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Arbitrary Alignment	By : Sumhope Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 25893 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 11
- 12
Aflame

Sometimes it's like someone took a knife baby

Edgy and dull and cut a six-inch valley

Through the middle of my soul

At night I wake up with the sheets soaking wet

And a freight train running through the middle of my head

Only you can cool my desire

Im on fire

-Bruce Springsteen

Last Time:

"You understand nothing." His voice is fierce and determined. "Your beneath me. Your crude and dirty and filthy and everything that I was taught to hate. Your a Mudblood!"

She recoils at the hateful words and when he advances on her she takes a step back for every step he takes forward.

"I hate you because your blood runs muddy in your veins. I hate you because your not supposed to exist. Your an anomaly, the exception to the rule. And I hate that you use magic just as freely and easily as me. But most of all I hate you because you made me want you. You made me want something that is beneath me, something that I was taught all my life that is crude and filthy, a Mudblood"

She doesn't understand. Want her?

"Only your not, they lied to me, your not any of those things. You bleed just as red as I do. And I've always known that but I refused to believe it because it would change everything. It would make everything I am, my whole world, wrong. It would mean that I'm not any more special or higher evolved than you. I didn't want to have to change how I felt, or even be forced to come face to face with the fact that I have changed how I feel. But I couldn't ignore that everything had changed because you were always there to remind me. You were always there with you frizzy hair and know-it-all ways and muddy blood to make me see that you were just as good, even better than me; and I hate you for that." He repeats hopelessly..."I hate you." But there is no anger in his voice or any real heat in the words.

Her back is against the wall now and his face is inches away from hers and she can feel his breath wash over her face with each word. His eyes flutter close at the last words and when they open again she is suddenly and inexplicably afraid.

Then he does something unimaginable.

He reaches out and grabs her by the arms and presses her back into the wall and then...

...then he is kissing her.

She had been kissed before.

Only months ago, mere days before the attack on her parents, her and Ron had finally tried out a physical relationship. It had been something she had always wanted, something she thought was destined. What she found was that it felt all wrong. Like kissing her brother.

Her methodical mind analyzed continually thought his kisses instead of being silenced by passion. His mouth was dry, his tongue too wet. It was a disaster and they both knew it. So they had made their way back to being friends.

Before Ron there had been Victor.

Victor, contrary to his Quidditch nature, was so gentle with her. Almost as if he was afraid that his big hands would tear her apart. He was always so careful, his touch feather light and gentle. She had missed any real spark and after the disaster of the night at the ball with Ron she had broke things off with Victor resolving that they were best as friends... and friends they had remained.

Malfoy's kiss was nothing like the other kisses she had received. His lips are demanding and hard and deliciously chapped and rough against hers. She feels breathless and lightheaded, as if her head would pop of her body and go floating up and away.

His lips are angry and desperate and she gasps under the force of them. He takes advantage of this, his tongue sliding effortlessly in between her lips.

She should pull away and slap him across the face just like she did third year but his tongue was like wet velvet stroking a rhythmic dance, the taste so intricate and uniquely him that she couldn't get enough.

His hands are buried in her hair and his strong fingers pull her head back against the wall. The bump on the back of her head from the last time they had 'talked' presses against the wall and she gasps under the weight of the pain as stars explode over her vision.

She feels everything he had just been trying to tell her in the kiss. But still... her mind whirled-always working... it just didn't make sense.

She pulled back, pushing him off her with effort. "Malfoy wait...stop. What's going on? Why are you kissing me?

He flinches at the word but reaches for her, whining in a voice that he probably thinks is sexy- and damn him isn't it just that, "What does it matter- just accept it Granger."

Now that they have both acknowledged the attraction that has blossomed between them it coils, readily expanding to fill ever corner of the small compartment. She feels the physical need to touch him. To let him reach for her.

But there is that itching nagging feeling in the back of her head that says- don't be a fool Hermione, he's playing you. She takes a step to the side avoiding his grasp, demanding to know what the hell is going on?

He frowns at her. "Don't do that," he said, "don't start thinking and analyzing this."

Now it is her turn to frown. "You know I can't ignore this."

He leans in again, he voice deep with something full of longing, "Then don't think- just feel," and then he is kissing her again and she is helpless to stop him.

Her mumbled protest is lost, muffled under the force of his kiss and he takes advantage of her parted mouth sliding his tongue past her lips.

His hands slid from her waist around to her front and she freezes at his boldness, uncertain whether she should flee or give in.

But while her brain is frozen in panic mode her body is relaxing into his hands, each touch stoking a fire that clouds all reason. Once he feels her relaxes his lips soften, his kisses gentling, nipping playfully along the reddened swell of her bottom lip.

Without knowing when or how he did it so quickly- practice she supposes, Malfoy has her shirt unbuttoned and off and he has reached around, unclasping her bra swiftly and precisely. Before she can remember to protest his warm hands have enveloped her, cupping.

She gasps, arching into his palms before she can remember to be embarrassed.

He's left her lips to nibble at her neck, his demanding fingers playing her skillfully. Her gasps fill up the small compartment. She tries to clear her head as he arches away and pulls his own shirt over and off, but it is no good.

When he presses into her again his chest is bare and she can't help but arch into the sheer heat of him.

She always had thought of Malfoy as skinny. Lanky. Especially with the swarthy brawn of his minions Crabbe and Goyle standing beside him. But he still seem all vertical height even beside Ron, who had filled out quite nicely and Harry who, although shorter than Malfoy, was of a stockier solider build.

She had, she admitted to herself, thought his face far too pretty for one so nasty, and perhaps even admired the long lean lines when he rode his broom; although she would die before she would ever admit that Quidditch was the least bit interesting. She had just never thought of Malfoy as a boy with muscles.

And muscles he had.

Long lean corded muscles that jerk underneath his skin, rippling like disturbed water. Corded muscles that her fingers itch to touch.

He breathes heavily, a sheen of sweat misting his skin.

His knee parts her thighs and his body presses closely against hers and she aches to move just so on his leg, to ride his thigh until the building pressure is gone.

She can even feel the tremendous heat of his skin through his trousers and her clothing to where her own core throbs. The warm tension of an orgasm blossoms, building quickly, the relief she craves just beyond reach.

Everything seems like its happening so fast even though the desperate harshness had leeched away, his touch leisurely and lingering.

This is all so much of a surprise. But then there had been hints of it, those strange looks he had been giving her, and what she had seen in the shower. But still she had never thought that this would ever happen.

She wouldn't lie to herself. There had been times at Hogwarts when she had looked at him and imagined him as just any other young man.

Imagined what it would be like if they were both muggles without the issue of blood between them. She had seen moments when he was in a group of Slytherins and he laughed with his friends in this unguarded happy joyful kind of way and she had wondered what it would be like to see one of those smiles meant for her.

She was immensely grateful for what he had done, how he had tried to save her family. How he had saved her. She was more grateful than she knew how to say.

But if she was being honest with herself that wasn't what this was. It was far more than gratitude. It was for reasons that she couldn't quite bring herself to acknowledge.

Lying in her dorm bed surrounded only by the dark she had used to imagine what it would be like to have Draco, not Malfoy, but Draco under her hands, in her bed, at her mercy. Of course such a thing was ludicrous. It was its very unbelievability of the fantasy that made it feel so safe. Malfoy would never voluntarily touch her. At least thats what she had always believed.

Only now he was, his hands like brands against her, searing her, marking her as his own. She is conscious of his mark, a dark swirling of energy against the whiteness of his marble skin. There are the faded Sectumsempra scars won from Harry long ago, and the newer pinkish scars from Greyback's attack.

She is scarred herself.

Three triangle shaped scars on her side from where splintered ribs ripped through her chest and an uglier splotchy mark from the metal tipped boots of Dolohov.

She is thankful then for the smog smudged windows and the dim light. For one mournful moment she can't help thinking that they were all marked, no matter what side; the war damaged them all.

He presses her back onto the padded bench, his arms shaking, locked on either side of her, the wet sweat soaked fringe of his hanging in his eyes. He is all sharp angles and kinetic energy and an angry kind of heat that rolls off him. The increasing levels of heat rolling off him was nearing uncomfortable and there was a nagging feeling prickling the back of her neck.

Something was wrong.

Reaching up she gasped as her fingers brushed against the pale expanse of his chest, encountering the scorching burning flesh. Concerned she reaches for his forehead pushing his sweat soaked fringe to the side, gasping at the sight of his eyes. They are glazed and dark, the pupils contracted to the smallest pinprick despite the dark lighting inside the train compartment.

"Malfoy?"

He shudders underneath her tentative touch.

"Are you okay? My god Malfoy your burning up!"

"I'm fine" he says, his voice hoarse but dismissive.

"Are you sure? You don't look so great."

His only reply is to turn his head into her hand, nuzzling at her palm and taking one of her fingers into the wicked heat of his mouth.

He lets her finger go with a pop and she trails her hand down the coiled lean muscles that jump tighten underneath her touch to rest lightly over the very visible bulge of his desire. He groans softly, face buried against her neck. She can feel each soft exhale as he whispers wickedly against her pulse, "I've never been better."

Then his head lowers, his breathe hot against her skin and his mouth envelopes, nipping, licking, kissing his way down the length of her. He is sweating freely now, the stinging wetness heating her skin to a fever pitch.

She is completely unresisting underneath him as he strokes her to a renewed state of arousal. Her fingers fumble along the catch of his pants suddenly desperate to feel him fill her up. He fills her hand a solid heat that floods her with warmth and need.

Then it is her turn to wring gasps and moans from his lips as her hands tighten around him in a motion that seems as natural as breathing.

There is something powerful, Hermione decides, something powerful and flattering about being able to have such a overwhelming effect on someone.

In the end it was her that guided him to her and fitted him just so. He surges up against her and for a long uncomfortable moment she is uncertain as she adjusts around him. There is no pain, a certain uncomfortableness at the stretching filling sensation, but no pain.

His tenses above, straining, his arms trembling columns on either side of her. He stays frozen, his lips pressed bone white. She waits for him to move and then realizes he is waiting for her. She lifts her hips tentatively and he groans straining against her.

And then it is like a damn breaks inside him and he is moving fast against her.

His thrusts are jerky and shallow, his hands grasping and hard leaving what she knew would be bruises behind. But she found that she didn't care because her own nails were tearing into his back and all that mattered was that he keep moving so that the delicious friction didn't stop.

Everything is happening so fast.

She only had time to react to each new sensation before the next drove her to distraction.

She came suddenly and fiercely, everything going black for a frightening moment as her body shuddered, clamping down around Malfoy which in turn sent him over the edge with her. Ripples of pleasure were still rocking her frame as he collapsed against her, the sound of her name off his lips echoing in her ears.

It was fast and wild and she was scared by the intensity of it.

Sated and still tangled up in each other, she found the weight of his arm across her stomach and his breath against her neck almost natural. As if everything was right where is should be in the world.

She would later chalk it up to post-coital insanity but she was so relaxed and content and she felt so close to him in that moment that the question slipped out before she knew it.

"Are you scared?"

She feels his fingertips drawing patterns on her skin. He is quiet for a long while and she thinks at first that he will not answer.

"I need to go back", he says and her eyes widen in shock and she stiffens in his arms. Outrage bubbles on her tongue.

"I don't know if..." he hesitates for a long while and she thinks he isn't going to finish but then, "...if my mothers alright. I'm scared for her."

She feels guilty for earlier and also awe at how open Malfoy is being with her.

"I just... I just need to be there. Its my job to protect her."

Her heart hurts at the amount of naked pain in his voice and in a moment of complete insanity she cradles him to her and promises that she will help him search for his mother.

He looks at her in disbelief and wonder and says so quietly she almost misses it, "You always surprise me. You've driven me crazy since third year and I can't make up my mind if I want to argue with you or kiss you"

Her mind whirls with this new information. Since third year? That was... well that was a long time. It was big. She didn't know how she felt about it.

His fingers play along her skin lingering on the scabs where his claws tore through the delicate skin of her shoulder.

"I hate that I hurt you."

She looks at him in surprise at the strength of regret and near anguish in his voice and she reaches for his fingers, bringing them to her lips and pressing small kisses against their length.

His answering smile is so grateful and open and seems so foreign on a face she thought would only ever snarl and sneer at her. He is looking at her with a tender kind of disbelief. She lets him kiss her deeply, her eyes growing heavy as exhaustion catches up with her.

And despite the sheer lunacy of what had just happened she was the first to fall asleep.

The sun is warm heating her skin and she twirls round and round, the colorful material of her skirt whirling in an arch around her.

She has been laughing so hard her jaw aches. A smile lingers on her face and grows wider as she sees him across the yard standing beneath the old citrus tree she used to play in as a girl.

His back is to her and she runs across the grass calling his name.

In the months on the run together they had grown closer, the intimate moment in the train repeated in small bed and breakfast's and cheap motels throughout the country. She thought it would end after they got Narcissa out and she joined them on the run but instead, almost defiantly, Malfoy made it perfectly clear that they were together. Narcissa took it better than she expected.

The war had ended sometime during a sunday in the early morning. They were traveling, the small train compartments becoming more of a home than transportation. She was told that it was bloody and violent, as all final battles are. They returned to the Wizzarding world straight-away.

Harry looked like the youth had been sucked out of him. His eyes as old as Dumbledore's and streaks of grey blooming at his temples to mar that perfect dark head of his. He barely listened when she told him about her and Malfoy for the first time. He only kept his eyes fixed on Ginny across the room, as if without her he would fall to pieces.

Ron surprised them all. Instead of a violent outburst and demands to "duel to the death" he had taken the news all very calmly. "He makes you happy" he had said later when she asked. "If he can make you laugh after all of this... I wish you both the best Mione."

And that had been it. Just like that the world was theirs again. And after so long on the run it felt good to stay in one place and put down roots.

Malfoy, Narcissa, and herself had moved into her parents modest house, now her own. Neither her nor Malfoy wanted to live in the cold empty halls of Malfoy Manor and, while Narcissa adamantly protested otherwise, she just knew she felt the same. A suspicion confirmed when she found Narcissa humming to herself in the modest garden her mother had once lovingly tended one day.

And life had been pleasant, happy, blissful. She couldn't believe it. She really couldn't. She can't help thinking that it will all disappear, that Malfoy will wake up one day and wonder why the hell he's with her. She's was scared he would leave her.

Some part of her, she knew, felt like she didn't deserve to be happy. Why was she alive when so many other better people were dead. It haunted her like all demons do, just like Malfoy's did. But over the years it had gotten easier. It made it easier to breathe when she woke up each morning to his face and fell asleep to the rhythm of his heartbeat. Every time he made love to her as if it was the first, every time he smiled that special little smile at her; somewhere between a sneer and a grin. Every time he held their daughter in his arms. Her heart felt so full it ached.

Being happy got easier.

The grass is cool and prickling against her bare feet, tickling her toes. She reaches the orange tree, speckles of sunlight playing across her skin through the shadow of its canopy.

She reaches out to touch his tweed clothed shoulder smiling at his affinity for muggle preppy blazers.

He whirls around before she can his eyes blank and unseeing, looking straight through her.

"Malfoy?"

She reaches out tentatively toward his shoulder. He jerks away from her before she can touch him snarling wildly at her. Frightened at the sudden shift, the animalistic growl that leaves his lips, she steps back uncertain and for the first time afraid.

"What's wrong! Are you ok?"

An twisted snarl distorts his features and she tries again, this time wary instead of joyful.

"Malfoy?... its me- Hermione."

His snarl turns savage and a glimmer of recognition sparkles in his dull eyes.

"Mudblood."

That word said so matter-a-factly knocks the breath out of her. It hurts.

"Malfoy... I thought... after..."

"After what?" His gaze is now direct, his expression cruel and cold. "You mean nothing to me. Filthy, dirty Mudblood!"

He pushes by her, his shoulder knocking her onto the ground. Knocking the breath from her.

Her fingers convulse, clenching, crushing the blades of grass, their sour scent filling the air. Her nails dig down further, down into the soil. She stares stunned and in shock at her dirty hands smeared with wet dirt.

Her eyes burn with unshed tears.

Hermione woke up.

Jerking upright, her heart beating wildly.

She had dreamed vividly but as sleep drains from her so does the dream, leaving vague shadows and shapes behind. She shudders under the last lingering feelings of dread pushing the disturbing dream from her mind.

Malfoy was still beside her, sprawled out on his stomach, his face turned away so that all she could see was the white blonde of his hair. His side where it was pressed against her was uncomfortably hot, his arm heavy across her and she moved it off her with difficulty.

"Malfoy?" she yawned sleepily, running her hand with difficulty through her tangled hair. "Malfoy get up, our trains gonna arrive soon."

She dressed slowly, her limbs stiff and still asleep from the hard surface of the seat.

"Malfoy?" when he didn't respond she turned around calling his name again and growing more annoyed as he lay perfectly still.

"Malfoy? Malfoy answer me?" climbing back onto the seat she reached across him and pushed back his fringe, gasping in shock as she caught her first glimpse of his eyes. Unseeing and glazed he stared past her.

"Common Malfoy this isn't funny okay..." she pleaded frightened by the lack of reaction from him. As she watched horrified his eyes roll back in his head and with a small exhale he is deathly still.

"No! Malfoy? Malfoy!..." she is screaming his name, shaking him back and forth, his head lolling to the side on a limp neck.

"MALFOY!" she is near tears now, desperate and all to aware that they are alone, completely isolated from anyone who could help.

With a jolt and a gasp his eyes roll back down and he jerks back awake in her arms.

"Malfoy? Malfoy! Stay with me okay, don't ... Malfoy!"

He pushes away her concerned hands, swinging his feet off the edge of the bench and lurching to his feet unsteadily.

"Oh god Malfoy... I was so scared."

He smiles at her, swaying on his feet and slurring says, "Sssits okay Mione. I'm fineee."

She embraces him and he relaxes against her. She stands there for a moment heart racing at what had just occurred as his weight leans heavenly against her.

All of a sudden she feels his fingers twisting in her hair and she stiffens as his head turns and he promptly buries his face into her hair.

"mmmm... preettyy" his muffled voice reaches her "...like a halo..."

He is stroking the frizzy curls now and she doesn't know if she should be concerned or outraged that he's treating her like she's Crookshanks.

"Malfoy? Malfoy let go ...ok." She tugs gently at his constricting hands, "Let's sit down. You don't look so good."

His hands suddenly become hard, grasping her hair and yanking back savagely. She stares at his livid face in shock at his sudden mood change.

"Don't tell me what to do" he snarls at her and she cowers as far back in his arms as she can suddenly wary of this new Malfoy.

Then the anger on his face melts to glee and he grins openly at her as her mouth drops open at his bizarre behavior only to snap shut in outrage at what he says next.

"Your my Mudblood" he says smugly.

She sputters in outrage. "Your what...!"

"Lucius said I could have you. You could be my first." His voice is dreamy, his eyes staring eerily at something only he can see.

She shifts uncomfortably in his grasp, the beginnings of dread stirring in the base of her spine. Its like he is possessed.

She doesn't want to ask but she can't help it.

"Your first what Malfoy?"

He leans in leering and she cringes back more afraid of him than she could ever remember. He wets his lips staring intently at hers. His lips are only a fraction away from her own. She is captivated by his closeness and the thought of what those lips can do.

He whispers slowly, seductively into her lips "Your going to be my first kill."

He is kissing her before she can stiffen in shock.

His mouth is hard and bruising against hers and she can't breathe. She cries out in pain, fear beginning to overwhelm as his hands only become all the more tight around her as she struggles against him. His tongue invades her mouth swallowing her cries as his hands twist painfully in her head, holding her head prisoner.

Tears cloud her eyes as his teeth bit down hard on the same lip only hours earlier his lips had soothed and caressed.

His hands wrap around her neck and squeeze.

She stares up at him with the stunned knowledge that he really is going to kill her. She claws uselessly at his arms, her struggles growing weaker as her air deprived lungs spasm violently in her chest and her vision starts to go grey.

He lets her go suddenly.

She coughs shallowly, sucking in air violently. She tongues her bleeding lip and stares up at him fearfully. But the look on his face is of horror as he sways unsteadily on his feet.

"I'm sorry. I don't know what happened." His voice is tearful, his eyes flooding with tears, his face grey except for the rudy flush of his cheeks. She stares up at him in disbelief all the more confused by his erratic behavior.

He is shaking his head back and forth a look of absolute misery stark on his face. She sits hesitantly beside him, warily patting his back. He shudders deeply taking little shaky breaths.

She soothes him but his whimpers just grow more pitiful and he begins to cry harder.

"I'm sorry... I- I didn't mean to... I'm sorry d-dddaddy."

"Malfoy?"

He flinches as if he was struck and his eyes a fearfully dart toward her and through her.

Thats when she realize he is in the grips of the fever and isn't himself. Urgency and fear fills her and she wonders if it the last weeks, if it was all for nothing, if he will end up dying anyways.

She helps him dress, pulling his shirt over bandages pinkened, his wounds reopened. He is getting worse, his eyes starting to waver and unfocus.

They switch trains, using the rest of her money. Malfoy sits across from her stiffly. His movements seemed jerky, uncoordinated, each motion looked like it was taking a phenomenal amount of concentration and effort.

She talked to him, hoping to keep him awake. She told him about those first few months with Harry and Ron and her. Those months when they searched for horocruxes and she felt like the end was right around the corner. She told him about her and Ron, about their failed relationship. She expected some kind of taunt from him but instead he seemed hardly coherent to his surroundings.

He slumps against the wall, shivering, burning up. She doubted he had heard any of what she said. She told him that he was going to be okay anyways.

He was near comatose, and she spent the remainder of the trip watching closely to make sure he was still breathing. The worry gnawing at her.

The sun is just beginning to peak as they reach East London. Malfoy wakes with difficulty and she stumbles under his weight as he leans heavily against her as they walk along the quiet street.

As they come to the rather grand and imposing front entrance of the house she swallows back trepidation then reaches boldly for the horned bull knocker and lets it drop once, twice, three times against the door.

Beside her Malfoy pants shallowly, his body beginning to shake.

She can only hope that she is right to come here.

She can't imagine anyone else to turn to.
- 11
- 12
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