Seven Times

Hey guys - a couple of you have asked about the Veela fic - I'll be concentraiting on that once this and Tainted are finished, ok? Enjoy.

Part 4.

The fourth time Draco Malfoy touched Hermione Granger was while droning voices echoed through the air, as Death Eaters searched near where they were hiding. Most Order members had Portkeyed out safely, until a blanketing spell meant no one got in or out until it was lifted. During that time, no magic could be used, Draco whispering in Harry’s ear that it was a snatch and grab for torture and information raid, more than a kill at first sight one.

The three of them had been jammed behind a wooden panel by a frightened house elf, in a shimmy hole designed comfortably for two, thus a rather tight fit for three. Draco had one hand braced above Hermione’s head, while his free arm was wrapped tightly around her waist, holding her upright. That was ok though, because she had both arms wrapped around him to steady him in return.

She stood between his feet, the two of them jammed in sideways; pressed together while Harry stood in front of them, his wand gripped uselessly in his hand. The dark was pressing in on them, the air filled with dust as Hermione rested her forehead against the sinewy chest in front of her. She could hear the soft sounds of half breaths being taken, and she could smell the sweat and fear that tinged the air.

In front of her, she felt Draco bend his knees and slump slightly, his thighs pressing against her legs and his knees resting against the wood behind her as he lowered his head to her shoulder. She could hear the soft pants he made and the even softer groan that slipped free from his lips as he turned his head slightly and breathed in against her neck.

Hermione closed her eyes and lowered her own head to his shoulder, and prayed that they’d get out of this mess and soon. The war had been raging for a year now. Thirteen months, two weeks, four days, and a dozen or more hours if you wanted to get technical. And, in that time, Hermione had finally let go of her former feelings towards Draco Malfoy, and had moved on to working well with him.

He was still callous and cold. A bastard at the best of times. And she was still a know-it-all, a stuck-up Miss Priss, who needed a damn good shagging to knock the stick out of her arse, according to his last argument after she'd thrown a cup at his head. Nevertheless, he was safety in the dark, and Hermione licked dry lips as a high pitched scream echoed outside their hiding place, followed by a thud.

“Good for nothing bloody elf!” a deep voice cried.

The sickening sound of bones crunching had Hermione muffling a whimper, and Draco tightened his grip on her as Harry took a deep breath. She squeezed her eyes shut, and thought more forcibly about home. About the looks she couldn’t decipher that Draco sent her way. After Blaise had shagged Cho, Hermione had opened her eyes and seen more than she bargained for.

People were shagging left, right and bloody centre, and she didn‘t know what to make of it. Luna was shagging Seamus, Harry was shagging Ginny, and Blaise was shagging anyone who smiled at him. Ron and Lavender, after the former Gryffindor had turned up in the middle of the night. And when Hermione had seen Draco walk out of Parvati’s room early one morning, she’d blushed furiously under his slow appraisal.

Katie Bell and, surprisingly enough, after he‘d shown up dirty, bloody and in a filthy temper, Marcus Flint. Dean and Alicia Spinet. Fred and Angelina Johnson. Neville Longbottom and Susan Bones. And those were just the former students whom she had seen sneaking out of someone’s room under the cover of darkness. And the worse the war got, the more people shagged. And when she saw Blaise sneak into Cho’s room one night and remain with her, it finally seemed to make sense.

What didn’t make sense were those damn looks Draco sent her way. Slow, measured, and they made her uncomfortable in a way she couldn’t explain. The same as his touch didn’t always make her feel comfortable. A casual brushing of hands or a hip bumped against hers to move her out of his way. Or the way his knuckles were currently slowly moving up and down along her back.

An inch upwards, an inch downwards, followed by the flexing of his arm. It was heat, and it was touch, and it made her arch slightly and her eyes open when his breath hit her throat. His head lifted at the same time hers did, and they stared at each other in the dim light. His arm tightened around her, and when he slowly uncurled his hand, she could feel his fingertips stretch around her ribs and stop under her arm.

Lowering his head slowly, Hermione’s eyes crossed when his forehead touched hers, and she could feel the pant, pant, pant of his breath brushing her face as he breathed through his mouth. He pulled her a step closer, and Hermione bit her bottom lip to stop the squeak that wanted to escape when his fingers, such long, supple fingers, touched the side of her breast.

When his head tilted, she knew what he was going to do before he did it. And as he moved his head again, her hand shot up between them, and covered his mouth as he lowered his head slightly. She could feel his breath on her fingers, and stared up at his eyes as they glowed with unholy glee. His fingers moved again, and she bit back another sound when his fingers began that same slow journey they had taken on her back.

Up, down, and it made her sway into him, her hand slipping from his lips as he lowered his head to her shoulder again. The hand above her head moved, and Hermione groaned ever so softly when it was suddenly wedged between the wall and her bum, his fingers digging into the supple flesh and kneading firmly.

The voices outside were still talking, and Hermione tried to wiggle away from him. But wedged in the way they were, there was nowhere to go, and his silent shaking, that silent laughter, told her he knew it. And as he leaned into her, leaned against her in that tight space, Hermione closed her eyes and groaned softly.

When the warm tip of his tongue swept over the skin of her throat, Hermione jerked against him. A warning pinch on her bum had her stilling, and she turned her head towards Harry. He stood as he had before, watching and waiting, and completely oblivious to what was happening behind him. But turning her head gave Draco more skin to play with, and he attacked the skin under her ear with little nips of his teeth, and sweeping touches of his tongue.

The tip of his tongue lightly flicked the lobe of her ear, before tracing along the rim of it. She shivered once, and broke out in goose flesh when heated breath swept over her ear. She felt the scrape of teeth along her jaw and the rasp of his tongue across the scars from where he had scratched her so long ago.

Hermione closed her eyes when his hand left her bum and travelled slowly up her back, to cradle her head as he straightened up slightly. Standing there together, with his fingers touching her, and his breath washing over her, Hermione came to realise that hell did exist because she was living it. Lifting bewildered eyes, she stared up at him, and then frowned when he lowered his head again and let his lips hover over hers.

“Relax.”

It was more breath than word, and she was mortified to realise that he had been touching her to distract her all along. His eyebrows drew together when hurt flooded her features, and she turned her face away from his abruptly. Holding her breath, holding back humiliated tears, Hermione moaned in relief when the voices outside died away, and the violent shimmer of magic told them that the spell had been lifted.

They waited a few more minutes, and when Harry nodded, she all but stumbled in her haste to put space between herself and Draco. He looked at her like she’d grown another head, and after Harry had Portkeyed out, Draco grabbed her arm and turned her back to face him. Staring up at him, Hermione swallowed once, and when swallowing, swallowed her pride.

“I know that you, and most of the people back at Headquarters, think that I need a good shagging, and that anyone desperate enough, or horny enough, will one day take pity on me. But what I don’t need, is to have that pity to come from you.”

“Pity?” he asked slowly, and Hermione nodded as she tugged her Portkey out of her pocket.

“You think I pity you?” he asked again, and Hermione snorted.

“What else do you call that in there, Malfoy?” she asked, gesturing wildly towards the hole in the wall.

Draco’s eyes shadowed over as Hermione pushed her hair out of her eyes, and he took a step towards her. He stopped, however, when she held a shaking hand up and shook her head.

“I thought you’d changed, Malfoy. Moved past humiliating me for what ever reasons you could come up with. But to do… that… to relax me? That takes the cake.”

Understanding washed over his face, and as he took another step towards her, Hermione lifted wounded eyes and shook her head.

“Stay away from me, ok? Play your games with someone else, someone like Padma, who knows the rules. Because I don’t like this game, Malfoy. You see, I never know when the rules will change.”

And as he took another step towards her, she vanished from sight, leaving him with the memory of her haunted eyes and the taste of her skin still lingering on his tongue. Back at Headquarters, Hermione ignored the knowing looks Gregory and Blaise seemed to bestow on her, and headed upstairs for the remainder of the evening, stating that she had a headache and wanted to be left alone.

When she’d finally calmed down, finally relaxed enough to want to eat, she opened her door just as the one across the hall did. She didn’t understand why seeing Padma backing out of the room, and a half-dressed Draco lounging in bed hurt her so much, but it did. She must have made a sound of some sort, because they both looked up. Padma blushed, and Draco looked at her with one of those slow, measuring looks, as Hermione lifted her eyebrow mockingly and a wry look twisted her lips before she slowly shut the door.

When she didn’t appear the following morning, Draco was saved asking why by Neville. Harry looked up from a worn notebook and blinked, before answering vaguely. Hermione was gone - she’d Portkeyed out in the early hours of the morning. He wasn’t sure when she’d be back, and no, he didn’t know where - she'd volunteered to go on a mission with Fred Weasley. And when Draco swore angrily, only Gregory didn’t look surprised.