Obscurity

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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The music was haunting and hypnotic at the same time.

Hermione made her way down the creepy narrow passageway to the shrieking shack, hoping that it was Malfoy at the other end and that no one else had found their little hideaway. She pushed open the door and let herself into the now spotless little room, and heaved a sigh of relief when she saw Malfoy sitting at a beautiful white piano. His posture was as perfect as ever, but his head was bent causing his long blond locks to fall into his eyes. He must have transfigured the settee. She had never realized how good he was at Transfiguration. How come he never came out as well as she did in McGonagall’s class then? Were the other teachers really prejudiced against the Slytherins? Now that she was looking for signs, it certainly seemed like it.

His hands flew across the keys and Hermione set down her bag, digging out her Wandless Magic book. She ought to think of another name for it, but it was untitled and she wasn’t really all that creative. For lack of a better place to sit, she inched closer to the piano, wondering how much she could get away with. Malfoy continued to play, not looking up from the keys, though she didn’t really doubt that he knew she was there. She waved her wand, creating a small step stone in the air and climbed up onto the piano, stretching out on her stomach. She laid her book out in front of her, bending her knees and hooking her feet at the ankles. She gave Malfoy a sideways look out of the corner of her eye, but his face was serious with concentration and his eyes were downcast.

The sensation of the piano vibrating against her tummy was the oddest feeling. It made her whole body tingle. The music was beautiful; creating a cacophony of sounds around her and her book was fascinating. She couldn’t help but let out a soft sigh of contentment as she turned the page. The song he was playing spiraled down and the last few notes hung in the air after he had stopped playing. “Do you sing?” she asked, looking up from her book.

“No,” he replied a little too shortly, a little too sharp. Once she would have been instantly annoyed, but now she just wondered what had happened to upset him today.

“Can you sing?” she asked, letting an impish smile out, unable to hide the amusement in her voice. He looked up at her then, silver eyes stabbing through her, to her soul. But then he softened somehow, and a small smile turned up at the edge of his mouth as well.

“Yes.”

“Play another one?” she asked and he immediately began to weave music again, another tune, but just as evocative as the last. Hermione wondered what the words were, or if there were any words at all.

Over the last several weeks they had fallen into sort of an uneasy, habitual schedule, if it could even be referred to as something that formal. Life went on as usual, studying and classes. Quiddich practice and time with the boys. But they found their moments. They would meet at the shrieking shack, or in abandoned classrooms to practice wandless magic. At some point in the evening, after her run, he would fall into step with her. Sometimes they would talk, sometimes they would exist in comfortable silence but these were fast becoming her most cherished moments of the day.

She opened her book to the last page and brought out a piece of folded parchment, opening it and reading it to herself silently, searching for the flaws amongst her own neat cursive. It had to be perfect or it would reflect badly on all muggle-borns. These people were that critical.

Change needed to happen. There were so many laws and policies that contributed to prejudice. So many people who didn’t realize what they were endorsing with their narrow minded thinking. But how was she, one sixth year Hogwarts student, going to effect change?

In the end, she decided to start where she had experience, and branch out from there. The basic root of the problem was ignorance, and that was true of both sides, because Hermione wasn’t really sure why purebloods hated Muggles so much. The library proved enlightening as always. But only with the history stuff. She read books written about why it was so important to keep Wizard-kind a secret and incidences where Muggles and Wizards had clashed. But there wasn’t really all that much literature about why the war had started in the first place.

So she asked Malfoy about it. It quickly became clear that he was very uncomfortable with the subject. She wheedled and nagged, begged and prodded, and got nowhere. Until, she kissed him. They kissed under the tree in the garden she’d come to think of as theirs. She pushed up on her toes and brushed her lips over his. “Please Draco, I need to know, I need to understand this…”

So he told her about some of the things he had been taught growing up. Not necessarily just from his father, but from Aunts and Uncles and Cousins. It sounded more like tales of the boogie man than facts, but she supposed it would have made a child cringe. It was a little harder to draw out tales of propaganda he’d heard at parties when he was an adolescent.

He quickly became irritated when she would ask questions about pureblooded beliefs. “Malfoy, it doesn’t make any sense that muggles are less intelligent.” She had commented as she walked with him, cooling off from her run yesterday. “I mean, look at all the inventions and innovations muggles have come up with to make their lives more comfortable without magic. Electricity, cars, computers…have you ever used a computer?”

“I didn’t say that they were less intelligent, Granger and I didn’t say it made sense, I just said that is what I was told,” he had replied wearily, falling back on the defensive, as he was often likely to do when they talked about this. She could hear the forced patience in his tone, as he struggled not to snap at her and say nasty things. Some days, when she was being particularly difficult, he really had to work at being civil. She was deeply moved that he put up the effort, she knew for a fact that he didn’t do that for anyone else. His clipped, measured, condescending tones made her feel cherished and special. He turned her life upside-down; it was a specialty of his.

She started by passing out pamphlets. Just simple informative leaflets that detailed the propaganda of the enemy and outlined reasons that it was unfounded. But it didn’t seem like she had much circulation here at Hogwarts, so she contacted Mr. Lovegood and asked him to run an article in the Quibbler. She was very pleased with how it turned out, despite the official looking disclaimer at the top and bottom. She was surprised when loads of letters and howlers started plaguing her day and night. She’d certainly not gotten such a response from S.P.E.W.

Within days she had quite a subscriber list and dozens of letters of protest that she took time out each day to answer. She was really giving the school owls a workout. And it was increasingly becoming a bigger and bigger project. She had started having to ask for help, which she hated, and didn’t have much luck finding. At least Malfoy was always willing to proof read and add his opinion. Snarky, mean spirited opinions…but honest ones. She didn’t know why, but she was actually surprised that she didn’t get any support from the boys. Ron was too scattered in his interests to have time, and Harry had sadly shook his head. “It won’t do any good, Hermione. You won’t change generations of bigoted thinking with a few brochures.”

But she couldn’t give up. This was too important. Even if most of the attention she was getting from her little newsletter was negative, at least it was getting attention. Which was more then she could say before it started. So it was important that the spelling, grammar, and facts were all correct. It was important that the letter went out on time. She didn’t have an official publication date, but so far she had been sending out her literature on Wednesdays and she was certain that people had come to expect it. She couldn’t be late. That wouldn’t speak well of her or what she had to say.

“How’s your Wolf?” Malfoy asked quietly, interrupting her train of thought. His fingers slowed into a ballad, hitting lower keys, creating softer music.

“Dumbledore says that he will be fine. We got to him before any permanent damage could be done.” She replied, smiling up at him, even though he wasn’t looking at her. She had heeded his pleading and gone to the Order instead of Harry and Ron. Harry didn’t need to be falling into their trap. Besides, Draco was right. The adults needed to handle this one. But she knew the time would come when she would need to stand by Harry again. Maybe Malfoy would stand with her, but even if she needed to leave him behind, she knew this battle wasn’t over. “Thank you, again.”

He didn’t reply to her thanks. He never did. Instead, he struck a few more notes before holding out one elegant hand for her parchment. She passed it over wordlessly, rolling over onto her back to await his verdict. Somehow what he thought was just as important as any reader she might have. He was, after all, the ultimate pureblood…and she cared what he thought of her. She hated to admit that, because she knew she was giving him the power to hurt her. “All this stuff about comp..u..ters and Tele…visions doesn’t make any sense, Granger. You should just describe their purpose. Something like, Despite the inability to produce magic, Muggles have discovered very clever ways of making their lives more comfortable. They use Tele…visons… for… well, whatever they use them for, I suppose.” She took her paper back and frowned.

“You’re right. I didn’t explain any of this stuff. How shortsighted of me.” Her frown deepened. It wasn’t like her to overlook something so blaringly obvious. “I’m just so tired. Harry’s been on my case to cut down my study schedule, but I’m taking all advanced classes…”

“Something has got to give, Granger,” he said absently, plucking out a few keys, shaking his head and redoing to same sequence, shaking his head again. She wondered what was wrong with it. It sounded fine to her. “You’ve added to your schedule. Wandless magic with me, this whole newsletter thing…you’ve got to cut back somewhere.”

“Society for the Tolerance of Ordinary People”

“What?”

“S.T.O.P. - Society for the Tolerance of Ordinary People. I can’t just call it that newsletter thing. And I was careful with my acronym this time. Everyone gave me an awful time about S.P.E.W.”

He nodded. “So what is tele…vision?”

“You’re saying it right. It’s a monitor that projects recorded actors doing scenes. Kind of like theatre in a box. I’ve got a couple of movies on my laptop I could show you. I warn you though, they’re chic flicks.”

“You know, Granger,” he said, looking down, suddenly very serious. She sat up, her breath stuck in her throat. She’d seen that look before and she’d never liked what he’d had to say. “This newsletter, S.T.O.P. it’s beginning to attract some unsavory attention. You aren’t making any secret of who you are and I know for a fact that it was a topic at last nights meeting.”

“You mean a Death Eater meeting?” she asked, aghast, sitting up and crossing her legs.

“No, my mothers quilting circle. Of course a Death Eater meeting.”

“Well, that’s good isn’t it? I mean, the word is getting out. People are paying attention.”

She jumped when he slammed his hand down on the piano beside her. “No, it is not good, Hermione. You are making yourself a target. Do you really think that these people will take this lying down?” he hissed at her, his eyes lit up with anger. “I want you to lay off for a while. Take some time off, start it up later with a pseudonym, use a more secure method of distribution.”

“You arrogant ass!” she answered back, not really able to sort out her anger at his imperious command. She wasn’t his slave. He couldn’t tell her what to do. “I am not going to stop writing! I don’t care if people don’t like it. It’s kind of my point isn’t it? If I wanted to gain popularity I’d write a gossip column.”

“There is a reason people are afraid of Death Eaters, Granger!” He stood up, breathing hard, obviously trying to control the level of his voice. “We aren’t talking about reforming a bunch of petty thieves or tax evaders. We are talking about murders, rapists, ruthless killers that wouldn’t think twice about hurting you. Killing you.”

She slid to the floor so he wasn’t towering over her so much. “Well I am afraid! But I am not going to take their tyranny lying down. Some overgrown, immature, bullies aren’t going to silence my voice.” She knew she was shouting and she didn’t care if there were people in the street who might hear her.

He grabbed her shoulders and she didn’t resist when he gave her a hard shake. “Why do you have to be so damn stubborn? I’m serious about this, Granger. I want you to stop this for a while. Take some care with your own safety! There are other people to consider.” He was shouting too.

“Please,” she snorted derisively. “I couldn’t be anywhere safer. Everyone knows that Hogwarts is the safest place to be nowadays. So don’t give me that.”

“You’ll leave eventually; Christmas break, summer, and if you aren’t careful, they will be angry enough to be waiting for you. And I don’t care how good you are at magic, wandless or otherwise. There is strength in numbers and I hardly think those muggles you live with are going to be much help to you!”

The sound of her slap hung like a reverberating gunshot in the sudden silence. They stared at each other, breathing hard. Hermione felt instant remorse; she couldn’t believe that she had struck him. She reached out a hand to touch the angry mark she’d left on his pale skin but he jerked away from her touch. And it felt as though he had slapped her back. He had never pulled away from her touch before. He turned without a word and left. She stood there for a long time before she gathered up her things and left as well.

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He had been looking for her for ages. He’d tried the library, all the classrooms, the Gryffindor tower, and the grounds. He was on his way back to check the library again when she stormed into sight. She was so pretty despite her wild mass of curls. “Hermione! Wait up!” he called, when she brushed right by him. She stopped her frantic walk and waited for him to catch up to her before taking off at the same breakneck pace.

“Where were you?”

“Library,” she replied shortly, her face turned away from him and her head bent as if she was thinking about something else.

“I looked for you there!” he said, and she finally turned to him.

“You were looking for me?” Her little upturned nose was so cute.

“Well, yeah, I wanted to talk to you.” Ron could feel his ears turning red and hoped she didn’t notice.

“Can we talk later, Ron?” She was backing away from him. “It’s just that I have a lot to do tonight. My Transfiguration and my S.T.O.P newsletter…” She turned around and walked away. And he stood there watching her. He wanted to stop her. Ask her to tell him what was wrong lately. She was distant from them. She spent just as much time with them, helped with their homework, and discussed Voldemort…but it was as if she didn’t need them anymore. As if she didn’t depend on him. He felt like a big part of him was missing, without that subtle dependence.

He started to trail after her, but a sound caught his sensitive ears and he turned down a darkened hallway. As he grew closer, he recognized the sound of a girl crying. He pushed open the old classroom door, stepping into the darkness. “Are you ok?” he asked, and the girl tried to stifle her sobs but was unable to curb the heart wrenching sound. He walked closer and knelt down. He didn’t know what to do or say, but he couldn’t just leave Pansy Parkinson crying alone in the dark. He reached out and touched her shoulder and found himself with an armful of bawling female.

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Hermione bashed her fists into her punching bag with a mad fury until her limbs were so weary she couldn’t lift her arm for another punch. She collapsed in a heap on her floor and scrubbed angrily at her wet face. She was so tired of crying. She hated to cry. But lately she was so emotional. She lay there for a long time, her sweat cooling on her body. Her bag was slowly waving to a stop above her. She watched it with a sort of vacant fascination, like she sometimes watched daytime television. When the Patil sisters burst into their dorm room giggling and carrying on, she hauled herself to her feet and stomped out. She didn’t bother to transfigure her bag back into her chair. She didn’t bother to say hello to her friends. She didn’t bother to get her wand. And she didn’t bother to change out of her workout clothes. She did however snatch up her diskman.

Several people said hello to her on her way through the common room and she gave them brief, tense nods. She was just so sick of Malfoy. He did whatever and said whatever he wanted. He picked on her friends, insulted her heritage, terrified younger years, and sneered at everyone. Then he thought he could tell her what to do, closely followed by a slur on her Muggle parents. “I hardly think those Muggles you live with are going to be much help to you!” she mocked under her breath, in her best imitation of the Malfoy drawl. Arrogant, pureblooded, bossy…words failed to describe how…cocky…he was. And she felt awful about losing her temper and slapping him. She would be willing to bet her beloved copy of Hogwarts a History that Malfoy wasn’t sitting around feeling bad about yelling at her.

She took a deep breath, shuddering at the chill in the air, when she stepped outside on the grounds. She took a moment to redo her sloppy ponytail before popping her earbuds in and pressing the power button on her player. It hadn’t been too difficult to modify the spell on her laptop to work on her diskman, and she liked to listen to music while she ran. The steady throbbing beat of I Believe filled her ears and her feet fell into motion. The slap of her tennis shoes on the grass was strangely comforting, the need to regulate her breathing steadying to her nerves. But her run was pathetically short, having exhausted herself with her temper tantrum earlier.

She pulled her ear pieces down in a silent acknowledgement to his presence when Malfoy fell into step with her, but refused to speak first. So they walked to their tree in a silence only broken by the buzzing of her earbuds, around her neck. He stopped walking first, jamming his fists into his pockets and rocking back on his heels. “I won’t apologize.” She turned angrily, ready to take up where they left off, but he wasn’t finished speaking yet. “I’m not sorry that I care about your safety. I refuse to apologize for telling you to take a little care, if not for yourself than for the people who care about you. I know what I’m talking about, Granger.”

Well, when he put it like that.

“Draco, I can’t stop this. It’s important to me.” She wished that hadn’t come out like she was asking for his permission. “I’m sorry if you disagree, but I won’t quit writing my newsletter.”

That sounded better.

“Can’t you put it on hold? Start writing under a penname in a few months?” His hands came out of his pockets as he stepped closer to her.

“No,” she lifted her chin defiantly. “I want everyone to know that Mudblood Granger is writing it.”

He cupped her face in his hands and her breathing shuddered to a stop for a moment, before she forced herself to start drawing breath again. Draco had really backed off on the physical stuff. In the last several weeks they had shared several deep, wet kisses, but he always stopped before things got too heavy. As if he knew that she hadn’t really been ready for the scene in that old classroom. She found herself thinking about having him between her thighs that day, their shirts off, and his sweet soft touches more than she cared to admit.

“Don’t call yourself that.” His voice was low and harsh, his lush mouth inches from hers.

“You did!” she quipped, trying to lighten the suddenly very intense mood. But his face darkened at her words and his hands fell away from her face.

“I was a twelve year old child, repeating something I’d heard on impulse. I’d like to think that you know me well enough to know that I’ve grown up enough to think for myself now.”

“I didn’t mean it like that, Draco.” she said softly, stepping closer to him, causing her body to brush up against his as she looked up at him. Other than that one kiss under their tree, she hadn’t initiated touching between them. She always let him lead. But he had backed off and she was beginning to think that he was waiting for her to give him some sort of green light that other girls her age probably knew all about. But she was just horribly naïve Hermione and had no idea to let him know that she wanted him to touch her without reserve.

“I am sorry I shouted at you.” Draco Malfoy apologizing! Would wonders never cease?

“I’m sorry I slapped you,” she replied softly and a small sideways smile turned up at the corner of his mouth. That half amused look on his face that was just for her.

“Which time?”

“You arrogant…You know which one,” she huffed. She certainly felt no remorse for slapping him over Hagrid’s Hypogriff. That was for sure and he knew it. His hands slid possessively over her hips, to her bum and he pulled her closer. A kiss on her cheek, one above her ear.

“Why did you slap me?” he whispered in her ear, taking the delicate lobe into his mouth. She sighed and relaxed her body against him.

“You were being an ass.”

“So you’ve said.” He kissed her neck, once, twice. A hand skimmed up her back to her ponytail and pulled the tie out, causing her hair to fall messily around her shoulders and her back. He sucked gently before going back up to her ear. “Is it alright that I’m touching you like this, Hermione?”

“Yes,” she whispered breathlessly, wrapping her hands around his biceps to keep on her suddenly shaky legs.

“Because I’d like to touch you more,” he murmured against her neck, between soft, wet kisses from her ear to her shoulder. She let her head fall back in silent acquiescence to his touch, but it wasn’t enough apparently, because he pulled back from her. “I don’t want you to run away this time.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”
His eyes never left hers as he pulled her closer, fitting his body against hers. She reached out hesitatingly, running her hands up his chest over his shoulders, pulling him closer, lifting her chin in invitation. He didn’t disappoint her, kissing her full on the mouth for long endless moments. It surprised her how completely she could get lost in the feel of his lips and tongue, in the slow sensual way his hard body moved against her.

The restraint he’d practiced recently was gone, his hands were as bold and possessive as ever, running over her hips, pulling her closer, rubbing his erection against her suggestively. It said something about how close she felt to him that she felt only mild embarrassment when he ran his hands underneath her loose United Nations tee-shirt and caressed her bare skin.

He left her lips and trailed wet sucking kisses over her neck, growling against her skin, in a way that made her shiver. In minutes she was twined around him like a ribbon crying out at every brazen caress and kiss…and then he stopped.

“I’d better get you back to the castle.”

“Wha…huh?” Real articulate Hermione. Let him know his kisses make you tongue tied. Good going girl. “You want to go back?”

“Yes, it’s late and getting chilly.” He stooped to pick up her diskman that had dropped to the ground at some point.

“Oh,” She took her diskman from him and turned abruptly for the castle, hopefully before he could see the hurt on her face.

He jogged a second to catch up to her, grabbing her elbow to get her attention. Damn it, why did he have to be so observant? She didn’t look up at him, breathing deeply to keep tears at bay. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

Baby? Whatever. He obviously found her repulsive and he wanted to know what was wrong. “Nothing.” She answered and kept walking, considering listening to her diskman instead of talking to him.

“Are you angry at me?” He asked, stubborn idiot.

“No.”

“Damn it Hermione! What is your problem?”

“Don’t yell at me!” She snapped back, giving him a glare and then softening at his obvious confusion. “I just…Why did you stop? Didn’t you want to…I mean…um?” She put her head down, her face flaming. Oh God! This was so embarrassing!
“Yes.” He answered, pulling her back into his warm embrace. She buried her face in his chest, grateful to be able to hide her tomato complexion. “But not out here, in the cold, on the hard ground. Rushed and worried about getting caught.”

“Oh,” that was so sweet!

“At least not the first time.”

“Malfoy!” She slapped his chest halfheartedly but didn’t protest when he gave her a little nudge to get her feet moving.

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A/N

Just a quick thank you to my beta readers. Lorett and Brooke! Thank you so much for taking your time out to read this through and make comments. My readers should thank them too because without their motivation this might have sat on my desktop another three or four weeks while I worried about the details.

Also a huge thank you to all of my faithful reviewers. You guys are so awesome, I am getting such a huge response to this story. This particular chapter was heavy plot. I have to get Hermione and Draco from here to there but I’m setting up for some more emotional plot pieces that I have planned out. My next chapter will probably include some smut.

I love those animated pictures that people do, just wondering if anyone is interested in doing one for this story. I’d really like to have the piano scene in a picture. I promise to update sooner.

The next chapter of Jealousy is almost done; I’m working on it tonight even and have sent part of it to a Beta Reader. A huge huge thank you and much kissage for everyone who voted for me on Dangerous Liaisons. Big Wet Sloppy Kisses. You guys made my week, month, year…I’ll probably be glowing about my win for a long time.

Rain