Contrast

A/N~ I want to thank those of you who reviewed yet again, you are all just so awesome! Also thank you for offering to be my beta, I appreciate it greatly.

MistressMalfoy~ You are my muse and my savior! I would have surely given up writing this story if it weren’t for you and your wonderful, brilliant, and oh so amazing suggestions!

And to my beta Nicole, thank you for taking a chance on me! You have helped me out immensely!

* * * * *

It was raining. Funny how the weather outside always seemed to reflect Hermione’s mood on the inside. Or maybe it was the opposite. Really, it was absurd to think that someone’s temperament could have any sort of influence over an environmental condition, no matter how powerful they fancied themselves. It’s not as if the bad weather was any cause for concern for Hermione anyways, seeing as how she rarely stepped out of the house in the first place.

Harry and Ron had told her that it was much too risky for her to go out on her own, and when it came to restocking their supplies or running various errands, either Harry or Ron, or sometimes both of them, would have to accompany Hermione. That or they would just go without her. Hermione knew that ever since the close call they had during the last Horcrux hunt she went on with them, Harry and Ron had become extremely over-protective, explaining that they only wanted to keep her as safe as possible. Hermione reminded them that they were in the middle of war and there was no such thing as “safe” anymore. When they used that for their reasoning, first Hermione berated them for stealing her speculation and not coming up with one of their own, just like in school, and second, she told them it wasn’t as though she was going to be captured or murdered in the middle of Diagon Alley during the day. Unfortunately, her argument made no difference and did nothing to change their minds. It had been a month and a half since Hermione had been outdoors.

Hermione had not fully accepted her confinement, but she did find ways to deal with it. It turned out that she had developed a penchant for windows, especially opening as many as she could and leaving them that way for as long as possible. There had been numerous times when rain would soak the floor directly beneath the window and snow would be seen piled up on the sills, usually depicting little snow scenes that Hermione would create when bored. Despite how much Harry would scold her, the windows would remain open until he or Ron would shut them. The window in Hermione’s room stayed permanently open, whether it be slightly cracked or pushed all the way up, according to the climate outside. Once, Ron tried to close it, claiming that she would freeze to death, but was hindered by the objectionable glare Hermione sent his way and the threat of spiders mysteriously finding their way into his bed. Needless to say, after that, Ron didn’t mention the temperature in Hermione’s room and every time he stepped foot in it, he never ventured to close to her precious window, opting to close the various open windows through out the rest of the house instead.

In addition to her chronic window-opening, Hermione also had a fondness for sitting on the window seat in the drawing room, and was prone to stay there, gazing out of the large window, opened or closed, from anywhere to a few minutes to a few hours, depending on the amount of free time she had. She relished in the view offered to her, and sure it wasn’t the rolling green hills of Scotland, or the beautifully landscaped yard at her parent’s house, but it gave her an escape, a moment to slip away from the stress, violence, hate, and death. Hermione often found herself observing the sky the most, the never-ending expanse of blueness, white or gray clouds, the millions of stars, the sun or the moon all giving her a small feeling of freedom she knew none of the would ever completely achieve until Voldemort was dead.

And so that was why Hermione sat on the faded green cushioned bench, her back resting against the wall embedding the seat, her arms left bare from her red t-shirt and her dark colored denim covered legs folded Indian-style, and her head turned, her eyes watching the rain fall hard and steady while sheets of water cascaded down the glass. If she ever needed an escape, it was now. The feelings of triumph and pride she had enjoyed last night faded as each hour she remained awake passed. The gratification of getting the best of Malfoy and bringing him down a few notches soon gave way to the realization that as much as she loved messing with Malfoy; she delighted in his words, his kisses, and his touches even more. It disturbed her greatly to admit that once more, Malfoy had been right. Sure, before last night, she desired Malfoy, but her hatred and determination to win their unspoken competition outweighed it immensely. Perhaps she did it all on purpose; ignoring him while bringing attention to herself, teasing and tempting him, but that was only because she knew that was what he hated most, being disregarded by her, and she wanted him to cave before she did. But since last night, the amount of loathing she experienced did not change, but the damn sodding lust increased with each rejuvenated memory he had invoked in her. It had been easy to constrain her craving for him in the past week, focusing only on contempt, but now, she knew that denying what she felt was going to be near impossible. So while she defeated Malfoy, she also condemned herself. Stupid unexpected consequences!

Harrumphing at the thought, Hermione reached down and retrieved a cigarette from the pack that she nicked from Harry’s room while he was in the shower. She lit it with Harry’s lighter, also stolen, and opened the window just enough to let the smoke out, but not to get her wet with rain. Hermione wanted to place the blame of being tense, confused, randy, and tired completely on Malfoy, but she wasn’t entirely faultless. She allowed him to shove her against the wall, to kiss and touch her, to believe he had won. She could have gotten out of his hold, she knew at least 4 different ways thanks to her training, she could have bit his tongue when he kissed her, decked him when he let go of her wrists. She could have, but she didn’t. Hermione thought she knew exactly what she was doing, how she would react to playing Malfoy’s little game without being caught up in the familiar overwhelming sense of desire. She thought she knew, but now she understood that she knew absolutely nothing about whatever the fuck she and Malfoy had between them. All she comprehended was should a similar situation like last night’s happen again, she wasn’t sure she would have the will power to walk away again.

The sound of heavy footsteps descending the stairs distracted Hermione from her thoughts. Harry had told her at breakfast that he had to speak with her later that afternoon, so she suspected it was him approaching the drawing room.

“There you are, Hermione.” She heard him say from the doorway.

“Here I am.” She responded before she took a long drag off her cigarette, her gaze unwavering as she continued to stare out of the window.

Hermione heard his steps crossing the room to the wall opposite of her, and smiled to herself as she heard Harry sigh exasperatedly and close the small window she had opened early this morning.

“Have you seen my fags? I can’t find them. I could have sworn I left them on my dresser.”

Hermione tore her eyes away from the dark gray sky to look at Harry as she lifted his pack so he could see them. He walked over to her, smiling at her knowingly.

“You damn pikey.” He accused, snatching the pack from her hand and extracting a cigarette.

“I wanted one. I saw an opportunity and I took it.” She told him, smiling back as he sat down across from her and ignited the paper wrapped tobacco.

Blowing out the smoke, Harry cocked his head to the side and looked at her questioningly, concern shimmering in the depths of his eyes.

“Are you okay? You’ve been in here almost all day. And you usually don’t smoke alone, unless Ron and I are too scared to be in the same room as you at the moment.”

“I’m fine, Harry. Just tired, I didn’t sleep well last night.” Or at all, but he didn’t need to know that, it would only worry him more.

Harry studied Hermione’s face, narrowing his eyes suspiciously, but said nothing. Hermione knew what had caused the expression; he was wondering if it had anything to do with Malfoy. After the whole getting caught in bed with Malfoy and almost giving Harry an embolism thing, Hermione had vowed never to lie to him and Ron again, but if Harry wasn’t asking, she sure as bloody hell wasn’t telling.

“Did you need to talk to me about something?” she asked airily.

“Huh? Oh, right, yeah. Well, thanks to many journeys into Dumbledore’s Pensieve and your endless research, we are pretty sure we know where the next Horcrux is. Ron and I are going to hopefully find it and bring it back here so we can destroy it.” Harry told her rapidly.

“Which one?”

“Hufflepuff’s cup. From what Dumbledore has told me, and my amazing powers of deduction, we think that it is probably somewhere in the Hogwarts trophy room, put there by Voldemort the last time he tried to get the Defense Against the Dark Arts teaching job.”

“So I can go on this one! Hogwarts is just as protected as it is here, especially with Dumbledore there. We’ll be in and out, no problem.” Hermione said excitedly, sitting up straight and thrilled at the prospect of getting to leave the house.

“No.” His voice was grim but firm.

“Why not?”

“Just because we have to go to Hogwarts doesn’t mean that it isn’t going to be dangerous. We have to apparate in and out of Hogsmeade, don’t we? There are no wards to protect us there, not like here and on the grounds of the school. We could be attacked just as easily there as anywhere else, not to mention the added danger of having to do it in the middle of the night to not raise any suspicion. It is just too risky Hermione. Plus, I need you to stay here. Someone has to take care of the place and maybe keep an eye out for other Order members showing up. So the answer is no, plain and simple.”

Hermione glared at Harry as she tossed her cigarette out of the open window and stood up. She stomped her way across the room to stare at the window Harry had just closed, the one next to that damn ugly family tree tapestry. Resisting the urge to look left and down, Hermione opened the window as wide as it could go, not caring that water was already starting to pool in front of her feet, and folded her arms across her chest, refusing to look at Harry. She knew she was acting childish, but she was just so bleeding fed up!

Keeping her eyes trained on the sky, Hermione heard Harry sigh heavily and slowly come over to her. She knew he was standing behind her, she could sense his presence, after living in such close quarters for 8 months, she always knew when he was near.

“Hermione, don’t be mad.” He pleaded softly as he rested his hands on her squared tense shoulders.

Without warning, Hermione turned around abruptly, flinging Harry’s hands away and, judging by his slight jump, startling him, his face remaining stony with resolve, but his eyes were gleaming with guilt.

“I am getting really sick of you telling me no, Harry James Potter!” she shouted at him bitterly.

“I know, Hermione, but it is only for your well-being.”

“But how am I supposed to help you and be there for you if you won’t even let me step foot out of this fucking house? I am tired of being left behind and treated like a bloody inconvenience, a sodding liability!”

“I don’t want to lose you, Hermione!” He yelled back at her.

“But it isn’t up to you! I am willing to take a chance at dying if it means the ultimate demise of Voldemort. Fucking hell, I know you want what is best for me, Harry, but what about what I want for you? Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

Harry ran his hand through his hair, mussing it worse than it already had been, and shook his head.

“Of course it does, but so does your life! If you are going to be with me during that final battle, I need you to be healthy and able. If you go with us and end up getting hurt or even killed, it will all be completely shot to shite!”

“What about Ron’s health and ability, and yours? You two are in just as much danger as I am. Why do you doubt my strength and capability?” Hermione questioned him, a bit relived to finally say to Harry what she had been thinking for a while now.

“Is that what you think? Hell, Hermione, you are more talented, adept, and ready for a battle than Ron and I, and I don’t want to compromise that by having you injured, or worse, in some little battle that Ron and I can handle ourselves. We do fine, and we will be alright. Right now, I need you here, because knowing that you are safely waiting for us to return is enough to get us through whatever is tossed our way without getting killed. Okay?”

Hermione looked at her best friend, trying to retain her glare. Why couldn’t she ever stay mad at him? He just had to go and basically tell her how much she meant to him while inadvertently still telling her no. Damn it! And then he did it, the worst possible thing to make her anger all but disappear. He smiled at her meekly, with a hint of boyish charm, and Hermione couldn’t help but roll her eyes and throw her hands up in defeat.

“Fine, but just because I am not angry with you anymore doesn’t mean anything.” She said disobediently.

“Okay.” Harry smiled at her fully now.

“And you better believe your arse that I will be in that final battle, whether you like it or not, putting up the best damn fight I can.”

“I know.” He said, his smile fading and his eyes drifting to the floor.

Instantly, Hermione knew what he was thinking of. He was worried that she or Ron, or both, would be killed, and no matter what, he would be convinced that it would be his fault. Hermione was aware that the chances of either one of them not making it through the war was great, but she also knew that the cause was more important than her life. If she saved thousands of people just by sacrificing herself for them, then it would all be worth it. If she was going to die, it would be with pride.

“When are you leaving?” Hermione asked, hoping to get Harry’s mind off such things, if only for a moment. It seemed to work, for Harry lifted his gazed and the sorrow that had resided there only seconds ago was gone.

“As soon as Ron gets his slow arse down here. We are going to floo to the Burrow, have dinner there, and the apparate to Hogsmeade at about midnight. If all goes as planned, we should be back by tomorrow morning.”

“Oh.” She said, somewhat comforted by the small amount of time they would be gone. Last time they were absent for a week.

“Why don’t you come with us to the Burrow? You could spend the night there, visit with the whole Weasley family, let Mrs. Weasley stuff your face with food and tell you that you are too skinny to be healthy.”

Hermione shook her head and laughed lightly with Harry.

“I can’t, I have to stay here, remember? There could be an emergency meeting or something else could happen.”

“Malfoy can take care of that.” Harry muttered nonchalantly.

Hermione narrowed her eyes, understanding why Harry had told her she couldn’t go with them and yet was now suggesting she spend the time they were gone at the Weasley house. Could he be any more obvious?

“You don’t want me to stay here alone with Malfoy.” It was a statement, because Hermione had not bothered to ask, she already knew the answer.

“When it comes to you and him being alone, I trust the prat about as far as you could throw him.” He admitted his voice tinged with animosity.

Laughing again, Hermione smiled at Harry. Given the events of last night, and the suspected aftermath, Malfoy’s ego would be so bruised he’d probably just avoid her until it healed.

“There is nothing to worry about, Harry.” She assured him.

Before Harry could respond, Ron entered the drawing room holding a black backpack in either hand, both containing, among other things, the black clothes and combat boots they wore each time they went on a mission at night, although Ron’s bag also included a black hat as well, to cover his distinct ginger hair. Ron dropped the bags on the floor and nodded at Harry, indicating that he was prepared and ready to leave.

“Did you tell Malfoy?” Harry asked Ron.

“Yeah. I told him we were taking off for about a day and the bastard told me that he couldn’t care less that you and I were going on a ‘fucking tossing nancy-boy holiday for wanking poofs’.”

Harry shook his head, but the smile had returned to his face. Hermione would have smiled as well, but she was too engrossed on concentrating on Ron. She had seen the expression he wore many times before. He was holding something back.

“Ron, what else did you say to him?” Hermione asked him.

“Nothing” he responded diligently, but he had already given himself away by avoiding all eye contact with Hermione, looking at Harry with, his eyes pleading “Help me” instead.

“Ronald Weasley!” she shouted authoritatively.

“Fine.” Ron said knowing Hermione would find a way to get it out of him sooner or later. “I told him if he touched you in any way I would curse his dick off and shove it down his throat.”

“Oi, mate, that’s harsh.” Said Harry, wincing as he probably imagined the act.

“Not for him. He didn’t even have one of those smart-arsed comebacks that have those big words that I usually don’t know the meaning of.” Ron replied, obviously pleased with the threat he made and it’s outcome, evident by his satisfied smile.

“Thanks, Ron.” Hermione said sarcastically. “I’m the one who had to be in the same house as him. It doesn’t help me if you make him grouchy.”

“Not a problem. He was already grouchy when I found him. I don’t think I made it worse.”

“Where was he?” Harry asked.

“In the library writing a letter to his mum. He was finishing up just as I left.”

It was no secret through out the house that Malfoy cared deeply for his mother. His second day at Grimmauld Place he demanded some parchment, a quill and ink, and an owl so he could send word to his mother immediately. Not a day went by that Malfoy didn’t owl her at least once, and it was plain to see that he was concerned about her safety without him there to watch over her. He had told Harry that he convinced her to leave the manor right away, which by now had been raided by the Ministry twice, and she was currently residing in their unplottable townhouse in Wizarding London.

While writing these letters, Malfoy had insisted of being left alone, and if anyone interrupted him, they would be subjected to many insults as well as a few semi-harmful curses. This resulted in Harry and Ron referring to Malfoy as a “Mama’s boy”, to which Malfoy would make some remark about Mrs. Weasley (but oddly enough, never Harry’s mum), that would instantly cause Ron to turn deep red with anger as Harry choked back his laughter. With her vehement disregard for Malfoy since his arrival, Hermione only heard of it from Harry, and never actually witnessed these exchanges.

Hermione dismissed her thoughts as she watched Harry walk over to pick up his bag and double check the contents, and list everything they needed verbally to which Ron responded with “Check.” When he was satisfied, Harry tossed the bag over his shoulder and Ron did the same. They turned and strode out of the room, and Hermione soundlessly followed them to the kitchen.

This was the part that Hermione most hated about them going on their missions: the goodbye. Sure, it was awful when they were gone, and she constantly worried about them until they came back, but there was something infinitely harder when it came to them taking their leave. It was the possibility that it would be the last time she saw either one of them alive. It tore her up inside and filled her with distress, anxiety, unease, and strangely enough, hope. Hope that they would return to her unharmed and intact.

The very first time they left without her was extremely difficult for Hermione. She cried silently, letting the tears fall down her face as she hugged and kissed them both at least 3 times each. It made them uncomfortable, she knew it did, but they let her act an emotional fool anyway. When they came back 4 days later, her greeting was very much the same, only she didn’t cry…as much. After more departures and eventual homecomings, Hermione kept her emotions under control, not appearing so barmy, but it didn’t make the farewells any easier to endure. It was just now they had a sort of routine.

When Hermione entered the kitchen, Ron and Harry were already waiting for her near the dormant fireplace. She slowly walked over to them, her eyes moving rapidly taking in every detail of them; the clothes they wore (Harry: blue shirt, dark blue zip-up sweatshirt, jeans, and trainers. Ron: brown Weasley jumper, minus the ‘R’, khaki corduroys, second hand brown boots), they way they smelled (Harry: cigarettes and soap. Ron: shampoo, cigarettes, and his own unique musk), the expressions on their faces (Harry: in between somber and optimistic. Ron: a simple lopsided smile), and committed it to her memory.

Hermione stepped in front of Ron, he was always first, and as he drew her into his tight embrace, her arms encircled his strong waist without hesitation.

“Say it for me?” He always asked, his voice coated with humor.

“Damn, shite, fuck.” Was always her response.

He laughed softly and Hermione smiled against his chest. It never failed to amuse her to know that one of the last things Ron would want to hear her say were profanities.

“I love you, Hermione.” Ron whispered in her ear tenderly.

“I love you too, Ron.” She breathed.

Withdrawing slightly, Ron bent his head and placed a kiss on Hermione’s check, blushing when she did the same to him. No matter how many times they exchanged the gesture, it always caused Ron to flush.

When Ron and Hermione released each other, Hermione turned to Harry, who gathered her into his arms straight away, his hold on her just as warm and loving as Ron’s, and she once again responded to the boy in front of her instantaneously. Hermione stood on her tiptoes and buried her face in the crook of Harry’s neck. That was the cue for the same goodbye conversation that had become customary to begin.

“Take care of yourself.” Started Harry.

“I will if you will.” She responded without thinking twice.

“No getting nearly pummeled by a Mountain Troll.”

“No trying to get through a trap door guarded by a three headed dog.”

“No turning into a giant cat.”

“No turning into Goyle.”

“No getting petrified.”

“No getting poisoned by a basilisk fang.”

“No time turners.”

“No Quidditch with Dementors.”

“No being held hostage by mer-people.”

“No out running a dragon on your broom.”

“Okay, okay, you win”

“I always do.”

“I love you, Hermione.” Harry declared passionately in her ear.

“I love you too, Harry.” She murmured.

Harry kissed her sweetly and wholeheartedly on the cheek Ron had neglected and Hermione returned the token as a sign of their profoundly dear friendship.

Reluctantly, Hermione stepped out of Harry’s embrace and produced the best smile she could despite the aching melancholy she felt slowly enveloping her senses. Harry and Ron smiled back but theirs also lacked the normal enthusiasm.

“Alright then, mate?” Ron said to Harry, signifying that they needed to get going.

Harry nodded his head and motioned for Ron to go ahead of him. Ron grabbed a handful of floo powder, stepped into the large fireplace, and winked and smiled at Hermione before tossing the powder down and clearly saying “The Burrow.” In a flash of green flames, Ron was gone and the fireplace was empty.

Turning her sad eyes from where Ron once stood to Harry, Hermione watched him step forward, dip his hand into the bowl of black powder on top of the mantle, and stand in the exact spot Ron had been only moments before. His brilliant emerald eyes met Hermione’s as he smiled at her and raised his hand free hand up, leaving it suspended and stationary until she corresponded with the same motion. It was their way of saying goodbye without muttering the actual words. They never did. It just seemed so final, so terminal; as though it truly meant that they were never coming back when they said it. Accordingly, no such words were passed between the three of them, just gestures; a wink and a smile from Ron, and a lifted hand and a smile from Harry, both of which Hermione duplicated back to them. And so, satisfied that Hermione had done her part in their departure, Harry threw the powder to the bricks he stood on and enunciated “The Burrow.” The familiar green fire engulfed him and then he too vanished.

Hermione exhaled the breath she didn’t even know she had been holding and turned on her heel. Harry and Ron were gone, and now she was all too aware that she was alone with Malfoy in a house she couldn’t leave. Of course, he could, any time he wanted, but he hadn’t. For those first few days, it was because he was still healing, but now he was here just for his protection and avoidance from the Ministry. Why couldn’t he just leave and go stay with his mother or intimidate one of his friends into letting him stay with them? He was rich, why didn’t he just go buy himself a flat? Why did he have to infiltrate what had become her home and become the figurative thorn in her arse?

Returning to the drawing room, Hermione stood at the threshold while forlornly surveying the room, the heavy pounding of the rain the only noise heard through out the whole house. The window seat no longer held its usual promise of comfort and escape. If she spent her time there now, sitting and staring, it would pass slowly, her thoughts constantly reminding her that Harry and Ron had left, her imagination betraying her, conjuring up all that could go wrong. No, absolutely no thinking for her right now. She needed to busy her mind, lose track of time so when they came back, it would seem as if they hadn’t been gone that long.

What Hermione needed was a book. She would get one from the library, one she hadn’t read yet, and take it to her room. She would read until she fell asleep; Malfoy could make his own damn dinner, or starve for one night, she really couldn’t care less. When she woke up tomorrow morning, she would work out, shower, and then read some more until Harry and Ron would come stomping through the fireplace celebrating that they had found another Horcrux to be destroyed and grumbling about how famished they were. The three of the, would eventually eliminate that part of Voldemort’s soul and then Hermione would make them a fantastic, and healthy, meal.

Grinning at the vision and the renewed sense of cheerfulness she felt, Hermione made her way to the library. Surely Malfoy would have vacated the room by now and was probably off somewhere in the house smirking and sneering at inanimate objects while being all uppity just to retain his superiority complex. Hermione’s optimism increased, knowing that by following her new plan, her chances of encountering Malfoy, and being alone with him were slim, seeing as how she intended to be mostly in her bedroom. Therefore, the possibility of them talking, most likely getting into a row, and probably shagging, was near impossible. It was like killing two birds with one stone, even if that expression was terribly cruel and savage. Poor birds.

Hermione arrived at her destination and opened the door, and only one thought entered her mind as she looked into the room: fuck! Malfoy was still in the library. He was standing with his back towards Hermione, facing an open window that he must have just sent his owl out. Hermione studied his lean physique, his neat hair, his dark green shirt and black pants, and those damn dragonhide boots that probably cost more than all of her possessions put together. Then it hit her, her plan had been crushed in mere minutes of its creation, it never had a chance. Fuck!

She must have said that last expletive aloud this time, because Malfoy gracefully looked over his shoulder at her, his eyebrow raised and his mouth in between a smirk and a sneer. Well, at least she got that part of her assumption right. Hermione said nothing as he turned around completely and glared at her for a moment. She glowered back at him, hating him for spoiling her well thought out strategy, for always being in the room she needed to be in, for no longer being the vile enemy she thought he was, for being so deliciously attractive all of the bloody time, but mostly, she hated him for his whole fucking existence!

“Are you going to do what you came in here for or are you going to eye fuck me all day Granger?” Malfoy drawled in a bored voice, taking Hermione out of her psychological “I Hate Malfoy, No Invitation Required, All Welcome Who Can’t Stand the Prat” party.

Choosing not to answer him, Hermione raised her own eyebrows in disinterest and walked over to the bookshelf closest to her and begun perusing her options, looking for an interesting title. Hmm, Entertaining Curses for You and Your Enemies. That could be good.

She could hear him behind her at the table, moving stuff around, shuffling papers, closing books, and when his familiar scent, cologne and parchment, wafted over to where she was standing, Hermione caught herself deeply inhaling. Try as she might, she just couldn’t focus on any of the spines of the books displayed before her.

“Potter and Weasley leave?” she heard him ask coldly.

“Yes.” One word answer, good, use as few words as possible.

“So it’s just you and me then?”

“I suppose so.” Damn, three. That was too many.

“Good.”

Hermione heard his footsteps advancing upon her, and she turned in time to see the animalistic leer her wore and the glint of lust in his otherwise hate filled silver eyes. She immediately recognized that look from last night, and she knew it was nothing but dangerous.

Hermione glanced at the bookshelf behind her and grabbed the book she had been eying before she lost her concentration. With it in her hands, she stepped to her right, intending to walk past Malfoy, out of the library, and right up to her room, but he must have anticipated her attempted escape, because the exact moment she moved aside, he did as well, remaining in front of her.

"What's the rush, Granger?" he asked sinisterly.

"I want to go to my room and read, Malfoy. Get out of my way."

Malfoy quickly glanced at the book she was holding before his eyes returned to her face. Smiling evilly, he suddenly ripped the book from her grasp and threw it to the side of him. Hermione watched in horror as the book soared through the air before hitting the wall and falling down to the floor. Damn it! She knew he was just trying to make her angry, and she didn't want to give in to him, but nothing pissed her off more than the mistreatment of books. Why did he always do that?

"What the fuck is your problem, Malfoy?"

"You are. You have always been my problem, you fucking whore."

"So now I am a whore? I thought I was a tease. The least you could do is keep your insults straight."

Malfoy shook his head slowly and let out something that was too ominous to be a laugh.

“You have always been a whore, Granger, just a complex one. You like to tease first, pretend to be the impervious little Virgin of Gryffindor, but then you give a bloke a taste and open those legs of yours to be fucked by him, no matter who he is.”

“Apparently, I have been teasing you all week and I gave you a taste last night, didn’t I? But I walked away, and now, here I am, alone with you again, and I am still not spreading anything for you, am I?” Hermione challenged him back defiantly.

“Oh, Granger, you silly stupid Mudblood. Last night, I manipulated you. You may have thought you were in control, but my fingers were inside of you, making you come, and you loved every minute of it. You may have had an ulterior motive to beat me at my own game, and you did, but you only won by whoring yourself out to me.”

Hermione could feel the anger bubbling up inside, she felt as though her blood was boiling. She was not a whore. But didn’t she use her sexuality, and Malfoy’s unmistakable desire for her? She was only playing fair, doing the same thing to him probably planned on doing to her. She did enjoy it, how could she not? She was not a whore, and he had no right to call her one! She was about to tell him so, but Malfoy continued speaking to her while his dark eyes bored into hers.

“Hell, I could have fucked you then, I could fuck you now if I wanted to. However, I have decided that I have tarnished myself enough with you.”

He turned his back on her and begun strolling to the door, letting Hermione know he was done verbally abusing her, but Hermione was no where near done with him. He had no right to say such vile words to her and get away with it.

“Tarnished?” she said. Her voice was now just as harsh and low as his was. He stopped in the middle of the room and faced her again, wearing an expression of annoyance. “And yet I was good enough at Hogwarts for you to keep coming back to me. We fucked each other for nearly 3 weeks, and as I recall, you didn’t want it to end.”

“I was bored and you were a great fuck, and I wasn’t the only one who thought so. Do you seriously think I really cared about you? Do you think Blaise did? You were nothing, to either of us, just a slag who liked being fucked by Slytherins.” He told her, his voice, his words, cutting in to her like a knife.

“You’re wrong, Malfoy.” Was all Hermione could respond with.

“Why did you fuck me and Blaise?” Malfoy asked spitefully. “Was it because of your filthy blood? Did you know that the closest thing you could get to being a Pureblood was to have one of our cocks inside of you? Maybe if you got enough pure come in you it would make you less inferior. Have you fucked Weasley yet? Sure he may be a fuckwitted pillock, but he is still pure. How about Potter? He’s half, more than you’ll ever be. Do you join in on their shag-sessions, licking up their come like water in the hopes of bettering yourself? Well I am going to enlighten you, love. You will never be anything more than the lowly Mudblood whore you were born to be.”

Breathing hard from the fury flowing through her blood, pumping in and out of her heart, Hermione marched up to Malfoy as all comprehensible thought fled her brain. She felt nothing other than outrage and the intensely violent urge to hurt him.

“You are a fucking bastard!” She hissed as she drew her right hand back so quickly he had no time to counter-react. Her hand connected with his face severely, and he took a step back to keep his balance. This was no slap, not the openhanded smacks Hermione had punished him with while at Hogwarts. No, she had gathered her hand into a fist and punched him as hard as she could.

Malfoy regained his footing and brought his hand to his face. At first, he appeared surprised, but when he brought his hand down and saw the bright red blood on his fingertips from the small cut on the corner of his mouth, his expression turned to one of unrelenting rage.

“That will be the last time you ever hit me, Mudblood.” He muttered venomously.

Before she knew what was happening, he grabbed her shoulders, forcibly turned her around, and pushed her to the wall brutally, whimpering as her back collided with the hard surface. He was smirking at her in a self-satisfied way. Quickly, ignoring the pain in her lower back, Hermione pushed herself off the wall and lifted her chin in insubordination.

“That will be the last time you ever call me a whore, Malfoy.”

Malfoy walked to her, and as he came closer, Hermione could see his eyes flashing; hate, wrath, and yes, even after all of his hurtful words, lust. He was actually turned on by their sparring, the sado-masochist. He stopped when the tips of his shoes were touching her bare feet and bent his head down so that his dark metallic eyes were staring directly into hers. He smiled maliciously.

“Whore.” He whispered hoarsely.

Hermione reared her arm back again as he stood up straight, fully intending not only to deck him again, but to beat the bloody shite out of him. This time he was ready, and he grabbed her forearm, twisted it behind her back as he turned her around again, and slammed her hard into the wall he had previously pushed her into. Her head banged against the paneling roughly causing her to swear loudly. Malfoy held her to the wall and moved behind her, his chest molding to her back. She could feel his hot breath skimming her ear, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw him still grinning as he leaned in closer to her.

“What an interesting position I have you in, Granger. I could do anything I want right now.” He drawled, amusement playing in his voice.

Remembering her training, Hermione tried to reclaim her arm using the special technique that Moody had taught her, but it was no use. Malfoy was too strong and he restrained her perfectly as to where she had no hope of getting out of his grasp. Her free arm was useless, but she still used it to try and push against him, but she barely budged. Oh, her wand! But damn, she had left it in the drawing room. It was no use, she was trapped, and not only did she know it, but Malfoy did too.

“Fuck you.” She managed to say in between drawing in deep breaths.

“You would like that, wouldn’t you?”

Malfoy pressed himself onto her again, his erection nudging her backside. At the contact, Hermione fought back the moan that threatened to be released. Yes, okay, so perhaps she was a little turned on that he was turned on. She was being held against a wall, by Malfoy no less, completely defenseless, and all she could think about was the fact that he wanted her, despite what he said, and she knew that eventually, he would take her, and she would let him, because she wanted him just as much.

“From the feel of things, you would like it too, Malfoy.” Hermione replied, accentuating her words as she moved her bum back, resulting in him involuntarily thrusting forward, and a pang of craving shot throughout her body.

“Fuck.” He growled.

“You know you want to. You like tarnishing yourself, it gets you off knowing that you shouldn’t be fucking me, it always has. I am bad for you, just like you are bad for me, but it is so fucking brilliant when we are together.” She goaded him.

Hermione sucked in a breath through clenched teeth as Malfoy moved her loose hair aside and exposed her neck, biting down hard on the sensitive skin there. Her lower stomach lurched and she rubbed her thighs together, trying to relieve the dull ache she was now experiencing between her legs.

“So do it, Malfoy, fuck me, because we both know that this is where it’s heading. It’s just foreplay, isn’t it? You call me names, I get angry and hit you, and then our fury only turns into heated desire. It’s always the same.”

Suddenly, Hermione heard Malfoy roar another “Fuck” and was moved away from the wall. Her relief was only short lived, because she was instantly slammed onto the table, so that she was lying on top of it halfway on her stomach, with her cheek now resting on the wood instead of the wall, her feet still firmly planted on the floor and her arm secured behind her back.

“You fucking whore.” Malfoy grumbled before she heard him whisper incoherently. She knew it was a contraception charm.

“Only for you.” She admitted.

And then she was pulled backward so she was standing up with Malfoy behind her. His free hand dove under her shirt without hesitation and roughly grabbed her breast as he kissed and bit her neck. Hermione leaned her head back on his shoulder, groaning in ecstasy. He lifted her shirt and bra when he got too frustrated and yanked it over her head, releasing her arm so he could savagely caress her nakedness from the waist-up. Hermione brought her arms over her head and behind her, grasping fistfuls of his hair, tugging on it when he bit her too hard or not hard enough.

Unceremoniously, Hermione was unexpectedly thrown back down to the table, and was not in the least bit surprised when Malfoy reached around her front to unbutton and pull down her jeans and knickers in one smooth movement. He plunged his fingers into wetness her easily, pumping in and out of her more forcefully and brutally than last night. Hermione could feel the pressure building, experiencing unmeasured amounts of pleasure, and as he fucked her with his fingers, she came so hard, her vision blurred around the edges and she never even noticed Malfoy freeing his erection until he withdrew his digits only to drive into her violently.

“So fucking wet, so fucking tight.” He moaned, thrusting so hard that the table shook. Hermione grasped the edges of the table, turning her knuckles white and met his movements, fucking him just as hard as he was fucking her.

Hermione felt him filling her, hitting that exact spot she could never reach on her own. It had been so long, too long without him. She had waited and fantasized, even dreamed, about this moment when she would get to feel him inside of her again, when she would feel complete, because that emptiness that she had ever since that day 8 months ago had never entirely gone away, but she never expected it to happen again. And yet, it was, and it was wrong, and hate filled, and vengeful, and dirty, and sick, and so fucking worth it!

Malfoy leaned over her, still ruthlessly fucking her, biting her shoulder, digging his short nails into her hips as he held them in place, and Hermione wish she could feel his bare on hers and not the cloth of his shirt rubbing against her back.

“You are my whore, aren’t you, Granger, my beautiful Mudblood whore.” He rasped out. “Always so fucking wet for me, baring your cunt for me, letting me fuck you from behind.”

“Yes, Malfoy!” she screamed as his constant and powerful thrusts coupled with his wonderfully wicked words caused her to come a second time.

With her walls tightening and contracting around Malfoy, he gave out a loud low moan as he came riding the waves of her orgasm. His hot seed shot into her, mixing with her own juices, and he collapsed on top of her, his breaths heavy and shallow to match Hermione’s. She could vaguely feel him nipping and kissing her back, and it was right then that Hermione knew that all that animosity, all that tension, all that anger, no longer mattered. They had just fucked it out of each other.

Groaning, Malfoy withdrew his softening member from Hermione as he lifted himself off her. Hermione brought herself off the table and reached down, pulling her knickers and jeans up as Malfoy did the same.

They said nothing to each other as Hermione picked her bra and shirt off the floor and put them back on and Malfoy straightened his clothes. She looked down, trying to clear her head, to think clearly. What was she supposed to say after that? It had changed everything.

Hermione heard Malfoy take a deep breath and she lifted her eyes to see him looking at his left arm, where his sleeve covered his Dark Mark. His eyes met hers, but revealed nothing.

“Draco?”

Both Hermione and Draco jerked their heads to the doorway of the library at the sound of Snape’s voice traveling up the stairs, his footsteps following his call. When had he arrived? Did he hear anything? Did he know what they had just done? Oh Merlin, what if he was standing in the hallway listening? Was he a voyeur? Did he get off on it? Wasn’t he asexual? Or did he just have house elves perform unspeakable acts on him because no one in their right mind would have it off with him, even if he was sort of mysterious and handsome in that dark featured sinister sort of way? Yuck, Hermione!

“Up here, in the library.” Malfoy announced.

Snape appeared in the hallway not a moment later, his narrowed eyes shifting from Malfoy to Hermione a few times before finally coming to a halt back on Malfoy.

“We are being called. He requests your presence as well.” He said, his monotone voice carrying an undercurrent of disapproval.

“I know.” Malfoy said.

Without a second glance Hermione’s way, Malfoy walked out of the library and passed Snape wordlessly. Hermione could hear him climbing the stairs and assumed he was going to his room.

“Miss Granger.” Snape greeted coldly.

“Professor Snape.” She replied.

“Your shirt is on inside out.” He told her quietly as his dark eyes glided over her, taking in her rumpled appearance. Well, if he didn’t know before, he certainly knew now.

“Oh.” Damn. There goes her dignity…again. At least they weren’t in a broom closet this time.

They stood avoiding eye contact in an awkward silence until Malfoy came bounding back down the stairs, thankful for the interruption, drawing their attention away from each other. They both looked at Malfoy, now wearing his black Death Eater’s robes with his mask in hand. He nodded at Snape, who turned his head and bowed it lightly in Hermione’s direction before he turned around in a swish of his ebony robes and made his way down stairs. Hermione brought her gaze back to Malfoy, who was watching her, his face expressionless.

“I will be back later.”

“Okay.”

Malfoy moved forward, but stopped before stepping down, and swiftly entered the library and strode up to Hermione. She watched wide-eyed and confused when he halted in front of her. Without warning, Malfoy’s mouth claimed hers, his lips firm and warm, slightly parted so his tongue could lightly lick her lips. Before Hermione could respond, he drew back, turned, and left the room. Hermione stood in that same spot, still completely dumbfounded, at least 15 minutes after she heard the front door slam, her lips still tingling from Malfoy’s goodbye.

* * * * *

Hermione had spent the rest of the day reading in her room as she had intended, refusing to think about what had transpired between her and Malfoy, and ended up falling asleep with her light on and the book resting on her chest. She awoke to an empty house, sad to know Harry and Ron hadn’t returned yet, and a little disappointed Malfoy hadn’t come back either. She had skipped breakfast as she had done with her dinner the night before, and wanted to skive off lunch as well, but she just couldn’t ignore the grumbling of her empty stomach when it was louder than the rain that still fell upon the roof of the house.

Of course, it didn’t help that it was late afternoon, and she was not only distracted by the hunger pains she was feeling, but also the fact that she was still the only one in the house. The book no longer kept her preoccupied and she couldn’t help but wonder if something had gone wrong. She knew she shouldn’t worry, but Harry had told her they would be back this morning, and it was already 3:30. She just needed food so she could return her focus to her book, and stop being such a worrywart.

Hermione had been in the kitchen, trying to decide what flavor of instant oatmeal to eat, cinnamon in one hand and peaches and cream in the other, when she heard the front door slam. She only hoped that it didn’t wake up Mrs. Black, and was quite relieved to hear no yelling about filth, contamination, and whatnot.

“Granger?”

“In the kitchen.” She called out, but not too loudly. She just couldn’t deal with that bigoted witch today.

Malfoy emerged from the stairway still wearing his uniform of black robes, minus the mask, looking uncharacteristically serious. Hermione was instantly put on edge.

“Are Potter and Weasley here?” he asked, his voice full of urgency.

“Not yet. Why?”

He came closer to her, and now Hermione could see his robes were smudged with mud and had a few tears in them. His handsome face was pale, well, paler than usual, and he looked tired. She could see a small bruise and cut on the corner of his mouth, from her brilliantly landed punch, but he also had another bruise, a fresher one, near his temple. She most certainly did not do that. What happened to him last night?

“What’s going on, Malfoy?”

“Granger, maybe you should sit down or something.” He said, motioning to the table and chairs to the side of him.

“No. Why are you asking me if Harry and Ron are here? Did something happen?”

When Malfoy said nothing and averted his eyes, the deepest feeling of dread and alarm filled Hermione’s senses. The tears already burned behind her eyes, and she fought the painful sob building up in her throat. She swallowed it back. She had to know.

“Tell me, Malfoy…please.” She pleaded quietly.

Malfoy sighed and ran a hand through his hair before he looked at her again.

“I was sent on a mission, me and some other blokes, to Hogsmeade last night. Somehow, the Dark Lord knew they were going to be there, but he didn’t know what exactly for. He suspected they just went to go visit with Dumbledore. He-”

“What the fuck happened?” She asked, throwing both food packets in her hands on the floor wildly as the fear and worry she had been trying to contain erupted.

Malfoy gave no sign if he was startled by the sudden rise in Hermione’s voice. He closed his eyes for a moment and opened them slowly, as though he was bracing himself.

“I had to attack Potter and Weasley last night.”




A/N~ Ohh, evil cliffy, I know! It had to be done! You’ll just have to wait until the next chapter to see what happens. Maybe if you leave me lots of reviews, I will update sooner…if writer’s block doesn’t ambush me again.

Hugs and Cuddles to you all!

Roberta