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A Dark Room	By : BitterWind Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 10441 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters. I make no money from this frictions. It's just a silly hobby.

Chapter List
- 1-A Dark Room
- 1
She slammed the heavy door behind her and pounded away down the empty hall. Her hair whipped in her face as she raced up the closest set of stairs. Eyes followed her from the portraits along the walls; some whispered words of encouragement as she past, others scoffed at this illustration of teenage unhappiness, a scene they were exposed to ad nauseam as immortal witnesses to all the trials and tribulations of the students at Hogwarts School.
She knew where she was going. Thankfully, she’d been there so many times, she didn’t have to think, she could just run and try not to see, but couldn’t stop seeing over and over and over the pictures of him and that…..oh.
She knew when she’d arrived. She put her head against the blank wall, sliding her cheek back and forth.. It felt cool and solid. She sighed. Walked past the the spot three times all the while thinking...I just need a place where I can be no one, where I can just forget.
When the door opened, she was not surprised at how dark it was. There was only a flickering candle on a table.. Instead of what she used to see when she came here with Harry and ….the others, the pillows, the large empty space...this time, the flickering light showed her a small alcove room with stony stairs leading up to a loft.
Seemed perfect. Darkness was exactly what she craved.
The door shut behind her as she entered, and immediately she was suffused with a sense of calm numbness. Her frenzy of almost just seconds ago seemed to disappear. This room seemed almost like a world apart from everything, No sounds, almost no light. The candle light and it’s spareness was reassuring. She saw shelves lining the small area below filled with books, but she felt no desire to explore them….she knew them for what they really were; just window dressing to make her feel safe.
The temperature of the room was just oh so slightly cold, not at all unpleasantly so, and it fit her mood. She walked slowly step by step towards the stairway. Her climb up this set of stairs was so different from the mad frenzied rush of moments ago. As she slowly slowly ascended the stairs, again the smooth wood under her hands as she grasped the rail, she tried to feel nothing,
At the top of the stairs, the flickering candlelight showed her the shadow of a loft only a few feet wide that ended in a deep long window seat looking out over a black night. She instinctively sat down in the farthest corner away from the stairs, drawing her legs up to her chest, her face pressed against the cool glass. She could see only the vaguest shadows outside, but she didn’t even try to recognize familiar landscapes. Instead she closed her eyes and tried not to see him.
See him.
See him on the couch in the common room. His hair tangled with hers. His hair. She had never let herself touch it. Even when they’d shared friendly hugs. It was red undoubtedly, of course, but was it soft or rough? She had wanted to. Touch it. But she had never done so. She had seen the other one, reach up and claw her fingers through it. His arms had been around her, and she had seen his lips curve into a smile even as he had kissed her.
She pulled a rough blanket from the window seat up and over her legs and curled tight against the window as sound of rain began to fall in sheets against the castle.

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He could hear the repeated rumblings of the others as they came in from the game, defeated and angry. No one directly said anything to him. No one dared. But they did say nasty things under their breath and had shot him disgusted looks. He had bent over the book, lower and hunched his shoulders.
“Something’s wrong.” He’d heard. “Coward.” He’d heard.
All of sudden, not of his choosing, he was swiftly back on the barren moors at midnight. The Dark Lord’s silver eyes gazing down at him. The burning on his arm. That night. That terrible night when he had made a fool’s promise.
His jaw clenched convulsively, painfully as he found himself back in his common room in the dark dungeon. Slowly, measuredly he stood and stalked across the room, turning at the door to brazenly sweep the room with his eyes, a look of icy, arrogant disdain carved on his face. All eyes that found his quickly found the floor. He left the room its master.
But as soon as the door was closed, he ran.
Ran,
Ran.
He felt the mark burning. His breath catching as he heard over and over the tolling of a death knell not out loud but in his heart, his bones . He didn’t know if it sounded for himself or for the other, but it seemed to plague his every step until his every breath was torture.
He knew where to go. Where he’d been going when everything seemed black and dark. A place to be no one. A place to forget.
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Her head jerked up from her near doze with the slamming of the door. Her body went rigid against the window as she sensed footsteps up the spiral staircase.
Someone was in the room with her.
Inwardly she thanked Professor Snape for teaching the art of unvoiced spell casting. With a thought alone, she extinguished the candle, stealing away in an instant the tiny whisper of light it had given off.
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As always, the room filled him with ...not at all peace, that was not to be found anywhere or anytime...but at least a numbness that he welcomed. The only place where he could attempt to forget and think of nothing, be nothing.
Almost at the top of the stairs, the flickering candle that was always lit on the lone table when he entered, extinguished. Though he paused, he was not disturbed.
The room often gave him what he needed. The darkness was better.
His feet knew the way to the window seat and he sank once again into the corner closest to the stairs, in case he needed to flee suddenly. He heard but did not see the rain falling against the window. The darkness was all encompassing. He drew one knee up to his chest and the other leg long along the smooth wide wooden bench beneath him. He drew his hands over his head and tried to erase the pictures that it refused to forget.
But it was hard. The memories of that horrible night, the suffocating fear of what was to come. It devoured him.
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She sat frozen, immobilized by panic. She had hoped this would be her sanctuary, her world apart.   But now, just a few feet in front of her, she knew someone else was here.
Her heart fluttered and she began to tremble. What in the world should she do?
Then…..a horrible sound. It was low and quiet, but utterly wretched. It sounded like the person across from her was dying. Could they be hurt? Were they really dying? Or maimed or cursed like poor Katie Bell? She had never heard such a sound.
She took a very slow and shallow breath. Again and again. The sound. That horrible sound. Slowly,she folded her own wretchedness into a tight little package, perhaps to examine at a later date, or maybe not at all. Maybe she could take the box of her unhappiness and bury it deep, never to overwhelm her or unman her again. Or she could burn it away, freeze it into nothingness. But for now at least, put it away from her. The person across from her might be physically hurt, but even if not, they were in pain and needed help. It was an oblivion of blackness in the room. She would not be seen, but she could be brave.
She was a Gryffindor after all.
She stood slowly up,smoothing clammy hands against her robes,then moved down the window seat. And sat oh so gingerly down next to the presence she felt but could not see.
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With a start, a jerk he sensed someone was here, here, here in this room his room his sanctuary. He swung his feet together and stupidly shut his eyes. Just like some stupid baby. I can’t see you so you can’t see me. Coldness swept through him. Overpowered him, he imagined himself running down the stairs and far, far away, or blasting killing destroying, annihilating the person who had heard him, sensed him this state of utter wretchedness. But he could do neither. He was frozen.
Then. Then. Then.
A hand touched the top of his hand that was clenched on his left leg, clenched into a fist so tight that it trembled.
They touched him. They dared touch him. Alternate waves of anger and fear flooded his system. He was frozen.
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She touched the top of the hand. She sensed shock. But not pain. Thankfully. They were unhurt, but deeply surprised. They hadn’t known she was there, hadn’t seen her crying in the corner like some ignorant blathering girl. Hadn’t scorned her weakness. At least that was something.
The hand was fisted so tight, but they didn’t pull away as she had expected. She couldn’t see the person. She didn’t want to. In fact...she shut her eyes. She didn’t want to see them. Knew they would not want to see her. She knew the pain this person felt might not by physical but that sound had told her that this person was dying inside. They needed help. She must help. It was the right thing to do.
Taking another deep breath, she slid the fingers of her right hand between those of the person’s left, pushing into the fist between the thumb and fingers. Her thumb on top.
Her thumb very slowly began to slide back and forth across the back of the hand. She didn’t know for sure, but the hand was large, she felt prominent knuckles and veins. A boy.
No words. Those who knew her would be shocked. But she did know.
Sometimes there were no words that could solve the problem, silence was best.
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They.
were.
touching.
him.
Rage. Fear. Rage. Fear. Rage. Fear.
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He was still. Several minutes passed. Then his breath seemed to change. It became more ragged. Uneven. Was he going to cry again? Should she...do something else?
She scrunched her face up in dismay and indecision. Eyes still resolutely closed. She pulled his hand across her lap to her other hand. It was like moving a rag doll made of marble. No reaction. Nothing.   She slowly moved her right hand up his back. He was tall she felt. And he was trembling.
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One of his hands was being held loosely in hers. It was a girl. The hand was small and smooth. She had squeezed closer to him to draw his left hand across her lap.   He could feel her hair, light but dry.. She was shorter than him. Another hand was feather touch lightly moving up and down his back. It felt like fire and ice.
What... in the world... was going...on?
Then...the hand on his back began a pattern. Stroke down. Pat. Pat. Stroke down. Pat. Pat.
He almost broke into hysterical laughter. It really and truly almost erupted from him like a vile volcano of bile.
She was trying to comfort him.
Comfort him. Comfort Him. Don’t worry. The Dark Lord will surely kill you. But here’s a nice pat, pat.
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She felt him relax slightly. She was glad. She was helping. It was horribly awkward and terrible. To want so desperately to be alone with her unhappiness, to have it shattered by this boy. To feel, to be exposed to his grief. A grief so profound surely he had not wanted to be seen or heard by her or anyone. By a stranger.
But if she could help, then she would she must. She must be good for something. Maybe she could help this boy. He might not see her but he would value her. He was not pulling away from her in disgust. He might appreciate her.
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It was so dark. Nothing could be seen in the room. But the sound of rain continued to fall against the window and racing wind could be heard in the trees far below the castle.
She sat there, continued to pat and caress his back. It seemed like slow seconds stretched into long minutes.
Then, she leaned her head against his shoulder and he heard her sigh. It was barely a sound. But it escaped her lips.
He felt her forehead against his arm, and it almost seemed like she began to mimic with her head the sweep of her oh so comforting hand, rubbing slightly against his robes.
===============
She saw him again. His mouth on hers. The tiny smile. Her hands in his red hair.
A tear slid down her nose and onto the boy’s shoulder. She folded her lips and squeezed them together tightly. Her hands froze and without thinking or meaning to, she released him and wrapped her arms around herself. Stupid. She was so stupid.
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He heard a tiny sob from her. He didn’t feel her let go of him because instantly he was back in the drawing room at home. It was midnight. The grandfather clock sounded the hour behind him. The chair, heavy wooden with the brocaded green cushion he had despised as a child was laying on it’s side. The ancient, heavy Persian rug was crumpled and lay in disarray feet from its proper location. His father’s raging words could still be heard after the snap of the Auror’s disapparating themselves and him. He ran to his mother as she crumpled to the ground, wrapping his arms around her. She had turned her face into his shoulder and sobbed. She moaned his fathers name over and over until the moans turned into screams. Screams that lasted for hours. Grief and helplessness. Hours of him holding her and listening to her scream his father’s name into the empty hollow house.
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His left arm wound suddenly around her, and he turned to her, crushing her to his chest. Her body stiffened. Instantly he shifted his body. moving his leg up and behind her and sitting with his back to the corner where the window met the wall of the seat, he pulled her up so her legs were drawn up onto the wooden seat between his legs. He wrapped both arms around her. Her face was against his school vest. She felt him breathing shallowly again, His hands tightening on her back. They were bars of stone leaden and heavy, locking her in place.
Her eyes were squeezed shut. What had happened? She tried to hold very still. Here it was again. That sound. That horrible sound was coming from his mouth. She was so glad she couldn't see him. Didn’t want to imagine the face that went with that sound. As she half lay there pressed against him. his body tense like a steel spring, she began to feel afraid.
What could she do? He had seemed, well not fine, but better for a few minutes there. Her mind was racing, she had to stop him from making that sound, it was piercing her to her core. What had she done to stop that sound? Why had it started again? When she started crying.   Mentally she shook herself. Fool. Stupid fool. Crying over some red headed, stupid git who obviously cared not a whit for her, at least the way she had thought she had begun to feel for him. Crying selfishly when she was supposed to be helping this unseen boy whose grief or feeling or fright or whatever shattered him.
Fine. He had stopped yowling before when she had patted his back like her mother did for her whenever she cried, she would do something else to reassure him that he was not alone, and that she was here to help. Still...as she assessed her position, she was presently crushed up against him, her hands flat on his chest, his legs pinioning her between them. What could she do. Patting seemed out of the question at the moment.
She reached up one hand up and uncomfortably, gingerly touched his face, her hand on his cheek and chin.
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His mother had not done that.
_____________________________
Once again he was stone. Fine. That was better than crazy boy. The sounds had stopped as well.
Feeling more confident with this little bit of success, she continued to touch his face, her fingers drawing up under his ears and down the lines of his cheek to his chin.
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His mother had definitely not done that.
Gone was his drawing room. Back was he in this neverending dark room where things kept getting weirder and weirder. It seemed like every time he began to get dragged into his head to drown in his memories this girl, this room maybe, brought him back, made him turn away from those thoughts.
Again the darkness was a blessing. He could not see this girl. He didn’t care who she was. As he sat there with her against him, the sound of the rain continuing just inches on the other side of the glass, her hand touching him, he began to wonder if she wasn’t some… thing…. not a real person, but a construct conjured by the room to help him, to help him forget.
As her fingers swept upwards, they brushed against his earlobe.
What? What? What?
Unbidden, goosebumps erupted all over.   His breath rushed suddenly out of him sharply.
===================
She heard him exhale and something about that sound..it was deep and strangely resonant, some thing beyond the realm of any of her previous experiences, that sound seemed to ricochet around inside her causing her to freeze and turn her face up at him and open her mouth in surprise.
Her body suddenly felt something...different.
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Her hand stopped, frozen on his face. He could tell she was looking up at him, he could smell her breath.. Suddenly he became aware of her. A girl. This girl. His hands on her, one on her shoulder, one lower on the small of her back, pressing. Her chest against him. He could definitely feel that. His leg against her leg,. She was wearing the school skirt and her legs were bare.
Her legs were bare.
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As she sat still against him, her mind unexpectedly in shambles as her body began to feel so oddly, she found her other senses compensating for the lack of sight. She could….smell him. It was...how to explain it….something dark and almost musky, some kind of smell that she could almost taste the air was so thick with it. She bit her lip and breathed it in deeply.
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Her legs were bare. Her chest was against him. His hand was on her back. Her hand was on his face.
He didn’t think. He brought his face down and touched his lips to hers.
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Fire.She was on fire
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Lava rushed through his body. His lips touched her this way, that way, his arms tightened around her, pressing her closer to him, he drew his legs up and tightened around her.
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She opened her mouth and his tongue found hers. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t do anything but kiss him, her tongue in his mouth. Nothing tasted better. Nothing. Her hand reached up around his head pressing him closer. She wanted him closer. Closer.
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He had to be closer. He couldn’t get close enough. He unfolded his legs, his mouth never leaving hers for an instant. She was making the most amazing noises, the smell, she smelled so good, she tasted so good. He pushed against her, pushed her back so she was laying down on the wood of the window seat and he followed her putting his hands behind her head, in her hair, turning her face, devouring her, wrapping his arms around her.
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She lay back, no conscious thought but for his tongue, his lips his hands. She twined her legs up and around his waist, pressing him closer, needed to be closer. Her skirt bunched up, twisted up and around her waist.
Felt him. Felt something dark and wonderful happen as she felt him hard, pressing so hard, his weight so heavy against her...it was almost painfully wonderful to the feel that thing so hard against her. Pushing on her, straining against her. Needing something. Needing something.
_____________________
When she squeezed him between her legs, pressing him to her center, he thought he almost blacked out from the pleasure of her. He began to move, to push against that wonderful wonderful feeling of being between her legs. No skirt. Just the tiniest bit of cloth between him and her.   His hands in her hair. Her mouth so wet so wet. Everywhere so wet. So good.
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Lightning flashed across the sky. Instantly for one brief second the room was illuminated.
========
Tongue in his mouth, ankles crossed around him, straining, pulling him into her. She opened her eyes.
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Almost over the edge, hand to her chest, the press of her heaving nipples rock solid against his palm. He opened his eyes.
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The instant was over. Darkness overtook the room. They were frozen. Their bodies halted that pounding rhythm. Hands froze.
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She closed her eyes. No.
---------------------------------
He closed his eyes. Never.
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She unpeeled her legs from around him.
-======================
He withdrew his tongue and closed his mouth.
=====================
Seconds passed. A slight minute.
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She felt his hand still on her breast. Felt her heart beating. Felt him still shoved hard against her throbbing like a pulse.
Felt it. Throbbing.
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He felt her nipple under his palm. Hard. Breathed in. Smelled her. Dark. Dark.
Wonderful.
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She closed her eyes. And very slowly wrapped one leg than the other back around his waist. He didn’t move. She felt him still rock hard and throbbing. She squeezed her legs together and could not hold back the sound of pleasure at the feeling of him between her legs. She began to rock slowly slowly against him.
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When her legs slipped around him and she pushed herself into him, his hand slowly, carefully slipped under her shirt, slipped beneath her bra and squeezed again and again. He closed the few inches between their faces and kissed gently, like a question.
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She opened her mouth and caught his, slipping her tongue in slowly and matching the rhythm of her tongue to the rhythm of her squeezes of him locked between her legs.
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He froze again. His hand coming to a stop. He pulled his mouth away from hers.
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Her legs fell back down again uncertain.
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He sat up on his knees. And slowly carefully. He unbuttoned his shirt. The buttons were slippery and he stumbled. He slipped it off and tossed it to the ground.
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She sat up and quietly, without a sound, cast a spell to reignite the candle. Instantly the room was once again aglow with flickering light, and although this light was barely more than a flame against the vast darkness. She could see him, his chest exposed. His platinum blonde hair. His piercing gray eyes never leaving her hazel ones. Again, the smell. The smell surrounding him was overwhelming.
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When the light returned his eyes never left hers. He watched as she sat up on her knees in front of him. She slowly began unbuttoning her shirt. Her fingers were quick and nimble. In a few seconds she had thrown her shirt to the floor and her bra joined in in less than that .
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She sat there breathing, exposed but not scared so overwhelmed by this heady, musky feeling. He reached out and touched her naked breast, first with one hand, caressing, than squeezing, than both hands, than his mouth was on hers again, his tongue in her mouth and his hands pulling and pushing on her breasts. Her breath sped up, she licked his lips. Her hands felt his cool shoulders and came down his back feeling his muscles, his mouth his hands.
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On his knees, he crushed her against him, marveling at the feel of her breasts against his chest. His dragged his hands through her hair, that hair. Seemed like all his life it was about that hair, and now he couldn’t stop touching it, pushing it off her face.   Taking her face in both his hands and kissing her, running his hands down her neck back to her breasts. He let one hand slip back behind her and under her skirt. He felt one cheek, so soft. He couldn’t help the sound from coming out of his mouth as he squeezed the cheek, and pulled her closer to him.
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She felt him sit back down on the window seat, drawing her onto his lap, one of her legs tucked on either side of him.   The light illuminated them, as they sat for mere seconds, not kissing, just looking at each other. He had felt her hair, and now she wanted to feel his. That silvery hair that had always meant danger and trouble. What did it feel like. She reached up with both hands and pushed it back off his face, slowly, wondering at how soft it was. She saw his eyes close for an instant then open suddenly, his pupils large and black.
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Wrong, wrong. This was utterly wrong.
She shouldn’t ever be allowed to touch him, to contaminate him. But her fingers in his hair...no one in his life had ever touched him that way.
He licked her neck, kissed up and down it, bit it and began to suck her skin, sweet and salty.
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As he kissed her neck, strange pulses began reverberating within her, it felt so painful, so wonderful, so amazing. She began to rock her hips slowly, but with pressure, pushing down hard onto his hardness. The feeling of his pants rubbing the inside of her bare thighs, the feel of his hardness pressing again and again through the thinnest of fabric. She couldn’t stop. She should stop. She couldn’t. Didn’t want to.
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His hands came down to her waist and began to rock her hips faster. and he pushed his mouth to her ear to her chin, Her bare torso, her breasts bare and heaving against him, could feel her nipples against his own bare chest. Wonderful, Wonderful.
Her hips moved faster and faster and she was making more noises needing between panting breaths.
===--
Faster and faster her hips rocked. Feeling amazing, feeling wonderful, dark terrible wonderful.
She pressed harder and harder, the feeling of him against her pushing, his hands his mouth…
suddenly the world was eclipsed. Her back arched, pushing her chest up and out, her mouth open, her fingers opening and closing on his back.
=============
He never thought he would hear that sound. The sound of it was exquisite.   The feel of her trembling with something powerful and electric on his lap. Her hair brushing his knees.
It seemed like forever frozen in that moment, he could feel himself building and building.
Then, her hips still making little thrusts, the feel of her soaking onto him, she leaned her head to his, put her lips to his ears, gasped the first word spoken and heard in that dark silent room
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She said his name, an acknowledgement, a spell all it’s own, barely a whisper
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Draco
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Her legs convulsing around him, her wet center, her breasts, her hair, her lips, his name on her lips, It was like his body split into a million peices.
oblivion
- 1
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A Dark Room