Look What We've Become

Granger.

The voice in Hermione's mind brought her out of her daze, distracting her further from Professor Flitwick's demonstration. Her notes were a jarbled mess as she had been struggling to keep her eyes open.

Her attention and effort in classes had slipped dramatically in the last few weeks, which hadn't gone entirely unnoticed by her peers and Professors.

Granger, I know you can hear me.

She rolled her eyes as she mentally responded, too tired to argue with the voice.

What do you want?

The reply was almost instant.

You know what I want.

She supressed a sigh.

I'm in class Malfoy.

Meet me in the Room of Requirement in 10 minutes.

No.

Granger, I need it.

She cursed under her breath but wasn't exactly surprised. She was hoping they'd make it until tonight before meeting again, but she felt his need as if it were her own. The thirst at the back of his throat, the tremors in his hands, the itching underneath his skin... She could practically feel him raking his hands painfully through his silver scalp, a distraction that was apparently no longer working.

The withdrawals had become more frequent and intense for the both of them. The shared mental connection further complicated things, as it was difficult to determine who needed what and when. Whose needs were being met and whose weren't. Where she started and where he began.

She let the sigh escape her, not really caring what others around her thought. She was tired.

I know... I know you do.

Then please Granger, let me.

She could feel the desperation in his voice even telepathically.

She relented, having not taken in a single thing that had been said in the Charms lesson anyway.

Alright, I'll meet you.

She feigned illness and excused herself from the lesson without much argument from Flitwick. Even her friends just gave her a look of pity before she left the classroom.

Her peers and the professors all assumed she was "going through something" since the war. Some form of PTSD no doubt. It was easy to lean into that excuse, as it wasn't entirely untrue. But they didn't have to know the details.

When she entered the Room of Requirement, Malfoy was already waiting for her.

Usually the room was pretty basic, but today it was far from it. Malfoy had conjured up a large regal bedroom of sorts, furnished with expensive looking antiques including a four poster bed and chaise lounge. The entirety of the furniture was encased in red velvet and silk, the walls and floor also a deep crimson red. It was almost an assault on her eyes, the red palette overwhelming.

He really did have only one thing on the brain.

She didn't have time to speak when she was suddenly shoved against a wall, his body crowding hers as he hotly rasped by her ear.

"What took you so long?"

She suspected he didn't actually care for the answer as his mouth was already trailing across her throat and collarbone. She was overwhelmed by his proximity. It hadn't been like this before...his hand was grazing her side while his nose inhaled her scent at her pulse point...no, never like this before...

"I was less than 10 minutes", she panted defensively.

He didn't pay attention to her words, all but lost to the primal urge.

"I'm starving."

With a casual flick of his wand, a small laceration flitted across the side of her throat, the warm liquid already pooling to the surface.

She flinched.

Not because of the pain, she barely felt that anymore. The slicing of skin was almost second nature to her now. 

No, it was his location of choice. They'd never fed from the neck before. Ever. The unspoken agreement had become their only source of reason within this dark exchange of nectar. It was always from the wrist, drawing a line that made the act as clinical as possible.

Before she could verbally protest, Malfoy covered the wound with his mouth, angling her head to the side with a strong grip laced into the hair at the nape of her neck. He let out a feral moan as the blood enveloped his mouth, his other hand painfully gripping her shoulder.

She shuddered almost violently, dancing on the edge of ecstasy. The sensation was akin to a full body stretch and an orgasm rolled into one.

The blood-letting of the wrist gave just a taste of that feeling, however it was easier to detach from the intimacy of the fluid exchange.

But with his mouth sucking at her throat like a piece of citrus fruit with his body firmly pressed against hers, there was nowhere to hide. It wasn't just the sounds he was making either. His thoughts were loud aswell.

Fuck...I'd die for this...nothing will ever taste as good...feel this good...

She tried to shut it out but with him this close it was impossible.

...all I want...all I need...her blood...inside me...all over me...

She whimpered, in fear and want. Because she felt the exact same way. She'd die for this too. To feel this way over and over again.

His large thigh was sharply positioned at her apex, her skirt having been bunched up during the scuffle. His pressure against her was unrelenting and the instinct to slightly roll her hips was all consuming, but she couldn't move with his hold on her.

not enough...never enough...

It was physically hurting him to try and stop. She knew he'd probably taken too much. Not enough to kill her, but to make her semi-unconscious for the rest of the day. She didn't care. Take all of it. Have your fill. It no longer mattered.

When he finally detached, he looked less crazed compared to when she first entered the room. But there was still a frenzy lurking within his gaze. The pink flush of his cheeks and red liquid dripping down his chin was a stark contrast against his porcelain skin.

She was even more tired now. Too tired. Like sleep to the freezing.

His breathing was still erratic as his gaze washed over her face.

After a moment, his eyes widened in realisation as he began rolling up the white sleeve of his shirt.

She placed a hand over his, pausing his movement.

"No need", she mumbled sleepily, stepping away from the wall with blurred vision.

"You have to."

"I'm fine."

She went to walk but the room swayed. Unable to find her footing, she felt him pull her against his side.

"You can barely hold yourself upright", he scolded her like a stubborn child, guiding her to the chaise lounge.

She welcomed the velvet underneath her bare thighs, fixing her skirt as an afterthought.

"I'll be fine in a minute."

He sat beside her, giving her some space so they were no longer touching.

"You need to feed."

"I need to sleep", she mumbled.

Her eyes drooped down and her head slouched forward...yes this is a nice place to rest.

He gently shook her by the shoulder.

"Stop. Stop with this martyr bullshit. You'll end up killing yourself", he spat with disapproval.

She felt the sides of her mouth pull up in amusement.

"Isn't that the point? Of a martyr I mean?"

He grabbed her chin suddenly, angling her head so that she was looking him right in the eye.

"Just drink my fucking blood Granger."

"I don't want to", she said softly.

His eyes blazed, as if offended.

"And why the fuck not?"

"Because it's my fault we're in this mess!"

She let the outburst slip, her emotions getting the better of her as tears pricked the edges of her vision.

His tone softened slightly, a cloud of indifference masking his expression.

"I knew the risks. I knew what I was agreeing to."

"Yeah but I-"

"Blame yourself for everything. I know Granger, I can hear your thoughts too in case you've forgotten."

She did actually. She forgot all the time that he could hear her too, even when she didn't want him too.

She shook her head, defeat and guilt gnawing at her bones. This was her fault. She knew that.