Mirrored Glass

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It's been a while! Like, almost a year! I've finally come up with a little something to get this going as a chaptered fic, and I hope you like where I'm going with it! It was a bit hard to be consistent, but I did my best! I'm so excited that I've gotten my muse back and I hope to be posting another chapter next week!

And hugs to my beta xsongforyoux for pounding this out so quickly!

Thank y'all and let me know what you think!
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13Secrets


Mirrored Glass: Stained Windows

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She thought it wouldn’t change anything and that maybe, just maybe, if she got rid of the problem, it just wouldn’t exist anymore. The problem, of course, was Draco Malfoy and his bragging yet delicious tongue. And with that came Ginny and her ploys and games and secrets, and the ever present desire to relive that night over and over again. And with that brought nearly full Technicolor memories and truly realistic feelings of heat, stickiness, and desperation.

She did what she could, immediately upon discovery of Ginny’s predictable plot, Hermione emptied the flame haired girl’s mind and sent her on her clueless way. It was under the guise of protecting Harry and his predestined relationship with the youngest Weasley, but underlay the capture of said Head Boy, something that was quite unattainable to those two women promised to the current saviors of the wizarding world.

The morning after she regained her head, no longer clouded with lust and the pursuit, and the achievement and relishing of a night in that heavenly bed. She entered the overly grand and pristine washroom and took account of her most recent damage, a stark contrast to the beauty blasted at her from the reflections of the space around her. Thickly stoned flooring, glass encased separate showers, a pedestaled marble pool-tub… Ornately stained windows, all illuminated by burning torches and layered candlelight, the softness of which illustrated the early hour. The brightening spells hadn’t been activated yet, and although the gentle lighting calmed her head, it mystified the image of the animate figure in the mirror.

She looked like a victim, with the purples of bruise-prints on her arms and thighs and hips. Red blotches colored the entirety of her flesh as if she had a fever, or perhaps a rash. Dried and moist blood ran not only from her still warm center, but from this bite on the inside of her knee, and that one in the joint of her shoulder. A few dots littered her breast and lips. Her jaw hurt as if it had been hit against the headboard repetitively… And it had, of course.

Hermione Granger felt empowered; the nearly wedded future-Weasley slightly drunk on the pure naughtiness of it all, the rawness. She was disheveled and so overwhelmed that what should have been pounding pain really just numbed itself into an ache in all the right places, and the visual violent aftermath just seemed a consequence of having something so great and in such a hefty amount.

But she took her potions, responsibly downing the pregnancy potion first then the series of healing potions from her standard Head Girl set, used only for emergencies and those certain indiscretions the hormone-driven females in the school couldn’t keep a secret alone. She made quick work of a thorough shower, washing her locks and scrubbing away the evidence.
Wrapped in a towel for unfounded modesty, she straightened her back and quietly reopened the door to the sleeping Head Boy’s quarters.

She summoned her wand, and as sneakily as she could, gathered her clothes, banished the stains, and did her best to cover up their encounter.

With a final swish and a softly spoken word, the slowly awakening Malfoy was obliviated, with all memories of the encounter gone from his mind.

~`~`~`~`~`~

Hermione was a bit hasty in her retreat and she knew it, but the basic idea was taken care of. She couldn’t risk waking him up to heal his own injuries prior to obliviating him. He could catch her, divert her from the plan to forgive herself and forget it all. He could try to lure her back into bed, as he did so effectively after their reunion by the Black Lake. She couldn’t trust that it wouldn’t happen again.

She was sure that he regularly woke up feeling as if he’d been trampled by a hippogriff, and that he’d simply attribute it to one of his usual conquests.

So she avoided him, and made her way to the kitchens for an early snack before she hid herself away in the darkest corner of the library with a stack of tomes and a few feet of parchment assigned to write.

~`~`~`~`~`~

The smirk was firmly planted on his face, the swagger slick in his step. He’d had a good night and was looking to have another, Hermione gathered from his signals. That very look and carriage was now the mating call that furnished his nightly activities.

Malfoy didn’t look like someone who’d had a hard night, waking up marred and damaged inexplicably and tangled up in shredded silk linens. He showed no anger at the fact that his possessions and person were abused somehow during the past twelve hours, and in truth didn’t seem to care—or even know—at all. He sat at his house table and, with a glance in her direction and a wink, turned his attention to filling his plate and joining the Slytherin whisperings.

Through her lashes she watched him, and under layers of ignorance and self-preservation (a trait few Gryffindors truly had) she hid her panic and thundering thoughts. What did that wink mean? Does he know? Does it matter? If he does then he doesn’t seem to mind. No he can’t know, it’s impossible!

On the mental argument went. She was unknowingly ignoring everything around her, including the requests for tutoring on this and that, the fellow girls asking about what color dress she was choosing for the Ball, if she know when Harry and Ron were returning. They soon gave up though and ascribed her silence to some intense Hermione-like studying. All but one, Ginny, who began practicing her elbow thrusts at her side in varying degrees of strength until the not-so-quiet “What?!” was snapped in reply.

Ginny scanned the hall briefly, noting that many heads were turned away from the pair, all female and not just in Gryffindor. “Look!” she exclaimed to Hermione who in turn did just that, and noted the dispersed crowd of silent observers. They were watching the two girls with barely feigned super-interest.

“Well, what did you do?” Hermione kept in character.

“What did I do? I didn’t do anything at all, I don’t think,” she wavered, “I was just winked at.”

“Winked at--?”

“By Malfoy!”

“Surely there was a mistake—“

“No, there was no mistaking it. I’ve seen that look a hundred times ‘Mione, and this time it was directed at me.” The redhead started shaking her head, murmuring NO! under her breath and letting her eyes flicker about rapidly, taking in the discreet glances and stage whispers behind cupped hands. Her life would be ruined, as would her reputation. If Harry found out, all that she’d worked for, waited for, would vanish, but with repercussions.

Hermione hadn’t even factored this in. She had been really sloppy and she couldn’t figure out how to repair this. She had also underestimated the power of the smirk and wink, and how so many girls watched for it to see who he had conquered, and sexed and debauched the night prior. And while she was having a freak out about him possibly bypassing the effects of her memory charm, the entire halls’ female population had verified and began gossiping about what Ginny supposedly had done.

She looked to her left and the pale faced girl was nearly choking on her gasps, she looked down the table and saw that pretty much everyone had noticed that something had happened that warranted the explosion of information passing. And that it had happened with Ginny.

~`~`~`~`~`~

She had to divert the attention, get it away from Ginny somehow. She looked over at the Head Boy who, after seemingly sharing some particularly juicy news had induced a set of whoops and cheers, high fives and slaps on the back. And also, quite a few lewd looks in Ginny’s direction.

Thankfully, the professors hadn’t noticed the mild commotion, though she couldn’t count on Snape. He seemed to notice everything.

Hermione grabbed Ginny’s hands as they dove toward her hair, attempting to get a grip on something to further facilitate her panic. “Calm down,” she spoke over Ginny’s mumblings and random shrieks, and subsequent disbelief at how she could possibly calm down!. “We can talk about whatever happened later, but right now visibly panicking wont even slightly help your situation.” Your situation. Her situation. She was lying again, making excuses and finding a way to place the blame elsewhere. Where was the well-advised, level-headed, sensitive and caring Hermione Granger? Why, on that beach in Thailand, remember?!

“Just breathe it out, and act normal,” she told her. “And when everyone is dismissed for the trains to Hogsmeade, we’ll stay behind and take a shortcut later.”

Ginny stopped her rambling, her mind catching up to what Hermione had said and realizing how her reactions had been burrowing her into a bottomless pit, giving evidence towards something she wasn’t even sure had even occurred. Breaking from her usually cool and lax demeanor had fueled the fire so she sucked it up, wiped her face, and quickly touched up her makeup with her Muggle compact. Lifting her chin, she scanned the table for the steamed rice pudding and requested it from Dean.

Just like that, the youngest Weasley had readapted to her true nature, immediately switching from a bristling idiot to her commonly calm self. A brief pause in the whispering around her allowed, “So Hermione? Did you decide on the halter or the spaghetti straps?”

Just like that, the two girls went back to playing the game, ignoring the dragon in the room and talking around the issue. Except in this conversation, they knew and had inadvertently placed a name on what they did everyday.

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The gossiping continued throughout the day, and although she had on a brave face, Ginny Weasley could almost tangibly feel her walls tumbling down. Sure, she had done something last night with Malfoy. No, she couldn’t remember what. Yes, with her regained clarity she knew she’d have to deal with Harry when the time came—which could be any day now.

Why was it so easy to stop panicking? Even though she had quickly come to terms with the fact that she already had the entire school certain that she had cheated on her boyfriend, the hero, the Savior with Draco Malfoy, the common enemy among all Gryffindor guys. Even though she had, she knew that somehow, even by this trick or mental folly of reality, gotten a shot with the sex symbol of Slytherin. She had gotten a shot, and took advantage of it to the fullest apparently.

Something she knew her Head Girl Granger would never do.

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Things got tricky around noon when she and Hermione left Fortescue’s on the way to Madam Malkin’s. They were just passing Ollivander’s when Goyle’s booming guffaws broke through their light conversation about jewelry ideas.

The group of Slytherin 7th years barreled and flaunted their way into Ginny’s alley and the onslaught of jeers and winks and teeth-licking was almost too much. The made up imitations of her moaning and screaming Draco’s name got under her skin, but she pushed the embarrassment away. But when she had just about reached the end of the block and had made her way through most of the pileup of snakes, the fairest one of them all blocked her path.

Not before a flash of eyes to the Head Girl, Draco began, “What a pleasant surprise little-Weasley…” a pause. “You can walk.”

That started a chain of chuckling and more high fives.

“Savvy deduction, Malfoy. You can see,” she responded, cautiously.

Draco edged closer to her, sliding his eyes over her form blatantly scrutinizing it with his gaze. She stood her ground strongly, even when he pressed himself so closely to her front that they were nearly touching from knee to shoulder. Ginny sniped at him for his invasion of her space with his tall, hard body and enveloping scent, “Aren’t you scared of catching a cold from my blood-traitor filth, Malfoy?”

“Well, as it happens, your filth managed to get into my bed last night,” his eyes flamed a bit. “So I believe I can make an exception.” His eyes lowered from her red hair to her own and held her challenging stare.

A few seconds passed, yet she was frozen. Ginny couldn’t move a muscle, and it was as if her feet were sunken in drying blacktop. Maybe it was the intensity of his gaze, or how comfortable he seemed pressed against her front. Or that his hands had risen to grip her upper arms. Or how his voice had softened a little just then.

“Again,” he whispered in her hear. “Tonight, early. Before dinner.”

Before she could respond he had stepped back and spoken loudly, “But tearing up my custom sheets with your teeth will not be tolerated again.”

And then her breath returned, and then her mobility, and with it the panic she had been suppressing all day nearly burst forth from her rapidly trembling lips. The gasping came quickly as she blinked away at her itching eyes, not daring shed a tear in front of him (especially over something she didn’t even know truly happened). She choked out a “Fuck you!” after swallowing the pool of saliva that had pooled below her thickened tongue.

“He grinned maliciously, “No, fuck you. And do clean up better, eh?” he snuck in another jab. “You wouldn’t want scarhead commenting on those marks on your neck now would you? I wonder what he’d say?” His laugh echoed a little and he quickly strode away before her resounding, un-ladylike scream of frustration.

~`~`~`~`~`~

Hermione kept quiet, letting Ginny handle herself and not drawing attention. She was stamping down each rampant thought that crept into her brain that would cause her to explode into a Ginny-fit, like she naturally should be doing.

She was letting this trauma happen to her best friend, letting her take the fault for something she didn’t even do. But she almost did. That’s beside the point, she didn’t. You did. Everyone else thinks she did. Which is nice, but also beside the point. Any thoughts beyond seeking repentance and telling the truth are seriously around the corner from the point!

She’s handling it well. Better than anyone who recently left breakfast knowing that her entire school believed she was the lucky harpy who had cheated on the greatest hero of their time with a Slytherin. Better than someone who had ruined her entire future (that she had planned to be filled with fortune and fame and Potter-babies), for one night of phantom pleasure. Better than someone who gave a damn about anyone else but herself.

Ginny was up to something. She was taking these misplaced accusations far too well and Hermione had an inkling to figure it out while letting her friend suffer for a bit.

But she didn’t know how much she liked how Malfoy had just approached Ginny, asking for another night of what Hermione gave him. And she certainly didn’t like that even though she had won their silent battle, her best friend got the, though sour, fruits of her labor with an actual session of what would have happened last night had Hermione not intercepted her.

And even though she shouldn’t have been, Hermione was jealous. Of course, not over the inevitable craziness that would happen when Harry and Ron returned, but over the inevitable craziness that would happen in Draco’s dorm tonight.

But this time, it would be ridiculously suspicious if she had to obliviated them again, removing another night from their memory and passing it off as such mind-blowing sex that they could hardly remember a thing. She couldn’t trust that Draco had had such traumatic lovemaking on a usual basis that he was used to waking up with a concussion, so she would have to let it play out to completion without running interference.

Damned smirk and wink!