Valentine for ldymusyc
Title: Play
Author: nikkilicious377
Rating: PG 13
Warnings: AU, No HPB or Deathly Hallows, Minor language and sexual references
AN: I am so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, SO SORRY that this is so freaking late. I pray that you can forgive me. I was swamped with life and I lost all inspiration for this short fic but I did get it back! I really hope you enjoy it and please, again, forgive me. :) <3
Play
Competitiveness wasn’t a characteristic Hermione would generally use to describe herself.
Hardworking, yes.
Driven, yes.
Successful, yes.
But competitive? Not so much. Not until Draco Malfoy, anyway.
Yes, Draco Malfoy and that fateful day in Transfiguration.
It started out as an accident. And it turned into a game. A dangerous, addicting game. She was becoming too drawn in, too obsessed. And yet she couldn’t stop.
It was innocent at first. He made a snipe at her. She responded. It somehow ended in a challenge. He said he could get a better score on the next paper McGonagall assigned. She scoffed.
On the outside she’d played it off as impossible. Hermione Granger was the top student in their year and Transfiguration was one of her best subjects. But inside… inside she felt a twitch of nervousness; of doubt. And that twitch grew into a full-blown seizure. She panicked. It was ridiculous really, but, somehow, he had managed to crawl under her skin and make her hesitate, make her question herself, something very few people had ever done before.
She started to wonder if he could actually do it. And if he could, there was no way she would let that happen. Even thinking about it made her stomach churn.
She’d studied like a madwoman. The paper, two feet in length, was on modern transfiguration theory and application.
Hers was perfect. Flawless in form, structure, wording, and composition.
And he’d beaten her. By one point. One point!
It was war.
They started to compete in grades and house points. And when that wasn’t enough anymore, they competed against each other socially. Non-stop they went head to head, neither managing to gain an upper hand.
Months and months of playing. It wasn’t long before Hermione realized how much the game had consumed her. And when she looked into Malfoy’s eyes, she knew it was the same for him as well.
It wasn’t about winning. No, that would have defeated the purpose entirely. Because the game… it was just that; a game. They needed it, needed each other, to lose themselves in something.
The war was right upon them. Not out in the open yet, but it was festering in the shadows, waiting to explode. The minor scuffles being reported in the Prophet would soon turn into full-fledged battles. The school would close. The Order would call upon its members, just as the Death Eaters would call upon theirs.
And then they would fight.
Hermione hated to think beyond that point. It was too real and too close. She wasn’t afraid. Not of the war itself, anyway. It was a necessary tragedy for the Wizarding world and she recognized that it had to happen to make everyone better off. But she did fear the aftermath. The possibility of losing.
And she feared what would happen to the people she knew. Even Draco Malfoy.
“Hermione, you okay?”
Snapping out of her thoughts, Hermione gazed up at Ron and Harry. All at once the cacophony of noise from the Great Hall flooded her eardrums and registered in her mind. The light streaming from the large window behind her caressed her back and the warmth soaked into her bones.
“Oh, yes. Sorry, I was thinking about the next Potions exam.”
The boys rolled their eyes and made their comments, accepting her response. Hermione sighed inwardly. She hadn’t been thinking about Potions at all. In fact, that was the furthest subject from her mind.
She’d been obsessing over Malfoy again. Not that she could tell them that.
Glancing up, her eyes sought him out. He wasn’t there, though. Hadn’t been at dinner the night before either. She didn’t want to know why that bothered her so much.
It was getting out of hand. All of it. Her concentration was shot, her focus was derailed. Even her friends were noticing how distant she was becoming. But even though she recognized the addiction, it didn’t mean she could stop. She was too drawn in.
The truth was, she relied on her stupid little competition with Malfoy. If she was focusing on that, then she wasn’t focusing on everything else; the war, death, the fate of the Wizarding world.
It wasn’t healthy but she didn’t care.
And obviously, neither did he.
“Oh, here comes my favorite Mudblood.”
Hermione’s face displayed a disgusted grimace, but she was smirking on the inside. She’d been waiting for this.
“How can I ever think to match your wit, Malfoy?”
She continued her slow trek down the hall, right past him. She could feel his grin on her back. His footsteps followed her.
“Well I can’t say that surprises me. I am quite amazing, in more ways than one. And compared to someone as dull and lackluster as you, I must seem like a god.”
He was beside her now, step for step, insult for insult.
“Yes, Malfoy. The God of sludge. You should feel so accomplished.”
“Feisty. Your temper almost makes you look halfway decent, Granger. You should stick with it, I’m telling you. You’ll have all the trolls after you before you know it.”
She enjoyed this, though she’d never admit it. But, with Malfoy, it was easy. The smooth flow of the words as they formulated in her brain and streamed out of her mouth. And there was no pain. The sting of humiliation had long dissipated between the two. It was more about trying to get a rise out of each other. And about playing the game.
It was chess. The words were the pieces, their cleverness the moves. It was overdone banter but she wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Can I help you with something?”
“Can you suck my cock?”
She glared at him, a real one this time. He always found a way to be vulgar around her.
“When I find it, I’ll let you know.”
Their dynamic was interesting. It had evolved immensely from when they were kids. They no longer hated each other, and Hermione seriously doubted they ever actually had. Hate was something reserved for the real evils in the world. But there wasn’t any sort of like involved either. It was somewhere in between. Frankly, Malfoy annoyed the heck out of her usually. His personality just clashed with hers and so even if they didn’t have the natural separation of the Gryffindor Muggle-born versus the Slytherin Death Eater, she knew she wouldn’t have ever gotten along with him anyway. But when they went at each other, a sick and satisfying feeling surfaced.
They stopped walking and Hermione stared at her opponent. The words were there, resting right on the tip of her tongue, but they refused to come out. She simply looked at him and waited, waited, waited for something to explode.
“It isn’t enough, is it?”
She didn’t have to ask what he meant, but she decided to play anyway.
“Your cock?”
He didn’t laugh. His eyes intensified.
“Words won’t survive the fight.”
All teasing was gone when she realized what he was saying. Words, words, words. It was all they ever had with each other. Malicious words that cut deep and burrowed inside. Like a disease. Except, eventually, they became immune to the disease and the words no longer had the same effect in the same quantities.
He wasn’t talking about words.
“Are you suggesting…?”
He smirked. Sinister and cold, but there was fire behind the expression.
“A duel. Tomorrow.”
A duel.
The Room of Requirement opened into a beautifully large arena; stone walls, hard floors, with dips and curves and steps and ledges. Perfect for a fight.
Hermione was thrown to the ground, a grunt escaping her lips. Malfoy’s weight was solid and heavy on top of her as he attempted to keep her pinned. She wasn’t letting him win that easily. She struggled, wiggling her body to throw him to the side. They rolled, once, twice.
The fight had been going on for hours. Robes had been tossed, sweat glistened on their exposed skin.
Draco dragged in a deep breath as the stone floor scraped his back. Granger was small, but powerful.
Somewhere along the way, they’d lost their wands and they were too busy to try and find them again. Besides, this wasn’t about winning. It wasn’t about who could cast the best curse or who could dodge better. It was about fighting and passion and energy. About getting it all out and forgetting everything else.
It was ironic that, somehow, they always seemed to be fighting one another. When they were kids, their misguided malice caused many tears and scars. Even now, when they were older and knew the true darkness of the world, they still found ways to battle. And it wouldn’t ever end. They knew, one day, they’d be fighting again.
In the real war.
Draco bucked Hermione up and grabbed her wrists as she tried to pummel him. He pushed himself to his knees and tossed her onto her back. Her skirt rode up her legs and the top button on her shirt had burst open, but neither noticed. Draco’s clothing wasn’t in any better state.
“It’s time I put you in your place, Mudblood.”
His words didn’t bring the tears to her eyes like they used to. The word, itself, still hurt, but coming from his lips, it was more of a relief settling inside of her than anything. The ‘hurt so good’ type. It was sick and twisted but she was okay with that. She wasn’t the same girl she used to be.
Her hair caught on the rough stone and snagged as he pulled her up and pushed her back down. It was okay. The pain was the best part. There was nothing as effective to take her mind off of things.
It had been a long fight and it was finally wearing them down. They were tired, and oddly, satiated.
Hermione managed to free her arms from his grasp. Using all of her might, she forced him to the side. Surprisingly, he stayed, collapsed beside her on the ground.
The only sound in the room was their breathing, heavy and strong.
“You know, one day, we’ll have to do this for real.”
Silence followed his statement. Neither wanted to contemplate that truth.
Minutes quietly went by.
Then Hermione got up. She stretched her legs, straightened her clothing. And then she flashed a barely-there smile.
“Same time tomorrow, Malfoy?”
And then she was gone.
Hermione showed up first. Draco was late. Tick tock, tick tock, and not a peep. She waited outside the room, her arms wrapped around herself. Tick-a-tock. She was getting frustrated. Who the hell was Draco Malfoy to stand her up? He had known she was serious about another meeting. They both needed it, didn’t they? The game couldn’t just end.
And maybe that was the problem. They had taken it farther than either had ever anticipated it would go. What started out as a not-so-healthy competition over Transfiguration scores, turned into a physical, emotional, and mental addiction. That was dangerous.
The entire thing was dangerous, though. And that shouldn’t have been enough to put him off to it. Malfoy was a cowardly bastard, but he had never backed down from a fight with her. Their situation transcended that.
She was working herself up. Too late to stop it, though.
“Been waiting long, Granger?”
Hermione turned on him, her eyes alight, her hands clenched at her sides.
“Where have you been Malfoy? I should have known I couldn’t rely on you to be on time.”
“Hey there, where did this come from? Did you miss me?”
“Go to hell.” She watched the smirk spread slowly across his face.
“Oh, I see. You were excited to see me.”
“Hardly.”
“Don’t deny it, Granger. I know you want me.”
She let out a huff and turned on her heal, refusing to give him any recognition. If he wanted to be an arse, he could be. She just wouldn’t stick around to see it.
“Wait, come on,” he started as she stalked away. “That is why we came here, right? Why you came? I made you feel something. It worked, didn’t it?”
She froze at his words, her back still to him. He was right, and it pissed her off even more. The only reason they had even started this twisted game was to feel something other than apprehension and fear. The stress of it was too much. This was their release.
She never turned around but she smiled… and he knew it.
Neither ever showed up late again, though they didn’t mention it. In fact, few words were ever exchanged. They simply went into the Room of Requirement and…
Well, sometimes they fought. Sometimes they just studied; turned the room into a cozy common area and did their course work. And sometimes, they didn’t do much of anything at all.
It was a strange turn of events, really. The desire to be near one another seemed to override everything else between them.
Hermione wasn’t sure how things had gotten so messed up. So complicated. Part of her missed the old times when they were just kids, spitting out cruel words with cruel intent. But another part of her craved the game. Craved Draco Malfoy.
She felt so sick with herself.
Draco’s mindset wasn’t far off from hers. He asked himself every day what the hell he was doing. What was he thinking? Hermione Granger was his enemy. He’d been taught all his life to hate people like her. He was superior. How had that Master/Slave complex turned into addiction?
He supposed it served him right. Just another twisted irony in the road of that bitch called fate. Funny, really, that the person who he used to think he hated the most was the only one who made him feel anything anymore.
Draco strolled down the empty hall, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. If it weren’t the fact that it was the middle of the night and curfew had long passed, he might have even started whistling. It was disgusting how relaxed he felt. And with each step he took, the feeling only amplified.
He was on his way to the Room of Requirement. Naturally. It was late, far too late for the good girl Gryffindor to be out, but for some reason, he knew she’d be there.
The door appeared for him and with no hesitation, he opened it up. There she was, right in front of him, sitting on the floor of the common area. The room was dark, only a few candles lit. She usually had the place bright as could be so she could read but he shrugged it off.
He waltzed forward, the smirk already forming.
“Gran-“
And that was when he noticed it. The wetness crystallizing on her red cheeks, the dead look in her eyes. She was crying. She was devastated.
He froze in place, unsure of what to do. He had come to the room expecting something, but it sure as hell wasn’t this.
Hermione looked up at him. She didn’t bother to hide what couldn’t be hidden. Instead, she sniffed twice, stood up, and started gathering her things.
“Granger.”
Only a slight pause.
“I should be angry. I should be resentful. Hell, I should even be insulted. But no, I’m upset. I’m disappointed. I’m… so let down.”
He had no idea what she was talking about but he could feel the pain in every single syllable of her words. He didn’t want to ask what was wrong. He shouldn’t have given a shit.
He did give a shit, though. Still, his mouth stayed clamped shut.
“They’re such prats. The both of them!”
Well, that he could agree with. It didn’t take a genius to figure out she was talking about the Weasel and Pothead.
“They were just going to leave me.”
Why she was telling him all of this, he had no idea. It seemed she was a faucet and once she was opened, everything came flooding out. She was pacing now, her gathered belongings sitting in a forgotten pile. He watched her, still frozen in place, still not convinced he wasn’t dreaming.
“Did you hear me? They are going to leave me! How do they ever think they can survive without me? I mean, I have saved their arses more times than I can count. What did I do?”
Finally, she stopped, and lowered her gaze to the ground. He watched, utterly entranced, as her eyes glazed over and she drifted away from him. It was frightening, almost, to see her get lost inside of herself. She wasn’t with him anymore.
“What did I do? Why would they want to leave me?” She whispered.
They were like ice cold statues frozen in place. Hermione stared at the ground, Draco stared at her. He had no idea what to say, what to do. She was falling apart in front of him and he couldn’t even open his mouth.
It felt like hours but it was probably only a few seconds before she snapped herself out of her reverie. Her eyes no longer glistened. His Granger was back.
“Tomorrow?”
She left. She always seemed to be walking away.
They never met again.
Despite their unspoken promises, the game had ended. Or maybe it was just on hold. The next day, the Ministry reported being attacked by Death Eaters. It was a shock to everyone, including Draco. He might have lived in a world surrounded by the Dark Lord’s followers, but he hadn’t a clue as to what was really going on.
When the news broke out, panic had risen. Most families sent away for their kids, convinced Hogwarts was next. The smart parents, the ones who realized that Hogwarts was safer than anywhere else, let their kids stay, but it didn’t help them feel any better.
The war was upon them all.
It was only a week after that Draco heard Potter and Weasley had left. No one knew where they went, no one except Granger and maybe a few professors.
Their disappearance was what struck the students the most. Harry Potter, their fearless fucking leader, had abandoned them.
At least, that was what most of them believed.
Whenever Granger caught someone saying such things though, she was quick to defend him. He was going to save their lives, she said. He was going to find the answers, she said. He was going to make things right, she said.
He wasn’t sure about all that but seeing the fire in her eyes, even after what they’d done to her not even weeks before, made something swell in his chest.
Draco stared over the ledge of the Owlry. The snow was falling, slow, slow, slow to the ground. He felt the flakes in his hair, on his face, but he didn’t bat them away. They were soft and light and comforting. Something could still touch him, still get to him.
When the door opened, his heart hammered, and he knew there was only one reason for that.
Granger didn’t say a word. She didn’t move closer. They stood, separated by that invisible something that kept them from meeting again. That kept them from ever going any farther in their game.
The end result would have been chaos.
The sun was shining but everything suddenly felt dead. His eyes scanned over the land, over the school that had been his home for longer than he realized.
“They won’t get to us here.”
He scoffed.
“Yes they will.”
“Yes. They will.”
He turned then, his brow creased. She wasn’t looking at him though. She was watching the snow.
“But I wasn’t talking about Hogwarts. I meant here.” She waved her hand in some noncommittal gesture and her gaze was a bit washy, but he knew exactly what she was saying. It was frightening how they did that, how they connected with one another.
She knew that, one day, the Death Eaters would attack Hogwarts and there would be an enormous battle, perhaps the biggest, most deadly of the entire war. But that hadn’t been what she meant. She meant on the inside. Of themselves. Voldemort and his Death Eater scum would never get to that.
Her unwavering faith after what had happened almost inspired him.
Their eyes finally met, a gesture so intimate and comforting, Draco wanted to look away again. He didn’t though. This was the one person who he relied on. Wasn’t that what got them here in the first place?
“It’ll all work out, won’t it?” He asked, stepping ever closer to her warmth.
After only a moment, she shrugged, and a small, ever so small, smile appeared on her lips.
“Of course. I’ll win the game and it will all be perfect.”
It was the first time either had ever mentioned the game out loud and he found that he wanted to smile because of it. It wasn’t just in his head, or in hers. It was real and it was theirs.
“Don’t get so cocky, it doesn’t look good on you.” He was up against her now, her body searing his all the way down the front. “Besides, we both know I’m going to win.”
He caressed her cheek, so soft, and then he left.
He was the one who got to walk away.
In the end, it didn’t matter who won because that wasn’t the point. The game was to forget. And, so far, it had worked.
Author: nikkilicious377
Rating: PG 13
Warnings: AU, No HPB or Deathly Hallows, Minor language and sexual references
AN: I am so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, SO SORRY that this is so freaking late. I pray that you can forgive me. I was swamped with life and I lost all inspiration for this short fic but I did get it back! I really hope you enjoy it and please, again, forgive me. :) <3
Play
Competitiveness wasn’t a characteristic Hermione would generally use to describe herself.
Hardworking, yes.
Driven, yes.
Successful, yes.
But competitive? Not so much. Not until Draco Malfoy, anyway.
Yes, Draco Malfoy and that fateful day in Transfiguration.
It started out as an accident. And it turned into a game. A dangerous, addicting game. She was becoming too drawn in, too obsessed. And yet she couldn’t stop.
It was innocent at first. He made a snipe at her. She responded. It somehow ended in a challenge. He said he could get a better score on the next paper McGonagall assigned. She scoffed.
On the outside she’d played it off as impossible. Hermione Granger was the top student in their year and Transfiguration was one of her best subjects. But inside… inside she felt a twitch of nervousness; of doubt. And that twitch grew into a full-blown seizure. She panicked. It was ridiculous really, but, somehow, he had managed to crawl under her skin and make her hesitate, make her question herself, something very few people had ever done before.
She started to wonder if he could actually do it. And if he could, there was no way she would let that happen. Even thinking about it made her stomach churn.
She’d studied like a madwoman. The paper, two feet in length, was on modern transfiguration theory and application.
Hers was perfect. Flawless in form, structure, wording, and composition.
And he’d beaten her. By one point. One point!
It was war.
They started to compete in grades and house points. And when that wasn’t enough anymore, they competed against each other socially. Non-stop they went head to head, neither managing to gain an upper hand.
Months and months of playing. It wasn’t long before Hermione realized how much the game had consumed her. And when she looked into Malfoy’s eyes, she knew it was the same for him as well.
It wasn’t about winning. No, that would have defeated the purpose entirely. Because the game… it was just that; a game. They needed it, needed each other, to lose themselves in something.
The war was right upon them. Not out in the open yet, but it was festering in the shadows, waiting to explode. The minor scuffles being reported in the Prophet would soon turn into full-fledged battles. The school would close. The Order would call upon its members, just as the Death Eaters would call upon theirs.
And then they would fight.
Hermione hated to think beyond that point. It was too real and too close. She wasn’t afraid. Not of the war itself, anyway. It was a necessary tragedy for the Wizarding world and she recognized that it had to happen to make everyone better off. But she did fear the aftermath. The possibility of losing.
And she feared what would happen to the people she knew. Even Draco Malfoy.
“Hermione, you okay?”
Snapping out of her thoughts, Hermione gazed up at Ron and Harry. All at once the cacophony of noise from the Great Hall flooded her eardrums and registered in her mind. The light streaming from the large window behind her caressed her back and the warmth soaked into her bones.
“Oh, yes. Sorry, I was thinking about the next Potions exam.”
The boys rolled their eyes and made their comments, accepting her response. Hermione sighed inwardly. She hadn’t been thinking about Potions at all. In fact, that was the furthest subject from her mind.
She’d been obsessing over Malfoy again. Not that she could tell them that.
Glancing up, her eyes sought him out. He wasn’t there, though. Hadn’t been at dinner the night before either. She didn’t want to know why that bothered her so much.
It was getting out of hand. All of it. Her concentration was shot, her focus was derailed. Even her friends were noticing how distant she was becoming. But even though she recognized the addiction, it didn’t mean she could stop. She was too drawn in.
The truth was, she relied on her stupid little competition with Malfoy. If she was focusing on that, then she wasn’t focusing on everything else; the war, death, the fate of the Wizarding world.
It wasn’t healthy but she didn’t care.
And obviously, neither did he.
“Oh, here comes my favorite Mudblood.”
Hermione’s face displayed a disgusted grimace, but she was smirking on the inside. She’d been waiting for this.
“How can I ever think to match your wit, Malfoy?”
She continued her slow trek down the hall, right past him. She could feel his grin on her back. His footsteps followed her.
“Well I can’t say that surprises me. I am quite amazing, in more ways than one. And compared to someone as dull and lackluster as you, I must seem like a god.”
He was beside her now, step for step, insult for insult.
“Yes, Malfoy. The God of sludge. You should feel so accomplished.”
“Feisty. Your temper almost makes you look halfway decent, Granger. You should stick with it, I’m telling you. You’ll have all the trolls after you before you know it.”
She enjoyed this, though she’d never admit it. But, with Malfoy, it was easy. The smooth flow of the words as they formulated in her brain and streamed out of her mouth. And there was no pain. The sting of humiliation had long dissipated between the two. It was more about trying to get a rise out of each other. And about playing the game.
It was chess. The words were the pieces, their cleverness the moves. It was overdone banter but she wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Can I help you with something?”
“Can you suck my cock?”
She glared at him, a real one this time. He always found a way to be vulgar around her.
“When I find it, I’ll let you know.”
Their dynamic was interesting. It had evolved immensely from when they were kids. They no longer hated each other, and Hermione seriously doubted they ever actually had. Hate was something reserved for the real evils in the world. But there wasn’t any sort of like involved either. It was somewhere in between. Frankly, Malfoy annoyed the heck out of her usually. His personality just clashed with hers and so even if they didn’t have the natural separation of the Gryffindor Muggle-born versus the Slytherin Death Eater, she knew she wouldn’t have ever gotten along with him anyway. But when they went at each other, a sick and satisfying feeling surfaced.
They stopped walking and Hermione stared at her opponent. The words were there, resting right on the tip of her tongue, but they refused to come out. She simply looked at him and waited, waited, waited for something to explode.
“It isn’t enough, is it?”
She didn’t have to ask what he meant, but she decided to play anyway.
“Your cock?”
He didn’t laugh. His eyes intensified.
“Words won’t survive the fight.”
All teasing was gone when she realized what he was saying. Words, words, words. It was all they ever had with each other. Malicious words that cut deep and burrowed inside. Like a disease. Except, eventually, they became immune to the disease and the words no longer had the same effect in the same quantities.
He wasn’t talking about words.
“Are you suggesting…?”
He smirked. Sinister and cold, but there was fire behind the expression.
“A duel. Tomorrow.”
A duel.
The Room of Requirement opened into a beautifully large arena; stone walls, hard floors, with dips and curves and steps and ledges. Perfect for a fight.
Hermione was thrown to the ground, a grunt escaping her lips. Malfoy’s weight was solid and heavy on top of her as he attempted to keep her pinned. She wasn’t letting him win that easily. She struggled, wiggling her body to throw him to the side. They rolled, once, twice.
The fight had been going on for hours. Robes had been tossed, sweat glistened on their exposed skin.
Draco dragged in a deep breath as the stone floor scraped his back. Granger was small, but powerful.
Somewhere along the way, they’d lost their wands and they were too busy to try and find them again. Besides, this wasn’t about winning. It wasn’t about who could cast the best curse or who could dodge better. It was about fighting and passion and energy. About getting it all out and forgetting everything else.
It was ironic that, somehow, they always seemed to be fighting one another. When they were kids, their misguided malice caused many tears and scars. Even now, when they were older and knew the true darkness of the world, they still found ways to battle. And it wouldn’t ever end. They knew, one day, they’d be fighting again.
In the real war.
Draco bucked Hermione up and grabbed her wrists as she tried to pummel him. He pushed himself to his knees and tossed her onto her back. Her skirt rode up her legs and the top button on her shirt had burst open, but neither noticed. Draco’s clothing wasn’t in any better state.
“It’s time I put you in your place, Mudblood.”
His words didn’t bring the tears to her eyes like they used to. The word, itself, still hurt, but coming from his lips, it was more of a relief settling inside of her than anything. The ‘hurt so good’ type. It was sick and twisted but she was okay with that. She wasn’t the same girl she used to be.
Her hair caught on the rough stone and snagged as he pulled her up and pushed her back down. It was okay. The pain was the best part. There was nothing as effective to take her mind off of things.
It had been a long fight and it was finally wearing them down. They were tired, and oddly, satiated.
Hermione managed to free her arms from his grasp. Using all of her might, she forced him to the side. Surprisingly, he stayed, collapsed beside her on the ground.
The only sound in the room was their breathing, heavy and strong.
“You know, one day, we’ll have to do this for real.”
Silence followed his statement. Neither wanted to contemplate that truth.
Minutes quietly went by.
Then Hermione got up. She stretched her legs, straightened her clothing. And then she flashed a barely-there smile.
“Same time tomorrow, Malfoy?”
And then she was gone.
Hermione showed up first. Draco was late. Tick tock, tick tock, and not a peep. She waited outside the room, her arms wrapped around herself. Tick-a-tock. She was getting frustrated. Who the hell was Draco Malfoy to stand her up? He had known she was serious about another meeting. They both needed it, didn’t they? The game couldn’t just end.
And maybe that was the problem. They had taken it farther than either had ever anticipated it would go. What started out as a not-so-healthy competition over Transfiguration scores, turned into a physical, emotional, and mental addiction. That was dangerous.
The entire thing was dangerous, though. And that shouldn’t have been enough to put him off to it. Malfoy was a cowardly bastard, but he had never backed down from a fight with her. Their situation transcended that.
She was working herself up. Too late to stop it, though.
“Been waiting long, Granger?”
Hermione turned on him, her eyes alight, her hands clenched at her sides.
“Where have you been Malfoy? I should have known I couldn’t rely on you to be on time.”
“Hey there, where did this come from? Did you miss me?”
“Go to hell.” She watched the smirk spread slowly across his face.
“Oh, I see. You were excited to see me.”
“Hardly.”
“Don’t deny it, Granger. I know you want me.”
She let out a huff and turned on her heal, refusing to give him any recognition. If he wanted to be an arse, he could be. She just wouldn’t stick around to see it.
“Wait, come on,” he started as she stalked away. “That is why we came here, right? Why you came? I made you feel something. It worked, didn’t it?”
She froze at his words, her back still to him. He was right, and it pissed her off even more. The only reason they had even started this twisted game was to feel something other than apprehension and fear. The stress of it was too much. This was their release.
She never turned around but she smiled… and he knew it.
Neither ever showed up late again, though they didn’t mention it. In fact, few words were ever exchanged. They simply went into the Room of Requirement and…
Well, sometimes they fought. Sometimes they just studied; turned the room into a cozy common area and did their course work. And sometimes, they didn’t do much of anything at all.
It was a strange turn of events, really. The desire to be near one another seemed to override everything else between them.
Hermione wasn’t sure how things had gotten so messed up. So complicated. Part of her missed the old times when they were just kids, spitting out cruel words with cruel intent. But another part of her craved the game. Craved Draco Malfoy.
She felt so sick with herself.
Draco’s mindset wasn’t far off from hers. He asked himself every day what the hell he was doing. What was he thinking? Hermione Granger was his enemy. He’d been taught all his life to hate people like her. He was superior. How had that Master/Slave complex turned into addiction?
He supposed it served him right. Just another twisted irony in the road of that bitch called fate. Funny, really, that the person who he used to think he hated the most was the only one who made him feel anything anymore.
Draco strolled down the empty hall, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. If it weren’t the fact that it was the middle of the night and curfew had long passed, he might have even started whistling. It was disgusting how relaxed he felt. And with each step he took, the feeling only amplified.
He was on his way to the Room of Requirement. Naturally. It was late, far too late for the good girl Gryffindor to be out, but for some reason, he knew she’d be there.
The door appeared for him and with no hesitation, he opened it up. There she was, right in front of him, sitting on the floor of the common area. The room was dark, only a few candles lit. She usually had the place bright as could be so she could read but he shrugged it off.
He waltzed forward, the smirk already forming.
“Gran-“
And that was when he noticed it. The wetness crystallizing on her red cheeks, the dead look in her eyes. She was crying. She was devastated.
He froze in place, unsure of what to do. He had come to the room expecting something, but it sure as hell wasn’t this.
Hermione looked up at him. She didn’t bother to hide what couldn’t be hidden. Instead, she sniffed twice, stood up, and started gathering her things.
“Granger.”
Only a slight pause.
“I should be angry. I should be resentful. Hell, I should even be insulted. But no, I’m upset. I’m disappointed. I’m… so let down.”
He had no idea what she was talking about but he could feel the pain in every single syllable of her words. He didn’t want to ask what was wrong. He shouldn’t have given a shit.
He did give a shit, though. Still, his mouth stayed clamped shut.
“They’re such prats. The both of them!”
Well, that he could agree with. It didn’t take a genius to figure out she was talking about the Weasel and Pothead.
“They were just going to leave me.”
Why she was telling him all of this, he had no idea. It seemed she was a faucet and once she was opened, everything came flooding out. She was pacing now, her gathered belongings sitting in a forgotten pile. He watched her, still frozen in place, still not convinced he wasn’t dreaming.
“Did you hear me? They are going to leave me! How do they ever think they can survive without me? I mean, I have saved their arses more times than I can count. What did I do?”
Finally, she stopped, and lowered her gaze to the ground. He watched, utterly entranced, as her eyes glazed over and she drifted away from him. It was frightening, almost, to see her get lost inside of herself. She wasn’t with him anymore.
“What did I do? Why would they want to leave me?” She whispered.
They were like ice cold statues frozen in place. Hermione stared at the ground, Draco stared at her. He had no idea what to say, what to do. She was falling apart in front of him and he couldn’t even open his mouth.
It felt like hours but it was probably only a few seconds before she snapped herself out of her reverie. Her eyes no longer glistened. His Granger was back.
“Tomorrow?”
She left. She always seemed to be walking away.
They never met again.
Despite their unspoken promises, the game had ended. Or maybe it was just on hold. The next day, the Ministry reported being attacked by Death Eaters. It was a shock to everyone, including Draco. He might have lived in a world surrounded by the Dark Lord’s followers, but he hadn’t a clue as to what was really going on.
When the news broke out, panic had risen. Most families sent away for their kids, convinced Hogwarts was next. The smart parents, the ones who realized that Hogwarts was safer than anywhere else, let their kids stay, but it didn’t help them feel any better.
The war was upon them all.
It was only a week after that Draco heard Potter and Weasley had left. No one knew where they went, no one except Granger and maybe a few professors.
Their disappearance was what struck the students the most. Harry Potter, their fearless fucking leader, had abandoned them.
At least, that was what most of them believed.
Whenever Granger caught someone saying such things though, she was quick to defend him. He was going to save their lives, she said. He was going to find the answers, she said. He was going to make things right, she said.
He wasn’t sure about all that but seeing the fire in her eyes, even after what they’d done to her not even weeks before, made something swell in his chest.
Draco stared over the ledge of the Owlry. The snow was falling, slow, slow, slow to the ground. He felt the flakes in his hair, on his face, but he didn’t bat them away. They were soft and light and comforting. Something could still touch him, still get to him.
When the door opened, his heart hammered, and he knew there was only one reason for that.
Granger didn’t say a word. She didn’t move closer. They stood, separated by that invisible something that kept them from meeting again. That kept them from ever going any farther in their game.
The end result would have been chaos.
The sun was shining but everything suddenly felt dead. His eyes scanned over the land, over the school that had been his home for longer than he realized.
“They won’t get to us here.”
He scoffed.
“Yes they will.”
“Yes. They will.”
He turned then, his brow creased. She wasn’t looking at him though. She was watching the snow.
“But I wasn’t talking about Hogwarts. I meant here.” She waved her hand in some noncommittal gesture and her gaze was a bit washy, but he knew exactly what she was saying. It was frightening how they did that, how they connected with one another.
She knew that, one day, the Death Eaters would attack Hogwarts and there would be an enormous battle, perhaps the biggest, most deadly of the entire war. But that hadn’t been what she meant. She meant on the inside. Of themselves. Voldemort and his Death Eater scum would never get to that.
Her unwavering faith after what had happened almost inspired him.
Their eyes finally met, a gesture so intimate and comforting, Draco wanted to look away again. He didn’t though. This was the one person who he relied on. Wasn’t that what got them here in the first place?
“It’ll all work out, won’t it?” He asked, stepping ever closer to her warmth.
After only a moment, she shrugged, and a small, ever so small, smile appeared on her lips.
“Of course. I’ll win the game and it will all be perfect.”
It was the first time either had ever mentioned the game out loud and he found that he wanted to smile because of it. It wasn’t just in his head, or in hers. It was real and it was theirs.
“Don’t get so cocky, it doesn’t look good on you.” He was up against her now, her body searing his all the way down the front. “Besides, we both know I’m going to win.”
He caressed her cheek, so soft, and then he left.
He was the one who got to walk away.
In the end, it didn’t matter who won because that wasn’t the point. The game was to forget. And, so far, it had worked.