You're an Animal
Hermione
The morning sun filtered through the leaves as Draco and Hermione ascended a nearby pear tree. Its gnarled bark provided large footholds for their tiny bodies, making the climb surprisingly easy. For hours, they climbed in near silence, punctuated only by the rustle of leaves and their own labored breathing. They paused frequently to rest on sturdy branches, their bodies slick with sweat by the time they finally emerged above the towering grass.
The view that greeted them was both breathtaking and terrifying. The castle was nowhere in sight. Disoriented and lost, they stared at the unfamiliar landscape, their jaws hanging open.
A pang of hunger gnawed at Hermione's stomach. They were lost, hungry, and thirsty, with the sun already beginning its descent. They needed to return to camp, but first, they needed food.
She extended a leg, testing the strength of a branch before committing her weight to it. It was thin but surprisingly sturdy beneath her foot. But even so, her heart hammered against her ribs with each inch she crawled forward. Below, the forest floor waited to swallow her whole should she fall.
Her eyes, however, never wavered from the prize. It hung like a beacon in the canopy, a monstrous pear, swollen and ripe, easily the size of Hagrid's hut. Its skin practically glowed with a soft, golden light. With a deep breath, she tightened her grip on the branch, her fingers digging into the rough bark.
“Is the future that grim? Have you decided to end it all? Leap to your death?” Draco called from behind her.
She ignored him. The stem that held the pear was as thick as an oak tree, but she pulled and strained, determined to free the fruit.
Exhausted, she glanced back at Draco, who leaned nonchalantly against the trunk, seemingly unconcerned. "You could lend a hand, you know," she huffed, breathless.
"I think I’ll sit this one out." He drawled, examining his nails with an air of indifference.
Insufferable bastard.
"We need food, Malfoy! Or have you forgotten that minor detail? We haven't eaten in over twelve hours!"
"True," he conceded, "but I prefer my fruit ripe and ready. I’ll go for one of the fallen pears on the ground."
Her gaze dropped. Hidden among the leaves at the base of the tree lay several pears she had overlooked. Heat crept up her neck, and anger simmered within her.
"You fucking cockroach!" she spat, slowly rising. The urge to throttle him, to hurl him into the nearby stream, was almost overwhelming. She could kill him, no one would know….
Draco smirked. "My, my, the little lioness bares her claws! Such language…. And from our very own Head girl."
"Fuck you," she hissed, brushing past him with a deliberate shove. He barely budged, only further fueling her frustration.
Their descent was slow, each foothold tested before weight was applied. When they reached the ground, she wasted no time. With a sharp edged pebble, she hacked off a generous chunk of the fallen pear, its flesh yielding easily to the makeshift knife. Juice streamed down her chin as she devoured the fruit, savoring the sweet explosion of flavor after hours of hunger.
Draco watched with a mixture of amusement and disdain. "You're an animal," he scoffed, his lip curling slightly.
She paused, a mischievous glint in her eye. With a slow, deliberate motion, she ran her tongue over her lips, collecting the sticky pear juice. Then, she meticulously sucked each finger clean, her gaze locked on Draco, a playful challenge in her eyes.
She had meant to disgust him, to show him how little she cared of his opinion. But instead, a flicker of intrigue crossed his face. His head tilted slightly, a curious expression replacing his usual sneer as he observed her with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine. His eyebrow lifted and his eyes glittered and she pulled her finger from her mouth with a loud pop. His mouth parted slightly and his eyes narrowed. What on earth was going through his head?
He held his own piece of pear with an air of refinement. He didn't eat it immediately, choosing instead to carry it back to their campsite. She thought about grabbing more for herself before they left, but the pear tree wasn't far, and she could always return for more if her hunger returned. Besides, she was confident they could find some wild blackberries nearby, if the season hadn't already passed. Early October still held a glimmer of hope for foraging.
The cool air bit at her damp skin, her clothes clinging uncomfortably. She longed for the warmth of a fire. Back at the campsite, she knelt by the stream, gulping down the cool water and splashing her face. Draco followed suit, his movements mirroring hers in an odd, unspoken synchronicity.
They entered the tent without a word. Hermione knelt by the fire pit, coaxing the flames to life with practiced ease. Warmth radiated outwards, chasing away the lingering chill. She wanted to shed her damp clothes but hesitated. The memory of Draco's disdainful glance the previous night, when she had stood before him in her undergarments, was still fresh. She didn't have the energy to face his judgment again tonight, so she settled for letting the fire dry her sweat soaked clothes.
She knew Draco wasn’t a prude, like she had casually accused him of the night before, she had heard many intriguing tales of the Slytherin sex god.
She and Ron had dated for a while over the summer, and it was nice enough, but she had broken things off. After they parted ways, she went on a small rampage of meaningless sex. It was fantastic. It was a great distraction from the darkness that still swirled within her. The pain of losing her parents still paralyzed her, and the war trauma still hung heavily on her soul. She had had fun, but once she returned to Hogwarts things had sizzled down. She wanted to focus on her studies and Head Girl responsibilities. She had learned a spell that made her wand vibrate, and although it didn’t fully satisfy her, it did the trick for the time being.
The fire crackled and spit, casting dancing shadows across Draco's pale face as he sat in silence beside her. He picked at his pear. She was sure it was a far cry from the lavish feasts he was accustomed to at Malfoy Manor. She imagined platters piled high with roast meats, glistening vegetables, and decadent desserts, all conjured at a moment's notice by the tireless efforts of his family's house elves. He seemed lost in thought, his gray eyes fixed on some distant point in the flames. Then, with a swift movement, he pulled a flask from his pocket. It was a beautiful thing, silver and etched with intricate designs. She watched, her own eyes widening in surprise, as he uncorked it and brought it to his lips, taking a long, slow swig.
"Malfoy, what the hell is that?" She asked, her voice sharp with surprise. The flask gleamed in the firelight, its ornate etchings catching the flickering flames. It was far larger than any she had ever seen, easily twice the size of a normal flask. How had she not noticed the distinct bulge in his pocket before?
"It's whiskey," he drawled, his gray eyes glinting with amusement as he took another sip.
"I meant the container, are you daft? We could have used that today! You don't have a wand hidden in your pocket that you aren't telling me about, do you?"
He rolled his eyes, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features. "No, Granger, I don't have my wand," he said, his tone laced with sarcasm. She knew he didn't; she distinctly remembered seeing it lying beside hers on the table in the potions classroom before they had shrunken themselves.
He paused, swirling the liquid in the flask before raising it towards her in a silent offer. The gesture caught her off guard. "You're okay with sharing a drink with me?" she asked, her voice laced with disbelief. "Not afraid that I will tarnish it with my filthy mouth?" She added, a hint of playful challenge in her tone.
He retracted the flask abruptly, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. Heat crept up her neck. He seemed to be genuinely contemplating the implications of sharing a drink with her.
A slow smirk spread across his face as he took in her flustered expression. "I'm joking, Granger," he said, his voice a low drawl. "I just love getting you all worked up." He finally handed her the flask, his eyes sparkling with mischief, "and I am certainly not afraid of your filthy mouth."
She eyed it for a moment, alcohol made her horribly horny and she would likely regret it later, but decided to partake anyway.
She lifted the heavy flask, the cool metal felt nice against her flushed skin. She brought it to her lips and took a long generous swig. The whiskey burned down her throat, a fiery warmth spreading through her chest. Her face remained impassive, betraying no hint of the liquor's bite. This certainly wasn't her first encounter with firewhiskey. Draco's eyebrows rose almost imperceptibly as he watched her take another swig.
They settled into a comfortable silence, the only sound the crackling of the fire and the occasional clink of the flask as they passed it back and forth. An hour slipped by, the weight of their predicament momentarily forgotten in the shared warmth of the fire and the whiskey. She felt the tension drain from her shoulders, replaced by a pleasant drowsiness. The chill that had seeped into her bones earlier had vanished completely. She stole a glance at Draco, who was now sprawled on his back on his side of the makeshift bed, his gaze fixed on the ceiling of the tent.
"Malfoy," she began, clearing her throat to break the silence. "What do you plan to do after this year?"
He sat up slowly, his silver eyes fixing on her with an unreadable expression. "Are you drunk, Granger?" he asked, his voice flat.
"Not really," she replied honestly. "Why?"
"Well, then why in the bloody hell do you think I'd want to engage in small talk with you?" he retorted, a hint of annoyance in his voice. "If you're going to try and fill the silence, at least ask me something real... something you actually want to know…"
She considered his words for a moment. He was a total prick, as always, but she had to admit there was some truth to what he said. She didn't really care about his post Hogwarts plans, and she loathed superficial conversation as well.
"Okay..." she said slowly, "Do you have any regrets... for the crimes you have committed?"
He seemed to ponder the question for a moment, his gaze flickering towards the fire. "Okay, I'll bite," he finally said, "but if I answer your questions, you have to answer mine."
"Deal," she responded, surprised that he would even care enough to ask her anything. She had nothing to hide.
"I do have regrets," he admitted, his voice low. "I agreed with many of Voldemort's ideals, but his methods were extreme."
She had assumed as much.
"My turn..." he said, meeting her gaze. "What is the worst thing you have ever done?"
She wasn’t sure what he would consider to be the worst. A few fleeting memories passed through her mind, most involving her sexual enlightenment period over the summer. A threesome, fucking two different wizards in one night, trying recreational drugs… But she didn’t consider those things to be bad, and she didn’t think he would either - if there was any sliver of truth to his reputation. She thought for a moment before the obvious answer came to her.
"Obliviating my parents," she said, the words catching in her throat. She fought to keep her voice steady, unwilling to let him see the lingering pain it caused her. He didn't need any more ammunition to use against her later.
"You obliviated your parents?" he repeated, his voice laced with curiosity.
"Yes, last year, before the Horcrux hunt," she confirmed, staring into the fire. "There were threats against their lives, and I needed them to get as far away from wizarding London as possible. They would never have left otherwise, never would have left me. They are Wendell and Monica Wilkins now, a childless couple who finally fulfilled their lifelong dream of moving to Australia." The lie tasted bitter on her tongue, even now.
His eyes widened in surprise. "Have their memories returned?"
"No," she said curtly, hoping he would drop the subject. She didn't want to talk about it, didn't want to re-live the agonizing decision and the wrenching goodbye.
"Wow, that's pretty fucked up, Golden Girl."
She ignored him, snatching the flask from his grasp and taking another long pull. The whiskey burned, but it was a welcome distraction from the unwelcome memories.
"Who do you love most in this world?" she asked abruptly, her curiosity piqued.
He didn't hesitate. "My mother," he replied flatly.
Hermione had had limited interactions with Narcissa Malfoy, but she had never sensed any malice or prejudice from her. She remembered the way Narcissa had defied Voldemort, choosing to lie about Harry's death to ensure her son's safety. She wondered if Draco knew that she had testified on his mother's behalf, a testimony that had ultimately led to Narcissa being cleared of all charges.
Draco surprised her by continuing the questioning. "When can we expect a wedding announcement between you and the Weasel?" he asked, a smirk playing on his lips.
"Don't call him that," she snapped.
He raised his hands in mock surrender, but the smirk remained.
She sighed, unwilling to get into another argument with him. "There won't be any announcement," she said flatly. "Ron and I are not together..."
"Potter then?" he pressed.
She glared at him, hoping the daggers in her eyes would convey the answer clearly enough.
"You like witches then?" He asked, his gray eyes sparkling with amusement.
"Sometimes," she responded without thinking, immediately regretting her impulsive answer.
His mouth fell open in surprise, his eyes tracing over her face as if seeing her for the first time. He looked…intrigued.
Attempting to shift the conversation away from her own sexual preferences, she asked, "How about you? Any special witches or wizards in your life?"
"Well..." he drawled, leaning back against the makeshift bed, "I was betrothed to Astoria Greengrass since infancy, but as you may already know from her recent, very public announcement, she also fancies witches. Perhaps I could introduce you two?" he added with a smirk.
She pretended to consider his offer, just to get a rise out of him. It seemed to work; the smile on his face faltered slightly, his expression becoming unreadable once again.
"No, thank you," she finally responded, a hint of amusement in her voice. She wasn't interested in Astoria, or any witches or wizards from her school for that matter. She preferred meeting strangers at bars these days, meaningless encounters without strings attached, with people she would never need to see again.
He dropped the subject, sensing her disinterest. "Why do you touch your scar so much?" he asked quietly, his voice surprisingly gentle.
She was taken aback by the question but tried not to show it. "It burns sometimes," she admitted, "other times I don't even notice I'm doing it." She still had frequent nightmares of the night she received the scar, often waking up to find her arm bleeding from scratching it in her sleep.
"What about you?" she asked, turning the question back on him.
"What about me?" he replied, his voice guarded.
"Does your mark hurt you?" she clarified, her gaze drawn to his forearm. He had his sleeve rolled up, revealing the faded Dark Mark.
“Yes.”
It didn't look red or irritated like her scar often did. She couldn't help but wonder what the pain felt like for him, if it was a physical ache or something deeper, a constant reminder of his past allegiances and the terrible things he had done.
A heavy silence settled over them. Draco seemed lost in thought.
Finally, he broke the silence, his voice barely above a whisper. "Do you think we will make it out of this alive?" His question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken fear. She met his gaze, her own fear momentarily forgotten in the face of his vulnerability.
"Yes, I do," she said firmly, her voice unwavering. She refused to entertain any other possibility. To give in to despair, to acknowledge the very real danger they were in, would be to admit defeat. And she did not give up, not without a fight.
She saw a flicker of surprise in his eyes, as if he hadn't expected such a resolute answer. Perhaps he had expected her to crumble, to echo his own fears. But she had learned long ago that hope, even in the darkest of times, was a powerful weapon. And she clung to it now, for both their sakes.
They had both made their way onto the makeshift bed, drawn together by the lingering chill in the air. Draco turned to face her, his eyes meeting hers for a fleeting moment.
"Goodnight, Granger," he said softly. Then, he closed his eyes, his pale face relaxed in the dim light of the dying embers.
"Goodnight, Malfoy," she replied, a faint smile playing on her lips.
She couldn't help but notice how much more relaxed he seemed sharing the space with her compared to the previous night. His icy exterior, which had been so impenetrable before, was slowly beginning to melt away, revealing glimpses of the wizard beneath. Perhaps it was a trauma bond, forged by their shared fear. Or maybe he had simply come to realize that he needed her, that their survival depended on cooperation and mutual trust. Whatever the reason, his behavior towards her had changed immensely.
His eyes were closed, his pale face bathed in the soft glow of the dying embers. He looked younger somehow, stripped of his usual defenses. She studied his features, taking in the faint lines etched around his eyes, the slight furrow of his brow, the way his lips curved into a gentle frown even in sleep. She knew he wasn't truly asleep, but he seemed comfortable, at ease in a way she had never seen him before.
He was no longer hugging the edge of the bed, his body turned towards her in an unconscious gesture of trust. If she wanted to, she could easily reach out and trace the lines of his face, memorize the contours of his jaw, the curve of his cheekbone. But she didn’t, of course.
Instead, she closed her eyes and focused on the rhythm of his breathing, the steady rise and fall of his chest. The silence between them was no longer charged with hostility, but with a fragile understanding, a shared vulnerability that neither of them had ever dared to show before.
An hour crept by, each minute stretching into an eternity. She couldn’t sleep. She tossed and turned, the rough moss beneath her irritating her sensitive skin. Her frustration gnawed at her. Just as she had predicted, the whiskey had made her uncomfortably horny. Not to mention, she was sharing a bed with the most handsome wizard she had even laid eyes on. The most infuriating, yes, but also annoyingly attractive. She stared at him for a moment, weighing her options. He had to be asleep by now, right?
Her eyes lingered on his face as she allowed her hand to slide inside her pants. Pleasure zipped through her as she began to circle her clit with her finger. She was doing her best not to shift the moss beneath them, but it was nearly impossible. She bit her lip and kept her breathing as steady as she could. As she got close, her head tipped back and her eyes fluttered closed. Her mouth hung open in a silent cry as she ground against her hand. Her whole body stiffened right before the orgasm exploded through her. She flipped onto her stomach and continued to grind against her hand as the searing pleasure continued to rip through her. She let out a moan of relief. Her body felt boneless now. She rolled on her side, feeling quite content, and finally fell into a peaceful sleep.