Chapter 2
Oh, yes, this was wrong.
Godric.
Things were falling around her, crashing into the ground as they smashed themselves into the walls of the Slytherin common room. Salazar Slytherin would be very much disappointed that a filthy Mudblood is here, trashing the place with her filth and tearing down — was that his portrait?
She knew it was when Malfoy pushed her against the wall, hands over her head and legs apart as he kissed every inch of her. Salazar was literally looking down at her. Sorry was the only thing she could mouth before a moan left her throat when the blond behind her grabbed her arse so firmly she swore she just jumped. He wasn’t going to take her right there and there, she knew, he liked privacy to do this sort of things, the Come and Go Room was their principal advocate. But then it was so fun and full of adrenaline the thought that perhaps someone could see them with their hands all over each other, almost fucking in front of Salazar himself.
His hand fled to her mouth before he turned her around, lips crashing into hers. Her hands couldn’t be more lost in his blond locks, his hair had acquired a wavy end, it was long, even silker and softer. It wasn’t combed as he used to wear it. Since the first time she had saw him arriving at the castle with Daphne Greengrass and Theodore Nott, the only thing she could concentrate herself in was the way his hair seemed so messy yet so put in place.
His left hand fisting the back of her curls, tangled between the mess she was, the other one pulling — yanking her further, closer as it was, to him by her arm. If she had ever though he was strong, he had gained even more of it in the past months. He could throw her around like a rag doll if he wanted to — she wanted him to.
He pulled her against his chest, lips still locked into hers, not willing to let her go. She knew they would be so red and swollen after this. Everything around him felt in his control, even her, and she loved it, because she was so tired to have the control herself, she was so willing to let him do whatever he wanted with her, and it had been like this since fourth year. His right hand cupped her cheek, lips crashing into hers again and again, soft and practiced, hard and so urgent. Uncontrolled as it was. He had missed her; he had said that.
Missed you too, Granger.
Before she even could register her movements, she threw her hands around his neck, to then explore his cheeks with her fingers, Hermione was kissing him back as he growled against her lips. Yes. Yes. Yes. She had missed him too. Yes. Yes. Yes.
His grip on her tightened as he wound his hand around her neck and into her hair again to place her head in the perfect position for him to continue the vicious assault on her lips. Letting out a small moan, he caught it just in time just to bit down into her lower lip, making her release another one, and another one, and another just as much as he wanted to. She bit him too. Gasping for air in each little kiss, soft and needy.
But yet it was rough and urgent, full of the need they wanted. Hermione felt lightheaded and was glad Malfoy was holding onto her to keep her from slipping down the wall into the floor. Malfoy pressed her harder into the wall, making the portrait of poor Salazar loose its stability and fall to the ground with a thud. They laughed between kisses. He engulfed her. Her whole body responded to him as if it was the first time, letting his tongue snake inside her mouth and between her lips, which opened for him to taste her fully. He had taught her to do the same, so she did, and the deep, dark groan that rose up in him was just the answer she needed. He pressed his hips into hers and bit down her lip again. She whimpered slightly, unsurprised by how much she loved the feeling of being so deprived of air she had the need to kiss him again.
It was as if time hadn’t passed, as if this was a common occurrence, of every day.
And she was fine with it.
But before they could continue, laughter came from the entrance of the room.
Malfoy was agile and rapid, dragging her into a small cupboard hidden by columns, Hermione could glimpse its content, different kinds of alcohol and brewages made of liquor. Now she knew how they got to drink so many bottles of Fire Whiskey hours ago. A few tapestries of men and woman dancing, the design was almost medieval, she was almost sure they were from the middle ages. Blue, green and golden bordering the edges, angels with trumpets and harps; implausible as it was, they seemed to be different socioeconomic classes mingling with each other, but as more as she saw it, the upper classes seemed to be magical people, with wands and all, she could see it now, and the other people, they were—
Her breath caught in itself and transformed itself into a shaky whimper.
Malfoy’s hand was now cupping her breast, fingers around her nipple under her bra, the other one clasped around her mouth preventing a moan about to explode.
“Where’s Draco?”
A feminine voice, Pansy Parkinson. The arrogance within her seemed to have dripped away, bit by bit — or perhaps it was Hermione had never had a chat with her and just received the insults and was shocked by the honeyed of her speaking.
“Dunno,” it was Thedore’s turn to speak, he sounded tired but still with a sparkle of enthusiasm. “Haven’t seen him since Potions. Probably out there fucking a handsome bird, bastard.”
Hermione turned her narrowed eyes to the blond behind her, who shrugged with a smug face, then his lips against the shell of her ear made her shiver by the following words, “At least he is right about one thing,” breathy tone who made her eyelashes flutter, “you are beautiful.”
She almost melted right there and there.
But then, an unexpected guest was what made Hermione open her eyes wide.
“Isn’t he still whining about that girl he never told us about?”
Ginny.
Ginny motherfucking Weasley.
Her head snapped to encounter his eyes, guilt in his expression.
What is she doing here?
That was the main question glimmering in her eyes, but he just looked away. Hermione was taken aback by this. The times he had this kind of behaviour, not answering her questions, was when it was a serious subject, something that was a secret, confidential, and not just because of him, but because there was something — or someone — else involved. Like the night she had discovered his Dark Mark by accident.
There was a click of a tongue, “He said something about being impossible?” Daphne Greengrass’ voice, who was arms linked with Theodore and Blaise Zabini, made Hermione turn her head again, this time eyes locked into the group of Slytherins and one Gryffindor.
“I think the terminology the blondie used was: “Fucking out of reach she is, so perfect and I’m an imbecile,” the smirk Theo was wearing made the group laugh.
“Always so theatrical,” spoke Blaise, eyes glistening with fun but still expression emotionless. Hermione knew that before their sixth year started, his mother had fled to Italy, with her seventh husband and all the inheritance left for her only son. She didn’t know if Blaise had been protected by some law or Child Protection due to him being underage when it happened, at least for some human decency, but with the start of the war and with all the conflict within the Ministry she doubted something was done about it. Now, something she knew, was that because of the loyalties Zabini held, he was still given a sentence by the Wizengamot, though said sentence wasn’t part of Hermione’s knowledge.
“Well, I have to go back to the Gryffindor dormitories,” sighed Ginny. She sounded almost nauseated by it, pained by the fact the spell was meant to be broken. Hermione noticed she didn’t say ‘my dormitory.’
“Can’t you stay with me tonight? Millie and Daph are out,” said Pansy, her arms around Ginny’s neck. The red-haired girl had her own around the Slytherin’s waist.
“Don’t tempt me,” Ginny smiled, still, sadness and longing was the only thing she could reflect. “If I don’t return, Hermione’s going to interrogate me in the morning, sure she’s already finished patrolling.”
Oh, fuck, her patrolling.
Hermione’s chest contracted, she wanted to tell Ginny se wouldn’t say anything, that she could stay there, with the Slytherins, even if she didn’t understand what the bloody hell was happening. It pained Hermione knowing Ginny had lost all confidence with Hermione. Her body slouched against Malfoy’s, whose hands around her waist held her in place, almost protective, almost touched by what was happening, as if he was trying to hold a broken crystal from crumbling down.
Her eyes burned.
Fuck.
She didn’t want to cry there; they were going to hear her.
Pansy stood in tiptoes and left a kiss on Ginny’s lips, who deepened they intimal moment for a second before leaving a kiss on the forehead of the raven-haired girl. “See you tomorrow, yeah?” Pansy nodded, wiping away what seemed a tear and let the younger of the Weasleys go after she had say her goodbyes.
Hermione and Malfoy waited a few more minutes before moving. He didn’t say anything, and if he had done, she couldn’t hear it, there was a ringing inside her ears, and the turmoil of her thoughts just made her entire body hurt. Ginny didn’t trust her, that was a fact. Her best friend of seven years, the one who had helped her get ready for the Yule Ball, who had been with her all those sleepless nights and the one who had saved her from the drowning in her attempt to belong to a world who didn’t really want her. Hermione had to lean her back against the wall, hands trembling. How had this happened?
Her vision was blurred, out of focus just like her life.
A cold hand that wore three rings, pressed against her cheek, wiping away a tear she didn’t know she had let escape.
His eyes soft fixed on hers, pale grey glimmering with the dim light.
She stood there; lips slightly parted.
Malfoy was conflicted by the sight before him, his eyes reflected his confusion of what to do.
“I should go,” she whispered, still fixed on the constellations of his name trapped inside his eyes.
“You should go,” he whispered back, he had gotten closer, she realised.
But she didn’t want to go.
His body felt warm against the freezing pain empaling her.
He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say something else, Hermione broke their intimacy and just started walking out of the place, a delusion charm around her so nobody could recognise her.
The walk to the Gryffindor Tower was based in silent tears but no silence in her brain.
Once she reached the end of the stairs, she was grateful the Fat Lady was already asleep, and when she murmured the password, only a mumble was her response, so when she crawled back to the one place she once felt safe from the world, she felt out of place. It was too warm, too cozy, too small, too friendlier to her to be true. And even if she wanted to trash the whole place right there and there, she didn’t have the energy to it.
She went up her dormitory, Parvati was already snoring, and Ginny’s curtains were closed.
Her hand reached the fabric to see if her supposed best friend was already there, but she hesitated, and that doubt was enough to walk back to her bed.
However, to her surprise, Ginny called her, so she turned to see her, quickly wiping away her tears.
“You okay?” asked the red-haired. A confused expression on her face.
“Yeah, yeah, just…” Hermione waved her arms. They spoke in whispers “…Just a bit of memory.”
“Oh.”
And Hermione wanted to scream.
“You know you can tell me if you feel bad, don’t you?”
“Yes,” nodded Hermione. “You know that too, no? That you can tell me anything.”
Ginny smiled. “Yes, I know.”
Liar.
Hermione tried to hold her smile.
“Goodnight, Ginny.”
“Goodnight, Mione.”