Obscurity

Pansy casually waltzed to her next class, three other Slytherin girls in tow, ignoring their idle chatter. They would think what she told them to think, so she really didn’t need to keep abreast of their opinions. Her mind was elsewhere.

She hadn’t gotten spun in three days, and the effect was that she felt stretched thin and irritable. Not to mention that she had gained an appalling four pounds. Draco insisted that this was for the best, but right now she just didn’t see it he was gone, off playing with his new girlfriend.

He was gone way too much for comfort lately. She needed him and he wasn’t here, at least not the way he used to be. She supposed if she told him that she needed him, sent him an owl, he’d drop his lay like a bad habit and be by her side. But she shouldn’t need to tell him. He should know. Damn it, he knew she was quitting this week and the third day was the hardest. Or at least the hardest so far, she had never made it to day four.

She ignored the dip in conversation when she arrived in the corridor outside potions. The reverence of the other girls in her year was, of course, her due. That stupid slag Granger was thankfully absent, but her personal entourage was unfortunately very much present. Against her will her eyes slid over Potter, bones all intact, scars in place, to Ron Weasley. She was horrified to feel a blush spreading across her cheeks, but was unable to look away. His own blush made his freckles stand out in sharp relief. Pansy turned around sharply so she wouldn’t have to look at him, but she could still pick his voice out of the throng. Soft soothing tones directed at Potter, but she was unable to make out his words over the din in the corridor.

She was willing to bet the stupid sod had told Potter everything.

Parkinson women did not fidget, yet she couldn’t help the wringing of her hands. She pulled a small vile out of her pocket to occupy herself and closed her eyes against the rush of heat through her body. She could feel an echo of the excitement she would feel if she opened that bottle, ingested the contents. She could taste the metallic flavor on her tongue. And suddenly she was so tired. She had so much to do today; she couldn’t possibly accomplish it all without help.

Also closing her eyes had the unwanted effect of bringing memories better left buried to the forefront. Weasley touching her shoulder, letting her cling to him and weep till his shirtfront was wet with tears. Looking up into his startlingly blue eyes and seeing only concern. Him touching her face, brushing off drops of wetness. A Weasley had been the last place that she had expected to find compassion. And she had been off her game enough to accept it. Demand more from him. Take the physical comfort she needed.

Sleeping with the Weasel had shocked her into realizing just how out of control she had become. Parkinson women were supposed to be calm, collected. Lately she was a raging ball of emotions that she couldn’t control. The worst of it was that it had been nice. He’d been kind to her, even during. Not something she had previously experienced with her partners. Slytherins tended to be dominating. They took what they wanted, including their pleasure. He had put her first and she hadn’t known how to deal with the emotional fallout.

So naturally Pansy had keyed into her usual line of defense: ignore it and it would go away.

Unfortunately without her usual method of distraction she was finding it hard to ignore. She pulled breath in through her nose, out through her mouth. The air so thick and heavy she could barely empty her lungs. The world seemed fuzzy and dim, oppressing. And she found it difficult to stand under the weight of the atmosphere.

“Give my apologies to professor Snape,” she whispered to Millicent. The girls knowing look made Pansy want to claw her ungrateful eyes from her head. “I have a small emergency to deal with.”

And then she whisked off down the hall, heart thumping in anticipation, small innocent looking vile clutched in her tiny hand.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

This day was not going well. She and Draco had overslept. A rarity for her. And instead of long lingering kisses and morning sex (Malfoy’s evil plot not hers) there had been a flurry of cleaning charms and hair brushing prior to running to class. Having skipped her morning shower, her hair was now a mass of frizzy static laced flyaway curls that refused to lie still on her head. Looking like her bushy haired first year self, did little for her self-esteem, especially when Parkinson made several loud obnoxious comments about it.

Stupid Slag.

Malfoy had been fifteen minutes late, freshly showered, and grumpy. Poor Neville was still looking nervous three hours later. She had finally snapped and told him to leave Neville alone, which left his favorite pastime open for business. Ron Baiting.

As you can imagine that didn’t go well. Ron now had bright purple hair and a surly attitude. And when she tried to gently point out that he shouldn’t have taken the bait and tried to curse Malfoy, the boy took his bad mood out on her.

Well that was just fine, she didn’t want to talk to him anyway. Whiny Baby.

Purple hair would have been hilarious on Malfoy, but he was particularly good at rebounding charms, everyone knew that. And now Ron wouldn’t even let her fuss with his hair anymore because he was too busy sulking and complaining.

But, then again, Draco should not have been giving Ron a hard time in the first place. She had half a mind to curse his hair purple when he wasn’t looking. But she had just finished telling Ron that it wasn’t worth detention, and how would it look if she gave into the urge? Not to mention, aforementioned rebounding charms.

Hermione had absolutely no desire to have purple hair; her hair was atrocious enough, thank you very much.

So mood: Not Pleasant.

And now, as if she wasn’t frustrated enough, Ernie Macmillan had cornered her. His timing was just as atrocious as her hair. He had never shown so much as a spec of interest in her, much like the rest of her class, and suddenly he was asking her out. She supposed she was supposed to swoon at the way he was leaning into her space and sucking up her air. Also, judging by his smug, confident look she was supposed to be flattered to receive his attention at all.

Please.

He was as big a man-whore as Malfoy. What that said about her, she wasn’t sure. Perhaps she just attracted those types.

Hermione was fidgeting with her frizzy hair; trying to come up with a nice way of telling him ‘no’ when abruptly he was yanked back to a comfortable distance. She might have been relieved to have her space back if Malfoy hadn’t been the one to collar the poor boy and send him stumbling a good two feet.

“Shouldn’t you be in class?” He snarled angrily, advancing in a predatory way.

Ernie took two hasty steps back before it occurred to him that he should perhaps try to be manly to impress Hermione and abandoned his retreat. “Sod off, Malfoy. My tardiness is none of your business.” She had to give him credit for backbone, because Draco looked ready to live up to his rather overblown reputation. “And if you don’t want a duel, you’ll keep your hands to yourself.”

Malfoy rocked back on his heels and whistled through his teeth. His whole body relaxing and a familiar smirk curving his lips. “Tough talk from a guy who crashed and burned on his DADA OWL. Name a time and place.”

Ernie visibly paled but opened his mouth anyway before Hermione pushed in between them. “That’s enough boys. We’re prefects, not first years. Ernie, you go to class, I’ll handle Malfoy.”

Her stern prefects voice brooked no argument but he still gave Draco an insolent look and told her he would see her at lunch before he slouched off. He’d no sooner turned the corner before she rounded on the source of her inner turmoil. Hermione hadn’t known how she would feel when she was alone with him again. Just the thought of him this morning had made her lightheaded with excitement. The sight of him in class had butterflies fluttering around ruthlessly in her stomach, her breath coming far too fast.

Four hours of his mischief later and she wasn’t feeling quite so fond of him.

“What the hell is your problem today!” she hissed, moving into his space so she could speak under her breath.

His light eyes seemed to catch fire in the dimness, and before she could register his anger he had grabbed her arm and pulled her into a darkened alcove. It was hardly privacy but at least they weren’t standing in the open hallway. On the other hand, if someone did wander across them, there wouldn’t really be a logical explanation for the two of them to be sandwiched together like this.

For all his rough handling and superior size Hermione didn’t even feel a remote twinge of fear. For one thing, she knew she could take him. Wand-less magic or no, she was secure in her abilities. Secondly, she trusted him completely. Even in the face of his rage, she knew intrinsically that he wouldn’t harm one hair on her head.

It was a beautiful feeling, safety.

And it calmed her emotions. There was no way she could deny being this close to him, breathing in his scent, feeling the warmth of his body, well, it just felt right and natural.

“What were you doing with him?” His voice was whisper soft, and yet as harsh as hers had been.

“Just what are you insinuating, Malfoy? I was having a simple conversation with a friend of mine until you decided to pull your Barbarian act. Just how am I supposed to explain this little fiasco to my friends?” She ran one hand up his chest, settling behind his neck for a moment, and then trailing down his arm. Marveling in her right to touch him. The way his eyes darkened further. The way his breath hitched.

His hand gentled on her arm, where he had gripped her earlier, but he was not kind when he pushed her back into the rough stone, getting much closer to her than Ernie would have dared. His thighs pressed into hers, his torso flush with her body, his lips inches from hers. “You can tell them whatever you like, but don’t forget for one moment who you belong to.”

That statement was just a little too much to process at once. “I don’t belong to anyone, Malfoy.” She said it a little too breathlessly to be convincing. “And what you mean to say is that I can tell them whatever I like, excepting the truth.”

“Don’t tell me what I mean to say,” he hissed. “Tell them we’re shagging, tell them you can’t stand me, I don’t care! What I do care about is that you seem to find nothing wrong with clandestine little meetings with filthy minded little pricks in dark hallways when you should be in class.”

“Draco, you are exaggerating. I don’t know what you think was going on, but it was perfectly innocent…”

“I’m not Potter, the wonder Idiot. And neither are you, so kindly remember whom you are speaking with.” His hands gentled further, skimming down her arms, to caress her hips.

She couldn’t help a fond smile. “Harry isn’t an idiot, Draco, overly excitable sometimes, but very intelligent.”

“Quit avoiding the issue!”

“And just what is the issue?” She couldn’t help but notice that most of the heat had gone out of her voice. He made her feel like soggy chocolate, warm and sticky.

“The issue is that if you had any sense where the opposite sex was concerned, my ears would still be ringing from you slapping me up, down and sideways a year ago.” He was breathing a little raggedly and she realized that there wasn’t much in the way of hiding his reaction to her, not when he was pushed flush up against her body like this. “The issue is that you should have never let me touch you, never let me kiss you, never let me make love to you and hold your naked body next to mine till dawn.”

He dipped his head and kissed her. Rough and desperate, with an edge of teeth on her lips and a strong tongue. He left her ragged and breathless and weak, clinging to him with a trust that no doubt offended him.

“But I did, and I will again.”

“So you did.” He kissed her again, hands pulling at her hair, cupping her face, hips grinding into hers and pressing her back tightly against the stone. Before she could really even register what was happening he had her legs wrapped around his hips, her back against the wall to balance them. He was rough and fast and desperate. He kissed her everywhere he could reach, her neck, her face, and the tops of her breasts.

Holding her steady with his hands while he rocked his hips against her. He fumbled a bit, reaching down between their bodies, tearing at the fastening of his robes, pushing her panties to the side and out of the way. She hesitated, this was crazy. But it was the way that he was looking at her that had her tilting her hips up to meet him. He looked at her like he was starving, like she was the only thing that could cure his hunger. She couldn’t deny him anything when he looked at her like that.

It was different angle then before, deeper, more forceful. Certainly not something she would have ever imagined that she would enjoy. But despite her uncomfortable position, and the speed of it, there was a definite excitement in the air, a powerful feeling in her blood. She did this to him. His excitement got her excited and she found herself responding to him.

She tried to be quiet. Buried her face in his neck, bit down lightly to choke back her moans. In far faster than she would have thought she was clutching him for more than balance. Afterwards she found she was overly sensitive and glad when he finished just a few strokes later. Somehow he knew that she just needed to cling to him for a moment, catch her breath. Finally he set her on her feet, flipping her skirt down to hide her modesty before fixing his robes. She leaned up against the wall, soaking up the absorbing the coolness of the stone into her overheated body.

She couldn’t believe that she had just done that.

He stepped away from her and she made a deliberate showing of smoothing her clothes and her hair. Not that smoothing her damnable hair did a bit of good. It was in worse condition than it was before. Thanks a lot, Malfoy. There was no way to go about adjusting her panties discretely and she gave him a look while she did so.

“I don’t share.” He said casually, adjusting his clothes with much more insouciance than she could master with a lifetime of patience. “Get to class.”

“You may be my…lover…,” She stumbled over the word, much to her embarrassment. She had been going for nonchalant, however her blush and slight stammer completely ruined the effect. “But make no mistake about it. No one tells me what to do.”

In the space of a short exhaled breath he was back in her space, holding her arms, glaring angrily. It probably didn’t do much for his temper that she obviously had no fear of him. She tried to keep from smiling but knew she was making a poor showing of it. “Make no mistake about it, Macmillan touches you again and I’ll break his fucking hands. That goes for everyone else too. So if you don’t want to tell people you’re mine, I suggest you find another way to portray that you’re off the market. Before somebody gets hurt.”

Quick clicks echoed down the hall, and it took Hermione a moment to realize that it was footsteps. “Someone’s coming.”

“I don’t care, we’re not done talking.”

“Yes we are.” Hermione gave him a light shove, moving him back far enough that she could squeeze by him back into the hall.

It was Pansy Parkinson rushing by. Her head was down and she might not have even seen them, so intent was she on her destination. Hermione allowed herself one brief exhalation of relief, before hurrying off to class. Immensely thankful for her sensible shoes that didn’t make such noise. But alas Malfoy had to ruin her escape.

“Pans, where are you going? You should be in class.”

Hermione turned sharply, in time to see the other girl start guiltily. “Draco, what are you doing out here?”

“It doesn’t matter what I’m doing out here,” he replied, his voice low and if she didn’t know better, angry. “What have you got there, ducks?”

She put her hand behind her back like a five-year-old child. Draco’s hand darted out quick, as thought to grab her arm and Hermione watched in open mouthed shock while his attempt to take whatever she was hiding turned into a full scale scuffle.

He finally managed to wrest a small vile from her, earning himself a bite on his hand in the process. Pansy let out a horrified wail when he sent the vile crashing into the wall, shattering it into a hundred pieces. Pansy flung herself to the ground, reaching out for the pieces and Draco grabbed her around the middle, slinging her over his shoulder, like so much sacked potatoes. His eyes met Hermione’s across the hall, and he stood there for a moment, sharing a look with her while the small blonde bundle of fury battered her fists against his back. He gave her a small rueful smile before turning and walking away with his shrieking bundle.

Hermione pulled out her wand and scourgified the remains of glass and liquid in the hall. It must have been one of those Substances that Draco had told her about. She put away her wand and turned to go to class when Mrs. Norris slithered between her legs. “Aren’t we in trouble?” came Mr. Filch’s annoyingly familiar voice. “Skipping class are we?”

She gave another sigh of relief that he hadn’t apparently seen the mess she had just done away with and turned resignedly.

Malfoy was going to owe her for dearly this detention.

Hermione held back a little grin then. She suddenly had all sorts of creative ideas as to how he could repay her.

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Just a quick shout out to my Beta, Lorett. She really is a wonderful editor and writer and her imput makes all the difference.