Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Victim of the Fall	By : PrettyDesdemona Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 32726 -:- Recommendations : 5 -:- Currently Reading : 7
Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter universe or any of its characters. I do not make any money off this story. Only love!

Chapter List
- 21
- 22
- 23
CHAPTER 22

GRAVEL

“You were still sitting there when the smoke cleared.”

Hermione and Draco stayed sitting on the banks of the Thames only as long as the fireworks lasted before she announced that they should return to her flat to check in with the potion. They did not kiss again, they did not embrace, but she noticed that they were closer than usual, their bodies always touching in some way. He was far more demonstrative than he’d been before. It was a casual hand on her knee when he moved, the fact that he did not shy away when their hands touched by accident; it was the eye contact, the unspoken understanding that he would mind her beaded bag when she got up to find the toilets, the relentless, flowing conversation that carried them through New Year’s Eve and into January 1^st.

After jokingly informing Draco that they would have to take another cab just to see the terror on his face, Hermione led him to an abandoned alleyway where they apparated back to the courtyard behind the Leaky Cauldron.

Diagon Alley was far rowdier than when they’d left it, most of the partygoers having spilled out into the street, thoroughly inebriated. Many times, Draco was forced to yank Hermione out of the way when drunken men leered at her or seemed about to topple over on top of her.

Thus, they mounted the spiral staircase inside Flourish and Blotts feeling grateful to be out of the turbulent crowds.

Hermione thrust her key into the lock of her front door and heaved it open. Instantly the delicious and intoxicating smell of the brewing Zeitei Otrava engulfed them. It smelt exotic, she supposed, because of the intermingled scent of her sandalwood perfume and his spicy cologne. There was the metallic undercurrent of blood wound through the fumes as well. Hermione realised that, all in all, it smelt like their kiss tasted. Something that was in essence the union between her scent and Draco’s.

She made her way over to the cazan,sweeping up the recipe from her tabletop as she did so. The potion had turned an ominous, shimmering black which was, according to Teodora’s instructions, the desired outcome. It was ready.

She looked up and nodded at Draco who was looking at her, eyebrows raised, waiting for the verdict.

“Should we take it now?” he asked.

Hermione tilted her head from side to side to show her indecisiveness. She felt quite tired from their little jaunt out into London and really, wanted to be completely coherent when she finally took the potion so as to fully experience its effects.

“As much as it kills me to say it, I think I’d rather wait.” she said, flashing Draco an apologetic look.

He nodded understandingly. “Me too. How long will it keep for?”

“Oh, ages.” she responded with a wave of her hand.

“Well, maybe next weekend?” he suggested.

Hermione nodded and knelt down beside the cazan, conjuring a collection of glass vials in which to store the potion. He disappeared into the kitchen as she began siphoning the black liquid into the tiny bottles with her wand.

She was just filling her twentieth and last vial when Draco reappeared, setting a steaming cup of tea down in front of her.

Hermione looked up at him, noticing the absence of a mug in his hands, “Where’s yours?”

“I didn’t make one for me.”

She gave him a confused look.

“I should probably get back to Hogwarts.” he said, avoiding her eyes.

Hermione immediately felt a huge clashing of emotions. On the one hand, there was a small sting of rejection, and on the other, a little rush of relief. She didn’t want him to stay, and hadn’t planned on inviting him, but she’d wanted him to ask if he could. She knew she needed her own space to sort out her feelings surrounding what had happened between them, but also didn’t really want to be given the opportunity to do that, knowing herself as she did and realising that the moment he left, the over analysing of the situation would begin. Not to mention to feelings of guilt and betrayal that she’d noticed waiting in the wings.

Naturally, she communicated none of this to Draco and said simply, “Oh, ok. Well…”

“Yeah.” he said, wandering in the direction of her front door.

Hermione stood and followed him.

“See you Gra- I mean, Hermione.” he stuttered.

“Bye Draco.” she responded, her tone a touch morose.

The moment the locked clicked into place as he closed the door, a thousand different anxieties began spilling into Hermione’s head.

What if she was an awful kisser? What if all the other boys had just been too polite to say? What if she was ugly and grotesque and he’d only done it because he wanted to shut her up?

She immediately ran to the bathroom in order to examine her reflection. Her face was flushed pink, but whether it was from her emotions or the cold outside, she didn’t know. Other than her slightly weathered complexion, she looked no different to what she usually did.

Hermione retreated back to her couch to drink the unfathomably perfect tea he’d made her. She stared down into the cup in her hands, feeling her confusion growing greater by the minute. Why did he make her tea? Why did he come up into her flat?

Why did she even care?!

This was Draco Malfoy. There was no glossing over it; he’d been genuinely awful to her in school. He’d been pretty fucking awful in general actually; he was never the nicest human being even when he wasn’t bullying her. She could see that the war had quite clearly matured him, but why?! Why was he suddenly a candidate for someone she could possibly kiss again? Or have sex with? Or date?

Could she marry Draco? Could she have children with him?

Hermione looked down and noticed the cup trembling in her hands.

She suddenly began envisaging sitting down with Ron at a café and telling him she was with Draco, being all humble and mature and saying how much she loved Ron and valued the time they’d spent together. She’d be charmingly self deprecating and talk highly of him and laugh wittily about the strangeness of love…

Love?

Love?!

Hermione stared madly around at her flat. Where was she going with this? They’d only kissed for fuck’s sake. Why was that suddenly turning into a relationship in her mind? Judging by his swift departure, Draco probably didn’t even want that. It was just a snog, he’d say, just a meaningless, New Years kiss. Nothing to write home about. She hadn’t had this reaction when it had been George or Dean or Mclaggen. Those had been marginally simple to her; she’d known exactly what would happen after the kiss because she’d been the initiator, the one in control.

And who was she kidding? Ron would not sit at a café with her and talk amicably about her phantom relationship with Draco. He’d lose the plot, unequivocally, entirely. And Harry too…

Hermione could almost hear the two of them already. “A gross betrayal… How could you? … Why him? … Traitor… What’s wrong with you? … After everything he did…”

And what about Isobel? Hermione had sworn that she wouldn’t go near him, sworn that she felt nothing for him, that nothing would ever happen between them. Isobel clearly felt strongly enough for him that his apparent feelings for Hermione had driven her over the edge. Of course, Hermione knew very well that it had quite literally been the straw that broke the camel’s back, that there were a lot of other things going on in her friend’s head that had driven her to that point, but still. Isobel’s feelings mattered to Hermione and she didn’t ever, ever, want to make her friend sad. But really, she’d already taken it too far. Draco Malfoy had kissed her, and she had kissed him back.

And there was the guilt, crawling out of the recesses of her mind and making itself comfortable like an unwanted, very much unwelcome houseguest.

Frustrated tears began to course down her cheeks. If only he hadn’t left, they could have talked about it. She could have told him that she could never, ever, go further with him than she already had. That it was out of the question. She hated that there was no dialogue around it. Why did people do that? Why couldn’t they just be honest about their feelings?

But Hermione knew the answer to this already, when she actually stopped to think about it. Honesty changed things. There was a difference between laying in bed at night, quietly pining after a specific person, privately imagining them doing all manner of things to her; and knowing that the other person was thinking and feeling those same things, knowing that they noticed the curve of her breasts through her shirt or the way her cheeks flushed when she laughed. Really, it was easier to believe in lust that was unrequited, because then, the fantasies were half formed, they weren’t something she believed could truly happen so the emotions weren’t invested entirely. But when she knew that the other person felt the same, the fantasies became possibilities and the lust turned into a dull, throbbing ache that never went away.

Hermione did not want to feel lust like that. Though, she already feared that it was too late.

She’d felt a thrill when he’d kissed her, and yes, she could now admit that she felt attracted to him. She wanted to go further. It was reckless and stupid and she would be betraying so many of her friends but really, she wanted him. She wanted to see his body, see the dark mark. She wanted to kiss the marred flesh of his forearm, just to let him know that she wanted him as he was. That she accepted him.

And above all, she in turn wanted to feel accepted.

Hermione carefully placed the cup of tea he’d made her down on her coffee table, moved the now empty cazan out of the way, and let her head crash down on the table top with a howl of frustration.

She was fucked. And not in a good way.

Three days later, Hermione was in a state of almost permanent hysteria. Each night, she was so thoroughly exhausted from the miles she’d walked in her own head that she had passed out rather than fallen asleep.

She hadn’t heard from Draco at all.

Even Graham had noticed her tumultuous mood as she worked her shift on Saturday and insisted, much to her despair, that she take Sunday off, joking that perhaps she still needed to recover from a big New Years Eve. He would brook no argument when Hermione assured him that this was not the case and pleaded with him to allow her to work her Sunday shift.

Hermione spent Saturday alternating between having intense sexual fantasies involving her and Draco, that left her abdomen aching and her heart beating unevenly; and experiencing a crippling, psychopathic guilt over Isobel, Harry and Ron that had her wanting to rush to the toilet to vomit.

By Saturday night she was ready to throw in the towel. She planned to hole herself up in her flat and eat copious amounts of chocolate for the remainder of her now agonisingly free weekend.

What she was not expecting was Draco appearing in her lounge room just as she was running what she was sure would be the first in a series of very long, hot baths.

He did not knock, instead choosing to wander freely into her flat.

Hermione froze with her leg poised over the rim of the tub when she heard the noise of his arrival.

“Hermione?” he called from the lounge room.

“Um! Uh! I’m just… I’m in the… Hold on!” she yelled back, frantically shutting off the taps and throwing on her discarded clothes unceremoniously.

She raced into the lounge room to find him shrugging off his cloak. “Your top is inside out.” he said, amused.

Hermione looked down to discover that he was right. She flashed him a nervous smile before rushing back into her bedroom to correct the oversight. When she returned, Draco was busy in the kitchen, making tea.

“So are you ready?” he asked conversationally as he added sugar to two steaming mugs.

“I… I guess.” she replied, picking self consciously at her clothes.

He looked at her, smiling bemusedly, “What? Are you nervous?”

“No! I’m not nervous, why would I be nervous?!” she babbled in an uncharacteristically high voice. He raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

After a moment of awkward silence wherein Draco looked amused and Hermione shifted from one foot to the other, trying desperately to think of something to say, she turned on her heel and went to the lounge room.

She collapsed onto the couch, her head in her hands. Draco followed her after a minute, setting their cups of tea down on her coffee table. Much to her surprise, he sat down next to her, turning his body to face her.

“Perhaps we should talk.” he said.

Hermione felt the words rising in her throat like vomit, and could do little to stop them pouring out of her mouth, “Never again! It can’t happen again, ok? Harry and Ron would kill me. And Isobel… Oh my god… I promised her that nothing would happen! It’s for the best. I just… I can’t.” she ranted.

Draco said nothing in response to this and when Hermione finally looked up at him, dragging her face out of her hands, he looked both confused and hurt.

After a moment, he cleared his throat. “That wasn’t the conversation I was thinking of…”

“I just… What?”

“I was going to say we should talk about what’s going to happen when we take the Zeitei Otrava… But this is far more comfortable.” he said sarcastically.

“You… You wanted to talk about the potion?”

He nodded, turning his body away from her and crossing his arms. Hermione could clearly see the hurt he was feeling lying under his anger.

“I did. But no, let’s talk about this. You’ve no doubt analysed the shit out of it so there’s no point continuing before you’ve satisfied your need to spout your opinions. So go ahead. Feel free.”

Yes, he was really angry.

“Um…” Hermione had not the slightest idea what to say in response to this. Everything he’d said was right, of course, but now that she saw how upset that was making him, she didn’t want it to be. “Why don’t you tell me your opinions?” she asked quietly.

He laughed harshly, “Why would I? They clearly clash so spectacularly with your own so there’s no point.”

Hermione shook her head as if to clear it. “But… I don’t understand. I haven’t heard from you in three days. I guess I just thought you weren’t interested in… You know… Anything else.”

“For fucks sake, Hermione, not everything is about you! I didn’t write or come over because I needed to time to figure out what I wanted to do!” he threw his hands up in the air in frustration, “I kissed you didn’t I?! Is that how little you think of me?! That I’d do that and then just fuck off?!”

Hermione ducked her head, feeling immeasurably guilty; this was exactly what she’d been thinking. She realised then that Draco had probably spent the last three days in much the same position as she had. He had just as much reason to feel guilty about wanting to be with her. Isobel was his friend too.

“I’m sorry.” she said sincerely.

“Sorry for what? Sorry, you can’t do this? Or sorry you made yet another ridiculous assumption about me?” he snapped.

Hermione restrained herself from reminding him that, given their past, the assumption wasn’t so ridiculous. “Sorry for making an assumption. It would have been nice if you’d spoken to me before you left though.”

He glared at her before taking a deep breath. “Fine. I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you.”

“Thanks.” said Hermione stiffly.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, each lost in their own thoughts. Hermione’s views on the matter had changed completely since he’d arrived. She was now trying to think of a way that she could be with him, without any of the ugly consequences. In the end, she concluded that she would only be able to do it if she told no one it was happening and that did not sit well with her. Hermione had always had an almost irrepressible need to be honest. She could handle keeping it from Harry and Ron, for now, as they weren’t really a part of her life, but she would have to talk to Isobel. That was unavoidable.

For once, Hermione made the conscious decision to reign in her feelings. She was moving too far ahead of herself. When she thought about what she really, properly, wanted from Draco, she found that at this point, it wasn’t love, wasn’t a relationship. For now, she just wanted to touch him and she wanted him to touch her. She liked him, yes, but it was the lust that was driving her slightly ramshackle vessel at that moment and it was the lust that was making her headily fantasise about the future.

Bearing this in mind, Hermione concluded that perhaps her thoughts and feelings on the subject may be a little clearer once they’d gotten the touching out of the way.

She put her hand on his knee.

He looked down at it, then up at her. “What are you doing?”

“I’m being intimate. You do understand how intimacy works, don’t you?” she snapped, stung, and withdrew her hand.

“Two seconds ago you told me that you couldn’t do anything with me.”

Hermione crossed her arms defensively, “Yeah, well, maybe I’d changed my mind.”

They sunk back into a sullen silence. Hermione realised that though she teased Draco about his inexperience around women, she too was just as clueless. Even if she’d kissed and gone a little further than that with quite a few different men, the only one she knew how to be truly intimate with, the only one she had felt properly attracted to was Ron. And Draco and Ron were polar opposites, chalk and cheese. The brand of comfortable affection she shared with Ron would certainly not work with Draco.

She took a deep, steadying breath. “Alright, so what shall we do?” she asked him, trying to sound calm and diplomatic.

“There’s nothing to do.” he said broodingly.

Hermione rolled her eyes, “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Draco. Stop sulking. I’m trying to have an honest conversation with you. I’m sorry that I lost my cool earlier; I was feeling insecure and freaked out. But I would like to talk about it.”

Draco gave her a long look before he sighed. “Ok. Let’s talk then.”

Hermione sat up a little straighter and turned to him. “So how do you feel?”

“Am I talking to a mind healer right now?” he asked sarcastically. Hermione made a heroic effort to contain her emotions and simply continued to stare at him politely. Eventually he continued, in a stiff, halting voice. “I feel like I would like… To… Be intimate with you.”

“So this is just about sex to you?!” Hermione almost snarled, barely keeping a hold of her anger.

“No! Fucking hell!” he threw his hands up in the air again and stood. He began pacing across the floor in front of her. “I don’t know how to do this, alright?! I want… I think… Look.” he stopped and stared at her determinedly. “Do you want to go round with me?”

Hermione giggled. “Go… go round?”

He gave her a withering glare. “You are not making this easy, Granger.” he growled.

She tried to stifle her laughter behind her hand. “I know, sorry… Um… I might have to think about it. Is that alright?”

He nodded stiffly, seizing his cup of tea and taking a long sip. Hermione could see his hand shaking slightly.

After a few moments of silence in which he glared at the floor, Hermione cleared her throat nervously. “I was thinking though… Maybe… Could we kiss again?” she was conscious of the fact that she sounded like a child asking for a second helping of cake.

He gave her a look of incredulity before stomping over to seat himself on the couch next to her. Hermione barely had time to register what he was doing before he had leant in and pressed his lips to hers.

Immediately, she felt the same swooping sensation in her abdomen. She did not hesitate this time, to wrap her arms around him as his snaked around her waist. She could feel his frustration with her in his embrace but rather than being put off by it, it only spurned her on.

He hoisted her onto his lap so that their bodies could have a more complete kind of contact, without breaking the kiss. Her hands ran into his hair as his tongue filled her mouth.

They spent ten minutes happily entwined like this, the kiss becoming deeper and deeper. Both their breaths were shaky and frantic. She clutched at his shoulders urgently, feeling the pads of his fingers pressing into her hip and back.

To Hermione’s confusion, she realised Draco was beginning to rock her slightly, backwards and forwards on his lap, pushing her body harder into his lap as he did so. When she noticed, suddenly, the hardness of his erection pressed into her thigh, she understood the movement. The warmth in her abdomen throbbed painfully and she was seized with the desire to straddle his lap, rather than sitting on him side saddle, so that she might be able to feel him rubbing against a place that was a little more erogenous than her upper thigh.

Without letting her tongue leave his mouth, Hermione squirmed and shifted until she had one leg supporting her on either side of his body. His hands sank down to cup her arse as he pushed up with his pelvis.

It was at this entirely inconvenient time, when she could feel him pressed almost painfully hard against her clit through her tights that he decided to stop. He pulled away from her, his hands moving from her arse to her shoulders just to make his intent clear.

“Wait.” his words were hoarse and pained.

“What?” she said, in a voice that was far more demanding than she meant it. Draco looked slightly scared.

“I just… I think we should stop before things get… Carried away.” he said, sounding as if this was the very last thing he wanted to do.

Hermione felt her logic in the far recesses of her mind, trying to battle it’s way to the forefront through the many and monumental road blocks she’d put up to prevent it. She ignored it defiantly.

“But… I don’t want to stop.” she said, her voice deep and urgent.

Draco shrugged, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Well, at least I tried.”

Her mouth crashed down on his again, little thrills of ecstasy racing up her spine as she proceeded to rock in his lap, grinding her pelvis against his roughly.

There was something so delightfully wrong about it and it was this wrongness that made it almost kinky, feeding her libido. It was incomprehensible that she could be in this position, totally unthinkable that Draco Malfoy was stimulating her the way he was, making her wet like this.

Her hips rolled across his legs as his hands grasped her arse again, squeezing it so hard it almost hurt.

But the pain was brilliant.

They were getting carried away, even though it had not yet reached the point at which they were dragging off each other’s clothes, their embrace was so intense, so heated. Hermione’s fingers linked around the back of his neck and the feel of his heated skin against her own was something she was painfully aware of. She wanted their clothes of, wanted that heated contact all over her body. It felt unjustifiable that she was still clad in jeans and a singlet top and him in trousers and a long sleeved shirt. It went against her instincts that they still had these barriers between them.

Hermione was just about to begin fumbling with the buttons of his shirt when there was a knock on her front door. She wanted to weep as the two of them froze, mid kiss, and slowly turned their heads towards the door.

She pulled away from Draco and looked down at him. His face was flushed and his eyes glazed.

“Ignore it?” he asked hopefully, panting slightly.

Hermione shook her head, and with a herculean amount of self control, hoisted herself off him. The moment she stood up, his head fell into his hands, she could see his shoulders rising and falling as he tried to regain control of his breathing.

She went to the door, trying to think up a reason to justify cursing whoever was on the other side of it. When she turned the handle and hoisted it open, every bit of lust filled fog fled from her mind.

“Hermione!” cried Isobel, beaming and flinging her arms around Hermione’s neck.

She let out a small “oh” as her friend collided with her body. “Wow! Isobel, I didn’t think you’d be back so soon!”

Isobel laughed, “What are you talking about? School starts in two days, when else would I come back?”

Hermione chuckled nervously as Isobel pushed past her, into the flat. She was mentally preparing herself to make up some excuse as to Draco’s presence, but was surprised when Isobel kept talking as if nothing was amiss.

“I’ve missed you so much! Oh, I have so much to tell you!” her friend cried from the kitchen, helping herself to a can of coke.

Hermione closed her door and cast her eyes about her lounge room bemusedly. Draco was not there. But she noticed her bedroom door was closed.

Isobel appeared at her side, clutching a coke, “What’s wrong?” she asked in confusion as Hermione stared at the closed door to her bedroom.

“Nothing! Nothing at all. So,” she sat down on the couch, patting the seat beside her invitingly, “How was it at Padma’s?”

“It was pretty good. Her family were really nice… Though Parvati is a bit of a space cadet.” Isobel responded, laughing.

Hermione nodded. “Yes, I remember.” she said vaguely.

Isobel stared at her for a moment, her eyes narrowing. “Are you alright? You’re all flushed and your hair’s a mess.”

“Oh… Um… Yeah. I was asleep.” she flailed, smiling shiftily.

Isobel gave her a shrewd look. “You look as if you’ve been having sex.” she said, cheekily.

Hermione laughed hysterically. “Oh no, nothing like that!”

Isobel proceeded to give a long and detailed account of her holiday, very clearly excited to see Hermione again. Hermione listened to her friend politely, feeling increasingly more and more guilty about what she’d been doing mere seconds before Isobel’s arrival. Her mind kept fluttering away into the bedroom where she was sure Draco was hiding.

Her friend was happier, calmer even. Isobel seemed stronger, and looked very much as if she’d had a pleasant holiday. Hermione wished she could say the same for herself.

After an hour or so, Isobel seemed to have exhausted herself and had nothing more to say. She pressed Hermione only a little about her own holiday asking several times if Hermione was ok, at which point she would just assure Isobel that she had had a long, trying shift and was still feeling tired.

At seven o’clock, Isobel announced her departure and left, assuring Hermione that she would come back the following night when Hermione had gotten some more sleep.

Hermione did not immediately go into the bedroom, instead choosing to sit down on the couch for a moment to collect herself. Isobel had seemed so happy, so carefree and Hermione sincerely wished she wasn’t about to be the one who would crush that. She did not know the extent of Isobel’s feelings for Draco but if they were anything like hers, well then both of them were in trouble.

She would have to tell her, even if she and Draco went no further than they already had. What she had done with him that afternoon had been betrayal enough. The New Years Eve kiss could have been reasonably passed off as getting caught up in the moment, but Hermione hardly thought she could use the same excuse for mounting him and gyrating in his lap.

She found she was scared of confronting Draco again, concerned that he would wish to continue where they had left off, but for Hermione, the mood had been killed. Her libido was out to lunch.

Now, she felt nothing but intense, over whelming confusion. Her body had betrayed her yet again by reacting to the caresses of someone who was, for all intents and purposes, wildly inappropriate. Her emotions were far more erratic and widely spread than they had been in a long time and she’d gotten herself into the unfortunate position of having to decide whether or not to reject Draco’s request for her to ‘go round’ with him outright.

In the end, Hermione decided to practice some well honed avoidance. She knew she needed time to think about it but it wasn’t happening that day. Her mind was still all tangled up and, despite the newfound clarity she’d gained since Isobel had arrived, she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that her mind would just fill up with fog again the moment she was within two inches of Draco. So, she chose to distract rather than dealing with the possible conversation or lack thereof that she was about to have with him if she went and found him in her bedroom.

Hermione bent down and retrieved a long wooden box from under her couch, flicking the catch and lifting the lid, to reveal the large store of Zeitei Otrava that she and Draco had brewed on New Years Eve. She lifted two small vials containing the black, inky potion from the box and walked into the bedroom, without a backward glance.

She found Draco slumped on her bed, taking up more space than was necessary, reading Bastet’s Line. Apparently, what she’d thought about the two inches was very, very wrong. She couldn’t be in the same room with him before the fog started to shift over the floor of her mind. He looked up as she entered and leant against to doorframe to look at him for a moment.

“Sorry, I…” he started, looking a little shamefaced that he’d hidden from Isobel.

“Don’t.” Hermione cut across him, holding up a hand. She didn’t want to hear it, didn’t want him to speak. If he did, she knew she’d get caught up in another long and difficult conversation about sex and emotions. And it was time that she realised that she was just not equipped for that today.

She moved forward and crawled onto the bed to sit next to him, so that she was close but not too close. She reached out her hand and opened her fist to show Draco the vials she was carrying.

“Now?” he asked seriously, closing the book and sitting up.

“Yes.” she replied firmly, defiantly. She was ready to focus on something other than her tumultuous personal life.

“Are you sure? I mean… Isobel…” he started but Hermione cut across him again.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” she said, tightly. She uncorked one of the little bottles and held it out to him. “You have to pour it into my hands so I can feed it to you.”

With a look that told her he was humouring her, he took the vial wordlessly and, when she had cupped her hands before him, poured the liquid into the vessel she had created. He set the vial down and, without breaking eye contact, leant forward, supporting her small hands with his.

He gave her one last sceptical look before his lips came in contact with her fingertips again and again she felt the strange desire to moan as he pulled the potion across her palms, drinking hungrily. The black liquid dripped down her wrists and onto her bed sheets as he swallowed the last drop.

She watched him for a moment as his eyes bore into her own, the pupils expanding so that his irises were almost black, before she uncorked the second vial and tipped her head back to swallow it.

The potion burned in her mouth like menthol.

It tasted like blood. It tasted like him.

A/N Hello lovelies!

A few people have said that their having trouble keeping up with all these new potions and spells associated with Bastet’s Line, so I am going to include a list here of all the one’s we’ve already seen. But first, let’s just rehash Grindelwald’s introduction to Bastet’s Line.

“Bastet: Mistress of the Oracle, Great Conjuress of the Casket. The goddess to whom we pray when we raise our heads to the sky in search of answers. She holds dominion over our world, over sex, over magic, over fertility, music and healing. Oh, that I was born a woman, only then could I truly consider myself one of Her children. As a wizard, I am merely a servant.

“Daughter of the sun, She stands in defiance of grief.

“I am not a practitioner only a scholar. I have been gifted some of the magics I speak of in this text, but many I have yet to explore. Only a daughter of Her, a giver of life, may truly experience the light that She has to offer. I have seen with my own eyes, women of great supremacy practicing the spells and brewing the potions I have detailed within though most did not understand the power they held.

“To truly see our magic, to understand the greatest gift that has been bestowed upon us, we must connect with Her. We do this on Her Line. The Dividing Line. Every magic has limits, to stand on those boundaries with arms open, we may look upon Her in all her beauty. We may begin to understand the world we inhabit.

“If this text finds its way into the hands of a woman, I say this: your body is Her temple. Worship your body with your own hands, tend to the garden of your sexuality and you will find peace. Do this on Her Line and you will find enlightenment, power beyond the reaches of your imagination. You may allow another to worship Her through you and you will give him enlightenment as a gift, a gift that he must love and revere as he does your body and your mind. The highest peak of pleasure and power lies in wait for you, sister, if you will just turn the page.”

Spells and potions seen in Bastet’s Line:

-          Virtus Lucis – gives the drinker the power to conjure light in their hands. Seen in Chapter 19 wherein Hermione and Draco brewed the potion together and then, as the recipe dictated, she fed it to him with her own hands, in order to give him the gift. Initially, the potion causes them both to become moderately intoxicated. But once this effect wears off, Draco will be able to conjure the light without these side effects.

Here’s what Grindelwald has to say on the subject:

“The Virtus Lucis potion:

“Through the ages we have heard tell of wizards who could conjure light without aid of a wand. Though these tales have been converted into the stuff of legends, of myth, I have been gifted with this precious, invaluable endowment by a wise woman I met while travelling through Yugoslavia. Using blood harvested from the palms of my hands, this woman brewed the potion detailed below on Bastet’s Line. She gave me the gift of light. To hold the sun in one’s hands is a mighty power. A light when all others are lost.”

-          Substantia – a potion used to capture the essence of the drinker, to be used in other potions.

This is more of an ingredient than a potion in itself. As the magic of the Dividing Line is deeply personal and each person who brews or casts the spells specific to the Line, everyone experiences the magic differently. It’s based almost entirely on what goes on within the human mind. So Substantia is added as an ingredient to most potions applicable in order to allow the brewer/drinker to fully immerse their essence into the potion so that it may work specifically to them.

-          Apicem – To give someone a spontaneous orgasm. This one’s pretty self explanatory isn’t it? This spell is one of the only ones in Bastet’s Line that can be cast by a man, hence Draco’s obviously innocent desire to try it.

Here’s what Grindelwald has to say on it:

“Apicem: a spell to bring a woman to a spontaneous climax and one of the only I have yet heard of that can be cast by a male. The witches I have spoken to have said that this is because the goddess has a sense of joviality and believes that a woman should be given this succulent, sensual reward at every available opportunity. I, myself, have had the pleasure to…”

You get the idea.

-          Vita – A common blood retrieval spell that allows the castor to draw blood, whether by force or with consent, from any area of the body. Some potions require a certain type of blood, such as the Zeitei Otrava which asks for heart blood and this spell makes acquiring this blood easy and far less messy. The castor is required to point their wand at the desire area from which the blood is required and say the incantation. Once this is done, the blood drawn will damn itself in the castor’s hand until he or she is ready to release it. As Hermione and Draco discovered, this is a rather uncomfortable feeling.

-          Zeitei Otrava – The big one. The goddess’s poison. This potion allows two people (for it must be brewed by a couple) to see their own and each other’s magic for the duration of the potion’s effects, which is about an hour. At this point, I won’t give anything else away as I don’t want to spoil it for anyone!

-          Auxilium – This is a spell that a witch may cast in order to let the Goddess move through her and make her emotions corporeal. For example, Hermione used it to make Harry leave because she feared him. So, the goddess recognised Hermione’s desire to feel safe and helped to remove the danger.

Here’s what Grindelwald has to say about it:

“In Slovakia, I was given the opportunity to be present at a ritual, performed on the winter solstice, to bless the earth for the coming spring. I was told by a fellow spectator that four of their most powerful witches were to cast a spell that was to bring the goddess into their bodies so that She may move through them. I witnessed these four women gather on Her Line together. They pressed their wands to the earth at their feet and each incanted ‘Auxilium’. They then used their own hands to bring themselves to climax so that they may sanctify the land with their excretions. The spell helped in their arousal and brought them faster and harder to their end.

“Once the ritual was finished, I questioned one of these women. She told me that the spell allowed the Goddess to meld with their minds and make their feelings corporeal. When I asked her if the spell could be used in any other setting, she appeared most offended, but I have surmised that any witch may cast this spell when she feels in need of it though I have no experimental proof. I was never given the opportunity to see it used in any other environment other than the ritualistic circle.

Imagine what power this spell might offer if one might cast it and have their deepest feelings satisfied and made real? Could a woman wield it against another person? Could it cause death or torture? Could it heal? I do not know how far the power of this spell stretches and it pains me that I may never find out.”

So I hope that was helpful! Thanks as always for the love, and sorry I can’t reply to your reviews just yet!

The quote at the beginning of this chapter is from Ani Difranco's song Gravel. Her music has served as a huge inspiration for this piece. I own nothing. Thanks Ani!
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Victim of the Fall