Trials of Affliction and Light Sleeping

Chapter 11

Hermione was an emotional wreck.

         Never before had she been trapped in an
emotional whirlwind of such utter confusion, self-doubt and just plain shock.

In her mind, there had been two ends to the equation of sexual
intercourse: celibacy and sex.  She
hadn’t even totally considered all the acts in-between.  And she definitely hadn’t thought about
executing them herself.  She had always
thought that she would lose her virginity... and then would start experimenting
with the rest.  Not the other way
around. 

Or did she just lose her virginity?  Common sense told her she didn’t, because
there hadn’t been actual intercourse. 
But if that were true, lesbians would never get to lose their virginities,
which didn’t seem accurate. 

Gods, this was so confusing. 

         For years, people had been telling her
that sex is not all what it’s cracked up to be; that it’s not as divine as they
make it seem in books or in the movies. 

Damn those buggers for letting her believe that piece of crock! 

At least then she would have been somewhat prepared for what she
had gone through with Malfoy.  She
probably hadn’t even really had sex, but it had been the closest she could get
without actually doing it. 

What in Morgana’s Bane was that? 

She knew the mechanics of sexual acts and she knew that many emotions
come to play when doing it, but never had she really stopped to think about
what it would actually do to her. 
She had lost complete control over her own body.  It was as if Malfoy had the controls over her
bodily functions and was randomly pressing them.  Well, it wasn’t exactly random.  If that had been random, Hermione
couldn’t even fathom what would happen if he was using a manual. 

And afterwards she had cried.

Hermione had never experienced such complete and utter relaxation.  It was as if this giant explosion had erupted
in her underbelly and its shocks had been coursing throughout her entire body.  For a moment there, her mind had been totally
blank.  No pressure about school, no
NEWTS, no Voldemort... no nothing.  Just
this feeling of total bliss.  It was hard
to believe that such experience could be evoked without the use of magic. 

Yes well, that feeling was gone now.

Now Hermione just felt dirty.

Not about the act itself.  It had
been one of the most wonderful and intense experiences of her life. 

No, it was about what happened afterwards.

Or more accurately, didn’t happen.

Hermione still didn’t know what had possessed Malfoy to do what he did
to her, but she knew that something about it had put him off.  Since then, he had obviously done everything
to avoid her presence.  She knew it was
almost time for NEWTS and that he had to study, but this was plain
ridiculous. 

Hermione had always imagined giving that personal piece of herself to a
person who she’d have dated a while. 
Someone she knew inside out and whom she trusted with her life.   

But apparently that didn’t fit in with Draco Malfoy’s schedule. 

She still couldn’t totally believe it.

Draco Malfoy had given her a hand-job.

Hermione felt stupid.  At the
time, she had had enough brains to know that Malfoy didn’t do what he did
because he fancied her.  She had known
that, yet she had just let him have his way with her, because what he had been
doing had felt so damn good at the time. 
She had let him sneak past her defences and let him get into her
panties.  She had been a whimpering
trembling mush of hormones and that though just made her want to vomit.  Hermione wished she had just remained the
self-controlled intelligent witch she liked to think she was.  What was it about Draco Malfoy that made her
forget to act as such?  And why did she
have to cry? 

Hermione also couldn’t help but feel hurt and rejected. 

Her common sense told her to go and confront Malfoy about all this.  But to be honest, she was just plain scared
of what he might say. 

Was there something wrong with her? 

Wasn’t she pretty enough?  Was the
way her legs had been trembling not normal? 
Did her juices gross him out?  Did
she give in too easily and now he thought she was a slut?   

Yes, there
was something wrong with her. 

What was wrong was that all she could think about was doing it
again.  Since that day, Malfoy had
awakened something inside of her. 
Something she wished that he had just kept buried.  He had hurt her to her very core and yet she
couldn’t stop thinking about him.  The
way he had spoken to her and the way he had touched her.  It was the kind of passion she had been
yearning for all this time; raw and animalistic, yet gentle and caring.  Hermione found herself not being able to go
to sleep without retracing his touches on her body, while imagining that it was
his hands that brought her to release instead of her own.  And afterwards she often cried again.

She cried for being so weak.

She cried for having been rejected.

She cried for how much she hated him for doing this to her.

And she cried for those damn fuzzy feelings that just wouldn’t go away.

...

No!

She was going to stop doing this!

She was going to stop wallowing in self-pity.

She wasn’t weak!  She had looked
death in the eye on multiple occasions, something most people only have to do
once in their lives.  Yet, a natural act
like sexual experimentation made her into a whimpering little girly-girl? That
was just plain ridiculous.

She had always perceived herself as a modern and liberated young
woman.  She wasn’t the hopeless romantic
who had planned to give herself to one man and only one man.  For that to happen there would be such a
thing as love, and love was an illusion. 
It was a natural response that urged people to procreate, similar to
what happened to Malfoy during the Veela mating season.

She just needed to make a positive spin to things.

She had lived, made a mistake and had learned from it.

‘I got laid, it was fun, and lets move one.’

At times she still couldn’t help but find it ironic that all this time
she had though that Malfoy would be the cause to losing her sanity, yet instead
he was the cause to losing her heart.

And that was her cue to start spinning again. 

 

*

Draco’s plan had totally not gone
as it should have.

Well, actually it did.  But it did
not have the result Draco had wanted it to have.

By pleasuring Granger, he wanted to feel like a man again. 

Instead he felt like a weasel.

Draco had never been given many guidelines or limitations in his
life.  The only things his father had
forbidden him were to cause scandals or being caught at doing something he
shouldn’t do.  Draco always had tried to
live up to those rules.  He could do
anything he wanted, as long as he didn’t soil the family name.  He supposed that had made him rather spoiled,
but Draco regarded that as an attribute that naturally came with being both
pureblooded and rich.

He didn’t care that before Granger no one had ever emotionally reacted
so strongly to something he had done! 
Draco had evoked plenty of negative reactions from other people by the
things he said or did, but never any positive ones.  Quite frankly, he had no clue in how to evoke
positive responses from people, so he just resorted to stirring up negative
ones when he wanted attention.

Therefore, that gnawing feeling he had felt after meeting up with
Granger -and had been stalking him ever since- was something completely new to
him.  And it didn’t even make much sense.

He had done something he liked and had done something she
liked.

So, what was the problem?

He should not be feeling guilty for his motivations in doing it! 

He didn’t care that he had made her cry! 

It wasn’t even the bad sort of crying, it was just crying because she
just didn’t know what else to do with her emotions.  Draco knew from personal experience that as
much as ones mind controls his body, it was also very much vice versa.  He still vividly remembered the summer after
fifth year, when his father had just been imprisoned.  His mother had noticed that Draco was rather
tense and had ordered a massager to come to the manor to relieve some of her
son’s anxiety.  After spending only five
minutes on the massage table, Draco had mentally broken down and had started
sobbing like an infant.  Thank Merlin for
the Obliviation charm, or he would have been forced to kill the poor
massage-girl who had witnessed that embarrassing moment of weakness. 

Since then, Draco had learned a valuable lesson; mind and body are
connected and should both be kept in check. 

He didn’t care that he had hit an emotional cord in a person who cared
enough to stalk him for a month. 

He didn’t care, because Draco himself didn’t have any emotional cords.

And neither did Granger twinge any of those nonexistent cords within
him.

Draco just wished that that damn gnawing would stop.

The days passed by and the end of the year was swiftly approaching.  Draco was quite looking forward to it,
because then he wouldn’t have the compulsive need to let his eyes drift towards
the Gryffindor table to see if she was sitting there.  Granger didn’t show any outward signs of her
emotions, yet her seemingly uncontrollable aversion for looking at the
Slytherin table told Draco enough. 

He wanted to say something to her. 
He wanted to make her feel better, which was odd since he never cared
how anyone else felt.  Draco mused that
he just wanted to make her feel better so his own hurting would stop.  It was as if their emotions were linked, she
was hurt and so he was too.   Never mind
that he was the one who had done the hurting. 
He knew that his silence was the cause of it all, but he just didn’t
know how to speak up.  What was he
supposed to say?  Was he supposed to say
that he had just used her to boost his own male ego and didn’t care for her
beyond that?  Yeah, that would make her
feel special.

Not that he cared.

But if he didn’t care, then why did he feel so damn rotten?

*

The weeks went by, NEWTS came and went and the end of the year dance was
upon the senior classes of Hogwarts. 
Tomorrow, Draco would find himself back at Malfoy Manor; safely away
from Hermione and the unsettling feelings she brought with her.  He had taken that extra step and started
referring to her as Hermione.  He had
done it before, and once you have given a person an orgasm you’re bound to call
her by her first name one day or another.

He didn’t even want to go to that damn dance, but with being Head Boy he
had to go and keep an eye on things.  He
hadn’t even bothered to find himself a date, finding the effort for being
cordial all evening too much of a bother right now. 

Draco was sitting in a chair, drinking some punch (which he had spiked
to give it some kick) and looked around the dance floor. 

It seemed that Potter had asked that Lovegood-girl out as his date.  Good for him. 
If the smell of arousal that girl emitted was any indication, it seemed
that Potter was going to get more a bit action than he had gotten during his
‘episodes’ with Draco.  Draco had kept
telling himself to try to see the humour in those occurrences, yet he just
couldn’t see it.  He supposed it had to
rest for a while, like a good whine.

Maybe in fifty years, he’d be able to crack a smile over almost getting
shagged by Harry Potter.

No, still not funny.   

 

As Draco was sitting in his chair, counting down the minutes, a familiar
smell suddenly caught his nostrils again. 
Peach, mint, tropical fruits and a fragrance that only belonged to
Granger.  Draco turned his head towards
the source and cringed inwardly at the sight of the Head Girl.  She was dressed in a body hugging dark green
velvet gown that showed off every gorgeous curve of her body.  She had put her curly hair up in a whimsical
bun and had decorated it with a few little green and white flowers. 

Why couldn’t she just have dressed in a potato sack? 

Draco glared as he noticed that her date for the evening was the
Weasel.  He didn’t even know why he cared
so much, all he knew was that he did.  He
thoroughly hated the sight of them as they danced.  He didn’t like Weasley’s hands resting on the
curve of her lower back, he didn’t like the lusty glances he gave her when she
wasn’t looking and he really didn’t like the fact that Weasley’s hands
were gradually moving downwards.

Draco was suddenly hit by this very familiar feeling.  That same possessive feeling he had gotten
when he wanted to rip Luna Lovegood’s eyes out for checking out at his
mate.  Yet, this time that feeling wasn’t
a side effect to the mating season, this was solely Draco.  He got off his chair and moved unto the dance
floor.

“Please refer from this inappropriate show of public affection” Draco
sneered at the dancing couple, which broke apart instantly. 

“What are you going on about, Malfoy?” 
Weasley glared as he possessively hugged Hermione to his side.  Hermione just kept her eyes on everything
except on Draco. 

“You know perfectly well what I was referring to, Weasley” Draco
huffed.  “Keep your paws to yourself,
will you.  I don’t think there is anyone
here who’d enjoy seeing you feeling up the Head Girl.”

“I wasn’t feeling her up!” 
Weasley said, his face going red with embarrassment.

“Malfoy, can I see you outside for a second” Hermione said coldly, more
a demand than a question. 

After sending one final death-glare towards the Weasel, Draco complied
and retreated into the hallway.  After a
few moments, in which she had excused herself from Weasley, Hermione joined him
there.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she glared at him while crossing her
arms in front of her chest.

“Just doing my job as Head Boy” Draco replied huffily.

“Stop playing games with me Malfoy!” she said crossly.  “Don’t you think you’ve embarrassed me
enough?  Now you have to control my life
too?”   

“He shouldn’t have touched you like that,” Draco said bluntly.

“Why?”  Hermione retorted.  “You figured that I’m suffering from this
uncontrollable need for other people to touch me and you thought I should be
stopped?”

“No” Draco said.  “I-“

“Just... leave me alone, Malfoy” Hermione said callously as she turned
back around to rejoin the party.

Draco really had no idea what to say. 

He didn’t really know what he wanted. 

He knew that he just couldn’t bear to see Weasley touching her.  It made him sick to the stomach.  Draco wanted to be the only one who was
allowed to touch her that way.  The
thought of someone else pleasuring Hermione the way he had done made him angry
like a mother hen who’s eggs had been stolen.

No, he did know what he wanted.

He wanted her.  

He grabbed Hermione’s arm before she had the chance to walk out of his
reach and twisted her back around.  Draco
wasn’t very good with words in expressing his feelings.  He was better with actions.  He grabbed her face between his hands and
pressed his lips against hers in a smothering kiss.  This was how it should be.  Him and her, two passionate fires coming
together to create fireworks.  He made
love to her mouth and poured his entire soul into the kiss.  At first Hermione didn’t seem to object too
much to his kiss, probably since she was too taken aback by his sudden
movement, but then...

SMACK.

Hermione had smacked Draco around the face with all the strength she
possessed. 

“I don’t know who you think I am, Draco Malfoy, but I am not your
whore!” she yelled indignantly.  She
was trembling with rage.  Her eyes were
misty from unshed tears, but it wasn’t clear if they were from hurt or pent up
aggression. 

“I might not be particularly exceptional or sexually experienced or
one of those beautiful pureblooded girls with figures like models you’re used
to, but I *do* have feelings,” Hermione yelled, tears now leaking from her
eyes and streaming over her cheeks.  “You
found out that I liked you and you just *had* to go and exploit that?”  

Draco looked at her.  He had seen
Hermione Granger angry before, but this was different.  He had truly hurt this girl.  It wouldn’t matter much if he himself didn’t
care so much about how she felt.  Draco
had royally fucked up this time. 

“I just wanted to prove that I wasn’t the submissive pouf I had been for
that past month,” Draco admitted while rubbing the sore cheek where Hermione
struck him.  She had struck him before,
so he knew she had quite a force behind that hand.  Yet, he didn’t remember it hurting this
much.

“Too bad, Malfoy” Hermione said uncaringly.  “Because I liked that pouf.  At least he wouldn’t have made me feel like a
used rag.” 

“I didn’t mean-“

“So, what do you want now?” 
Hermione asked, ignoring Draco’s attempt to excuse himself.  “Why talk to me again?  Why kiss me again?”

“I like you, okay!”  Draco blurted
out.  “I want to start over.”

Hermione looked at him with a mixture of anger, hurt and incredulity.

“For a month I’ve been helping you. 
I’ve kept you company for almost every moment of the day, I drank
Polyjuice potion, I slept in your bed, I’ve almost lost my best friend over
this and I even gave you a fucking bath!” she yelled in disbelief.  “It’s not like you didn’t know you would hurt
me be doing what you did.  You knew I
liked you, you encouraged that feeling and then you dumped me like a used
teabag!”

“I just... I couldn’t deal-“ Draco stammered.  Gods, this was going totally wrong.  He knew what he had done was bad, but having
it spelled out like that...  

“Are you that emotionally
stumped that you can’t deal with the fact that someone might actually like you
for who you are, and not for your money or your status?”  Hermione asked incredulously.  “That you have to hurt them to drive them
away, because you just can’t cope with it? 
If you want to live your life filled with phoney friends, casual sex
and arranged marriages; that’s your choice. 
Just leave me out of it.” 

Hermione turned around, the discussion
over for as far as she was concerned and walked back towards the Great
Hall. 

“Hermione-“ Draco said, trying to
stop her from leaving.

“You don’t have to keep pushing me
away, you already did” she spat, turning the corner and walking out of his
view. 

**********

End of chapter 11