Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

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
- 20
- 21
- 22
A lot of you have been asking when the first chapter comes into play. Soon. I can say that with confidence. In the meantime, let's get some answers. The next chapter should be updated Friday, so you won't have to wait too long.
~A.

Dear ANON who wrote: They made love? He fucked her doggy style........
My reply: Do you think making love means missionary? Making love is an emotional endeavor. It's about losing yourself in someone else. Doesn't matter what 'position'-- also, it's not called Doggy-Style. It's called the 'bum-bum-booty or jockey' according to cosmo. Don't get me wrong --Doggy Style is totes a position. But not what they did.
The Veil. I can't say I've heard of it, but the sound of the words from Hermione's tongue sends my stomach into a whirlwind. My intestines ache like they've been shoved inside a blending spell and left on the highest setting. A cold sweat breaks out across my forehead, and my heart palpitates in quick succession.
Hermione notices my distress, and, to my amazement, a smile forms on her pretty lips. "We're getting somewhere."
"What the actual fuck does that mean?" I sneer as the elevator door dings shut, solidifying my nerve to stay on this godforsaken floor and not dash away like my instincts scream at me from the inside.
"All will be explained, Draco. Looks like you're just going to have to trust me." Her hand extends, and she takes my hand, walking backward as she does to guide me into a grand hall with doors encompassing all sides. Black, marble flooring reflects my face back at me as I struggle for breath. I glance up at the ceiling to find it missing -just an empty pit of blackness up above that travels up for miles on end. Not noticing Hermione's stopped, I nearly run smack dab into her when we pause directly in the center of the room.
"Why have we stopped?" I whisper.
"What we're about to do breaks nearly fifty Ministry regulations and is highly dangerous," she replies, concern in her tone, as if she speaks more to herself than me. "I need to know you're all in."
"I wouldn't be here if I-"
"-I need to hear you say it," she insists, eyes snapping onto mine and holding her own against the frozen tundra of my soul. "Things have taken several steps back since last night, and I have no idea why. I had hoped we would never need to resort to this, however - I won't lose you, Draco." She places her free hand on my chest, above my heart.
Something inside begs to hold her, but I shove it aside and narrow my eyes. It's reflex to be suspicious. It's all I've known for years. "Why are you so keen on 'saving' my soul, Hermione? You know I could give two shites less."
"You might not care, but the Draco inside of you- the real you -he's begging for my help." Her hand slides up my chest, fingers dancing gracefully along my neck and over to cup my cheek. I allow it; the feeling is stimulating, so why shove off something that is physically pleasing? "You hear him, don't you?"
She knows everything. The woman is brilliant. The woman is annoying.
"I haven't the foggiest clue what you're talking about."
"I know you're lying," she insists.
"And how would you know anything about what goes on in my precious mind?"
A door clicks open to our right, knocking the conversation clean out of us. My inquiries will have to wait, because Hermione says, "We only have an hour inside before the room is sealed once again. Let's get going."
The closer I approach the door, the more distant I feel to myself. Soon, I'm like a third party watching on from up above the endless void of non-existent ceiling as Hermione pulls me through the threshold of the ominous black doorway. A shiver, procured from magic, runs down my spine, and a quick snap of magic releases us inside a vast, empty room. Well, nearly empty. There's something large and ominous in the center of the floor. Around us stands an inquisitory hall, much like the one used for the Wizengamot, though this one looks as if it hasn't been used in a few lifetimes. But that isn't what holds my attention. No, it's the grand archway made of crumbling stone which looks as if it's been here over a millennia. It sits on a large dais made for the criminals on trial to stand.
"What is this?" I ask, my tongue suddenly as dry as the pages of a book.
"This is The Veil."
Hermione guides me one step forward -I'm suddenly so sick I wretch my hand out of hers and rush over to the wall, vomiting into the corner. My morning coffee and eggs won't get to tag along for the journey. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, embarrassed and angry. Hermione touches my shoulder, and after casting a freshening charm and a scourgifying charm to the floor, I turn around and glare at her.
"It's alright. That happens."
"I don't see it happening to you," I sneer.
"It has. But it doesn't happen to everyone. Come, I'll show you."
Uneasy, I follow her back to the aisle and walk down to the center of the floor, ready to turn on my heels should the need arise. But as we draw closer, the most peculiar thing happens. I begin to hear voices.
Soft whispers envelop my senses, tickling the back of my mind. Murmurs and hisses alike beat against my ears like drumsticks. I can't make out what they're saying, but they're as real as the tip of my nose.
"I can hear them, too," Hermione says, stopping just ten feet short of The Veil. A tattered, black cloth drapes down from the archway, billowing in a gust of nonexistent wind. "The first time I looked upon this place, I was sixteen. I didn't hear them, then."
"Sixteen?" I ask. "How did you get in here-?"
"Do you remember when your father was arrested? At the end of our fifth year?"
"How can I forget?" my voice holds dark contempt as I recall the events like a flickering pensieve inside my mind. "My family fell out of the Dark Lord's favor, then. It's what drove him to give me the task of repairing that damn vanishing cabinet." I know I sound broody, but the memories are ticking time bombs in my mind. If I'm not careful, I could set myself off. "You fought him here, didn't you? My father?"
"Yes. In this room."
"And those voices… you didn't hear them before?" I ask, hoping to change the subject before my anger is out of hand.
Hermione shakes her head. "Harry did. And Luna. But not me. When I first joined the Ministry, I worked part time on creature activism and legalities. But there was another position I took on… as an Unspeakable. Shacklebolt insisted."
"Why you?"
"Brightest witch of our generation, remember?"
"How can I forget?" I roll my eyes. "It's practically your catchphrase."
"Shacklebolt wanted me to see if magical creatures were susceptible to the sounds of The Veil as well. I spent a great long while in here, after the War, running all sorts of tests. The first time I stepped back inside after all those years apart, I heard the voices. Any living being who goes near it will hear voices of their dead loved ones. It's why I wasn't able to hear them before -I hadn't known loss. The War, however…" she trails off.
"The magical creatures you worked with -they were Thestrals."
"Precisely."
"And?"
"And even they were frightened of The Veil. I've never seen a Thestral spook. Something so close to death has hardly a reason to be afraid." Hermione inhales slowly, taking her time to search for her words. "You remember when I told you I knew a woman with your condition?"
I nod in response.
"I brought her here, to The Veil. I wanted to help her, and I thought maybe if she could become closer to the barrier between the living and the dead, it might help her settle the spirit."
Why do I get the feeling there's more to her story she isn't telling me?
"Is that what you want me to do?" I ask. "Settle the spirit within me?"
"I want you to read your journal."
We stare blankly at each other, both of us at a loss for words at this point. Minutes drag on.
"I think it will help you hear the spirit within you and decipher clues."
"Who was the woman?" I ask.
"It doesn't matter," she whispers.
I take a step closer to her. "You want me to talk to the dead. You want me to confess my sins to the dead, Granger. Now, I'm not putting myself out there until I get answers."
A coldness spreads across her face. "I have a loyalty to the people who I've cared for. I have a loyalty to her secrecy."
The darkness inside of me flickers -it doesn't like being near this structure; it feels vulnerable. Hermione might be onto something. Still, when I open my mouth to concede, all that spits out is, "Your loyalty belongs to me." I grab her arm and jerk her forward, toward The Veil. "There's something you're hiding. Tell me."
"Draco, let go of my arm! Dy-"
"Silencio." I won't have her crying 'Dybbuk' again.
Hermione struggles, digging her heels into the stones as I drag her along, mere feet from the structure now. The whispers grow louder, practically crying out from behind the cloth. I yank Hermione right to the edge, standing behind her.
"You're going to tell me what's really going on, or I'm going to toss you through." Don't you fucking do it. A thick smirk slaps across my face as I jerk her arms behind her back and push her an inch closer. Hermione frantically pants, wide-eyed and desperate. "From what I hear, Potter's godfather took a nice little trip through. Maybe you'd like to say hello."
Cut it out. She's had enough. She'll talk.
I'll decide when she's had enough.
I remove the silencing charm from her lips and whisper against her cheek, "Say the word and I'll shove you in. Don't think you're special enough I won't."
Hot tears stream down Hermione's cheek, meeting my lips. I lick them up: a show for whatever's beyond that dirty old veil. Don't ask me why, but I'm suddenly aroused by the helplessness of her situation. Imagine if I took her, right here, in front of this dingy tapestry. I can just see her back scratched to blood against the stone archway as I fuck the willingness to help me out of her. Not even the whispers would be heard over her attempts at screams.
"Talk. Who was the woman?" I push her so close her nose could practically touch the curtain, my cock pressing into her back through my robes.
"M-My mother!" Hermione screams. "It was my mother who was possessed! Damn it, Draco, stop-"
Against my will, I throw her to the side, away from the curtain, and listen to the soft impact of her fall. My eyes trail down to my hands, now shaking, and stare in bewildered horror. Why did I release her just now? I wasn't done with my questioning yet!
Hermione stays in her spot on the floor, now in full blown waterworks. Her eyes are red and puffy, and she swipes at them frantically as the tears fall. Fear shrouds her face as she stares up at me, along with pure, unadulterated anger.
"I was wrong about you," she whispers.
"Yeah?" I smirk wider. "What tipped you off?" With a snort, I roll my eyes and turn my attention back to The Veil and the whisperings beyond. "So, your mother acquired the box, did she? -You said she made a deal with the spirit. What sort of deal?"
"What makes you think I want to tell you after the way you just treated me?"
Is she serious right now? One glance over to her confirms my suspicions: I might have betrayed that trust she has in me. Or, rather, the 'real' me. My mistake was letting her see me without filters. She thinks that soft, timid nature is who I really am, but why can't she understand the real me feels nothing but hate?
Even as I ask these questions, I think about how I threw her away from The Veil. There must be some part of me, deep down, which cares deeply for this woman.
Of course, I care about her. She's the only good thing to happen to me since you came along.
My thoughts are mucked up. I can't think!
I clasp my hands over my ears -these damned voices are too loud, and so is the one stirring inside of me, longing to rush over to her and apologize. Fuck… fuck, fuck, "FUCK!" I stumble back and find myself on my knees, head swimming. "Hermione…" Why am I calling out to her? "Hermione… please... " What's this wetness on my cheeks? Am I crying? "Fuck, I'm so sorry. Just push me through… push me through the damned Veil and get it over with." I don't mean that! Why am I saying that?
Hermione stirs next to me, and the next thing I know, her arms are around me, encompassing my frame. Her chin rests on my head. "No, Draco. I can't do that."
Stop touching me. Stop holding me. Can't you see I don't want it? Why won't my body work the way I want it to!?
"I nearly… you could have died." I hear my voice, but I'm not controlling it. "It's getting worse… tell me what to do."
"You need to read the names," she says.
Don't you fucking read those names, Draco Malfoy. I swear to fucking Merlin himself…
"O-Okay…" I curl my arms around her and bury my face against her chest. "Fuck… I love you, Hermione. I never meant to hurt you."
Hermione's eyes light up. "You love me?"
No. She's just a thing to play with. Don't be daft.
"I love you."
"I love you, too." She wipes a new tear from her eye, this one from happiness.
My hands shake as I reach inside my robes and remove my journal.
No. NO.
"I'm sorry about your mother…"
"Shh." Hermione presses a finger to my lips. "We don't have time for that. Read the names. They'll come to The Veil."
"How will it help? I can feel it trying to claw its way through again…"
"Just do it. Trust me. It will all make sense soon."
"Alright," I sniffle. I sniffle? Merlin, how pathetic am I right now? Hermione moves to give me space to stare into The Veil, and I open my mouth,
Shut up, Draco!
"Irma Leopold."
Oh, I love this. Can't wait for the next bit. Don't worry. Answers about Ron are coming, and more backstory with Hermione's mother. Also, it only gets darker from here on out. I love slow build horror, but the time has come for it to happen. Prepare yourself. ^_^
~A.
- 20
- 21
- 22
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