Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Hooded Man	By : LadyofClunn Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 5723 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own anything associated with Harry Potter or Robin Hood. I do not earn money by writing this story.

Chapter List
- 2
- 3
- 4
Disclaimer: I do not own anything associated with Harry Potter or Robin Hood. I do not earn money by writing this story.

A/N: I am so sorry for the mix-up! I was doing two things at once and then the baby distracted me... To make it up to you, I decided to update chapter 3 here first :) Enjoy!

Chapter 3

Hermione woke to murmuring voices at the tent’s entrance. She could not make out what was being said but it was loud enough for her to come out of her sleep. Her back protested when she tried to swing her legs over the edge of the bed to sit up and a sharp stab of pain shot through her neck.

“Ow.”

“You are awake.” Draco was standing framed by the curtain that hid the sleeping area from view.

“How’s Goyle?”

“Sleeping. No fever. I think he will make it.” He sat on his bed, elbows resting on his knees. “Thank you, Granger. What you did was extraordinary. I-I just wanted you to know that I wouldn’t have killed you, no matter what would have happened. I was just...” Draco pressed his lips into a fine line.

“You were afraid that I might take the opportunity to poison him.”

“Yes. I can see now that you wouldn’t do something like that.”

“Is it worth it? I heard that you steal money from the big businesses and the Ministry. What for? It’s not like you can spend it here. Why risk your lives?”

Draco looked at her for a very long time. She had to force herself not to squirm and fidget under his gaze.

“Tomorrow, I will show you why it’s always worth the risk.”

She looked at him with wide eyes. “Okay.”

He nodded. “Would you like some dinner? It’s not much today but it will be ready in twenty minutes or so.”

As if to answer the question, her stomach chose this moment to grumble loudly and Draco sniggered.

“Apparently, I’d love some dinner, yes, but before, I’d like to shower and brush my teeth if that’s all right.”

“Of course. I’ll transfigure a toothbrush for you.”

A little later, Hermione raised her face to the warm spray of water and sighed in contentment. How little did it take to make her grateful for the most basic amenities. She could not imagine what life must be like hiding out in the forest without magic.

She dried her hair as best as she could with the towel Draco had given to her and wrapped it around herself. It covered her from her chest to the middle of her thighs. Opening the door she froze, staring at an equally frozen Draco Malfoy. He whipped around, turning his back to her.

“Er. Your clothes need more than a simple Scourgify. I transfigured some of mine; they’re on the bed. We’ll eat at the fire site.”

He had sounded panicked and, with a bit of her own panic receding, she watched him flee to the circle of sofas around the fire.

The clothes turned out to be one of Draco’s green tunics, lengthened a bit to vaguely resemble old-fashioned witches’ robes. She braided her hair and slipped her bare feet into her shoes.

The atmosphere around the fire was solemn. The men sat with their soup bowls on their laps, eating slowly, the light banter of yesterday’s dinner absent. Gregory Goyle lay bundled in warm blankets, supported by downy pillows on a wide sofa. His eyes closed, he rested, the relaxed posture of his body speaking of the enjoyment of company and the warmth of the fire.

Hermione walked to the perimeter of the circle and stood a bit undecided what to do next.

“Granger.” Goyle’s voice was very quiet. “Thank you.”

Hermione smiled. “Nothing to thank me for, but you are very welcome.” Goyle’s eyes closed again and somebody cleared his throat next to her.

Draco held out a bowl of soup and gestured to his armchair that today was altered to a comfortable, high-backed sofa.

“Please have a seat, Granger.”

Hermione accepted the bowl and sat at the end of the sofa not presently occupied by Draco. The soup was thin but well seasoned. The traces of meat could have been rabbit or possibly, Hermione shuddered, squirrel.

After a few minutes, the men started to murmur amongst themselves and Hermione decided it was safe to speak to Draco.

“Has Gregory eaten?”

Draco nodded. “Yes. A herb infusion with honey and some of the rabbit broth before we thinned it down. Eating exhausted him but he requested to be allowed to rest here with us, not alone in his tent.”

Hermione turned her gaze on the confection-like structure. “How did he end up with this tent?”

Draco smiled. “It was his mother’s; he is ever so embarrassed about it, but we all had to take what was available. Mine belonged to Regulus Black, it somehow ended up in the cellar of the Manor.”

Hermione took another spoonful of broth. “You do know that Slughorn is hoarding food among his potions ingredients?”

“I’ve seen the odd crystallised fruit and some other foodstuffs, but I don’t check his stores for something like this.”

Hermione nodded and leaned back into the sofa. The warm soup made her sleepy and the events of the day had exhausted her deeply. Adrian Pucey brought out a lyre and started playing a gentle melody. In the dusky shadows, Hermione was slowly lulled into a half-sleep.

“Why in the world would you want to marry Weasley?”

Draco’s soft question startled her awake. The others had already left the circle around the campfire. The night had draped blackness over the world outside the reach of the flames.

Hermione hesitated a beat too long.

“How do you know?”

He scoffed. “Even we are not completely cut off from information. I must say that this bit of news travelled particularly fast. After what I have seen here today...” He started again. “You couldn’t be more different. It wasn’t important to you who it was who needed your help. Weasley... Weasley is not compassionate. Or your intellectual equal. We both know that the only reason he became Bailiff to Potter was because he is Potter’s best friend.”

Silence stretched around them. The fire crackled and Draco moved to levitate another log onto it.

“I am promised to him.”

Draco grew very still and then slowly turned to her.

“Promised?”

She refused to look away.

He looked and found what he had sought. His eyes and voice were soft when he told her.

“You went to him and he didn’t bother to explain the implication to his Muggle-born girlfriend?” She was not good at hiding the truth. “And you? Are you so desperate to fit in that you will marry that little social climber regardless whether you will suit in the long run?” He huffed. “Not even arranged marriages are so cruel.”

“I thought about joining Kirklees.” Even as the words left her mouth she realised that she had not denied any of it nor had she defended her fiancée.

“Kirklees?” He scoffed.

“It’s a respected way of life.”

“It’s the lifestyle of a third daughter too expensive to be married or a young widow shut away by her in-laws.”

She did not know what to say.

Draco leant closer. So close, she could feel his breath on her face.

“Is that the new world you wanted to build?”

“It’s a good world!” she cried. “People live in peace. Nobody has to be afraid.”

Draco stared at her. “You really believe that.” He stood. “Gods, you’ve become thick. Or are you afraid to think nowadays?” He walked away from her with long, angry strides. Whatever could he possibly mean?

***

The next morning, when Draco woke her to the greyish light of a beginning sunrise, she only vaguely remembered being led back to the tent in the darkness and changing into her borrowed night dress.

“Get up, Granger. I promised to show you something.”

They ate while walking, this time; it felt much easier in her borrowed sturdy shoes and green trousers and tunic. It was a bit like fading into the landscape, being part of the forest and not fighting against it to get to their destination.

“It’s safe to Apparate from here; we’re far enough from the camp.”

What about yesterday? Hermione thought. They had Apparated right into the camp.

Draco seemed to be able to read her thoughts because he turned to her and said: “The others will move camp today while we are out. That will remove us from any Apparition signature and will also make it impossible for you to lead anybody to us should you manage to run.” Here, he looked at her in a menacing way. “I would not recommend it, though.”

Hermione nodded and he took her arm before turning on the spot and whisking her through space.

They landed on a small cobbled square, surrounded by a handful of houses that had been quite stately once but were now showing signs of neglect. Missing roof tiles were not replaced but the gaps had been patched with makeshift covers of impervious-spelled canvas.

Draco and Theo moved her quickly to the nearest house. Theo knocked on the door with his knuckles. Small holes in the wood and a difference in colour in the shape of a substantial doorknocker spoke of times when the owners had taken pride in their home’s appearance.

The door opened and a small girl of six or seven years stood in the frame. Her robes had the shiny patches of fabric extended with an overstretched sizing charm. She smiled a small smile.

“Draco.” Her tiny hand grasped his. “Mother is waiting in the kitchen.”

“How is your father, Pica?”

She shrugged, her blue eyes unbelievably wide. She led them through a long corridor toward the back of the house. The dark red damask wall paper had many light rectangular patches where pictures had once hung. Hermione noticed that there were gaps in the rhythm of small tables and side boards lining the walls. No decorative objects were standing on the remaining furniture. The house looked as if the owners were getting ready to move out. Or as if somebody had died.

They found the mother of the child in the kitchen. Dishes and cookware were set out on the worktops and both the clothes airer and the pot rack hanging from the ceiling were well-used. The pan rack in the corner was missing the biggest of the copper sauce pans.

A delicate woman sat at the scrubbed kitchen table. Her robes showed the same over-use of tailoring charms as the girl’s, only here, they had the tell-tale dense and stiff patches of fabric shrunk by repeated plisse spells.

Dark circles like bruises marred her pale skin underneath her eyes. Her eyes were dull and tired.

“Palilia.”

“Draco.” She tried a small smile.

“How is the family?” Hermione was shocked to see Draco Malfoy hug the small woman.

She gripped his shoulders and pushed gently to be able to look into his eyes. Her eyes suddenly shone with tears and she pressed her lips together to keep them from spilling over.

“They decreased Picus’s wages again.”

Draco closed his eyes. “Did they say why?”

“No. They did it just because they could. They know very well that he desperately needs the money to pay the reparation taxes and, goodness, possibly some food every now and then?” She angrily wiped at her eyes with her sleeve. “Pica is starting Hogwarts next year. I have no idea how we even will afford used books and robes.”

“We’ll find a way. We always do.” Draco cast a sideways glance at Hermione who was standing in stunned silence. The woman followed his gaze and looked at Hermione without recognition. Meanwhile Draco busied himself by digging a small leather pouch out of a pocket inside his cloak. Laying it on the table, it made the faint clinking sound of coins being jiggled.

The woman stared at the pouch with sad eyes. “I hate that you have to bring this. I hate that we need charity and I hate that I am going to accept it.” She clenched her hands into fists and released them slowly and deliberately. “Thank you, Draco.”

“Will it be safe for you, if I leave the pouches for the others with you? Can you get word to them without attracting attention? I’d rather not go from house to house at the moment.”

The woman nodded resolutely. “We have a druid hole in the house that we can use to hide the pouches. I think I will scrape together some tea leaves and invite my cousins and friends for an afternoon of needlepoint.”

“You hate needlepoint,” Draco pointed out, his eyes soft.

“I think I am presently developing an urge to make it an acquired taste. Possibly every month.”

He smoothed her unstyled hair back from her forehead. “Picus is a very lucky man.”

She playfully slapped his shoulder. “Charmer!”

“How is your sister?”

“Destroyed.”

Depression settled over the room like a blanket of snow, it even seemed to muffle all sounds.

While the kitchen was utterly silent and still, the sound of somebody creeping down the stairs in the hallway were ever louder.

“Are you handing out our bailments?” The voice sounded both mocking and aggressive.

“Cassiopeia!”

“Don’t act all offended, Palilia. You know as well as I do that the money he gives us is the only thing that keeps us out of Azkaban! None of us could pay the reparation tax! None!”

The words might have been rational on their own but the tone of voice had a shrill edge to it. Bare feet came into view first. In need of a cut, the toenails showed flecks of dark red varnish, long grown out and rubbed off.

The robes seemed to be clean, albeit out of fashion which was only noticeable because they had once, not too long ago, been the very height of it.

All in all, the impression was one of a less deranged Bellatrix Lestrange. The hair a bit more coiffed but in a way that suggested that her heart was not in performing the otherwise practiced task.

Both hands clutching at the banister, the witch slowly made her way down the stairs, naked feet dragging on the steps covered in a blood-red runner.

“How long do you think you can do this, Draco?”

“However long it will be necessary or I will be able to,” Draco calmly replied.

“And how long do you think it will take until they throw you into Azkaban? Until they have thrown every last one of our wizards into that reeking pile of stones?” She flung a hand out toward the empty walls of the hallway. “We have already sold our ancestors, how long until we sell ourselves?”

“Cassie...” The woman Palilia sounded half-placating, half-pleading.

Hermione hoped that they would leave soon and flee the uncomfortable atmosphere of the too empty house. Stepping back to move out of the line of potential curses being thrown, she bumped into one of the few pieces of furniture. The little preparation table jostled and its legs screeched loudly on the black and white floor tiles.

All eyes turned to Hermione.

“Hermione Granger!”

At the shrieking pronunciation of her sister, Palilia gave a shocked gasp of recognition and clapped her hand over her mouth.

The angry woman scrambled down the last few steps and rushed to Hermione with outstretched arms as if to grab her. Startled, Hermione stumbled further backward, upsetting the little table even more.

Cassiopeia grasped thin air and overbalanced, sinking to her knees with a sob. The witch crawled to Hermione, not taking the time to rise to her feet. “Please.” Tears and dust mixed on her face to dirty smears. “Please, milady. You are kind, I heard. You are the best friend of Harry Potter and the fiancée of Bailiff Weasley, you can talk to them, you can convince them!”

The witch clawed and clutched at Hermione’s cloak, even burying her face in the folds, muffling her words. In horrified silence Hermione could only stand and watch the woman fall apart at her feet. She heard the word ‘please’ and ‘husband’ and ‘Azkaban’.

She didn’t know what to do. Overwhelmed by the situation she sought Draco’s gaze and he spurred into action. Palilia bent down to grasp her sister’s shoulders, quietly murmuring words of reassurance. Hands were plied from her cloak and Draco steered her through the hall, away from the two now sobbing women on the kitchen floor.

There was a last, desperate ‘please’ before the door that had once proudly held a large knocker closed behind her and encased the misery within.

***

“What happened?”

Draco didn’t need to ask what she was referring to.

“Cassiopeia’s husband openly criticised the reparation tax. Most of the pureblood estates have already been either frozen or seized for the rebuilding efforts. You saw my cousin’s home. They have sold everything they could possibly spare. The new rich like to surround themselves with history, even if that means displacing other people’s confused ancestors to their new shiny houses and forcing family furniture to open drawers and doors even though century-old wards tell them otherwise.”

He moved to the edge of the sofa and stared into the tent’s wood burning stove.

“What did he do?” Hermione asked dreading the answer.

“He marched into the Department for Rebuilding, Restructuring and Re-education and told them what he was thinking about their taking half his salary after he was only receiving half of what his co-workers were earning in the first place. He was loud about it. He never made it home; they put him into Azkaban on remand the same day.”

“I am sure Arthur doesn’t know about this! And neither does Harry.” She sounded much more confident than she felt.

Draco looked at her not believing what she had just said. Then his expression turned sad.

“Oh, Granger.” He covered his face with his hands.

“I am sure I’d have known if something like this was a regular occurrence!” At his exasperated look she faltered. “Well, I might have known on a factual level that reparations had to be paid and that the level of income for families with suspected Dark association were lower but... surely the Ministry would not demand payments from people who don’t have enough to support their families?”

“It’s the Ministry, Granger. Power corrupts. The Light side is no exception and neither is Potter or Arthur Weasley or your lovely fiancée, whose sole purpose of living seems to be social advancement.

“He is no social climber,” she stated without much conviction.

“Oh, is he not? Then I must have imagined his ire upon his family’s societal status. I am very good at finding a person’s weakness, Hermione. This was his. His entire family’s in fact. They would have never admitted it, well maybe the Ministry fellow, the one, who was Head Boy in our 2^ndyear – or was it 3^rd? But correct me if I am wrong. The two oldest boys ran off as fast and far as they could. Egypt and Moldova?”

“Romania,” she interjected and he nodded in acknowledgement.

“We already talked about the ambitious Ministry one; and the twins, as much as they like to joke around, have done little more than developing their business since they started Hogwarts.” He looks at her speculatively. “I am nearly certain that Ginevra climbed into Potter’s bed and bled for him the second he came back to her.” She thought that his gaze might have softened at that. “Of course, she was fully aware of the consequences.”

“Stop it. He did not force or trick me into anything.” Hermione felt queasy, afraid that her pre wedding jitters might well turn into post wedding jitters.

“Of course not.” He said dripping with sarcasm. “Tell me, did he ever go down on bended knee to even ask?”

Hermione looked away, absently toying with the ring on her left hand. She had felt mortified and railroaded when Molly had passed a small, purple velvet-covered box to Ron. He had simply slipped the Prewett engagement ring onto her hand and the breakfast table had broken out in cheers. She could not remember ever actually agreeing to anything. No question and no answer; was she engaged at all?

Draco tucked a stray curl behind her ear.

“You look very nice in green.”

She trembled. The day had been only the latest in a string of eventful and exhausting days.

Had he come closer? There was not that much space on the two-seater sofa anyhow...

“Am I frightening you?”

He must have come closer! She could feel his breath on her skin.

Draco skimmed his fingers along her neck, not quite touching but every single hair on her arms and upper body was standing and her skin blazed.

“I haven’t even touched you,” he whispered, not quite into her hair. “Yet.”

The tremble was now a very noticeable shudder and she helplessly arched her back, pushing even more toward him.

“Is he such a dilettante that he knows not to touch you gently?” His fingertips found the hem of her skirt. “Tell me, Granger, does he make you shiver?” She didn’t know whether she felt his touch or just the electricity between them that made the hairs on her legs stand when he slid his hand upward. Gods, he was good at not touching her. “Does he know how sensitive you are?” She had to look away. “Does he take his time to learn you?” Oh gods, why didn’t she do something? Anything? “Your skin is so soft.” He skimmed along the edge of her knickers, trailing pleasure in his wake, sharper and more purposeful than a mere tickle. Slowly, as if waiting for her to object, he pushed the fabric aside. To her horror, she now felt that her sex was already blooming and open for him. In startled realisation she struggled to think of something to stop what was enfolding. He dipped lightly inside and then moved up to her mons. A finger stroked the full length of her clitoris, once, twice. There was no denying that he had an effect on her.

“I will draw back this little piece of skin.” He pressed his cheek against hers. “I will hold it taut and then I will rub.” Her teeth started to chatter and she had to close her eyes, so embarrassed was she. “Ever so lightly,” he whispered.

Her breath sped up and she tensed her thighs in anticipation. He was so close. Everywhere.

“May I?”

Hermione keened and opened her legs wider.

The pleasure was nearly too much to bear. Sharp and sweet and so very, very direct. Hermione buried her head in his shoulder and held on to his arms. He swirled his finger around and around in soft circles. It was as if he could hold her simply by that tiny nub of pure delight. She tried to scoot even closer to him, seeking more pressure. Draco hesitated for a moment before he gave her what she wanted. It overtook her and she cried out into his robes, climaxing faster than she had ever achieved by her own hand. He prolonged her pleasure until she shied away from his touch, still buried in his neck.

“You are no chaste priestess, Hermione.”

And with that he disentangled himself gently and left her in the warm nest of his sofa, her sex throbbing from the climax he had brought so easily on her.
- 2
- 3
- 4
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Hooded Man