Claiming Hermione

Hermione stared hard into the thick flood of white-gold light streaming through the window. It was excruciating and she couldn’t turn away, or even blink. The world on the other side of that window was obscured, wiped out and erased, leaving her alone on her shaky legs in a silent hallway. It was as if her entire existence had narrowed to only include these twenty feet of light-washed stone and one repeating question.



What on earth was she doing?



She had lost her mind and she was pretty sure Draco was hiding it. There seemed to be an energy field around him, and every time she got close to it, her thinking was scrambled. Now, here, in the aftermath of what she had just done, of what she had allowed to happen, she could feel her thoughts slowly coalescing, regrouping, and what she was left with was as blurry as her watery vision.



Hermione turned to press her palms and her burning cheeks against the cool stone. Closing her eyes tight, the sun-induced tears leaked down her face in a slow trickle. No, she wasn’t crying, not exactly, but she felt very close to losing her hold on something terrible that was flirting at the edges of her mind.



“No more running from me, Hermione.”



The words we knocking against the fog in her brain. No more running. She was ashamed that she ran from him, that her bravery had failed her against the one person she had never been afraid of. But the right and wrong of it all seemed so unclear.



The push and pull in Hermione’s mind and in her body was making her crazy. She felt mixed up and tumbled around, and she was afraid she might never straighten out.



A decision needed to be made.



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



Draco tried to hold in the amused smirk that was threatening to show itself to the gathered lunch party.



Granger was sitting on the bench next to him with her chin high and a poor mask of indifference, or maybe disdain, etched on her features. It was comical, really. It reminded him of an eleven year-old Granger, full of self-importance and righteousness, marching through the halls as if this new world she was in didn’t scare the shit out of her, like it did everyone else.



So, this is how it was going to be. She said hello politely and then proceeded to pretend he wasn’t there. Draco thought not.



He leaned over and whispered conspiratorially, “You’re not that good of an actress, Granger. Relax.”



The effect was like letting the air out of a balloon and she visibly sagged in her seat. Draco frowned.



She turned to him, defeated. “Can you just…I don’t know, just…”



Draco examined her pleading eyes and wasn’t sure what he saw there. Had he made such a grave error of judgment? Did she want him to leave her alone after all? But, no, there was something else, and he couldn’t put his finger on it. A wave of hurt, or anger, swept through him and he covered it with his brisk reply.



“I said, relax, Granger.” He turned away from her, suddenly no longer hungry, and filled with an urgent need to leave before he did or said something he would regret. With all the poise and grace befitting a Malfoy, he gently pushed his plate away and stood to leave.



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



It was worse. To have him gone. It hurt somewhere in the center of her back. Like a cord was wrapped around her lungs and pulled tighter the further he went.



As soon as the door to the Great Hall closed behind him, Hermione stood up and said her goodbyes. A great, solemn weight seemed to have settled over her. She wanted to sleep.



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



A soft tapping at her window pulled Hermione out of her heavy slumber three hours later. Harry’s snowy white owl fluttered outside, bathed in the gentlest pink and peach and blending with the soothing winter sunset. After the bird flew off, Hermione stood at her window for many minutes, letting her gaze go soft and unfocused, letting herself be comforted.



The package of letters was thick. She read Ginny’s first, full of Harry and her brothers and dancing with bright energy that made Hermione smile despite her weariness. Ron’s was short and friendly and hesitant to mention Lavender. The letter from Mrs. Weasley, on behalf of her family, was full of warmth and cookies and wishing Hermione had come to stay. Hermione really did love the Weasley’s.



Breaking the seal on the last letter, Hermione settled against her headboard. Harry’s letters were unpredictable. He might write her five pages of Quidditch and Weasley pranks and nothing important, or he might scribble half a paragraph of anguish. This letter appeared, in length anyway, to be somewhere in between and Hermione found she was eager to be sucked into someone else’s life for a little while.



She became instantly more alert when she saw the blank pages and recognized Harry’s secret disillusionment spell. Order business then. She cast the revealing spell and started reading. The beginning was remarkably similar to Ginny’s letter. Hermione could picture the Burrow, full of life and mischievous antics, the non-stop thundering of large young men up and down the stairs, and the air thick with the smell of food. She longed for the easy familiarity of her friends.



The last page detailed the Order meeting that had taken place. They were of age now, but except for Harry, they were still only allowed to go to certain meetings. And Harry dutifully filled them in every time. Harry told her about the speculation as to Voldemort’s whereabouts, as well as some incidents that they suspected Death Eaters were behind.



Hermione was filled with pride for her friend. In the last year and half he had taken charge of his role in defeating Voldemort. No longer would he be led around and told what to do in bits and pieces. Harry had adopted a level-headed, offensive attitude about it. He was going to win and he never let himself or anyone else doubt it for a moment. In her heart, Hermione knew that Harry had needed to hold onto that belief no matter what, in order to stay sane, in order to move forward. But secretly, she was still terrified for him. And she would never, ever show it.



She scanned the remainder of the letter and her eyes caught on a word that made her heart skip a beat. “Malfoy…”



“Ron wasn’t too happy about Malfoy. You should have seen his face. I thought he was going to have a fit or something. Instead we were all treated to him stomping around like a two year old and whining. It was kind of funny - for the first hour.



Can’t say he was the only one who was upset, but most people seem to be holding their judgment until after he takes the veritaserum. It’s understandable. I was pretty shocked when he asked to join.”



Join? Hermione could hear her breathing coming out shallow and fast. Join? What?



“But I guess it makes sense, doesn’t it? Voldemort killed his parents. Of course he’d want revenge. And obviously he’s changed his mind about muggleborns.”



Yes. Obviously. Hermione’s eyes were wide and her hands shook as she finished the letter.



“I guess we’ll see what happens in a few days.



Wish you had come to the Burrow for Christmas. It wasn’t the same without you. But, I’ll see you soon.



Love, Harry”



She had barely made out the last line before she was flying down the stairs to the HCR, letter in hand.



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



Draco arched his back against the arm of the couch and frowned at the neglected book on his knees. There was something off about the HCR now. He couldn’t seem to get comfortable anywhere he sat. His desk. The large chair. And now the couch. He scowled at the spot across from him and wondered briefly if her weight and presence in her usual spot would solve the problem.



Her behavior at lunch left him unsettled. Never once in all the years that he had known her, had he seen her look so…defeated. At one time in his life he would have done anything to make her look like that. And now, the thought that he had made him feel sick.



But, it didn’t make sense. He stayed away, and she would show up. He didn’t touch her, and she would blush. And she told him that she was thinking about him. And most important, she was Hermione Granger. If she didn’t want someone to touch her, they would certainly know it. He thought of Blaise Zabini and shuddered.



The door to the HCR swung open and Draco nearly jumped off the couch, startled at the sudden noise. Twisting to look over his shoulder, he was met with a Granger that he had seen before, many, many times. This was the Granger that made you immediately try to remember where your wand was.



“Granger,” he greeted her carefully, turning on the couch and putting his feet firmly on the floor.



She was breathing hard, and her cheeks were wonderfully flushed. Or, it would have been wonderful, if her amber eyes were also not sparking violently. At him.



Draco took a deep breath and let it out hard. She was practically shaking. Fine. Best to have at it then. “What is it, Granger?”



For a second, she just stood there staring hard at him. He wanted to squirm under her fire.



“Why didn’t you tell me?” It was quiet and controlled and Draco’s heart dropped into his stomach. His eyes went to the pages of parchment clutched in her hand. They had told her.



Truthfully, he really didn’t know what to say. His reasons for not telling her were nebulous. Fuzzy, even to him.



“Why didn’t you tell me?” she repeated, shaking the papers angrily at him.



“I don’t know.”



“You don’t know? You don’t know?” She looked a little hysterical and Draco was, again, unsettled. He just looked at her, his brows furrowed in confusion.



“Don’t you think you should have told me?”



“It’s not really your business.” He cringed inwardly. That was not the right thing to say and he knew it. She spluttered for a second before regaining her footing.



“You want to be in the Order! You want to abandon all your little Slytherin pure-blood friends, and…and...” the parchments crinkled in her hand as she flailed her arm around looking for the words. Draco scowled. He thought they were over this matter of blood.



“Granger…”



“I’m in the Order, Malfoy!” she shouted. The use of his surname was like a knife slashed across his chest and he stood up suddenly to tower over her.



Unphased, she crushed the parchment against her chest, pointing at herself, “I’m in the Order, and…what? You can tell Harry, but not me?” she squealed.



Draco was completely taken aback by her outrage. He wasn’t sure what he imagined would happen when she found out, but this was not it. Was she actually angry that he wanted to be on her side? Fear was suddenly gripping him. He felt like he was on the verge of losing his last chance. His one opportunity to rise up out of the ashes of his old life and reach for something good in the world. It was all wrapped up in her and Potter and the Order, and the fire sparking off her felt like it could incinerate all of that in a second.



“What do you want, Granger?” he lashed out. “Would you rather have me join the Death Eaters? Am I not good enough for you and your sanctimonious Order?”



He saw her eyes drop to his mouth and in answer, his dropped to hers. He was much too close for how angry he was, and he turned his back on her to stop himself from kissing her, or shaking her, or squeezing her until she relented.



He took a few steps away and heard her stomp her foot behind him. When he felt he was a safe distance he faced her again. Her eyes were large and wild and desperate. He had seen her anger before, but this was something else. She looked like a trapped rabbit being stalked by a panther. He took another step backward.



“Don’t be ridiculous! Of course I don’t want you to be a Death Eater! But this is my life!” she yelled.



Instantly, the fire left her again, just like it had at lunch, but the panic was still in her eyes. “This is my life,” she repeated weakly.



All at once, Draco understood.



This wasn’t about him joining the Order. This was about him.



She hadn’t made her mind up about him. About them. If it was as simple as her not wanting anything to do with him, she would have simply said so. That was her way. But, no, he hadn’t misread her earlier. She did want him. And now she was waging an internal war over it. His joining the Order just raised the stakes.



Draco walked to the window and leaned against the frame, folding his arms over his chest. Better not to look at her.



“It’s my life too, Granger,” he said softly.



They were both silent then. Draco could feel the space between them filling up, like world outside, hushed by layers and layers soft snow.



“You should have told me,” she finally whispered.



He closed his eyes. “I didn’t want you to think it was because of you.”



“Is it?”



That was the question, wasn’t it? And Draco still didn’t have the right answer. It hadn’t at first.



“No.”



Draco stayed by the window with his eyes closed, not wanting to face the world, or her, or anything. After a few minutes, he heard the portrait door shut. He opened his eyes and let out his breath and watched it ghost on the window, obscuring the snowy pink landscape.



For a long time, he just stayed there, looking out the window and letting his mind retrace the events of the day. Breakfast, Granger flustered and blushing, the meeting with Dumbledore, the Order, the glorious sight of Hermione bathed in white light, eyes heavy and full of wild lust and need. And then lunch, and her defensive posturing, and the way she deflated at his words. And this. What was this?



This was Granger at war. The sensible Hermione Granger, ruled by her intellect and reason, locked in battle with this new person, passionate and untamed, and out of control. Under his control.



Draco knew that she was at crossroads. And he knew that he could not sway this decision. She had to decide what she wanted on her own.



She would have to come to him.



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



Peeves had some dastardly plan, it seemed. The house elves had informed the Headmaster that late at night, Peeves would steal stacks of plates from the kitchens, and fly through the Great Hall practicing his aim at the seats of the house tables.



After the first 200 plates went missing, and then were found and cleaned up the next morning, the house elves had placed a sticking magic on the plates so they couldn’t be moved. But then the juice pitchers all disappeared and were later found in shards on the floor of the Great Hall. For a couple days, the unruly ghost moved on to non-kitchen items. Textbooks, spare cauldrons, and Filch’s vast collection of disused iron manacles.



The house elves complained that unless the entire castle was locked down, they didn’t know what to do. Dumbledore assured the distraught creatures that they had been very helpful and that he would take care of it.



That was why Hermione was walking through the old castle at nearly two in the morning, rubbing her eyes, yawning.



She opened the heavy oak door slowly and winced as it creaked and groaned. So much for stealth, she thought. But the ghost was nowhere to be seen at the moment.



Hermione took a few steps into the hall. It was eerie, and also comforting, washed in blue moonlight, with large snowflakes falling slowly and silently, but never hitting. This had always bothered her. When it rained or snowed, and she could see the sky pouring down, the lack of completion, of never feeling the water land on her face, made her feel like things were left unfinished. Like she had forgotten to do her homework.



Now, she stared up at the enchanted ceiling and imagined the snow falling like a down blanket over her, covering her in a soft sheet of feathers.



The house tables formed long rows, painting the room in pale blue and near-black stripes. Hufflepuff, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Slytherin, and at the front of the room, raised up on the platform, looking over all the rest, was the head table, shining brightly in the moonlight.



She felt small in the vast, empty room. Unnoticeable, like she could blend in with the wood and stone and no one would know. It was a good feeling right now. Quiet. Like hiding.



Seven years of habit led her down the long aisle between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables and she climbed into her seat. Even without Ron and Harry marking her spot like bookends, she knew the exact spot that was hers. She knew the exact pattern of scratches in the wood, the unfinished carving of “Re” she had run her fingers over on her first day, the particular arrangement of water marks from hundreds of wet goblets and accidental spills. And she knew that if she looked up, and turned her head just so, she could pinpoint the exact spot Draco sat in every day.



Instead, she looked to the front of the hall and the long table standing proudly, like a sentinel in the night, stable and strong. She had never imagined that table would become so important in her life as it seemed now. Just as she had never imagined that she would have to sit at that table next to Draco Malfoy. And that each time she did, she would have to remind herself to breathe normally.



He had been distant at dinner. Neither of them even said hello. He only held her gaze for a moment and then turned away. It hurt her. As she imagined she had hurt him with her outburst. She regretted it. The truth was that she wasn’t sure why she was so upset.



On one hand, she was elated that Draco wanted to be in the Order. It would be good for the Order, and bad for Voldemort. But even more than that, it would be good for him, and his life, and maybe he would get to be an Auror after all. And she believed in him. She really did. Deep in her bones, she could feel his potential, and knew that this was one way that others would be able to see what she saw.



But on the other hand, the one that connected everything to her, she felt….bombarded.



She had lost her virginity to a man that everyone, even her best friends, thought was her enemy, who had been her enemy. And it was more than she had thought possible, more than she could have imagined. Like when she found out she was a witch and a whole world opened up that explained her tendencies and her desires. She was standing in the brick opening to Diagon Alley for the first time, and she was wide-eyed and desperate to not miss a single thing.



She gave up control around him, and it was heady, and distracting. And she wanted to feel that way again and again.



Draco Malfoy was infiltrating her world. He had moved into her thoughts, a constant presence in her brain-space. Space she had never allowed anyone, not even her friends. When she was alone, he was there. Talking to her, touching her, pinning her with his arctic grey eyes. He was always there. And she wanted him to be. That was the part she didn’t understand.



And when he was really there, next to her, she couldn’t take her mind off how badly she wanted him to touch her again. On the leg, or the arm, or just a knowing look. Anything. And she spent those minutes acutely aware, at every moment, where every part of her body was, and where every part of his body was, and exactly how much space was between them.



Hermione tore her eyes away from the head table and stared again at the old wood in front of her. His spot across the hall was like a magnet, trying to draw her attention there, and she wouldn’t give in. She needed to not look there. Not tonight.



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



The next day Draco stood again at the window in the HCR. The same soft pink and peach glow fell over the long expanses of snow outside, a little more pale today. He folded his arms over his chest. There was no sign in the room that she had been there. She was keeping her distance.



He felt suspended in time. Waiting for her to decide. She would come to him or she wouldn’t. The latter was too much to imagine, and Draco felt like he was holding his breath.



Approaching her could push her the other way, so he had done everything he could to leave her alone. But he was a Slytherin at his core, and while he would do nothing to influence her, he could at least let her know what he wanted, and maybe open the door.



He pulled a quartered piece of parchment out of his desk drawer and dipped his quill in ink.



The password is asphodel.

Please come tonight.



DM



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



She didn’t come.



It was past one a.m. and Draco was lying on his back, white cotton sheets tangled around his bare legs, and a weight on his chest that pushed him into the bed and made breathing difficult.



He tried not to think about what he had hoped for. Tried not to imagine her gentle knock at the door. Or the shy smile he thought might grace her face. He just stared at the ceiling, blinking, and thinking, ‘she didn’t come.’



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



That same night, Hermione was sitting in the dark at the Gryffindor table again, giving in to her desire to look.



Yes. That was where Draco sat every day. She could see him there, straight-backed, elegant, long fingers wrapped around a goblet, and his eyes boring into her. In her logical mind, she could only remember a handful of times that Draco had made eye contact with her across the Great Hall.



She felt like she would do anything for that connection with him now. The silence between them was crushing her. And her body… At dinner, he bumped her shoulder when he got up to leave. That small touch bolted through her and spread into a diffused warmth. She was desperate for him to touch her. It made her itch and squirm and ache. It made her want to cry.



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



On the third night, Hermione stepped into the Great Hall and held her breath. Her eyes went immediately to Draco’s spot. A wave of longing like she had never felt before made her stomach clench. She turned and left immediately.



For two full days he hadn’t said anything to her. He had barely acknowledged her presence. At meals she found herself flicking her eyes over at him, repeatedly, wishing that just once he would be looking back at her. She wanted to believe that he was playing some kind of cruel game with her, but she knew better. He was the one that told her to stop running from him, and she all but told him to leave her alone. And she hadn’t been back to the HCR in two days. Two horrible, silent days.



When Hermione woke up the next morning, the anxiety she felt about Draco had grown to epic proportions. It was a throbbing ball in her chest, pushing her heart and lungs out of the way. This couldn’t go on.



What was it that she wanted exactly? What did he expect from her? What were the ramifications? The risks? She turned the thing over and over and came up with the same fears and the same desires. She had no clear answers. Just her instinctual want.



At dinner that evening, Hermione let herself openly stare at him. She watched his jaw clench, aware that she was looking at him.



Draco finally faced her and held her gaze. Her heart thumped hard. His eyes were hard and cold and made her feel exposed and wrong. He stood up quickly and left and Hermione held back the frustrated tears that wanted to leak down her face.



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



Hermione sat in her seat at the Gryffindor table looking at the same place she had been looking since she sat down an hour earlier. The Slytherin table gleamed in the bright moonlight. She couldn’t think. She had exhausted the subject and her brain was numb. All she had left was the ache in her body and the pull towards that spot.



Slowly she got up, the square of parchment still clutched in her hand, and crossed the distance. She stood in front of Draco’s seat with her heart making low, solid thuds in her chest. A tentative finger reached out, highlighted blue under the moon and the night sky, and traced the wood where Draco sat everyday.



These were his marks, his history. She climbed over the bench and sat in his spot, slowly, taking it all in. Trying to know all that he knew. Hermione looked around the Great Hall. This was Draco’s view. This is what the Head Table looked like to him, and the large oak door. Her eyes landed on the spot she had just left. This is what she looked like to him. Three tables and six rows of benches away.



She looked down at the crumpled note in her hand. Please come. She didn’t know how long the note had been there, but she knew that she had abandoned him. That he had waited for her and she didn’t come. And that it was why he had shut her out so completely.



Hermione closed her eyes and lay her hot cheek on the rough wood. She missed him. She wanted him. She wanted him to touch her and she wanted to touch him too. She wanted it not to be over.



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



Outside the Great Hall, in a sort of terrified daze, Hermione turned left instead of right. She kept her face forward and put one foot in front of the other in a slow, steady rhythm until she was standing in front of Draco’s room.



She whispered the password and slipped into the room before she could change her mind. On the other side of the door, she stood, shaking, with the note still clutched in her hand.



The coals in Draco’s fireplace were still smoldering, giving off a little heat in the dark room. One foot in front of the other until she was standing next to the bed. The bed she had sex in.



He was beautiful. God, Draco was so beautiful. In sleep, like this, with his white blonde hair mussed and his mouth parted softly, he seemed more open. Safer. Like she could tell him things. Secrets.



Draco lay on his stomach, arms shoved under his pillow and one leg bent and escaped from the down blanket and sheets. Dark orange light highlighted the bunched muscles in his back and shoulders, and carved a dark shadow along his spine. Hermione wanted to run her fingers down that line, but she couldn’t move.



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



He could smell her. Even before Draco opened his eyes, he knew that she was standing there. That strange mix of amber and oranges and honey meant that Hermione Granger was standing there. In his room.



Draco pried open one sleep-bleary eye. She was there. His chest swelled and he blinked open both his eyes, stinging with drowsiness. God. She was there.



She didn’t say anything and he didn’t say anything back. They just looked at each other. Draco propped himself up on his elbows and watched as she toed off her shoes and socks. He blinked to try to clear the blur as she unhooked her robe and fabric fell off her shoulders and pooled onto the floor.



Draco squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again to take her in. Granger was standing in his room in a tiny tank top and shorts, her slim smooth legs and arms just barely glowing in the dim room. He groaned and reached out one long arm, hooking it around her waist and dragging her down onto the bed under him, trapping her in the cage of his body.



She was warm and soft and he buried his face in the curve at the base of her neck to breathe her in, that smell enveloping him as he fell back asleep.















---------------------------------



First, I\'m sorry for the wait (again). I was down for over a week with a horrid wisdom tooth infection problem. It was horrid. Really horrid. I was drugged. And I still have to have the damn thing taken out next week.



Next, Smutastic Awards! The Smutastic Awards on livejournal are seconding nominations until October 30th! Claiming Hermione is up for Best Kiss (ch. 19), Best First Time (ch. 23), Best D/s (ch. 27), Best Sexual Tension (ch. 10), and Best Close, But No Cigar (ch. 10). Wow, that\'s the first time I\'ve written it all out. It\'s rather overwhelming.



There are a TON of great smutty stories here, so come over, join the community, and second your favorites, then VOTE! Voting runs from November 7 - November 29.



http://community.livejournal.com/smutastic_award/



Claiming Hermione in German! Mareen_manuela is translating CH into German has been posing it on some German sites. It\'s so freaking exciting for me. And such a huge compliment! If you read German, check out her livejournal for details:



http://mareen-manuela.livejournal.com/



mmmels! My GOD! This girl is just KILLING ME with this beautiful work! Check this "corridor" scene from the last chapter:



http://i387.photobucket.com/albums/oo314/ilkeluv/Claiming%20Hermione/2922809036_4f37f14c38.jpg





Now, for the story...



I have to give an enormous thank you to eevilalice for helping me work through Hermione\'s state of mind. As she (Hermione) has been so confused, so have I, and well, that makes writing rather difficult. And this brilliant woman helped me make sense of it and inspired me many times over, as well, as providing incredible feedback on the whole chapter. ((((((((((((( thank you ))))))))))))))



Thank you also to kazfeist and hadfthand! You ladies are wonderful and I am so grateful for you hard work. THANK YOU!



This chapter was emotional and angsty, I know. And lacking in sexy lovins. But Draco has her trapped now. I think this "morning after" is going to have a different outcome than the last one.



Thank you all so much for all the wonderful feedback and comments and for continuing to read this story! I really want to comment on all the reviews, but I\'m totally overwhelmed by all the love! Thank you! All of you! For reading! For reviewing! For encouraging me so much! I can\'t believe what a wild journey this is! THANK YOU! Please let me know what you thought of this chapter. It was a long time coming and I do hope that it was satisfying. ((((( hugs for all of you )))))



xoxo ilke