Disguised Affections

A/N: So, here's the next chapter. I'm eager to get to chapter eleven because it's PURE SMUT!! That'll be posted tomorrow.

JK Rowling owns everything you recognize. I'm just playing with her puppets.

---

Con completely ignored her during Transfigurations.

Hermione prided herself on being a sensible girl who was not given to flights of fancy. However, her fledgling relationship with Con was still new enough that she didn’t know what to make of his refusal to meet her eyes. She tried not to give in to paranoia. He was extremely strong-willed. Surely, even as imposing a witch as Professor McGonagall would not be able to dissuade him from a course of action on which he’d decided?

Her classmates had heard the Head of Gryffindor take one hundred points off the pair for snogging in the corridors. They were watching her with the curled lips and disdainful eyes of the morally superior, forgetting that Hermione herself had caught the grand majority of them in compromising positions over the last three years as both Prefect and Head Girl. The difference, of course, was that they had never lost more than twenty points at a go. Hermione and Constantine had single-handedly (so to speak) wiped out almost a month’s worth of correct answers in class, good sportsmanship, and extra-credit.

Nervously, she wrote out a note to Con asking him if he was okay. She sent it to him as a flapping sparrow, solicitous and sweet. McGonagall’s back was turned, but Con didn’t hesitate. He Incendioed the note before it had time to settle on his desk and gave Hermione a reproving look.

Seamus flicked her sharply on the ear. “Oy, watch it!” he whispered. “You’re going to cost us the ruddy house cup if you don’t get a hold of yourself!” Hermione sunk down into her seat, ashamed.

She turned her attention towards the day’s Transfiguration assignment – turning a calla lily into a trumpet. Her movements were correct, but she had trouble focusing on anything but the faint lines that had bracketed Constantine’s mouth when he’d turned to frown at her. Just thirty minutes before, that same mouth had been pressed to her own. Her trumpet was a pale velvet that bruised if you tried to depress the keys, and if you blew into the mouthpiece, it would spit pollen out the horn before dissolving into a pile of crumpled petals. Hermione received a zero for the day.

Frankly, she was disgusted with herself.

Although she’d already been given a failing grade, she straightened up and pursed her lips to try the project again. Hermione Granger was an excellent Transfigurations student. Hermione Granger let nothing stand in the way of her schoolwork. Hermione Granger suddenly felt the brand of black eyes upon her and jerked as she cast the spell.

Her calla lily burst into flames and let out a brassy, dying wail. She leaned her forehead into her hand and listened to Seamus and Dean snicker at her difficulties.

Constantine left class as soon as it was over. He didn’t even glance back over his shoulder at her. Hermione was much slower as she packed her books in her bag, her heart heavy. She rubbed the heel of her palm into her eye.

“Ms. Granger,” Professor McGonagall said, her voice tentative. The curly-haired girl gritted her teeth in irritation. The professor’s tone was that of an adult to a child, and Hermione Granger may have just set her Transfigurations homework on fire, but she’d also killed five wizards and helped take down a Dark Lord before she turned eighteen. She was no child. “Ms. Granger, I’d like to talk to you about Mr. Prince.”

“Of course, Professor McGonagall.”

“I’m afraid that you and Mr. Prince are… incompatible.”

“Pardon me, but I’m not sure how you’ve come to that conclusion.”

“It’s immaterial, child. I know you do not want to listen to me, but I find that I would be remiss in my duties as Head of your House if I did not address this with you.”

“Professor, if we were merely incompatible, you and I would not be having this discussion. You might go back to the Teachers’ Lounge and gossip about how for such a bright girl, Ms. Granger has abominable taste in men, but you’d never directly try and interfere in my life.” The girl cocked her head and thought for a moment before truthfully adding, “Other than to keep us from snogging in public.”

“If I could offer you an explanation, I would. I am quite literally unable to disclose the details to you, Ms. Granger, but if I was, you may rest assured that you would agree with me that you are entirely unsuited.” Professor McGonagall’s voice had risen in mild agitation. The initial shock and anger that she had displayed when she had first seen Con and Hermione kissing had faded to be replaced by a terribly earnest concern that the seventh-year actually found more distressing.

“Thank you for your solicitude, Professor. However, I have to respectfully decline your advice. Constantine is… important to me. I do not wish to give him up.” Hermione’s mouth was curled into an aggrieved frown, and her arms were wrapped around her torso.

“Ms. Granger…” The older witch’s voice trailed off, and she turned away. Her shoulders were very stiff and she moved to sit down at her desk. “Ms. Granger, I remember the joys of young love. It’s… I’d like to ask you to wait for another month or two before making any decisions as to your relationship with Mr. Prince.” She played with the copper cuff at her wrist.

Hermione cocked her head and chewed on a nail thoughtfully. “I’ll think on what you’ve said, Professor.” And the answer is still no. Although who knows where Con and I stand after this morning.

“That will be all then, Ms. Granger.”

Hermione exited the classroom and made her way to the Great Hall for lunch. The corridors were empty and there was no sign of a slender, black-haired boy waiting for her. She felt wrung out and emotionally exhausted. There was a traitorous ache in her chest, pinned down and held in place by her rib bones. She knocked her knuckles against her breastbone, hoping to jar the pain lose from its foxhole.

Two corridors away from the Great Hall, a hand darted out and captured Hermione’s wrist and pulled her into a niche housing the statue of Saint Belvidere of the Lazy Eye. A mouth captured hers in a devastating kiss, and the girl sighed in relief when she saw stretches of pale skin and the dark rook eyes she’d come to know.

He buried his fingers in her hair and slipped his tongue into her mouth. She thrummed in appreciation of his taste, all bitter coffee and hot male. Finally, she pulled her mouth from his.

“Con,” she gasped.

He smiled and rubbed his closed lips against hers, once, twice, thrice. It was a tender gesture that soothed her. “There you are. I’ve been waiting for ages! Did McGonagall corner you, too?”

Hermione nodded. “She said you and I wouldn’t suit.”

The boy snorted. “That’s much nicer than what she said to me. She told me that I was no good for you… That you were not meant for me and I wasn’t to touch you.”

They stared at each other for a moment, and Hermione swallowed and looked at his hands with his slender fingers and thought to herself what a tragedy it would be if he was never to touch her again.

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. His eyes darkened with emotion. “I find that I am unwilling to give you up, my dear. I hope you don’t mind.”

“I’d be put out with you if you did.”

She found herself wrapped firmly in his arms, her head tucked under his chin as his fingers ran lazily through her hair.

“I didn’t like how you ignored me in Transfigurations today.”

He pulled back from her, his eyes registering surprise. “The other students were treating you like a pariah. I thought it would be easier for you if they thought we were properly chastened.” Con kissed her neck absent-mindedly. “Moreover, I didn’t relish losing more points for Gryffindor or getting another dressing down from McGonagall.”

She hummed in thought. “Did you happen to notice that she has the same copper cuff that you do?”

He nodded, his face still buried in her neck. Con’s voice was muffled as he said, “Yes. She said that it was for a special project for Dumbledore and that she couldn’t say any more. She did caution me not to try and take it off.” He snorted and Hermione giggled at the sensation on the tender skin of her neck. “Too late for that! I’ve tried taking it off using at least twenty different spells and the bloody thing is stuck like glue!” He stepped back from her and smiled genuinely, brushing her hair back from her face. “Have I mentioned today that you look lovely?”

“Perhaps you should speak with Dumbledore, Con. I can’t help but think that he knows a great deal more than he told you at the start of term.”

“Yes. I’ll admit that I was just thinking the same thing.”

---

In the Great Hall, Hermione and Con sat across from each other, reading companionably. She’d brought a mass market paperback from the muggle world since she was eating and had an unfortunate habit of losing track of her food while wrapped up in a book. There were several editions currently residing in her collection that featured soup-dipped edges or dressing smears.

Con was still reading Wizarding Diseases that Feature Discharge. He’d moved on to the full-color wizarding photo section which chronicled the progression of several of the more renowned illnesses.

“Oh, GODS!” Harry cried, having arrived just in time to see a nasty pustule burst on the behind of a gently-bred witch in her seventies. “Must you read that at the table, Con? I mean, it’s repulsive, isn’t it?”

“It’s all a part of life, Potter,” he replied calmly, spreading clotted cream on some toast. His crooked white teeth sank heartily into his snack.

Harry gagged and turned away.

Ron stumbled up the aisle and sank into the seat next to Hermione. He looked terrible.

“Con. Harry. Hermione.” He nodded at each of them in turn. His eyes were red and dry and were sitting above dark purple bruises that testified to sleepless nights and haunted dreams. Ron’s skin was pale and his hands shook as he took a roll from the platter in front of him.

“Ron…” Hermione said. “Are you all right?”

“Never been better, love.”

“Did you try speaking to Lavender yet?”

“She said she wasn’t going to take me back. Started dating a Hufflepuff.” Ron’s eyes narrowed and he slammed the knife he’d been using to butter his roll onto the table with a clatter. “A Hufflepuff, for chrissakes!” he shouted. The emotion bled off his face and he recommenced calmly buttering his bread. “Who needs that cow anyway?”

“So you haven’t been sleeping I’m assuming? Do you need me to brew you a bottle of Dreamless Sleep?” Con asked, never taking his eyes from the book in front of him.

“Nah, I’m fine.” Ron ate the roll in silence, sitting hunched and defiant at the Gryffindor table.

Hermione had been dreading this day. She’d warned Harry it was only a matter of time before Lavender got tired of being used as an emotional sop and threw him over for someone who was whole. This was bigger than the end of a nearly year-long relationship. Ron’s war demons were crawling out of the dark holes in his soul to which he’d banished them and demanding restitution. She didn’t know how to help him.

Her hand grasped his ropy shoulder muscle and squeezed. Licking her lips, she said, “Is there anything we can do?”

Ron’s eyes flashed to her moistened mouth, and a manic light blossomed in his eyes. He slid a brawny, freckled arm around her waist and pulled her closer. “That’s nice of you, Hermione. You’ve always been a good friend to me and Harry. What say we go for a walk together around the lake after classes, just you and me. We’ll watch the sun set.”

Her hands rose defensively and rested against his chest. Constantine’s eyes were watching her over the top of his book, but he did not step in, allowing her to handle her friend in the manner she thought best. Despite the situation in which she found herself, her heart warmed at Con’s display of trust.

“Ron, that’s awfully sweet of you, but I think Con might object to me taking a romantic walk that didn’t include him.”

The redhead’s mouth fell open. Hermione bit her lip. It was a measure of his distress that he not only just turned to her as a temporary bedmate in whom he wanted to bury himself and his problems, but he also hadn’t noticed that his two friends were courting. “You and Con? Right, I mean. Of course! I didn’t mean that, Herms. I mean you and I have been mates for far too long to go prancing down that path, eh?” He put down his half-eaten roll and shoved his shaking hands in his ugly Weasely sweater.

“Ron…”

“No, really Mione. It’s cool.” He shrugged and smiled his horrid rictus of a smile. “I’m going to head out to the pitch and fly for a bit. See you all later!” Ron stalked from the Great Hall.

Hermione turned to the other one third of the Golden Trio in distress. “Whatever are we going to do about him, Harry?”

---

A/N: Like it, love it, hate it, review it. Next up: SMUT!