Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Peace in the Darkness	By : UpTheHill Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 19332 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I do not own any of the characters nor the setting from the Harry Potter world. There are plot details that are not mine either. I make no profit out of this story in any way as I am writing for my personal enjoyment.

Chapter List
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- 3
- 4
Chapter 3: Little Golden Feathers
During the next three weeks, Hermione barely saw Draco. He was not only nowhere to be seen outside the classroom, but he also abandoned his prefect duties and was absent from a couple of Potions lessons, making his appearance even rarer. And, on top of all of that, even when Draco did show up, the pair ignored each other nevertheless. It all made Hermione very anxious while not knowing how Draco felt was driving her crazy.
“It’s very suspicious, Hermione,” said Harry to her when they were walking to the Great Hall after Potions in which Malfoy didn’t bother to turn up. “Draco’s absence, I mean. And don’t tell me it’s not because it is.”
It was.
“They say he’s sick,” she tried defending Draco for some reason. “What’s so suspicious with being sick? He does look pale and tired every day, maybe it’s his immune system or something…”
Very good, Hermione. ‘Very’ convincing. Hilarious.
“Then how come he’s not in the hospital wing?” said Harry daringly.
Hermione just mumbled in shock, “What—?”
“Yeah, he’s not. I watch him on my map. He disappears, Hermione. Sometimes I merely can’t find his name on my map.”
Hermione held her breath. Yes, it was very suspicious, but the thing that startled her was the sudden realization that Harry might have seen Hermione’s dot next to Draco’s. She exhaled in an uncertain relief when she figured that Harry would have said something by now if he’d noticed them together.
God, everything’s so messed up.
Hermione was feeling troubled pretty much every day since her last direct encounter with Draco, so she reacted rather sensitively to any additional irritations, although most of the time she managed to handle herself. One of the most annoying things she had to deal with was the regular Professor Slughorn’s parties which Hermione was forced to go to. She was angry at Harry for not being a good friend and avoiding to keep her company. True, Ginny was in the Slug Club too, but so was Cormac McLaggen. The annoying seventh-year was so pushy and full of himself, constantly brushing his fingers through his wiry-haired head and leering at Hermione whenever they were in the same place. Since his behaviour didn’t tone down as days went by, not even in a bit, Hermione assumed that McLaggen thought she was only feeling shy towards him, but didn’t dislike his lure. In reality, however, the over-assertiveness of Cormac’s romantic advances towards Hermione was making her feel truly uncomfortable and disturbed. In order to cheer herself up, she always remembered this year’s Gryffindor Quidditch tryouts, when Hermione Confunded McLaggen so he would fail to keep the Quaffle from scoring and, for this reason, Ron would be picked to play Keeper in Harry’s team. This memory tickled her cheek muscles into an invisible smile.
And now, the first Quidditch match of the season, Gryffindor against Slytherin, was literally around the corner (not like when Ron said that weeks ago). Those several days before the match were, well, pain in the arse for Hermione. No, Ron was a pain in the arse.
“Yeah, well,” Ron smirked sharply, “everyone’s talking that that McLaggen douche would have been better in the team.”
“What is this rubbish?” Hermione almost yelled in a shrill voice.
“And by the way,” Ron ignored her reaction, “how come you two are not snogging yet? Oh, wait, maybe you are! Maybe it’s just me who doesn’t know!”
She let out a cry, “Ron!”
“Conversations” like that became a routine. Ron was acting as if he was about to lash out at everyone whose sight he met, and he was treating Hermione with disrespect and sneering indifference which, Hermione assumed, was due to his anxiety of the upcoming match. Although Hermione’s romantic feelings for Ron were undeniably fading away, she still cared. And she still was hurt.
Of course, Hermione didn’t know that recently Ron had a fight with Ginny, who made fun of Ron’s inexperience in romance and obliviousness of the fact that even Hermione had snogged someone (that someone being Viktor Krum) like everyone else has. Ron was boiling with anger and jealousy in addition to dreading the match, and thus was letting out on everyone, including Hermione.
When the morning before the match came, Hermione got up later than she normally would because she didn’t want to breakfast with Ron. When she thought that her best friends would have already be done with their meal, she walked down to the Great Hall. Unfortunately, as she entered the Hall, she spotted both Ron and Harry in their Quidditch uniforms still at the table. For a second she hesitated, but then approached them.
“How are you both feeling?” she asked tentatively, her eyes stabbing the back of Ron’s ginger head.
“Fine,” Harry said casually. Hermione sat in front of him next to Ron, although keeping her distance, and grabbed a piece of French toast.
Hermione noticed how explicitly Harry handed over a glass of pumpkin juice to miserably-looking Ron. She thought Harry was acting suspiciously.
“Drink up,” he said.
Hermione widened her eyes with realization. He added something to Ron’s drink.
“Don’t drink that, Ron!” she told him sharply before his lips touched the glass.
Ron didn’t expect Hermione to react like that, but she explained herself telling what Harry must have done. The black-haired friend tried denying it, pretending to be unaware of what Hermione was talking about, but she wasn’t stupid.
“Ron, I warn you, don’t drink it!” she said once more, but Ron looked at her daringly, picked up the glass and gulped the juice down.
“Stop bossing me around, Hermione,” he said in a low voice.
Hermione stared at him for a second with an offended shock in her face, then hissed at Harry quietly so that only he could hear it, “You should be expelled for that. I’d never have believed it of you, Harry!”
“Hark who’s talking,” Harry whispered back. “Confunded anyone lately?”
That was the last straw. Hermione sharply stood up, threw a couple of fierce glares at her friends, and stormed out from the Hall with her French toast in her hand.
How can they treat her like that?! All she wished was to protect Ron from harm and to not let him choose a wrong path. She knew she was sometimes acting like an overly protective mother to her friends, but that’s what she did—she cared! Where would they have been if they didn’t have Hermione to help them in trouble? Honestly, they’re such idiots. Can’t they just acknowledge they truly needed her?
She was heading towards the Quidditch pitch, eating her toast. Hermione was walking alone and figured that nobody had gone to the pitch yet. Although the weather was cold, the wind was barely palpable. She tilted back her head to look up at the sky which was clear and nice, and its clean pale blue colour was very soothing.
Hermione turned her bushy head back straight and almost choked on her toast when she saw Draco Malfoy in the distance moving towards her with his hands in his pockets.
Her stomach flipped and she froze in place.
No—what? No. That’s stupid.
She started walking again. Her heart… it was thumping like crazy. Draco seemed to not have noticed her yet though.
Where should she look? What should she do? Pretend that nothing happened?
Should I say hello..?
Of course not. That would definitely be stupid.
So she just continued walking, making short glimpses of Draco’s bowed head so that she’d know at what point he’d see her.
And now was that moment. Draco raised his head, laid his grey eyes upon her and Hermione recognized the second when he realized who she was. He didn’t scowl, however; his face simply froze, just like hers did when she spotted him, although he didn’t stop walking.
Hermione was determined not to look at Draco, but sometimes her eyes uncontrollably sought Malfoy’s sight. During such brief peeks she decided that the pale Slytherin must be avoiding the contact as well, because sometimes she caught him staring at the ground and sometimes, for the shortest moments in the world, their eyes collided.
Now there was only a 10-feet distance between the couple, but neither of them did anything, so they just continued moving looking pathetic. Hermione lowered her head to hide her blush. And now they were passing by, although they kept very close to each other, so their shoulders lightly brushed and Hermione’s whipping hair touched Draco’s skinny jowl.
And that was it. A brief thrilling moment. But all Hermione knew was that she craved for more.

* * *
The Quidditch match was breathtaking. Ron was soaring the air like a needle, saving every single goal with ease, showing off his spectacular moves. Nevertheless, Hermione knew very well what was going on—Harry had put some Felix Felicis, a potion for luck, into Ron’s morning drink and that’s why he was playing like a professional. And although she was happy for her friends, she knew how unfair and dishonest and illegal Harry’s action was.
Hermione couldn’t help but notice that Draco was absent from the match. He was the Slytherin Seeker, but today some other boy named Harper played instead of him. As Harry would say, it was suspicious. But although she wished Draco played so she could watch him, she was also glad that he wasn’t there. Hermione didn’t want to experience twofold feelings towards the game. She would have had a hard time deciding which players she was rooting for.
After the match Hermione went to face Harry and Ron in their changing room to blame Harry for being so irresponsible. But to her surprise, Harry didn’t cut pretending he wasn’t aware of what she was talking about.
“You spiked Ron’s juice with lucky potion at breakfast!” she shrilled.
“No, I didn’t,” Harry answered.
Hermione stood shocked. Then Harry explained how he only pretended to have poured some of the potion to boost Ron’s confidence. Of course, Ron was as astounded as Hermione to find out that he did that whole greatness in the pitch all by himself. But Ron wouldn’t be Ron if he didn’t become even more indifferent towards Hermione for “not believing in him”. She tried explaining herself, telling Ron that he was as oblivious as her, but Ron wouldn’t listen and he simply strode out. Not being able to handle anyone’s presence anymore, Hermione strutted out of the changing room too.
She was galloping in fury towards the castle, although making a longer bypass to avoid Ron and the rest. Hermione was shaking, her tears falling down her cheeks, and she kept wiping them out because the cold in the air made her damp skin sting.
She never meant any harm. Never. She did believe in Ron, that’s why she was furious that Harry played dirty! Ron didn’t need that. He could do it all by himself.
Why is Ron so ignorant? Why does he behave like a child? How doesn’t he understand, how doesn’t he realize how foolish he’s been acting? That wasn’t fair to Hermione at all. Ron was treating her like he didn’t care.
But I do! Hermione screamed inside her head. I care!
And it hurt like hell.
Hermione spent some time walking outside, calming herself down. When she couldn’t stand the cold anymore, she decided to get back to the castle. Hermione knew that there was now a party in the Gryffindor Tower which she obviously didn’t want to attend, but she had nowhere else to go, so she reached the Fat Lady portrait and walked inside the Common room, ready to just shoot straight to her dorm.
The room was nosier and more crowded than she expected. Everyone was laughing and cheering and chanting “Weasley is Our King”. The bustle annoyed her, but she was glad that no one noticed her sad face. She tried pushing her way through the crowd, but at one point she turned her head sideways and flinched like in slow-motion.
Ron was pressing against Lavender Brown, both of their arms wrapped around each other and their mouths in a firm embrace.
At that moment, something snapped inside Hermione’s heart and she instantly knew there was nothing sincere left for Ron anymore.
Hermione turned around and walked out of the Tower. Her face didn’t reflect any emotion. Every of her muscle felt numb. She was simply tired.
Hermione went down the seventh-floor corridor, looking for an unlocked empty classroom. When the classroom 7C appeared to be exactly what she wanted, she came in, closed the door and settled down on the teacher’s desk. The room, full of shelves with books and dusty clutter, was glumly dim as the sky had gotten cloudy and gloomy and the only two windows in the room weren’t providing enough light.
These past couple of months… they were too emotional for Hermione to handle. She was experiencing one of the most awful feelings she imagined—having her sanity been damaged by her emotional distress.
Stupid boys. All of them. Ron, Harry, Cormac, Draco… Immature fools.
Hermione never felt more misunderstood.
She took out her wand, raised it up and conjured a flock of yellow birds that shot out of the wand tip. She sadly smiled at the little birds circling right above her bushy head. Hermione just sat there with her hands on her lap lightly holding each other and listened to the quiet fluttering and twittering of the birds. Her mind was now calm and empty.
After a while, the classroom door slowly opened and Harry silently walked inside and spoke to her in a careful voice. The two of them were having a short depressingly awkward talk when the door burst open again and they saw Ron and Lavender, laughing, holding each other by the hand.
“Oops!” Lavender said and, unable to stop giggling, stepped out of the room closing the door behind her.
And now the room fell silent. Even Hermione’s birds stopped twittering. She watched Ron’s face as he was avoiding eye contact. She could see that he could barely handle the silence, and indeed he soon said something to mask his discomfort and guilt, but nothing mattered to Hermione anymore.
Hermione slid off the desk. She pointed her wand at Ron, who stood in front of the closed door, and muttered, “Oppugno.”
The yellow birds began zooming straight at Ron at high speed like bullets, but Ron moved away in time and the birds just crashed into the door and fell down in a handful of feathers. Ron’s face never appeared more aghast. He stared frozen at Hermione with his eyes full of shock, but then recovered himself, opened the door and slammed it behind him.
Hermione sat back on the desk. Harry was still standing somewhere in the middle of the room, looking at the little golden feathers on the ground. After a few long silent moments he turned back to Hermione with compassion in his face.
“Go,” said Hermione softly.
“Oh, I don’t… I can—”
“No, it’s okay, Harry,” she gave him a gentle smile, but her eyes were sad.
Harry didn’t move. He still kept his eyes fixed on hers, making sure Hermione meant what she said.
“Really,” she reassured, “I’m okay. I just wish to be alone.”
Harry stood still for a couple more seconds, then nodded, swung round and left the classroom.
Finally the silence was quieter than ever. Dense nothingness hummed inside her ears and her body as if it was empty. She was sitting on the table, leaning a bit forward with her arms gripping the edge of the desk, supporting her. Hermione’s feet were hanging down and she began swinging them lightly in the air. When one heel accidentally hit the desk, the sound echoed across the room and Hermione trembled.
Empty. Very dark and empty.
Hermione glanced outside the window into the darkening sky. Then she turned her head to face the door again, closed her eyes, took a deep, long chilly breath and exhaled it. After a minute of staring into the darkness of her eyelids, she opened her eyes again and saw a vision of a tall white-headed young man standing in front of her. Except that it wasn’t a vision.
Draco was actually standing there looking at her with the door closed behind him. His face, just like Hermione’s, didn’t convey a single emotion. Interestingly, the silence in the room sounded just as same as it did when Hermione was alone.
“Are you…” Draco began saying something under his breath.
“Fine?” she finished his sentence, then snorted silently and turned her head to look through the window. “I’m fine.”
Although Hermione’s mind was blank, she did wonder at her peacefulness for a second. Her body felt light and easy and her heartbeat was calm.
“I, err, heard…” he murmured and began to slowly, silently move across the room, looking at all the clutter on the shelves, his hands in his pockets.
“Yeah,” Hermione breathed out. Then she grinned to herself, “It’s funny though,” she said.
Both Draco and Hermione looked at each other.
“What?” he asked with uncertainty.
“How much I don’t care,” she shrugged, still mildly smiling.
She saw Draco trying to read her face, trying to understand why she would say things like that.
Yeah. Hermione was aware that she was being odd. She probably even scared Draco a little, who knows. But did it concern her? No, of course not. Not anymore.
“You sure you’re okay?” asked Draco again very cautiously and gave a little scratch to the back of his neck. “Ron’s being a git, you know…”
“Yeah, well,” Hermione sneered at his sensitivity, “not that it matters to you.”
After a few long silent moments, Draco approached and stepped right in front of her. One of his arms was by his side and with another hand he held onto the edge of the desk in a spot next to Hermione’s hip. Draco wasn’t looking at her now; instead he gazed at Hermione’s bushy hair resting on her shoulder. He raised his free hand and with two fingers he grasped a few of her curls, gently twisting and stroking them. It went on for several good long seconds during which Hermione admired the dim light that fell on a side of Draco’s slender face. He was so close she could see tiny white fuzz covering his smooth pale skin. Grey enchanting eyes met Hermione’s again, and her empty brain clicked while her stomach fluttered.
“It doesn’t,” he muttered breathlessly and his hand moved from her hair to her neck, giving Hermione some painful goose bumps and shivers, arousing her numb body back to life. Draco swallowed hard, and so did she. They were gazing at each other, forgetting the time existed.
Then the rest happened in an instant. During one split second, Hermione and Draco’s heads leaned closer and their lips merged together like liquid fire. He first gave her several breathless and passionate kisses, pressing his lips against hers as if his life depended on them, and then, as Hermione let out a silent moan, her mouth opened slightly, and Draco’s hot tongue smoothly slithered in (no pun intended). Their tongues were brushing and clashing and whirling against and around one another, and Draco wasted no time in suckling and biting her bottom lip, making it hotter and swollen. Draco was grasping Hermione’s neck tighter and tighter, his other hand now laid on her hip, and Hermione clung onto the wizard’s waist with both her hands, not being able to handle the tingling throughout her body.
After a minute Draco’s face withdrew a little, although their foreheads and noses were still lightly touching. Both students, dazed with the intensity of this moment, were gazing at one another’s mouths agape, shallowly gasping for air.
Just a couple of minutes ago Hermione was marvelling at the emptiness that filled her body, and now it felt as if electricity was pleasantly sparking across and underneath her skin, reviving only the happy pieces of her mind. She felt amazing. Still easy and light as a little golden feather, but alive.
Draco took a tiny step rearwards drawing his arms back, looked to the ground and firmly covered his mouth with fingers. He slowly started receding backwards. Hermione just sat there watching Draco with her hands on her thighs and her eyes looking drunk.
“I—uhh…” he muttered after he lowered his arm from his face and then very suddenly, not even giving another glance at dizzy Hermione, hurried out of the classroom.
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Peace in the Darkness