Intensity
folder
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Draco/Hermione
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
4
Views:
2,212
Reviews:
6
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Draco/Hermione
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
4
Views:
2,212
Reviews:
6
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Intensity
Summary: Angst, death, war, corruption, betrayal... smut... A pissed off Hermione has some decisions to make...
Taster: 'Draco captured Hermione's lips again in his, and she was powerless to refuse. She knew it was wrong. She knew she shouldn't be doing this now, here, with him. Her husband was lay unconscious just a few floors down.
But why should she care about him? Why should she feel guilty about this sinful pleasure she was experiencing? Why should each memory of the countless times she'd fucked this enemy of theirs make her resent herself?'
Disclaimer: This story contains characters created and owned by J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, Scholastic, Inc. and AOL/Time Warner, Inc. No profit is being made and no infringement is intended.
Song lyrics used belong to Matchbox Twenty, and again, no profit is being made and no infringement is intended.
In other words... NOT MINE!!! None of it. Not at all. I own zilch... zip... zero...
Me, bitter? Never.
Intensity
Chapter One
Maybe time will stop, and maybe things will stay, and maybe, just maybe life will go on. . .
&%^$
Maybe not.
&%^$
#If it's just that you're weak
Can we talk about it?
It's getting so damn creepy
Just nursing this ghost of a chance
The fiction, the romance#
- - black & white people, Matchbox Twenty.
&%^$
Hermione Granger stood abruptly, causing the majority of heads in the room to turn and look her way. She ignored the voice droning on at the front of the room, and the curious and pitiful faces which glared at her so intensely, and she marched to the door.
Once outside of the room, she took a deep breath and tried to pull herself together. Nobody had expected her to even last that long in the meeting. Not while he was still down there, fighting for his life.
She could see it in everybody's stares: the pity, the concern... the excitement that something may have actually broken the great Hermione Granger's perfect composure at last. Well Hermione Granger may have lost her composure, but she sure as hell didn't want their pity for it.
The funny thing was, whilst everybody was assuming she was so messed up as of late due to Potter being kicked down into the hospital wing and remaining unconscious for the last two weeks, it was something much more than that which had her so fucked up.
Not that she didn't want him to recover, (and that was something else which she was pissed at herself for,) but there was something much more distracting going on in her life. And she didn't mean the war either; that was something everybody was dealing with in their lives, in their own way. The problem was, she didn't quite know what this was...
-----
People on the side of Light had, in an effort to increase protection to the wounded while the others were still fighting, set up a small care centre in the main hall of Hogwarts, where Hermione was now based as a Healer along with many others who were unable to actually fight in the war. Meanwhile, the other realms of the castle were set up for those fighting to come to for some rest between the mayhem, as well as semi-permanent homing for those like Hermione.
People like Hermione- who had been unable to fight since the seventh month of the official war, four weeks ago- were assigned the old Gryffindor tower for living quarters. The school had been out of action for the duration of the war; parents eventually all came to realise they wouldn't rest until they could see their children were safe. So the headteacher, (Prof. McGonagall since the passing of Dumbledore three years ago,) offered the services of the magically protected building to house the wounded and the less able.
The classrooms on the lower floor were set up as kitchens, and the house elves ran a twenty-four hour catering service for anybody that needed it. Those like Hermione, who lived in, went down only on occasion for some food. The majority of their time was dedicated to researching spells, potions and cures for those in the infirmary. That is, when they weren't applying healing charms to those in the infirmary.
They had, between them, come up with a rota for who would be on duty in the old main hall; watching over the wounded, applying remedies and making sure those who were soon to pass were comfortable.
In the old hospital wing, as was well visited by Hermione in her school days due to her company of the two wizards she was famously known to be associated with, was the “drop-in” centre for those who weren't fatally ill or wounded. They could just drop in and the appropriate spell or potion could be applied before they returned to the outside world. The potions for the classic wounds that were regularly seen were being constantly brewed by accomplished potion masters in the greenhouses, where ingredients were always close to hand, and constantly being replanted.
The majority of the cauldrons, however, were not with these in the greenhouses, but down in the dungeons, where the atmosphere was more stable for the brewing of strong healing remedies for those much more in need; those who occupied the beds in the once-Great Hall.
In the ex-Hufflepuff common room, beds and blankets had been spread about, and a fire was constantly burning attempting to bring some heat and light that everyone remembered the sun once for. It seemed like it had been years since they had seen the sun shine. If you looked outside the windows now, all that filled the sky was grey clouds, black smoke... and the Dark Mark.
Those who had been fighting could just come down to the Hufflepuff quarters and rest. Only down the corridor were the new kitchens if they desired food any time of day or night. The house elves had used their unique magic to apply a charm to the resting room; one which restored inner-peace and energy to allow for a speedy recovery to the tired and crestfallen.
Those who were not on duty to attend any of the sick or brew any of their cures, generally chose to spend their time in the library researching. Hermione could have almost forgotten what food tasted like; she spent all her time trying to help other people, and even when she did spare a minute she felt guilty eating what the house elves worked hard at when she wasn't even ill. Despite what others claimed.
She had been hit with the Sectumsempra in a major battle four weeks ago, and the wounds she received had prevented her to meet the contaminated air of the outside world without a slicing pain searing through the wounds, which never seemed to close up. The curse still scarred her neck, arms and side.
Some days she would wake and find the cuts bleeding again; she would have nightmares. Nightmares so distressing that she would scratch and shred her skin during her sleep. She would awake in a mess of tears and blood.
People were saying she looked so tired as of recently. They wondered why. But how could she sleep when the images were even worse than those she dealt with through out the day? How could she sleep when this concious life promised better things than the subconscious?
Hermione was currently due to be brewing remedies in the dungeons today, but she had managed to swap with someone working as a Healer in the hall so that she could visit Potter.
No one dared decline her visitation rights to him, and if she wanted to swap shifts to spend time with him, she would spend time with him.
It was silly really; everyone was going out of their way for her since Harry had been admitted, but he was just an excuse. Sure, she would sit with him day after day, applying remedies and charms, but what she was really there for was the one who haunted her dreams- the one who turned them into nightmares.
Hermione ran her fingers through her messy locks and sighed. Looking back towards the Healers' briefing meeting she had just exited, she walked down to the hall in unease.
&%^$
#And it's one last round of petty conversation...#
“You really are stupid sometimes, Hermione. I told you I would take care of it. You should have just stayed back where I told you,” Harry remarked, carrying her through to the main hall of Hogwarts and placing her on a spare bed as the healer at the gate had instructed him to.
“Don't tell me what I can't do! I would have been able to deflect the damn curse if you hadn't have been shouting absurdities in my ear,” she replied.
She would not take another lecture from him about what should be done out in battle. She had managed to look after herself this long, and until about an hour ago, she had received not one injury in the seven months of war.
“So now you're blaming me? I told you to get back. Couldn't you see what Snape was about to do? He invented that curse, and so he is the most powerful wizard to apply it. You'll be lucky if you get out of here even half better than the state you're in now.”
Hermione looked down at herself. He was right; she was bleeding quite freely from numerous cuts that ran along her left upper arm, her left side, and even across her shoulder and neck. It would be doubtful they would heal any time soon, no matter how many charms were applied.
“Well if you hadn't have thought it a great idea to intervene and start lecturing me in the middle of battle, I wouldn't have missed him with the counter-curse, would I?” Hermione commented, bitterly. “You think you're so fucking perfect; that every word you speak is holy and deserves endless praise. Well, this war has been going on long enough, Harry. Don't you think it's time already for your great displays of power yet? What are you waiting for? Haven't enough people died yet for you to go out and actually risk your pathetic arse?”
“You don't have a clue, do you? You're not the one who has the weight of the fate of the world resting on your shoulders every day. You're not the one who has to wake up every day knowing every one is just waiting for you to murder someone and end all this. You're not me, Hermione, and you don't have a damn clue.”
“Don't you talk to me in that tone, Harry.”
“I sure as hell can talk to you any way I damn well want to. You're my wife, Hermione. I told you to get away from him and I expect in future that you will do as I say.”
“Well thanks to you and your words of wisdom, I'm now redundantly useless in this god forsaken war.”
Harry looked like he was going to say something. A witty or offensive remark, no doubt. But he seemed to think better of it and walked out of the castle, back to the war, leaving Hermione alone waiting for the healer.
&%^$
Hermione sat in the visitor's chair that was placed beside Harry's unconscious form in the hospital bed.
“Not so fucking perfect now, are you love?” she muttered.
&%^$
“Fuck me, Granger, what in hell's name happened to you?”
“I'm currently on a side of the wizarding race that's in the midst of a fucking war. Why, what happened to you, Malfoy?” Hermione replied sarcastically, rolling her eyes at the shocked comment of Draco Malfoy as he entered the main hall of Hogwarts; his robes ripped in multiple places, and she could see he was wounded by the limp he walked with.
“Calm down, I was merely being polite,” he replied smoothly, as he continued to stare at the bloodied form of Hermione Granger.
“Well why don't you take your pleasantries back to Daddy; I'm sure he'd love to show Voldemort what a wonderful job he did at raising you,” she responded with a bitter twist in her tone.
“Despite what you may believe, Granger,” Draco said, walking closer to her and leaning in so that she couldn't miss what he was about to say, “I take no pride in being the son of Lucius Malfoy.”
Hermione scoffed.
“That line may have worked on the few naïve fools on the side of Light, but you know none of the Order actually believe a word you say, and I would have thought, what with your expensive home tutors, you may be educated enough to realise where you aren't wanted. Now get the hell away from me before I curse you the way I have every other Death Eater that has crossed my path in recent months.”
Draco stepped back and eyed this woman in front of him. He knew none of the Gryffindor Golden Trio would ever believe a word he told them, but still it would have been nice not to get it rubbed in his face. Especially when he was currently in so much pain.
“Whatever you request, Miss Granger, whatever you request...” he said with a smug smile, and continued through to the quick-fix drop in centre to get a remedy for his wounded leg.
Hermione watched as he left, much in the same way her husband had a few minutes ago (minus the limp, of course). It was strange; Harry and herself had been married for over a year now, yet Draco still referred to her as 'Miss Granger'. She had never warmed to the idea of taking the husband's surname in marriage- it took away the female identity and replaced it with the expectancy to serve the husband. And Hermione Granger was hardly well known for following crowds. So it was funny that one of the people she had spent years loathing, would be the one to address her the way she had longed for over the last year.
&%^$
#So one more day down,
And everybody's changing...#
“Hermione, maybe you should go get some sleep or something to eat. I'll come get you if anything happens with Harry,” one of the other healers on duty came over and said kindly to Hermione.
“Oh, I'm fine here, really,” Hermione replied, yawning.
“Yeah, you really look it,” the healer commented with slight sarcasm. “Go on, nobody expects you to be here 24/7. You're no use to anyone in this state. It's quiet now; go get some rest while you can. It's not often the healers on duty get a chance to rest up.”
“I suppose I wouldn't do much good if we had to counter-curse someone... Okay, but come wake me if you need any help,” Hermione agreed, and walked slowly away from Harry, out of the hall and up the stairs to the familiar Gryffindor tower.
Through the portrait, Hermione headed through the common room and up the stairs to the dormitory she was staying in. The dorms had been sectioned up; the old first and second year rooms were given for the children to stay in. The third year's rooms were for the majority of parents to the children. The fourth years' were for couples without children. The fifth years' were for those recovered recently from the hospital ward- which was where Hermione was currently resided, and the sixth and seventh were for everybody else that required residency, for example those whose homes had been raided and cursed and so could not return home, but still went out to fight with the others every day.
Hermione stood in the large dorm, which was currently only inhabited by herself. The only others who were staying in the castle after recovery were three males; Seamus Finnegan, Carter Jordan, and Daniel Riffe. Being that these were all male, it meant they all shared the old fifth year boys' dormitory, while Hermione occupied the girls' room alone.
She didn't mind though. In fact, she was glad of the solitude. Hermione wasn't the best conversationalist as of recent months, and so it was probably best she didn't have anyone to have to make nice to. Also, it would only provide for questions to be asked about the nightmares she awoke screaming to most nights.
She looked at her reflection in the full length mirror which graced the wall opposite her four poster bed. She was a mess. Her hair was a wild mess of undefined curls that hung in a frenzy down her back, almost to her waist. What were once bright cinnamon eyes, were now dull brown orbs which seemed to only show the tiredness she was feeling, as was demonstrated also by the bags which surrounded them.
She had scars marring her pale skin, and the healthy glow and thirst for life which Hermione Granger had once been recognised for, was, simply put, gone.
“Why the hell do I even bother?” she muttered aloud with a sigh as she attempted to run her fingers through her hair, but gave up upon encountering numerous knots and tangles.
“I could ask you the very same question. But we both know the answer,” a smooth voice trailed into the room. A voice Hermione recognised very well.
“Malfoy,” Hermione politely greeted the unexpected guest in her room. “How did you get up here?”
“Well, us Slytherins found a spell to counter this famous jinx which prevents males entering female bedrooms back in third year. You see, we generally had more time on our hands what with not having to save the world every other month like you lot,” he smirked, knowing Hermione didn't need to wonder why he'd bothered finding a counter-jinx to get in the girls' rooms.
“And why might you feel the urge to enter my room so uninvited?” she asked, raising her eyebrows questioningly.
To answer, he stepped closer to her, tracing his fingers along the scars visible on her neck, and pressing his lips against hers.
&%^$
#...One soft sweet sound
Is just enough to clear my head#
“Granger,” Draco nodded curtly as she exited the main hall, no longer a patient.
“Malfoy,” she responded with an air of boredom in her tone.
She couldn't be bothered with any of his cutting remarks about the state of her appearance today, or some fabled excuse for his failure of information about the latest Death Eater attack which he was supposed to filter information to the Order about. He was a fucking waste of space as far as she was concerned, and she would not spend her first minutes of release from the hospital wing conversing with some stuck up twat.
She went to continue past him down the hall, up to the Gryffindor Tower where she would now be taking up residence, but he stopped her, grabbing hold of her arm and spinning her back round to him.
“Luckily that is not my wounded arm you're currently exerting pressure on, otherwise you might as well have just asked the Giant Squid for a dive in it's domain for all the damage I would do to you,” Hermione threatened meaningfully.
Draco knew of the damage the blasted Squid could do, and he didn't fancy Granger's interpretation of that pain; he'd seen her out in battle.
“Lucky then, I guess,” he smiled sardonically.
“Well what do you want then? I don't have all day,” Hermione scowled.
“Well I don't see Potter waiting around for you anywhere. Dear old hubby not there to escort you from the infirmary? Tsk tsk. Talk about the sanctity of marriage going down the pan,” he mockingly sighed in feigned disappointment.
In truth, Hermione couldn't have given a piece of piss whether Harry was there or not, but the fact that Malfoy had brought it up only made her inwardly curse Harry's existence for not giving a damn about her since she was taken into the castle. He had visited her briefly every couple of days, but what was that? He was supposed to love her; they had had a wedding after all, and isn't that what it was supposed to symbolise? Love? Commitment? Apparently not.
“At least I could get someone to marry me; I don't see a woman hanging off your branded arm, Malfoy. What happened, women stopped finding you irresistible when they found out what you did for a living?” Hermione hissed.
“Hey, whatever you're insinuating, Granger, I have no trouble at all getting a woman to spend the night with me. When was the last time you and Potter had a lay, I wonder?” Draco retorted in response.
Hermione narrowed her eyes scathingly, and turned once again to head to the dormitory she would now be staying in. She hadn't stopped for him just to bicker in the hallway, there were more important things these days to be spending time on.
“You know, if you ever get lonely up there in that god damned Gryffindor sanction you're residing to, just let me know. I would hate for you to feel... unwanted,” he smirked, as he noticed Hermione slow in her tracks and turn to face him again.
“What are you suggesting, Malfoy? That you would fuck me? That you would allow your pristine, manicured fingers to touch my filthy, tainted body?” she tempted, “Thanks for the offer, but I would rather spend my nights alone than have Death Eater scum touching me,” she scathed.
Draco marched toward her meaningfully. Hermione didn't think he was going to stop as he reached her and she backed up against the wall. Fuck.
Draco stood right in front of her, his warm breath tickling the side of her face.
“Do not call me a Death Eater again, Granger. Otherwise, I may have to do something you will not appreciate,” he threatened.
Instead of feeling fearful of this alleged murderer that stood right in her face, she was intrigued.
She boldly reached forward and pulled up the black sleeve of Draco's robe to reveal the Dark Mark. Her fingers delicately traced the outline of the emblazoned skull, and Draco did nothing but watch her curiously.
“You like the feel of my skin?” he hissed in her ear, as he leaned further in- his hands pressing against the wall either side of Hermione's waist, trapping her against him. She didn't relinquish her gentle stroking of his arm however.
“I'm a logical person; what I like is evidence,” she retorted, almost smirking. How could he deny what she could touch? More interestingly though, why was he letting her touch him?
“Well that's not the feeling I got.”
“You're male. The only feelings you are capable of are those in your pants,” Hermione commented.
“Exactly...” Draco whispered deep in her ear, leaving an uncertainty about her. Hermione was a logistical person. She didn't do 'uncertainty'. And she fucking well did not do suggestiveness in the side halls of Hogwarts.
“What is it that you wanted, Malfoy?” Hermione asked him, squaring up to him as she raised her eyes to look into his.
“I wanted to ask how you were doing, see how you were after the month being treated for the Sectumsempra... Now, all I want... is a shag,” he smirked, telling the whole truth for once.
“Oh yeah? You want to shag me?” Hermione asked, eyebrows raised.
“Don't sound so surprised, Granger. Don't tell me you haven't felt this tension between us,” he asked.
“What tension?” she asked, with a feigned innocence. “Oh, you mean have I felt your eyes on me every time you walk past me in my hospital bed, thinking I'm asleep? Have i felt your erection against my stomach? The searing intensity of the fact you want to screw me?”
Draco smiled. “And I thought you only got things right because you'd read about them.”
“Oh no, I like the practicals as well as the theories. In fact, I'm very good at them.”
Hermione licked her lips, tempting Draco to no end to just shove his own tongue into those prissy pink lips of hers.
“Well, I guess a quick test would be in order. Wouldn't want you relinquishing your grasp on the subject,” Draco replied, with a husky voice between passionate connectivity between mouths.
Hermione had been beginning to forget what it felt like to have a man this close. Harry, the self-indulgent prick that he is, hadn't gone near Hermione since before the war began over seven months ago. She needed this. The occurrence that this was Draco Malfoy never crossed her mind as she wrapped her legs around his waist as he pressed her forcefully against the wall.
Lost in heat of passion, Hermione rocked against Draco as his mouth devoured hers in lust-filled kisses, descending from her lips down her neck, being careful not to hurt the healing scars on her left side. She pushed the heavy black robe off of him and it fell to the floor, along with his trousers that Hermione's nimble fingers reached between them to unzip.
Draco also made fast work of lifting her black skirt to her waist and his skilled fingers ran across the light, damp material of her knickers. He ripped them violently off her and delved two fingers into her. She gasped at the contact. It had been so long since she had been touched in this way; with the raw passion and wanton need she felt now. Draco smirked as he felt her tense around him and he continued his motional movements within her. His mouth moved down to the top of her breasts and licked her seductively, swirling his tongue down to her hardened nipple.
Hermione moved her hand down from gripping his back to between them and lightly grasped his hand to come away. Draco halted his movements, lifting his eyes to meet Hermione's. He had gotten so carried away he didn't think she was a married woman. Maybe he had read the signs wrong.
He was, however, pleasantly surprised when Hermione lifted her hips to press herself against Draco's throbbing shaft. She wasn't some sixteen year old any more and if Draco thought she would be satisfied with merely getting 'fingered' after so long without a man's touch, he was wrong. She wanted to fuck him right here in this cursed hallway, and Hermione was a woman known to get what she wanted.
“Screw me, Draco. Take me right now,” she whispered, before replacing her lips onto his again. He thrust his eager cock into her tight pussy and shagged her until they were both wasted and plentifully fulfilled.
-----
Slumped on the floor, gasping for breath, Draco pulled on his robe and did up his trousers as Hermione too straightened herself out. He reached a hand out to pull her up from the cold stone floor, but Hermione turned away and got herself up, turning and walking straight up to her original destination. She didn't need his help.
&%^$
...TBC
...Please review!!
Taster: 'Draco captured Hermione's lips again in his, and she was powerless to refuse. She knew it was wrong. She knew she shouldn't be doing this now, here, with him. Her husband was lay unconscious just a few floors down.
But why should she care about him? Why should she feel guilty about this sinful pleasure she was experiencing? Why should each memory of the countless times she'd fucked this enemy of theirs make her resent herself?'
Disclaimer: This story contains characters created and owned by J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, Scholastic, Inc. and AOL/Time Warner, Inc. No profit is being made and no infringement is intended.
Song lyrics used belong to Matchbox Twenty, and again, no profit is being made and no infringement is intended.
In other words... NOT MINE!!! None of it. Not at all. I own zilch... zip... zero...
Me, bitter? Never.
Intensity
Chapter One
Maybe time will stop, and maybe things will stay, and maybe, just maybe life will go on. . .
&%^$
Maybe not.
&%^$
#If it's just that you're weak
Can we talk about it?
It's getting so damn creepy
Just nursing this ghost of a chance
The fiction, the romance#
- - black & white people, Matchbox Twenty.
&%^$
Hermione Granger stood abruptly, causing the majority of heads in the room to turn and look her way. She ignored the voice droning on at the front of the room, and the curious and pitiful faces which glared at her so intensely, and she marched to the door.
Once outside of the room, she took a deep breath and tried to pull herself together. Nobody had expected her to even last that long in the meeting. Not while he was still down there, fighting for his life.
She could see it in everybody's stares: the pity, the concern... the excitement that something may have actually broken the great Hermione Granger's perfect composure at last. Well Hermione Granger may have lost her composure, but she sure as hell didn't want their pity for it.
The funny thing was, whilst everybody was assuming she was so messed up as of late due to Potter being kicked down into the hospital wing and remaining unconscious for the last two weeks, it was something much more than that which had her so fucked up.
Not that she didn't want him to recover, (and that was something else which she was pissed at herself for,) but there was something much more distracting going on in her life. And she didn't mean the war either; that was something everybody was dealing with in their lives, in their own way. The problem was, she didn't quite know what this was...
-----
People on the side of Light had, in an effort to increase protection to the wounded while the others were still fighting, set up a small care centre in the main hall of Hogwarts, where Hermione was now based as a Healer along with many others who were unable to actually fight in the war. Meanwhile, the other realms of the castle were set up for those fighting to come to for some rest between the mayhem, as well as semi-permanent homing for those like Hermione.
People like Hermione- who had been unable to fight since the seventh month of the official war, four weeks ago- were assigned the old Gryffindor tower for living quarters. The school had been out of action for the duration of the war; parents eventually all came to realise they wouldn't rest until they could see their children were safe. So the headteacher, (Prof. McGonagall since the passing of Dumbledore three years ago,) offered the services of the magically protected building to house the wounded and the less able.
The classrooms on the lower floor were set up as kitchens, and the house elves ran a twenty-four hour catering service for anybody that needed it. Those like Hermione, who lived in, went down only on occasion for some food. The majority of their time was dedicated to researching spells, potions and cures for those in the infirmary. That is, when they weren't applying healing charms to those in the infirmary.
They had, between them, come up with a rota for who would be on duty in the old main hall; watching over the wounded, applying remedies and making sure those who were soon to pass were comfortable.
In the old hospital wing, as was well visited by Hermione in her school days due to her company of the two wizards she was famously known to be associated with, was the “drop-in” centre for those who weren't fatally ill or wounded. They could just drop in and the appropriate spell or potion could be applied before they returned to the outside world. The potions for the classic wounds that were regularly seen were being constantly brewed by accomplished potion masters in the greenhouses, where ingredients were always close to hand, and constantly being replanted.
The majority of the cauldrons, however, were not with these in the greenhouses, but down in the dungeons, where the atmosphere was more stable for the brewing of strong healing remedies for those much more in need; those who occupied the beds in the once-Great Hall.
In the ex-Hufflepuff common room, beds and blankets had been spread about, and a fire was constantly burning attempting to bring some heat and light that everyone remembered the sun once for. It seemed like it had been years since they had seen the sun shine. If you looked outside the windows now, all that filled the sky was grey clouds, black smoke... and the Dark Mark.
Those who had been fighting could just come down to the Hufflepuff quarters and rest. Only down the corridor were the new kitchens if they desired food any time of day or night. The house elves had used their unique magic to apply a charm to the resting room; one which restored inner-peace and energy to allow for a speedy recovery to the tired and crestfallen.
Those who were not on duty to attend any of the sick or brew any of their cures, generally chose to spend their time in the library researching. Hermione could have almost forgotten what food tasted like; she spent all her time trying to help other people, and even when she did spare a minute she felt guilty eating what the house elves worked hard at when she wasn't even ill. Despite what others claimed.
She had been hit with the Sectumsempra in a major battle four weeks ago, and the wounds she received had prevented her to meet the contaminated air of the outside world without a slicing pain searing through the wounds, which never seemed to close up. The curse still scarred her neck, arms and side.
Some days she would wake and find the cuts bleeding again; she would have nightmares. Nightmares so distressing that she would scratch and shred her skin during her sleep. She would awake in a mess of tears and blood.
People were saying she looked so tired as of recently. They wondered why. But how could she sleep when the images were even worse than those she dealt with through out the day? How could she sleep when this concious life promised better things than the subconscious?
Hermione was currently due to be brewing remedies in the dungeons today, but she had managed to swap with someone working as a Healer in the hall so that she could visit Potter.
No one dared decline her visitation rights to him, and if she wanted to swap shifts to spend time with him, she would spend time with him.
It was silly really; everyone was going out of their way for her since Harry had been admitted, but he was just an excuse. Sure, she would sit with him day after day, applying remedies and charms, but what she was really there for was the one who haunted her dreams- the one who turned them into nightmares.
Hermione ran her fingers through her messy locks and sighed. Looking back towards the Healers' briefing meeting she had just exited, she walked down to the hall in unease.
&%^$
#And it's one last round of petty conversation...#
“You really are stupid sometimes, Hermione. I told you I would take care of it. You should have just stayed back where I told you,” Harry remarked, carrying her through to the main hall of Hogwarts and placing her on a spare bed as the healer at the gate had instructed him to.
“Don't tell me what I can't do! I would have been able to deflect the damn curse if you hadn't have been shouting absurdities in my ear,” she replied.
She would not take another lecture from him about what should be done out in battle. She had managed to look after herself this long, and until about an hour ago, she had received not one injury in the seven months of war.
“So now you're blaming me? I told you to get back. Couldn't you see what Snape was about to do? He invented that curse, and so he is the most powerful wizard to apply it. You'll be lucky if you get out of here even half better than the state you're in now.”
Hermione looked down at herself. He was right; she was bleeding quite freely from numerous cuts that ran along her left upper arm, her left side, and even across her shoulder and neck. It would be doubtful they would heal any time soon, no matter how many charms were applied.
“Well if you hadn't have thought it a great idea to intervene and start lecturing me in the middle of battle, I wouldn't have missed him with the counter-curse, would I?” Hermione commented, bitterly. “You think you're so fucking perfect; that every word you speak is holy and deserves endless praise. Well, this war has been going on long enough, Harry. Don't you think it's time already for your great displays of power yet? What are you waiting for? Haven't enough people died yet for you to go out and actually risk your pathetic arse?”
“You don't have a clue, do you? You're not the one who has the weight of the fate of the world resting on your shoulders every day. You're not the one who has to wake up every day knowing every one is just waiting for you to murder someone and end all this. You're not me, Hermione, and you don't have a damn clue.”
“Don't you talk to me in that tone, Harry.”
“I sure as hell can talk to you any way I damn well want to. You're my wife, Hermione. I told you to get away from him and I expect in future that you will do as I say.”
“Well thanks to you and your words of wisdom, I'm now redundantly useless in this god forsaken war.”
Harry looked like he was going to say something. A witty or offensive remark, no doubt. But he seemed to think better of it and walked out of the castle, back to the war, leaving Hermione alone waiting for the healer.
&%^$
Hermione sat in the visitor's chair that was placed beside Harry's unconscious form in the hospital bed.
“Not so fucking perfect now, are you love?” she muttered.
&%^$
“Fuck me, Granger, what in hell's name happened to you?”
“I'm currently on a side of the wizarding race that's in the midst of a fucking war. Why, what happened to you, Malfoy?” Hermione replied sarcastically, rolling her eyes at the shocked comment of Draco Malfoy as he entered the main hall of Hogwarts; his robes ripped in multiple places, and she could see he was wounded by the limp he walked with.
“Calm down, I was merely being polite,” he replied smoothly, as he continued to stare at the bloodied form of Hermione Granger.
“Well why don't you take your pleasantries back to Daddy; I'm sure he'd love to show Voldemort what a wonderful job he did at raising you,” she responded with a bitter twist in her tone.
“Despite what you may believe, Granger,” Draco said, walking closer to her and leaning in so that she couldn't miss what he was about to say, “I take no pride in being the son of Lucius Malfoy.”
Hermione scoffed.
“That line may have worked on the few naïve fools on the side of Light, but you know none of the Order actually believe a word you say, and I would have thought, what with your expensive home tutors, you may be educated enough to realise where you aren't wanted. Now get the hell away from me before I curse you the way I have every other Death Eater that has crossed my path in recent months.”
Draco stepped back and eyed this woman in front of him. He knew none of the Gryffindor Golden Trio would ever believe a word he told them, but still it would have been nice not to get it rubbed in his face. Especially when he was currently in so much pain.
“Whatever you request, Miss Granger, whatever you request...” he said with a smug smile, and continued through to the quick-fix drop in centre to get a remedy for his wounded leg.
Hermione watched as he left, much in the same way her husband had a few minutes ago (minus the limp, of course). It was strange; Harry and herself had been married for over a year now, yet Draco still referred to her as 'Miss Granger'. She had never warmed to the idea of taking the husband's surname in marriage- it took away the female identity and replaced it with the expectancy to serve the husband. And Hermione Granger was hardly well known for following crowds. So it was funny that one of the people she had spent years loathing, would be the one to address her the way she had longed for over the last year.
&%^$
#So one more day down,
And everybody's changing...#
“Hermione, maybe you should go get some sleep or something to eat. I'll come get you if anything happens with Harry,” one of the other healers on duty came over and said kindly to Hermione.
“Oh, I'm fine here, really,” Hermione replied, yawning.
“Yeah, you really look it,” the healer commented with slight sarcasm. “Go on, nobody expects you to be here 24/7. You're no use to anyone in this state. It's quiet now; go get some rest while you can. It's not often the healers on duty get a chance to rest up.”
“I suppose I wouldn't do much good if we had to counter-curse someone... Okay, but come wake me if you need any help,” Hermione agreed, and walked slowly away from Harry, out of the hall and up the stairs to the familiar Gryffindor tower.
Through the portrait, Hermione headed through the common room and up the stairs to the dormitory she was staying in. The dorms had been sectioned up; the old first and second year rooms were given for the children to stay in. The third year's rooms were for the majority of parents to the children. The fourth years' were for couples without children. The fifth years' were for those recovered recently from the hospital ward- which was where Hermione was currently resided, and the sixth and seventh were for everybody else that required residency, for example those whose homes had been raided and cursed and so could not return home, but still went out to fight with the others every day.
Hermione stood in the large dorm, which was currently only inhabited by herself. The only others who were staying in the castle after recovery were three males; Seamus Finnegan, Carter Jordan, and Daniel Riffe. Being that these were all male, it meant they all shared the old fifth year boys' dormitory, while Hermione occupied the girls' room alone.
She didn't mind though. In fact, she was glad of the solitude. Hermione wasn't the best conversationalist as of recent months, and so it was probably best she didn't have anyone to have to make nice to. Also, it would only provide for questions to be asked about the nightmares she awoke screaming to most nights.
She looked at her reflection in the full length mirror which graced the wall opposite her four poster bed. She was a mess. Her hair was a wild mess of undefined curls that hung in a frenzy down her back, almost to her waist. What were once bright cinnamon eyes, were now dull brown orbs which seemed to only show the tiredness she was feeling, as was demonstrated also by the bags which surrounded them.
She had scars marring her pale skin, and the healthy glow and thirst for life which Hermione Granger had once been recognised for, was, simply put, gone.
“Why the hell do I even bother?” she muttered aloud with a sigh as she attempted to run her fingers through her hair, but gave up upon encountering numerous knots and tangles.
“I could ask you the very same question. But we both know the answer,” a smooth voice trailed into the room. A voice Hermione recognised very well.
“Malfoy,” Hermione politely greeted the unexpected guest in her room. “How did you get up here?”
“Well, us Slytherins found a spell to counter this famous jinx which prevents males entering female bedrooms back in third year. You see, we generally had more time on our hands what with not having to save the world every other month like you lot,” he smirked, knowing Hermione didn't need to wonder why he'd bothered finding a counter-jinx to get in the girls' rooms.
“And why might you feel the urge to enter my room so uninvited?” she asked, raising her eyebrows questioningly.
To answer, he stepped closer to her, tracing his fingers along the scars visible on her neck, and pressing his lips against hers.
&%^$
#...One soft sweet sound
Is just enough to clear my head#
“Granger,” Draco nodded curtly as she exited the main hall, no longer a patient.
“Malfoy,” she responded with an air of boredom in her tone.
She couldn't be bothered with any of his cutting remarks about the state of her appearance today, or some fabled excuse for his failure of information about the latest Death Eater attack which he was supposed to filter information to the Order about. He was a fucking waste of space as far as she was concerned, and she would not spend her first minutes of release from the hospital wing conversing with some stuck up twat.
She went to continue past him down the hall, up to the Gryffindor Tower where she would now be taking up residence, but he stopped her, grabbing hold of her arm and spinning her back round to him.
“Luckily that is not my wounded arm you're currently exerting pressure on, otherwise you might as well have just asked the Giant Squid for a dive in it's domain for all the damage I would do to you,” Hermione threatened meaningfully.
Draco knew of the damage the blasted Squid could do, and he didn't fancy Granger's interpretation of that pain; he'd seen her out in battle.
“Lucky then, I guess,” he smiled sardonically.
“Well what do you want then? I don't have all day,” Hermione scowled.
“Well I don't see Potter waiting around for you anywhere. Dear old hubby not there to escort you from the infirmary? Tsk tsk. Talk about the sanctity of marriage going down the pan,” he mockingly sighed in feigned disappointment.
In truth, Hermione couldn't have given a piece of piss whether Harry was there or not, but the fact that Malfoy had brought it up only made her inwardly curse Harry's existence for not giving a damn about her since she was taken into the castle. He had visited her briefly every couple of days, but what was that? He was supposed to love her; they had had a wedding after all, and isn't that what it was supposed to symbolise? Love? Commitment? Apparently not.
“At least I could get someone to marry me; I don't see a woman hanging off your branded arm, Malfoy. What happened, women stopped finding you irresistible when they found out what you did for a living?” Hermione hissed.
“Hey, whatever you're insinuating, Granger, I have no trouble at all getting a woman to spend the night with me. When was the last time you and Potter had a lay, I wonder?” Draco retorted in response.
Hermione narrowed her eyes scathingly, and turned once again to head to the dormitory she would now be staying in. She hadn't stopped for him just to bicker in the hallway, there were more important things these days to be spending time on.
“You know, if you ever get lonely up there in that god damned Gryffindor sanction you're residing to, just let me know. I would hate for you to feel... unwanted,” he smirked, as he noticed Hermione slow in her tracks and turn to face him again.
“What are you suggesting, Malfoy? That you would fuck me? That you would allow your pristine, manicured fingers to touch my filthy, tainted body?” she tempted, “Thanks for the offer, but I would rather spend my nights alone than have Death Eater scum touching me,” she scathed.
Draco marched toward her meaningfully. Hermione didn't think he was going to stop as he reached her and she backed up against the wall. Fuck.
Draco stood right in front of her, his warm breath tickling the side of her face.
“Do not call me a Death Eater again, Granger. Otherwise, I may have to do something you will not appreciate,” he threatened.
Instead of feeling fearful of this alleged murderer that stood right in her face, she was intrigued.
She boldly reached forward and pulled up the black sleeve of Draco's robe to reveal the Dark Mark. Her fingers delicately traced the outline of the emblazoned skull, and Draco did nothing but watch her curiously.
“You like the feel of my skin?” he hissed in her ear, as he leaned further in- his hands pressing against the wall either side of Hermione's waist, trapping her against him. She didn't relinquish her gentle stroking of his arm however.
“I'm a logical person; what I like is evidence,” she retorted, almost smirking. How could he deny what she could touch? More interestingly though, why was he letting her touch him?
“Well that's not the feeling I got.”
“You're male. The only feelings you are capable of are those in your pants,” Hermione commented.
“Exactly...” Draco whispered deep in her ear, leaving an uncertainty about her. Hermione was a logistical person. She didn't do 'uncertainty'. And she fucking well did not do suggestiveness in the side halls of Hogwarts.
“What is it that you wanted, Malfoy?” Hermione asked him, squaring up to him as she raised her eyes to look into his.
“I wanted to ask how you were doing, see how you were after the month being treated for the Sectumsempra... Now, all I want... is a shag,” he smirked, telling the whole truth for once.
“Oh yeah? You want to shag me?” Hermione asked, eyebrows raised.
“Don't sound so surprised, Granger. Don't tell me you haven't felt this tension between us,” he asked.
“What tension?” she asked, with a feigned innocence. “Oh, you mean have I felt your eyes on me every time you walk past me in my hospital bed, thinking I'm asleep? Have i felt your erection against my stomach? The searing intensity of the fact you want to screw me?”
Draco smiled. “And I thought you only got things right because you'd read about them.”
“Oh no, I like the practicals as well as the theories. In fact, I'm very good at them.”
Hermione licked her lips, tempting Draco to no end to just shove his own tongue into those prissy pink lips of hers.
“Well, I guess a quick test would be in order. Wouldn't want you relinquishing your grasp on the subject,” Draco replied, with a husky voice between passionate connectivity between mouths.
Hermione had been beginning to forget what it felt like to have a man this close. Harry, the self-indulgent prick that he is, hadn't gone near Hermione since before the war began over seven months ago. She needed this. The occurrence that this was Draco Malfoy never crossed her mind as she wrapped her legs around his waist as he pressed her forcefully against the wall.
Lost in heat of passion, Hermione rocked against Draco as his mouth devoured hers in lust-filled kisses, descending from her lips down her neck, being careful not to hurt the healing scars on her left side. She pushed the heavy black robe off of him and it fell to the floor, along with his trousers that Hermione's nimble fingers reached between them to unzip.
Draco also made fast work of lifting her black skirt to her waist and his skilled fingers ran across the light, damp material of her knickers. He ripped them violently off her and delved two fingers into her. She gasped at the contact. It had been so long since she had been touched in this way; with the raw passion and wanton need she felt now. Draco smirked as he felt her tense around him and he continued his motional movements within her. His mouth moved down to the top of her breasts and licked her seductively, swirling his tongue down to her hardened nipple.
Hermione moved her hand down from gripping his back to between them and lightly grasped his hand to come away. Draco halted his movements, lifting his eyes to meet Hermione's. He had gotten so carried away he didn't think she was a married woman. Maybe he had read the signs wrong.
He was, however, pleasantly surprised when Hermione lifted her hips to press herself against Draco's throbbing shaft. She wasn't some sixteen year old any more and if Draco thought she would be satisfied with merely getting 'fingered' after so long without a man's touch, he was wrong. She wanted to fuck him right here in this cursed hallway, and Hermione was a woman known to get what she wanted.
“Screw me, Draco. Take me right now,” she whispered, before replacing her lips onto his again. He thrust his eager cock into her tight pussy and shagged her until they were both wasted and plentifully fulfilled.
-----
Slumped on the floor, gasping for breath, Draco pulled on his robe and did up his trousers as Hermione too straightened herself out. He reached a hand out to pull her up from the cold stone floor, but Hermione turned away and got herself up, turning and walking straight up to her original destination. She didn't need his help.
&%^$
...TBC
...Please review!!