OMG, Never Mind Affection 5!!!
I'm so giddy right, now. *does giddy dance* I've finally finished NMA 5.
Whooters.
I thought it would never happen, but I'm farely sure I'm done. It might need a little once over before I ship it off to Fa, but it's definitely ready for the sweet pot o' honey that is my journal. So here.
Title: Never Mind Affection (5)
Author: Sweets, baby!
Pairing: Hermione/Draco
Rating: I'm thinking R.
Summary: Hermione seemed uncharacteristically calm. Maybe it was because she no longer had to worry about the possibility of Malfoy attempting to charge his way into her knickers. It's the end of an era. The last chapter of NMA.
Disclaimer: So they're not mine. They're JKR's. You wanna make sumthin' of it?
Author's Notes: Hopefully, this doesn't suck.
“So?”
“So, what?”
“Hermione! You promised to spill the beans. Every single one. Now. Spill. Them.”
Hermione looked up from her notes to regard Ginny Weasley who, for the last five minutes, had been trying without any luck to get Hermione to reveal the contents of a certain Slytherin’s mind.
“I did not promise. I was a bit off kilter then. I’m fine now.”
“But what if he knows?”
“He obviously doesn’t or I’d be dead already. I’m still not telling you anything.”
“Why are you protecting him? After his magical castration, he tried to pull your hair out with his bare hands. You deserve your revenge. And he deserves to die a million horrible, painful, excruciating deaths.”
“I’m sure if you had a penis, Ginny, you’d be a little peeved to see it go. I’m sorry, but I’m not interested in continuing this insanity. N.E.W.T.S. are only weeks away. Not months. Weeks.”
“But-“
“Just so you know, I can do a decent bat bogey hex, too.”
Ginny Weasley stalked off. Bloody N.E.W.T.S.
Hermione seemed uncharacteristically calm, though. Not actually calm, mind you. Her stress level was that of a normal seventh year as opposed to being, well, at Hermioneish proportions. Maybe it was because she no longer had her studies coupled with responsibilities of being Head Girl. Maybe it was because she no longer had to worry about the possibility of Malfoy attempting to charge his way into her knickers. Maybe Hermione had finally managed to procure a bit of action from her clueless brother.
Right.
It had been a month since Malfoy woke up and found his naughty bits sitting right where he’d left them. Apparently, their plan had worked. Malfoy barely glanced Hermione’s way anymore. Except for that one time-the day he “found” his giblets-that he grabbed Hermione by the hair outside of their potions class. Harry and Ron weren’t there to stop him, but Hermione made them promise not to retaliate. It was enough, she said, that she had lost Head Girl and Malfoy had term long detention with Hagrid cleaning up Thestral dung. No matter how many deaths you’ve seen you still can’t see Thestral dung.
Harry and Ron had agreed, but only after she had threatened to turn them into flobberworms if they didn’t. Ginny knew she could and would do it, which is why she didn’t push the issue any further.
*****
Draco glanced up from his snow peas. He noted how Weasley was flirting chastely with his mudblood. After the dream he had the night before he found his manlings, he had been even more obsessed with Hermione. He could still smell vanilla and jasmine whenever he closed his eyes at night. He could feel the touch of her lips on his. He knew the dream had been real. He knew she had been inside of him, and he longed to return the favor--in the realist sense of the term. He knew for sure, now, what he had suspected all along. He kept his distance. Performed his early morning detentions. But occasionally, when no one was looking, he caught her staring. And in those instances, he knew, they were back in the tall grass. Her face would flush and she’d hurry off to wherever she was going. She belonged to him. His mudblood.
She had no idea.
*****
Hermione Granger was not vain. She didn’t feel the need to be meticulously groomed. Nor did she understand the need some girls had to be fussy about their appearance. Laying out and trying on countless ensembles to achieve some silly notion of perfection. Spending hours on hair and makeup. It just seemed pointless. If the world couldn’t accept her for the way she was, then . . . then . . . bugger ‘em! As Ron would say. She didn’t have a cent to prove. Not one bloody farthing.
But on this bright morning in May, Hermione stood in front of her bed wearing nothing but a towel. Hair soaking wet. Five possible clothing combinations before her. Best friend, Ginny Weasley by her side.
“Oh, this is ridiculous, woman. Pick something.”
“I will . . . but . . . It has to be perfect.” Hermione cringed at her own hypocrisy and began chewing on her lip. And her nails. And a little bit of hair.
“Oh, bother! I’m completely daft. You’re right.”
Hermione stared straight ahead, her nails getting quite the unorthodox manicure. The carpet around her feet soaked up the water fleeing from the tips of her curly brown hair. She was completely lost. Out of sorts. And Ginny had had enough. She grabbed Hermione by the shoulders and sat her in the nearest chair. She quickly picked a top, a bottom and attempted to perform a drying spell on Hermione’s hair before the girl stopped her.
“It needs a smoothing potion before hand. Otherwise, I look like I’m eleven, again.” Ginny rolled her eyes.
“Oh, very well, then,” she said as she handed the girl the small potion bottle.
Hermione looked skeptically at the clothes her best friend had picked out.
“This? Are you sure?”
“I’m sure that if you don’t dress yourself in 5 minutes, you’ll be going on your first date with my brother completely nude.”
When Hermione stepped into the common room, she expected to see Ron and Harry standing there-grinning like fools. Instead, she only saw one grinning fool. And that was Harry.
“Where’s Ron?”
“Dunno. He said he-“ Harry was interrupted by loud banging on the portrait hole.
“Oi! Oi, mate! Someone open the ruddy portrait hole!”
“Well, I’ve never-“ said the clearly disgruntled Fat Lady, “Of all the-your brother never behaved in such a rude manner!”
Just as Ron was about to respond with more rudeness, the portrait swung open.
“Ronald. You’re late,” Hermione said curtly.
“I know, but I had to get these.” Ron stepped through the entrance brandishing a dozen of Hermione’s favorite flowers. Hermione stood speechless for a moment, a wide grin stretching the corners of her mouth.
“They’re…lovely. I’ll go put them in some water.” Hermione backed away from Ron, still grinning widely, and only turned about when she almost fell over the couch. When she was gone, Harry looked at Ron suspiciously.
“And since when are there flower beds in Hogwarts that grow bright orange calla lilies?”
“Well,” Ron began as he rubbed the back of his neck,” I had to practice conjuring them without the fear of blowing something up, didn’t I?”
*****
“Where are we Ron?”
“We are…hidden.”
“Hidden.”
“Hidden.” Ron put a finger to her lips. Her naturally inquisitive nature threatened to ruin the mood. Ron brought his thumb up to Hermione’s hushed mouth and trailed it along her lips. He cupped her face in his hand, watching her intensely.
“Absolutely Beautiful.”
Hermione inhaled sharply as Ron trailed feather light kisses along her jaw line and down her neck. Stopping at the spot where her neck and shoulder met. A deep moan escaped her lips and she let her head fall back. Let her eyelids close. Ron began nibbling on her collarbone and her eyes flew open. It all began to seem so…
“Ron?”
“Hmm?”
“You seem…different.” Ron halted his ministrations to look Hermione in her eyes again. He nodded. And pulled her lips into his.
Hermione forgot her intended line of questioning as Ron slid his fingers into her hair. His tongue parted her lips, explored the warm cavern of her mouth. She received him readily. She had wanted this for so long. And now that it was finally here excitement and abandon threatened to engulf her. But she was glad. She knew this feeling. And she wanted to loose herself in it. In Ron.
His other hand, which had been resting at her waste, slid down her thigh and under her robes. His hand felt hot and heavy against her skin. Threatened to set her naked thigh ablaze as it crept ever closer…
She pushed back.
Ron’s face was a study in desire. Lips swollen. Rosy. Cheeks flushed. Eyes veiled.
Piercing.
“I… I…”
“You don’t want to.”
“I do, it’s just… I’ve never-“
“And you think I have?” Hermione averted her eyes as she blushed. Of course he knew. He was her best friend. She threw her arms around his neck. She knew this boy. This man. She had set to memory every freckle. Settling onto his lap, she folded her legs around his waist. And they sat like that for a moment. Foreheads pressed together.
“This will change everything.”
“As it should.”
“Why are you so sure now? What if… What if this doesn’t turn out well?”
“I’m not so sure,” Ron whispered, “The only thing I’m sure of is that, right now, I want you. And right now is all that matters.” Hermione could feel his arousal as their kisses deepened. She could feel his pulse quicken. His breathing hitch. And she was lost again. Lost in his desperate kisses and the way he clutched her as if she would dissaparate at any moment. And at that moment she wanted nothing more than to reassure him as he had reassured her just a moment ago. So she lowered herself onto the blanket.
Ron’s eyes were searching. Imploring. Hermione merely nodded her head and bit her lip slightly. Ron smiled crookedly and kissed her gently, his fingers traveling the length of her cheek. When he entered her, she bit her lip harder, squeezing her eyes shut.
“Hermione, are you…tell me I’m not hurting you.” She opened her eyes. Touched his cheek.
“It’s supposed to smart a bit at first, isn’t it?” She smiled and Ron smiled and then slowly he began to move within her. Soon, they were both panting. Trembling. Sweating. His thrusts deepened. Her name tumbled from his lips.
And then it was over. Kisses. Sighs. Ron collapsed in a heap.
“Oh. Merlin. I. Thought it would be brilliant. Oh. Oh, Merlin,” he panted. He looked over at Hermione. Who was grinning contentedly, her hair mussed. So very appealing, but…
“Was it…I mean, did you?” She turned on her side.
“I. I think so.” Ron gave her an odd look--as if deciding.
“No.”
“What?”
“It wasn’t. You haven’t.”
“I-“
“Shhh.” He put a finger to her lips. Replaced his finger with his mouth. He climbed atop her again, creating a path of soft, wet kisses down her neck. To her left breast.
Then her right. He continued his journey down her abdomen to her navel. Kissing softly. Lovingly. Until she could barely breath.
And then he was there. Between her legs. Making her feel… so… And her breath came rapidly. Sweat moistened her back as it arched and he smoothed a hand down her spine to cup her buttocks. She glistened. Screamed. Trembled.
And then it was over.
“Yes?”
“Yes.”
He moved up so that his face was directly above hers.
“Ron.” She ran her fingers through his hair. It seemed lighter in the bright sun. She could hardly believe this was Ron. Her Ron. She had expected him to be as nervous as she was. But he was so attentive, reassuring. Passionate. Perfect. Sure.
His eyes bore deep into hers. As though looking right through her. Into her soul. Piercing steel blue eyes. Almost…gray. He smiled down at her.
“Ron, you seem so…” Her voice faded as she cocked her head. Her eyes widened in horror. She gasped suddenly and screamed.
“Get. Get off of me!” she shrieked. She clawed and thrashed until he tumbled from her.
“Hermione-“
“Don’t…” she said as she grasped at her robes in a hysterical attempt to cover herself. She rose clumsily to her feet. Still clutching at her robes.
“Hermione-“
“No! Stay… stay away from me!” She swayed on her feet. Her vision clouding. Damn. She blinked rapidly. Trying not to vomit. Trying not to lose consciousness. She had to make it…make it…
***
Hermione opened her eyes to look up at Draco Malfoy. She was currently deciding between gruesome violence and spitting.
“Hermione.”
“Where’s Ron?”
“Unconscious… somewhere.”
“Let me go.”
“Not until we get a few things straight.”
Hermione sat up and found herself fully clothed. She struggled to maintain her dignity. She would not give him the satisfaction of her tears. But her eyes betrayed her. Her tears came painfully, burning at her eyes. Spilling onto her cheeks.
“You screamed my name.”
“What?”
“It was my name you screamed. Not his.”
“Filthy liar!” Hermione screamed, suddenly hysterical. “I would never!”
“And, yet, you did. The truth is upon you, Granger! It was me you imagined when you thought you were screwing King Weasel,” Draco screamed back as he followed her around they’re camp.
“No. No, I wanted Ron. And, and he wants me.”
“Sure, he wants you. Wants you so bad he could bottle it. But do you know why he hesitates? Why he’s never just grabbed you and kissed you until your eyes rolled to the back of your head? Until your knickers just fell off of their own accord? Because it would be like incest, Hermione. Kissing you would be like kissing the Weaslette.”
“Shut up. Shut up, you son of a bitch,” Hermione said through clenched teeth and accursed sobs. “You violated me. You’re pure, soulless evil. Voldemort’s got nothing on your black hole of a heart.”
Draco laughed dryly. Bitterly.
“Violated.” He turned his face skyward. “You don’t consider the infiltration of a person’s subconscious a violation? At the very least, Hermione, it’s a violation of personal space.”
“I…you…you remember. You weren’t supposed to remember.”
“Apparently, our mind sex was just too intense a memory for my subconscious to subdue. I know you think about it all the time. I see it in your eyes.”
“Yes.”
“I’m there with you at night, aren’t I? Just as you are with me?”
“Yes . . . bastard.”
“You love me.”
“No. No! How could I? Why would I? When all you show me is…is this.” Hermione spread her hands out in front of her. Then dropped them to her sides in defeat. “Why would you do this?”
“You were in my mind! Don’t you know? Because I needed to be in possession of an opinion that hadn’t been given to me by my father. I needed to know whether everything I believed in was worth dying for.”
“And?”
“And you’re… you’re real to me now… but I still don’t know.”
“You don’t… You’re so bloody clueless, Malfoy. You risk certain death, shame and expulsion in order to come up with that utter nonsense? Good can’t be achieved by being evil, Malfoy. You kidnapped me, my best friend, impersonated him, and then had your way with me. How is that different from any way you’ve ever behaved? You want to be in possession of a different opinion, Malfoy? Then, just… be someone other than a Malfoy. Now let me go.”
Draco released the wards around they’re hiding place. He slumped to the ground as Hermione headed back to the castle. He didn’t bother to follow. He knew someone would come to collect him soon enough.
*****
Draco looked up at the sound of his name being called. Two large wizards with biceps the size of his head lifted him from his seat. Flanked him as he headed to the sentencing chamber. Dumbledore had lobbied for his pardon, but the current Minister would not agree.
“This young man is an admitted Death Eater. The son of Voldemort right hand. Though he provided us with valuable intelligence that led to the death of the Dark Lord and his movement, he must still answer for the subversive works he performed in Voldermort’s service. I’m sorry. The sentence stands at 20 years. Be thankful it’s not death.”
Draco smiled sadly. It was just as well. He had nothing and no one to return to.
As the two guards led him away he spotted, out of the corner of his eye, a shock of brown curls. Hermione never did reveal what happened between them that sunny afternoon in the woods of Hogsmeade. No burly and incensed Gryffindors pummeled him out of righteous indignation. They sat for N.E.W.Ts, finished the year and went they’re separate ways. She, to the side of good. He, for a while, at least, to the side of… evil.
“Mr. Malfoy,” came the voice of a reporter for the Daily Prophet, “all of wizardom wants to know, what made you turn and betray your friends, family and most importantly the Dark Lord himself? Were you made to believe you would receive complete immunity?”
Draco looked over at Hermione, who smiled.
“No comment.”
And for those who like to live in the past:
One
Two
Three
Four