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Squirm	By : Alcoholic_Rootbeer Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 28992 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, and will not make a profit from this story.

Chapter List
- 19
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- 21
Overjoyed to announce... Squirm won 1st place for "Best WIP" (work in progress) in the 2017 Winter Dramione Awards!
Thank you to everyone who voted. :) I couldn't be happier. A lot of wonderful things have happened to me as of late because of fanfiction, and I couldn't have gotten to this point without all of you.
Just a reminder, there is a Spotify playlist for Squirm by
SaintDionysus! It gives me the chills. If you'd like a link, PM me!
Sunlight peeks from the bottom of my curtains as daylight breaks over the horizon. Hermione sleeps soundlessly between my covers, tucked away as if she's always slept here. I've been watching her from the edge of my bed, phone still tucked tight in my hand, for some time now. I can't decide if I'm upset, or furious, or perhaps a combination of the two. For the past two hours, I've been attempting to decipher this text which leaves my mind flummoxed to no avail.
Only one thing continuously plays inside my head on a loop: She's still talking to him.
Why would she? She's made it perfectly clear to me, on multiple occasions, her and Weasley do not see eye-to-eye on most things, and me especially. What reason could she possibly have to… and at such a late…
What was it she's to have found? Why must she be careful? Does he know? About everything? About my condition?
Don't be naive. Hermione wouldn't dare share that type of information if she knows what was good for her. And I assume she does, considering the way she screamed my name last night. Her writhing underneath me while I was buried deep inside…
That wasn't you. That doesn't belong to you.
Shut up. Shut up, shut up, shut up! This bleeding heart inside of me needs to sit down, shut the fuck up, and realize what's good for him. It isn't some sexually stimulating bint, albeit the sex has me craving her affections this morning, despite what I've discovered in this 'text message.' A good morning pounding inside that sweet pussy seems in order.
You get your mitts off her!
I pause, considering this contradicting voice inside my head. I've had conversations with myself, sure; everyone has. But this… this feels…
"Mmm… morning, sleepy head."
My head jerks as I'm startled out of my thoughts, and I catch Hermione peering at me, eyes half-open in comfortable awareness. Her hair is a tousled mess, and the blanket barely covers her tantalizing form.
"Morning," I reply, lacing my voice with seductive undertones to cast off suspicions of my deceit. While I'm all for carving up humans on the table in my basement, I don't do it without cause. I'm paranoid, delusional, cursed, but I know to wait out problematic situations and use them to my advantage. Carefully, I tuck the phone underneath the comforter behind my back and then crawl up the bed to pin her arms beside her head. As I straddle her waist, I lay claim to her lips in a sultry kiss that I know will have her eating from the palm of my hand.
'You catch more lacewing flies with honey than vinegar,' my mother would say. And at the moment, I'm a spider, spinning my web, biding my time until events unfold before me. Still, my anger can't be fully contained, and my fingers dig into her wrists, causing her to gasp against my lips.
"Draco, you're hurting…" she pulls her face away and stares into my eyes. Really stares in them. Her face contorts to one of almost irritability, and her head leans back against the pillow. "Oh. It's you."
"Who else would I be?" I ask, perching an eyebrow.
"I think we both know the answer to that," she whispers, a challenge in her tone as her eyebrows pull together. "I know he's in there. You think you have him buried, but you don't."
"Hermione," I start, "I'm me."
There's a pause.
"Of course you are." She bites on her lower lip and turns her head to the side, staring off at nothing in particular. "Forget I've said anything."
"It's difficult to forget when someone accuses you of not being yourself," I leer, tucking my face into the crook of her neck to inhale her scent. My fingers dig deeper into her skin, sure to leave impressions of my nails. I hear her sigh, watch as she scrunches her face in pain, but she refuses to give me the satisfaction of commenting on it. It then occurs to me, "When you say him... you aren't referring to the spirit, are you?"
"No."
I smirk. "Oh… someone enjoyed her special treatment last night." A string of amused laughter follows, and I lick the shell of her ear. "Well, don't go getting used to it. It was a moment of weakness, nothing more."
Her head jerks back around, and we stare at each other, nose to nose. "I told you: you weren't to take advantage of me anymore. I meant that. Get off me."
"I don't like be told what to do, especially but such a fragile-"
"I'm anything but that," she says, her eyes cold and formidable. "Release me. Now."
"And if I refuse?" I taunt, purposefully pushing my weight onto her. Hermione thrashes beneath me, legs kicking and back arching, but it's no use. I'm much stronger than her. Physics are physics. I relish the feel of her squirming beneath me, this time in a new, fearful way. Yes, last night was enjoyable, but the struggle is so… primal. It stirs a need for control within my chest, and I lean down, catching the left side of her neck with my teeth and clamping down. Hard.
Hermione's body goes still beneath mine as she gasps, her voice rising higher and higher as I add more pressure.
"Ah!" she cries out, as motionless as a pond's surface frozen in Winter. "D-Damn it… please…"
I tug on the sweet flesh, bruising it before releasing and bringing my gaze to hers once again. Hermione pants in shallow gasps, eyes red with tears she's refused to let go. With a haughty smirk still painted across my face, I lean up and release her, running my fingers up her arms, her shoulders, down her sides to rest against her pelvic bones. My weight still pins her legs to the bed while I lick my lower lip and tell her, "I'm sorry, Hermione. But you left me no choice. I can't have you thinking you're in control."
A single tear slips down the side of her face as she says, "And you think you're in control? Right now?" Her voice grows louder. "How can you possibly think that when you aren't even in control of yourself!"
"Hey!" I yell back, glaring harshly into those kind, almond orbs. "Don't presume to know me, mudblo-!"
SWAT!
The slap echoes inside my darkened bedroom, and my cheek burns hot.
Hermione leans upright, a mixture of surprise and conviction in her voice as she whispers, "You will never call me that word again, Draco. Do you hear me? I don't care what that Dybbuk-" I clamp my hands over my ears and shout incoherently as she continues, "says! You're better than that, do you hear me?"
My nostrils flare as I suck breath after intoxicating breath, trying to alleviate the throbbing in my head. She said the word purposefully this time, and it makes all the difference. My entire body is wracked in pain, but it all stems from my temples, bleeding out to all of the nerve endings. It's enough to make me collapse to the side of the her, white dots lining my vision. I close my eyes in an attempt to rid myself of them, and vertigo sets in.
"I'm sorry," she whispers, setting a soothing hand on my shoulder to turn me over. Before I know what's happened, I find my head rested in her lap, her hands smoothing down my cheeks in gentle strokes. "I didn't know how else to snap you out of it."
I can't find the words to answer, so I lay still in her lap, teeth clenched and nerves on the fritz.
"I'm going home, now. Get dressed. Meet me at the Ministry in one hour in the front lobby. I thought we were making progress, but…" Hermione smoothes my hair from my forehead, and my eyes find the will to re-open, finding her not with a glare, but with a smile instead. "Bring your journal. It's vital that you do."
Hermione leans down, kisses my forehead, and pries herself out from under me. I'm in such a daze, I can only watch her dress in silence, too far gone to make some quip or reprimand her for her actions. My heartbeat begins to decelerate around the time she pats her pajama pockets and turns her head inquisitively to me.
"Have you seen my…?"
Her eyes follow mine as I sit up, to the spot where I tucked it before. There's no denying it now. She reaches down, moves the covers and finds her phone. I expect her face to flare in red, and I narrow my eyes, ready for another round of the word when she gives a slight huff.
"It's dead."
I find the courage to speak again, glazing over the fact she's pushed me to my limits on how much I will stand to take from her. "How can a plastic object be 'dead'?"
"It's a figure of speech. I need to recharge it to power it up again." Her eyes meet mine. "Are we good?"
No. No, we are not good. We are far from it. "Of course," I lie, because I haven't decided how I want to make her suffer. Besides, there's a small hint of something within me that is glad she has the means to stop me should I go too… can I go too far? Really? Have I reached that point? What's gotten into me? It better not be that damn conscience again. I won't stand for it. I'll strip it apart like bloody tendons if I have to.
"I swore this was in my pocket last night," she says, hinting.
"Must have fallen out when we…" I bite down on my tongue, because the words 'made love' just aren't in my vocal vocabulary.
"Ministry. One hour."
"Hmph." I give a curt nod and watch as she touches her neck, wincing. There's a strange pang of guilt in my heart, but I won't comment on it.
"Alright." She backs herself to the door, never once tuning her back on me. Probably for the best. My predatory senses are tingling, begging to snatch her up like a snitch. She reaches behind her, fumbles the doorknob, and smiles faintly. "And Draco?"
"Hmm?" I grumble.
"... You're my… my everything, too."
Am I falling? When did I my bed turn into an abysmally black hole? Why do I feel stretched out like a leather strip to make a drum? Boom, boom. Loud, soft. The drum is my heart, and it beats frantically for Hermione Granger.
My palms sweat as I step out of the floo into the Ministry of Magic. My journal is tucked inside of my robes, but I keep patting it every so often since I've placed it there, paranoid it might fall out and spill my secrets to the world.
After a cold shower and a bite to eat, I've had some time to think on what happened in my bedroom one hour ago.
If Hermione Granger can still find the want to kiss me after I nearly took her against her will in my bed, I can find the want to hear out what she has to say on the subject of this Dyb….Dybbuk. Still, I'm frantic with mistrust, because stepping one foot in the Ministry after my ill wills goes against every fiber of my instincts.
Trust her.
If she betrays me, I see no reason not to put her on my list.
She said I was her everything…
Probably trite horse shite to keep me coming back for more… though it is working.
An arm slips around mine, and Hermione leans her cheek against my shoulder. "Are you ready?"
"Where are we going?" I ask with an uneasy edge.
"There's something I think will help narrow down your Dyb… your passenger's motives."
"Here? In the Ministry?" My legs quiver. I don't want to go any further.
"You can trust me, Draco."
"How?"
"I can't tell you yet."
"If this is some sort of trap…" I begin, and she steps in front of me, a hand on my chest.
"You think I would do that? You honestly think I would?" Her eyes look hurt, her expression worn.
"I…"
She takes my hand and leaves her fingers with mine. "Let's get you a visitor's badge. It'll all make sense soon." Together, we make our way to the front counter. Hermione throws her Ministry badge around, along with about five different colored parchment forms, and then the secretary, after carefully scrutinizing over every one, hands me a visitor badge of my own. We step to the lifts next.
"What floor?" I ask. We are the only ones inside as the doors close.
"Level nine," she answers, pressing the button.
Shame. I enjoy pressing the buttons.
"Nine… the Department of Mysteries." Our eyes catch. "What aren't you telling me?" I press myself up against her from behind, resting my nose against the side of her neck. The elevator begins its slow decent down and sideways. It gives me the opportunity to curl my arm around her stomach and kiss tentatively along her glamoured throat, where my bruising lays beneath. An apology of sorts. Also, I just like to lay claim to what's mine when I can, and she's most certainly mine.
"You remember my promotion, yes?" she asks, her eyes closing at my ministrations, my tongue darting out to swipe at her pulse point. I give a noncommittal sound as response, so she continues, "It doesn't just involve the S.P.E.W." My teeth nibble her ear, causing her to sigh. "I work part-time with the Unspeakables as well."
My fingers splay against her abdomen. "Have you told anyone about our little secret?" I ask, thinking of Weasley in particular.
"I've told no one," she replies, tensing in my arms. "I forged a few entries on the forms to get you into Department Nine, saying it has to do with research involving cooperation with your company."
"Perfidious claims on official forms," I tease, my hand sliding down to press against her covered sex, only separated by another pencil skirt. "How very Slytherin."
The ding of the lift causes my hand to still, and, as the doors spring open, I release her and smirk. I don't need to see her face to tell she's flushed with arousal. One only need see her press her thighs together as she fans her face. Straightening out her posture, she steps out of the lift, and I follow closely behind her.
"Where to?" I ask.
Hermione bites her lip (such an alluring habit) and says, "What do you know about an enigmatic structure called The Veil?"
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