Obscurity

There were way too many reviews to mention everybody personally. But I read them all many many times while I was writing. Thanks to everyone for all your support. In answer to a few questions: I don\'t know if I\'ll do any of this from Malfoy\'s point of view, as it stands now I don\'t plan to.

Eventually you will find out why Malfoy is so obsessed with her. But it will probably be him telling her. Thanks for your comments on my letters.

Hermione/Draco is my current new craze and I\'ve managed to wind up some of my other fiction so I can devote more time to it. This idea has been bouncing around in my head for a while and I just had to put it on paper. I hope the next part comes quicker but my muse can be very slow and annoying, however I will feed it lots of chocolate and do a little groveling to keep the writing up.

Rain

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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Malfoy was being a perfect gentleman. It was very irritating.

She had thought that he might kiss her, when they were standing there face to face, his eyes dark and gleaming. But instead he had made some rude comment about her make-up and demanded that she didn’t wear it anymore. This of course had angered her and she had quickly put him in his place. Not that he stayed there. Oh high and mighty Malfoy never lowered his eyes in shame. He had smirked at her, causing her to blush and admit that she wasn’t sleeping well and looked like death warmed over without it.

His eyes had softened, and he had brushed one gentle hand over her cheek.

And then he had been all business suddenly, showing her the secret of wandless magic. Moreover she had been so excited that she couldn’t feel any real resentment that the earlier romantic moment was lost. But even when she had first managed to make the wind stir and had leapt in his arms in an enthusiastic hug, jumping up and down like a child, he had still only hugged her back. Admittedly he had run his hands firmly up her back, but still it was only a hug. And he had let go of her way too quickly.

She decided to say something, to break the silence. Malfoy was being too polite. It was creepy.

“Do you think Ron and Harry could learn how to do this?” Hermione asked, trying to keep her arm still as she flicked the candle on and off in front of her. She’d mastered the trick quickly enough but she always wanted to do the wand movement with her empty hand. She could light a candle without any “foolish wand waving” but anything more difficult either failed or she had to move her arm. Still it was all very exciting, despite her massive headache. Draco said the headaches would temper off once she became efficient.

“Potter could manage well enough, but he’s too brash. He’d lose his head and use it where he shouldn’t and land himself in trouble. Really requires too much concentration and practice for poorboy, he can barely get by in class with all of your tutoring.”

“Don’t call him that.”

“What, in my statement, was untrue? He is poor.” Draco was lounging on the chaise he had transfigured, arms behind his head, eyes closed. She could look at him without him realizing she was staring. She let her eyes wonder over his fine features, the column of his throat. She concentrated and a sputtering flame appeared on the candle wick.

“There’s nothing wrong with being poor. But when you say it, it’s demeaning. It’s an insult.” She liked his arms, lean strong muscles, hard as iron, a light dusting of golden hair. His chest was outlined by his robes, flat stomach. She let out a sigh and extinguished the candle. It was easier to put it out.

“Lots of people are poor. Unfortunately you’re freckled ragamuffin is also a Weasley.”

“Oh so this is all about his family. Your father would hate my family too so maybe you should suit up and hate me as well.” She felt a burst of frustration and pushed magic through the dragon at her neck. The candle burst into flame, along with the table it stood on. Hermione jumped back with a startled cry, reaching for the wand that Malfoy had confiscated from her. That was the problem with the piece, it amplified her magical energies but it made no effort to control or contain the magic. She would have to learn to do that herself. So far she hadn’t had much success in that.

“Our families have hated each other for generations. Who am I to argue with tradition?” He drawled, silver eyes fastening on the roaring fire in front of her. The fire extinguished itself and Hermione let out a relieved sigh. “Besides,” His eyes closed again. “You’re family is a lot more like mine than the Weasels. My parents would like yours if they weren’t muggles.”

As always he knew exactly what to say to slip in under her skin and irritate. Her voice came out sharp and harsh and she found she didn’t care. The nerve of him! “Make no mistake about it Malfoy,” She spun to face him fully, commanding his attention. He somehow sensed it and his grey eyes opened and fastened on her. “Our families are nothing alike!”

“Because my fathers a death eater? Because he betrayed every scrap of honor we’ve spent centuries perfecting to go chasing after an old crazy fool?” His eyes pierced her soul and made her breathe short; she had to focus on his shoulder to hold onto the thread of anger in her body. The last thing he needed was another foolish girl crumpling to a heap at his feet. She wasn’t the foolish type and it was time she remembered that where he was concerned. He snorted, and her gaze flew back to his face. How could he make even a snort sound elegant and refined? “I’m not talking about political idiocy. I’m talking about more fundamental ways of thinking.”

He had beautiful eyes

“You’re family is uptight and judgmental. They are nothing like my parents.”

His full lips turned up in a slow curve, his smile a mockery of anything sweet or joyful. “My family is judgmental?” He snickered, his eyes lighting up with mirth. He sat up, bracing his hands on his knees, the sleeves of his robes sliding down to cover his arms. “You’ve met my mother one time, in less than favorable circumstances. You’ve met my father less than half a dozen times, and he’s no shining example of a Malfoy. And yet you have formed a concrete opinion of the whole lot of us. And we’re judgmental?”

“Your parents value intelligence and education.” He held up one hand, ticking off one long elegant finger. “They prize good breeding and etiquette. They are moderately wealthy and always always have the finest quality available.”

“MY parents are not caught up with money!” She burst out. Where did he come up with this stuff? “You don’t know anything about my parents.”

“I know you.”

His eyes ran from her toes to her eyes and she crossed her arms defensively over her chest. Sometimes he looked at her like he wanted to eat her alive.

“Intelligent, Sophisticated women like you don’t spring up out of the either.” Hermione felt herself blushing. He thought she was sophisticated. That was huge coming from him. “I didn’t say you’re parents were obsessed with money, I said that they only surrounded themselves with quality. Take your robes for example.”

“My robes? Malfoy, my robes are exactly the same as everyone else’s robes at Hogwarts.”

“No they’re not. They are Lauren Spangdell robes.” At her blank look he continued, a trace of irritation finding its way onto his features. “A tiny out of the way shop in Diagon Alley, all potpourri and lace inside. That’s where your mum took you to buy robes.”

The fact that he knew this was beyond disturbing.

“And…”

“My point is Granger,” He said, obviously exasperated, rising to his feet and gliding towards her. “Is that your mother took the time and effort to find out who made the finest witching wear and made sure that you were attired in it.” He reached out and trailed one hand down her sleeve in a soft caress. “I don’t know anything about muggle clothes, but these are finely made garments and I’d be willing to bet that they are very expensive.”

His hand settled at the curve of her waist, a possessive casual touch that messed with her mind. In her rather limited experience of Victor Krum and two muggle boyfriends she’d never had anyone touch her the way that he did. She couldn’t quite put her finger on what was so different, but he was surer, firmer. There was no hesitance in him at all. He was doubtless much more experience than any of the boys she went out with but there was more to it than that. He touched her like he was entitled. Like she belonged to him and he could do anything he wished and she wouldn’t protest. He was Draco Malfoy, and she was Hermione Granger, what in the world gave him the idea that he could touch her anyway he felt like anytime he wanted? What made him so sure she wouldn’t protest?

The truth was she wanted him to touch her so much more. Perhaps that was the real difference. Only with him did her blood stir and her body tingle. The horrible mixture of nervousness and shivery anticipation washing over her that was becoming slowly familiar in a disturbing sort of way. “Just because my parents buy me nice clothes doesn’t make them obsessed with money.”

“You’re twisting my words. I did not say they were obsessed with anything. Also you keep saying money, I keep saying quality. The two things are not synonymous.” His other hand came up, grasping her waist on the other side. His hands flexed and his eyes grew dark as she stared up at him like a dolt.

“Really Malfoy! Why are we arguing about this? So my parents like nice things and have a bit of money. Our families are still very different.” Hermione lifted her chin defiantly, a stance that had always lent her confidence. She placed both her hands on his forearms, lightly sliding them from front to back to front again. Nothing bold. Nothing reckless. She just wanted to touch him and could not think of a single reason she shouldn’t at that moment, even though she knew there were plenty. Harry, Ron, the War, Mr. Malfoy, Slytherin…” His head was lowering, she wasn’t backing away. Why did she do this to herself?

His lips were soft and firm. They brushed over hers, once, twice, before she groaned in frustration leaning in to get better contact. He chuckled, deep in his throat, lips opening, caressing hers. His hands slid around her waist, pulling her closer and her hands traveled firmly up his arms to his shoulders, to balance herself. His tongue brushed her lips and hers darted out to meet it. He titled his head to gain better access and kissed her again, gently prodding her mouth open and slipping his tongue inside.

He tasted like heaven and Hermione clung to him like a burr. She couldn’t get her body close enough to his; she was burning all over for his touch. When he was this close to her she was shameless and couldn’t even find the presence of mind to be embarrassed about her brazen wiggling against him. One hand firmly traveled down to her bum and caressed her blatantly and she didn’t feel even a twinge of discomfort, moaning in his mouth at his electric touch. “These pants are painted on.” He whispered in her mouth. Sweeping in and kissing her again. “I’ve been dying to touch you here since arrived panting and sweating in the forest.”

His other hand was slipping under her loose t-shirt to caress her bare back and Hermione only clutched him closer, kissed him more desperately. She only knew that she didn’t want him to stop touching her. She’d worry about the how and why and the consequences later. But right now. This was perfect, in this old filthy shack, broken furniture, patchy sunlight. All she cared about was that no one knew where she was and no one was looking for her.

“You were all wet and slick, fuck yeah.” He whispered, leaving her mouth to trail kisses down her neck. She arched back against his arms to give him better access to her body and he groaned low in his throat. His hand moving from her bum to the hem of her shirt to inch it up though gave her pause. He must have felt her tense because he lifted his head, face inches from hers, and deliberately tugged her shirt up; instinctively she lifted her arms, blushing a sunset as he tossed the garment behind him on the chaise. His hands firmly placed themselves at her waist and he pulled her back up against his body.

“Ever been this far?” He asked simply. She looked up at him, so close to him she was sharing his warm breath.

“No.”

He didn’t comment. Instead he bent his head to her neck and laved warm kisses over her heated skin. His hands slid up her bare skin, down again, landing at her hips. Her breasts were crushed up against his chest. Her hips thrust instinctively against him and he groaned. Tentatively she leaned in to taste his skin, small careful kisses on his neck. He let out a soft ragged sound and clutched her hips closer to him. Hermione felt a rush of adrenaline at her power over him and her kisses grew bolder, more insistent. One hand tangled in her mass of hair and drew her head back; she let out a gasp when he placed a soft kiss on the top of one breast, outlined in silk.

Oh God

He waltzed backwards, taking her with him, layering kisses on her breasts. She groaned when he spun her around, pushing her down to sit on the chaise. He dropped gracefully to his knees, pushing between her thighs and stared up at her.

He looked at her like she was beautiful. Right now, even with her shirt off, she felt sexy, like a woman. She was always the brain, the bookworm, but he made her feel feminine. She hadn’t been kidding, she had never ever even come close to letting someone undress her, much less touch her. His hands slid up her thighs, over her hips, up her sides. Her whole body was a trembling mass of anticipation. Now with him, she might just die if he didn’t touch her. He leaned forward, brushing his chin over her breasts and then burrowing his face between them. The clasp of her bra coming undone was like a gunshot in the silence.

He drew the scraps of fabric down over her shoulders with excruciating slowness, kissing down her shoulder and collarbone as he went. When her breasts bounced free she gripped his hair and pulled him up to her lips for a kiss. She needed the distraction of his lips and tongue. She just couldn’t bear the anticipation any more. He kissed her like he was drowning. All moans, and nips, and sighs. And he cupped both her breasts in his strong hands. She boldly slipped her hand down the back of his robes to caress his shoulders; he fondled her breasts, thumbs brushing over her nipples.

His touch felt so good that her head was buzzing.

Slowly she became more aware of the sound. It wasn’t her head, it was his wand. “Malfoy?” She questioned in between mind numbing kisses.

He pulled back, a lopsided grin on his face that seemed hugely out of place with his flushed skin and mussed hair. He was breathing heavily, his eyes heavy lidded and dark with passion. She’d done that, unraveled his pressed neat appearance. Reduced him to just her lover. Who cared about the buzzing?

She leaned in to kiss him again, but he avoided her lips.

“If we don’t leave right now we will be late for the prefects meeting. I charmed my wand to keep the time.”