them. Hermione could only hear criticisms about every aspect of her looks and personality so many times before she began to doubt every little thing about herself and found herself wanting.
Ginny had briefly lifted her spirits at lunchtime on Thursday after she overheard Romilda and her friends bitching about Hermione - exploding the casserole dish closest to the gaggle of girls and drenching them in bits of chicken, vegetables and broth. But her mood nosedived again when she held up the dress robes she planned to wear to the party against her body, modelling them in front of the mirror, which quickly voiced an eager and endless list of suggestions for how she could improve her appearance. She would have either burst into tears or blasted the mirror into a hundred pieces if Parvati and Lavender hadn't walked into the dormitory at that moment. Stowing the robes away at once, Hermione ignored the other girls and left the room. Neither Lavender nor Parvati had taken part in any of the mean-spirited comments, but Hermione didn't really consider them to be her friends either, and she certainly didn't want them to see her upset.
With less than twenty-four hours until the Christmas holidays began, the noise level in the Common Room had increased even further but Hermione couldn't sit and join in with the merry atmosphere even if she hadn't been in such a despondent mood - Professor McGonagall would soon be escorting her to the school gates for another trip to Azkaban. The visit was a day ahead of schedule because otherwise it would have clashed with Professor Slughorn's party. As both Hermione and the two professors who escorted her to the gates were due to attend, it had been agreed between them to preempt the necessary trip by a day.
Hermione wasn't looking forward to it. Obviously, she never did, but the last few days had been utterly exhausting and she felt so much more emotionally vulnerable and downhearted than normal. She could barely lift her lips into a smile when Ron and Harry whispered discreet words of encouragement as she passed them on her way out.
All the way down through the castle and across the frozen grounds, she tried to get herself in the right mental state for the visit. Professor McGonagall spoke very little, aware that Hermione was focusing on preparing her Occlumency defences as usual. But no matter how much Hermione tried, no matter how eager she was to clear away the negative thoughts and emotions that had been incessantly plaguing her for days, she couldn't find the state of tranquillity she was striving for, which only made her more upset and frustrated. Fortunately, she was able to successfully apparate to the prison but her attempts to produce her otter patronus only resulted in thin wisps of silvery smoke. The reduced number of dementors around the facility still left her feeling lower than ever until she reached the aurors on guard and gained protection from their own patronuses.
Her heart raced rapidly in her chest, knowing that she was close to Dolohov and his touch but without her normal protection in place to distance herself from its effects. Would it still feel so good when she was a day before the burning? She hoped so, even though she tried to dismiss the thought, but that became harder and harder to do as she took the familiar path to his cell. She wanted Dolohov to make her feel good, needed him to, so that she could forget everything at school for a little while.
From beneath the hood of her cloak, Hermione observed his reaction to her unexpected arrival. She noted the quickly masked look of surprise on his face, the sweep of his eyes over her form, the flexing of his fingers around the edges of the book he was reading, the bobbing of his throat as he swallowed, the intensity of the gaze he fixed her with and the hunger he attempted to conceal within it. A heat swept through her that she knew had nothing to do with the curse, followed by a sense of triumph that boosted her crippled self-esteem.
He desired her.
As always, the thought made her feel faintly sick yet also excited. But given everything that she'd tried her best not to hear since agreeing to go to Slughorn's party with Harry, for the first time Dolohov's attraction pleased her more than it upset her. Despite all that he had been brought up to believe, he liked to touch her, his fingers twitched with his craving for her, his mouth grew hoarse for her. Her body flushed and tingled with that knowledge.
"You're early," he said, placing his book to one side and rising from the armchair. His expression had become curious as he watched her, and she realised that she had done nothing but stare at him since entering the room.
"I'm busy tomorrow," she replied quickly, too quickly.
He chuckled, his lips twitching, and her insides clenched. "Oh, really?"
She swallowed and nodded, attempting to become more at ease. "There's a party at school," she explained, taking her time in removing her cloak so that she didn't have to look at him. "My Potions professor is throwing it."
She didn't think anything of the silence as she put her cloak on the back of the chair and took out his potion bottle, but when she glanced up there was a distant look on Dolohov's face. "Here," she prompted, holding out the vial when there was no response from him. He took it wordlessly and stared at it for a few seconds before chuckling again, but this one sounded hollow.
"Old Sluggy's teaching Potions again, is he?" Dolohov said to the vial more than to her, but she answered anyway.
"Yes. He came out of retirement this year."
Dolohov nodded, still not looking at her. "I'd heard it was Snape."
"He teaches Defence now." That finally got him to glance up at her.
"Does he now," he murmured thoughtfully and then turned to store the potion away. Hermione watched him, intrigued by his behaviour. "So, you're part of the Slug Club, are you?"
"I've been to a couple of meetings," she answered. His resumed gaze felt surprisingly heavy. "Sometimes I'm too busy to attend."
He crossed his arms over his chest, still surveying her. "Sluggy never did care much about blood at that club," he scoffed but Hermione was surprised that there was no sneer in his tone. If anything, he almost seemed amused.
"You were a member?" she asked. Despite knowing that the club would have operated while Dolohov had attended Hogwarts, it'd never occurred to her that he'd been in it. He had been a gifted student, she knew that from a few sources, but Harry had told her that Professor Slughorn had been so keen to distance himself from associations with Voldemort and his followers. Yes, he'd been the Head of Slytherin, but Hermione hadn't considered that the pompous yet kindly Potions Master would ever fawn over a teenaged Dolohov.
"Yeah, I was…" he confirmed and again his focus seemed to be on something far away, lost to introspection or the past. Hermione longed to know what he was thinking about. It was rare for him to display any signs of pensiveness and it was likely that there was something within his musings that she could use to her advantage. But she refrained. She wasn't ready to delve beneath the surface with Dolohov yet. And, even if she was, allowing him to have these contemplative moments in her presence without her interference might lead to them becoming more frequent in the future.
Dolohov continued to stare beyond her so she took off her cardigan to give her something to do. It was very cold in the cell but he wouldn't be able to reach much of her skin if she kept it on. She placed it on top of her cloak and when she straightened Dolohov was suddenly there, right in front of her, his fingers reaching for the small cuff buttons of her long shirt sleeves. She sucked in a large breath, adrenaline shooting through her body at the abruptness of the close proximity.
"So, you're not burning for me today?" he asked, voice low but intimately close to her ear. His fingers circled the fabric over her wrists, his touch tantalisingly close.
She looked up as the familiar scent of him surrounded her, reminding her of how just a small part of him had tasted on her tongue, and she felt warmth suffuse her cheeks. "N-no," she stuttered, her tongue suddenly feeling too big in her mouth. She swallowed with difficulty as he raised one of her wrists in the small space between them and deftly undid the cuff. She whimpered slightly as he used his hands to push the loosened sleeve up her arm.
"Still feels good though, hmm?" he asked huskily and Hermione tried very hard not to squirm as he did the same to her other arm, evoking sweet ripples of pleasure that she drank in greedily.
Normally, her eyes were closed when he touched her - partly to avoid looking at the Death Eater that was touching her but also to help her maintain her mental defences. Tonight she wanted to watch him.
But it quickly became apparent that meant she'd be watching him watch her.
Hermione had never really thought about where his gaze was focused during these moments - she was either too far gone in her bliss or locked down in her own mind to notice that his eyes barely moved from her face. Nerves bubbled in her abdomen as his fingers massaged and danced across her forearms, but their gazes stayed locked together. Her breathing quickened and within seconds her chest was rising and falling like she'd just run across the quidditch pitch. One part of her brain was telling her to look away, to get a hold of herself, but the rest of her mind was revelling in how much she was enjoying this.
"Why," she asked, her voice faint. She wet her lips, not missing the way his gaze momentarily flicked down to catch the movement. "Why do you watch me?"
The hungry expression came back to his face, more evident than ever, making her shiver. Just when she thought he wasn't going to reply, he murmured, "Because…" His fingers lifted away from her forearms and her face must have fallen in despair because he chuckled. "Because, Zhar-Ptitsa," he continued and his hands momentarily came into view before sliding either side of her neck, his thumbs cradling her jaw. Hermione felt her knees weaken and her eyelids fluttered, but she fought to keep her gaze trained on his ruggedly handsome face. "I like seeing how you respond to changes in my touch." His fingers pressed exquisitely into the stiffness at the base of her neck, eliciting a sigh from her that she had to work hard to stop from turning into a moan. "It's like getting to read a new book whilst writing it." The fingers pressed a little harder, combined with his thumbs stroking softly along her jaw. Hermione struggled to stay still, not knowing what exactly she wanted except for this feeling to continue. Her shaking hands settled over his, just to give them something to do.
Time lost all meaning. They could have stood like that for many minutes or just a few seconds. The pleasure she got from Dolohov's touch wasn't as transcendent as on a burning day, but the fact that it wasn't overwhelming every part of her, that she was aware of and could revel in every sliding fingertip and change of pressure, somehow made it more intense; their continued eye contact only adding to the intimacy. At long last her mind was quiet. Her inner turmoil momentarily at peace.
A/N Hope you all enjoyed it! Let me know what you thought, I love hearing from you guys.
Poor Hermione is really going through it here but I think that's understandable given everything she has to contend with on top of just trying to be a normal teenager.
Hope you're all well.
Red