Obscurity

Hello there readers. I’ve got to tell you how flattered I am by all of the reviews. I’ve read them all over many times. This is slow updating for me. Sometimes plot bunnies are fluffy friends that keep you warm in the small hours of the night. And sometimes they are wild little frenzied creatures that overrun you with insane plot lines and crazy off the wall ideas. I wrote no less then a dozen versions of this chapter branching out in feral directions.

I’ve attempted to sketch out a bare bones idea in my head of where I want to take this. Some idea’s are just not in character. Though having Malfoy and Granger run off to Mexico would be fun. Other things I like but I don’t know if I can work them in. I see Hermione taking on the wizarding world with a new crusade. Muggle rights. I see her campaigning that muggle born witches and wizards are only a few steps away from house elf enslavement. I see her pissing a lot of people off. I see her plunging on fearlessly and becoming a big target in the war. Anyway, on with the story:

Required Disclaimer: Obviously I am not the WB or JK. This story is not meant to infringe on the rights or offend any scary corporations and lawyers that could sue my pants off. These characters belong to their creator, I am only borrowing them for a short while, and most likely putting them in positions and situations that would make JK frown. On with the story then...

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Three Death Eaters were captured in the attack on the Granger home. She wished she could have seen their surprised faces when instead of helpless muggles they found members of the order assembled in her parents’ bedroom. She had gone to Dumbledore, of course. She had been prepared to tell him that she couldn’t reveal where she had gotten her information. If anyone found out that Malfoy had warned her, his life would have been forfeit. But in the end he hadn’t even asked who had told her. It was almost anticlimactic after all of her mental preparation to defy him and refuse to give up her source.

Her parents weren’t hurt. But something inside her died that day. She hadn’t really thought about her parents being in danger. She would have put herself in harms way for Harry and still would, but she had never thought about the war involving her family. She had always foolishly thought herself on the fringes. Dabbling in something dangerous and exciting and in the end it was her job to be Harry Potter’s friend. Now everything was so much more personal. So much more real.

Hermione found darker music to suit her moods. And sat long hours on the roof of Grimmauld place, drawing and thinking. She discovered that she was angry and didn’t know how long she had been. Things at Hogwarts were wrong. Before, she had never questioned the division between her muggle life and her magic life. When she went to school she left behind her parents, her music, her laptop, her clothes. Everyone did. She went to school and pretended like she wasn’t different than all the other witches and wizards and until this happened she hadn’t seen anything wrong with it.

She poured over history books. About how ignorance caused hate, and how hate caused war. Some people she knew were muggle born, like Dean Thomas. But she only knew because he had made such a big deal about soccer during first year. When was the last time she had heard him talk about soccer? He now gushed enthusiastically about Quidditch. Like everyone else. She honestly couldn’t name the majority of the school; tell whether they came from muggle homes. Because no one talked about it. They left their muggle heritage at home.

It made Hermione angry. This war was serious. Very serious. And Hermione wasn’t going to hide behind Dumbledore and Harry Potter and pretend she wasn’t a muggle. When she went back to Hogwarts, she was taking her laptop. Some muggle things were just better. The magical world was delightful with its old world charm, elegant robes and castles, magic wands and dragons. Like something out of a fairytale. And even with all of the Voldemort business it was always kind of like he was the evil villain in some novel and Prince Harry would triumph. She’d been seduced by the fairytale.

The first chink in the illusion had been when Cedric died. But she hadn’t really known him, and even though Harry’s tortured soul made her want to weep it was almost like he was a minor character. And some minor characters had to die in order for it to be a good story. Then Harrys’ godfather was dead. That had been a blow to her. Someone she knew and cared about cut down ruthlessly in battle. But he was a hero and had gone down fighting, just the way he would have wanted to.

Now there were attacks on muggles who knew nothing about magic and evil wizards and wars. Her family was in hiding. Her home was in ruins. Her grandmother and aunt had to be relocated for their own safety. Her parents couldn’t go to work. Hermione sat on the rooftop and read about World War two and Nazi death camps. She read about religious wars in foreign countries. She read about atomic bombs and twin tower bombings. She read about dictatorships and terrorists and horrible murders. Then she set her books aside. She wouldn’t sit up here and hide and cower. She wouldn’t let them win. Because even if they never found her and she was able to ride out the war in hiding, they would have stolen something from her. Her freedom.

Hermione pulled out her cell phone and dialed Janice’s number. She’d been out of school for eleven days and had yet to talk to her friends. They were probably worried sick. She chatted with her for a long time, catching up on all that went on over the year. They couldn’t exchange e-mails because there were no computers at Hogwarts. Her friends thought that her school must be terribly dull, not even allowed to use computers for anything other than schoolwork. She didn’t tell them that there were no computers at all. Finally Hermione suggested a local club to meet at and went inside to let her parents know she was going out.

There was a fight but in the end Hermione’s mom realized that she couldn’t leave Hermione locked up in a room. That eventually she needed to see her friends. She was to take her cell phone, her wand, and her moms’ car so she would have her own transportation. And she was not to leave alone unless she had to.

Hermione changed into her clubbing clothes. Hip hugger jeans and a bright red peasant top. Not as daring as her friends would wear, that was for sure. She wished she had the courage to be sexy like Janice, or outgoing like Leslie. But she was just plain jane Hermione. She applied black eyeliner to her eyes. The dark smudged look fit her mood lately.

The club was busy and the music throbbed. It wasn’t long before she was dancing with a group of her friends. She closed her eyes and let the music wash over her, forgetting about everything that was bothering her. She was a decent dancer. This was the first summer she hadn’t taken some sort of dance lessons. Ballet, jazz, hip hop, ballroom. This last year she had been old enough to start going to the clubs and found that she was a much better dancer when people weren’t watching her, making her self conscious. She never got drunk, that would have been irresponsible, but a few drinks to lighten her inhibitions had her shaking her hips with the best of them.

She found herself thinking about Malfoy, as was often the case these days. Her moves became more sensual as she remembered the way he had touched her. She’d had to leave school immediately even though there was still two days till the train left. She hadn’t gotten to see him again. She was so nervous. Thinking about the next time she would see him. Would it be like before, when he had pretended nothing had happened? But this wasn’t a casual touch, this was full out snogging. She didn’t want to pretend it hadn’t happened.

What would he say if he saw her now? Lost in an anonymous grind of bodies, her body twisting to the rhythm of the music. Muggle clothes. That might bother him. He always looked so elegant in his pristine robes. She doubted he would find her tawdry outfit appealing. But then again who would have thought he’d find her appealing? She was nothing like Pansy Parkinson with her blond shiny locks and elegant carriage. Or any of the other beautiful girls he had dated. She was frumpy and plain. But he must have seen something in her; something had made him want to touch her. Or was it all just a game of his? “Why do you enchant me?” His voice echoed in her head more often than she cared to admit.

The night wore on and she had more fun than she had had in a long time. She glanced at her watch, it was ten till eleven. Her mum would expect a call if she wanted to stay out later. She forced her way to the back of the club but the line for the loo was around the bend and her mom would worry if she didn’t call by eleven. She bit her lip and looked at the exit sign. The rule was she was not to leave alone. She touched her wand with her hand; it was snugged in a small inner pocket that she had sown on all her shirts. Her mother would never be able to hear her from inside the club.

Hermione pushed her way through the thick wads of people and let herself out the door. The alleyway was cool and dark and she took a deep calming breath, enjoying the night breeze on her flushed skin. She fished out her cell and flipped it open to call her mom. She heard a muttered Accio and before she could counter the spell her cell phone left her hand. She reacted quickly, pulling out her wand and scanning the darkness for the wizard who had her phone. Get inside, her mind screamed. She backed up towards the door slowly, wand held defensively. She never expected a physical attack.

The hands came out of nowhere, knocking her wand aside and gripping her arms. In seconds an iron hand was clamped over her mouth so she couldn’t get out more than muffled shouts and her legs were held firm so she couldn’t kick out at her assailants. There was more than one of them. “Crimey Howard, Do you know who this is?”

“No! That’s not really her is it?”

“Of all the lucky catches, The Dark Lord will be so pleased.”

“Let’s get her back to Howard’s.”

Hermione struck out blindly, panic overwhelming her senses. Not just anyone, Death Eaters. She was trussed up, wand less, and at the mercy of Death Eaters. And they knew who she was. She couldn’t believe that they had taken her down so easily. Hermione screamed around the hand at her mouth begging for someone to help her. She struggled hard, but they were so much stronger than her. There were at least five of them. In a sickening matter of seconds she felt a horrifyingly familiar tug at her navel and a portkey whisked her away from any hope of rescue.

She tumbled to the hard floor roughly. Her forceful landing broke her free from her captors and she struggled to her feet clumsily. They were in a furnished room with no less than a dozen men. They surrounded her in an uneven circle and Hermione mentally braced herself to go down fighting. With an ear splitting shriek she rushed the circle and was pushed back brutally. She stumbled awkwardly and regained her balance to try again, resolutely ignoring the verbal taunts and laughing. They stepped in, tightening the circle, shoving her sadistically from one to the other.

The laughing faces blurred from one to the other and Hermione hated her tears. Hated giving them the satisfaction. They were calling her names, laughing at her, pushing her. And then it all stopped. She stared at the man in front of her, observed his blank look before darkness closed in around her.

Hermione was safe and warm and comfortable. Her body was rocking gently, she was being carried. This was nice. Wait. Her eyes shot open, her mouth parted for all out screaming. Her gaze fell on aristocratic features, soft lips, and silver eyes. Malfoy. She was being carried by Malfoy. She drew in a deep shuddering breath, relief flooding her senses, and was assaulted by his crisp clean scent. “What happened?” She asked softly, and was shocked by her hoarse voice echoing in her ears. He stopped walking and just looked down at her for a moment. His expression was inscrutable, unreadable. Hermione didn’t like feeling confused.

His arms flexed and his muscled tensed like steel underneath her. He was in his robes; naturally. One arm was under her shoulders, the other slung under her knees. Her head was pillowed against the soft silk of his shoulder. He held her easily, as if she weighed nothing, and just stared at her. Hermione’s body thrummed and pulsed, as if she had too much blood in her body. And she was aware of every scrape and bruise. Finally he shifted and slid her down his body to her feet. He didn’t however let her go. She was intensely conscious of his strong fingers warm against her waist, the column of his throat mere inches from her lips, his eyes boring into her skull. Finally Hermione’s brain kicked in, they were on a dark street she didn’t recognize. Were they even still in London? How was she going to get home? Her mother was probably worried sick. “Where are we?”

She was astonished at his harsh angry pitch when he finally decided to answer her. “What were you doing out alone Granger? I told you to watch yourself!”

She pulled away from his loose grasp, irritated at his tone. “I wasn’t alone!” She tossed back heatedly. “I was out with friends.” A horrible sinking sensation settled in her stomach. “Just how did you know where I was? Were you part of it? What were you doing? Were you out muggle hunting and I just happened to get in the way?”

He reached out and grasped her arms tightly, wrenching her closer. She cried out at his rough handling and his hands instantly gentled. Not so his eyes, they raged like gray storm clouds. “I got an owl.” He said calmly, biting out each word individually with as much icy venom as he could manage. He pushed the elastic of her sleeves up her arms even as he spoke, examining her colorful bruises and scrapes with a careful eye. “They thought I might want to come along since I had quite a history with the golden trio.” Several of the bruises on her arms had distinct finger shapes where her assailants had gripped her. She looked at them dispassionately, almost as if they were someone else’s arms.

“How did you get me out?” She asked, her voice sounded distant and far away and she vaguely recognized growing concern on Malfoy’s features.

“Sleeping spell.” He answered simply; he turned his head and looked up and down the street. “We really can’t stay here, someone could come by.” He slipped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close to his body. He encouraged her to walk down the street, and she took a few stumbling steps before she began to cry. Now that everything was calmed down and she was safe she felt overwhelmed by the horror of it all. She found herself pressed into another alleyway and pulled into sturdy arms. “It’s all right Hermione,” He whispered, even as she clutched his sleek robes and buried her face against his chest. “It’s all right to cry.”

His soft words only made her cry harder and she wept uncontrollably. Once she started she couldn’t seem to stop and she didn’t know how long she spent wrapped in his embrace sobbing her heart out. Finally she cried herself dry. She knew her face would be red and blotchy. Her nose was runny. She kept her head down and tried to figure out how to clean herself up minus a washcloth or a wand or any other useful tools. Malfoy’s robes were soaked.

He pressed a silk embroidered handkerchief into her hand, emblazoned with the Malfoy crest. She mopped up her tears but hesitated at her nose, he couldn’t really expect her to blow her nose with something so pretty. “Go ahead, I’ve got dozens.” He pushed her hair back from her face and she tried to blow her nose delicately. There was really no way to blow snot and be well mannered at the same time. He ran a gentle hand down the length of her jaw line; she could tell by the soreness that she must have a bruise there. Hermione tried to smooth down her hair; she was sure it was probably frizzy and tangled. For lack of a better place to put the little silk scrap she shoved it in her pocket.

She pushed her hair behind her ears and swiped again at her eyes. She couldn’t believe she had broken down in front of him like that. She must look an absolute fright. “You look fine, fucking beautiful. Let’s go.” Was that supposed to be sarcasm?

“Do you have to use such foul language? Where are we going?” She asked with some of her usual asperity. He rolled his eyes expressively but tugged her close to him again, slipping an arm around her waist. Hermione’s senses went haywire with his casual touch. He was cuddling up to her as if they were a couple. Were they a couple? Did a handful of kisses and a little heavy petting make him her boyfriend? He certainly never mentioned it. She was so confused. Hermione liked things to be black and white, simple and to the point. Her “relationship” with Malfoy had no clearly drawn lines, no boundaries, no rules. For crying out loud, she referred to him as Malfoy in her head.

“St Mungo’s, get you checked out, back with your parents.” Hermione’s eyes flew wide and she pulled away from Malfoy’s careless embrace.

“I’m fine; I most certainly am not going to St Mungo’s.”

“You don’t know if you’re fine. You’re covered in bruises and practically in shock. You’re going to see a healer and that’s final.”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do!” She cried. Yes she was being irrational. Yes it was sweet that he was concerned about her. But the thought of the paper’s finding out about her attack horrified her.

“Look Granger, it’s sensible to see a healer. And you are nothing if not sensible. You’re parents¡K”

“Are muggles.” He stopped speaking at her announcement and she enjoyed a wonderful moment while he radiated puzzlement. Setting Malfoy off balance wasn’t easy, and very rare. “I should go to the muggle hospital.”

“You want to get cut open?” He questioned with no small level of alarm and Hermione felt a burst of affection for him. Without thinking she stepped closer to him and cupped his face for a light brush of her lips. He stood completely still under her touch and she stepped back suddenly shy and unsure. He followed her, stepping into her personal space and radiating tension. “You like to play with fire, don’t you Hermione.” He asked, his voice taking on that husky quality she remembered from her dreams. His hands came up and settled at her hips firmly. He took another step bringing his lower body into contact with hers.

He bent his head and brushed his lips over hers and Hermione fought against the betraying trembling and breathiness that seemed to be characteristic around him. “Do you think about that day, at Hogwarts?” He whispered before touching her lips again. His hands flexed against her hips and Hermione swayed embarrassingly into his touch. Fuck it, she thought in her head as she reached her hands out to slide around his back and tilted her head up for another kiss. He kissed her more firmly and Hermione fisted her hands in his robes for balance. He tasted clean and fresh, like mint. His tongue was silky and smooth and slid against hers in a way that made her think dirty thoughts. He pulled back suddenly and she tried to follow him, to kiss him again. Her whole body stung with the loss of his lips. “Do you?”

Did she what? Want him to kiss her? Oh Hogwarts. Of course she thought about it. It wasn’t everyday that she achieved bone melting orgasm with a man she was supposed to distrust and dislike. Or with any one at all. There were a million witty things running through her mind that she could say to lessen the tension, make light of what was now bordering on obsession on her part. “Yeah, I think about it.” She whispered back even as she swept one hand up to clutch his hair and pulled his head back down to her lips. She kissed him with a hunger she hadn’t known she possessed before him. With a confidence she had never found with other boys. He clouded her mind with his scent and his skin and his lips and she couldn’t really find the room in her mind to worry about how she wasn’t measuring up.

He pulled back from her and she let out a frustrated sound and twisted her hand in his hair. He pushed her hair aside with a smooth sweep of his hand and kissed her neck softly. Hermione lost all feeling in her legs and wrapped her arms around him tightly to keep upright. “I think about it.” He whispered in between mind numbing kisses on her skin. “The way you taste and the scent of your skin. The little sounds you make, your body pressed up against mine.” His hand boldly ran up her back along bare skin under the loose hem of her shirt. Goosebumps broke out in his wake and she tentatively tried kissing him back under the soft skin of his ear. She was rewarded and emboldened when he growled and nipped her. And surprisingly that felt as good as his soft kisses.

“Your hair’s a mess.” Huh? Hermione let go of him to smooth her hair down but he caught her wrists in his firm grip and forced her hands down to her sides. He let her go and reached out to run his hands down her hair, he pulled on lock up to his lips and ghosted a kiss over it. “I imagine it this way, spread out over my sheets. Red I think; the finest silk.” He used one hand to wrap around her waist and turned her so that she was back to torso with him, flush against his body. He buried his head in her hair and took a deep breath. “Sometimes I picture you in my shirt, other times naked and golden.”

Once again his hand was under her shirt, sliding over the soft skin of her stomach. “I need to get you home.” How could he shift gears so fast? How could he go from touching her and telling her that he fantasized about her to taking her home? Home? What time was it?

“Oh! My mom. She’s probably worried sick. I need to go back to the club, get her car. Maybe my wand is still there.”

He nuzzled her neck, his hands sliding over her skin in a decidedly intimate way. He touched her like he owned her. Like he had touched her this way a million times. And against everything in her mind, her body loved it. His thumb brushed the underside of her breast and she gave a little jump, bracing her hands on his forearms.

“Knight Bus?”

“No!” She said loudly, alarmed at the thought of anyone seeing her like this. “We can take a cab.”

“A cab?” He kissed the back of her neck, through her hair. “We should take the knight bus. Get you strait home.”

“I can’t. There’s a secret keeper. I wouldn’t be able to tell them where to go. A cab is a public car; we can go to the club and pick up my mom’s car.”

“Can’t we take the knight bus to the club?”

“Do you have to argue with everything I say? What’s wrong with a cab?”

“Do you see a cab?”

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I had originally been misled about drinking laws in Europe, in the whole UK in fact. I was told by someone that there is no minimum drinking age there. This makes it plausible for Hermione to take a drink or two. A conscientious reviewer let me know that the minimum age is 18 just like anywhere. So it’s completely OOC for Hermione to be drinking. I left it in however because it lends to Hermione’s self conscious attitude in a non-obvious way.

As a matter of fact this whole chapter is OOC and I know it. The odd behavior between Draco and Hermione is catalyzed by the kidnapping. This was highly stressing and traumatic and the weeping and comforting are by products of this. You’ll see Draco pull back a bit in the next chapter. Hermione dancing in a muggle club and wearing a bit of make-up doesn’t necessarily fit in with cannon either but I was trying to flesh her out a little bit, give her more of a three dimensional character. No one who has a passionate nature hates dancing, and you have to be passionate about life to keep up with Draco Malfoy ƒº I’m so obsessed. It’s sad really.

Just adding a few more notes in response to questions I\'ve had. I didn\'t go back and count backwards since JK started writing to figure out what year it is for my fiction. It\'s fanfiction and I really don\'t think it matters all that much. I included the Twin Tower Bombings because I wanted to include some recent hate crimes and Hermione would be up to date on the muggle news. I also know that Hermione is not from America, I included an event from a foreign country to demonstrate the depth of her research. I don\'t know why Hermione wouldn\'t have her drivers licence. She had normal parents who would teach her to drive. The only reason Harry doesn\'t drive is because of his horriable family, at least that is what I think. She is above the legal driving age so I would assume last summer went and got her drivers licence. And before you mention it if Drivers Education is necessary I am sure that they offer a summer course. I don\'t know anyone named Janice and Leslie. These are random characters I made up. Hermione did not spring from a pea pod at eleven years old and go strait to Hogwarts. She has a whole separate life, which is a big theme in this story, so I was trying to give you a glimpse into her usual muggle activites. Some people like to think that Hermione was alone and friendless until she met Harry and Ron. I don\'t agree with that. I think she probably went to a very snobbish, top of the line muggle primary school, where she met kids just as smart as she was. I don\'t know why these things are offending so many people...I guess I\'m just thick.

Rain