Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Twisted	By : BB_Rosie & ArielKidd Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 31731 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 6
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I don't make any money from this story. I own nothing.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
- 7
The blood gathered in her cheeks. Hoarse sounds came from her lips as she choked for air. The invisibility cloak was torn from her body. Draco’s heavy body kept in her place by looping his arm around her neck. The cloak was clutched in his hand. His lips lingered over her ear, whispering soft breaths against the sensitive skin. The question he asked flittered between them, almost silently, but all she did was struggle against his hold. A cruel laugh barked from him as he unexpectedly pulled away from her. Hermione spun around to face the wicked wizard. Her wild brown eyes drank in his evil grin as his laughter faded.
Hermione rubbed her throat gingerly. “Can you stop shoving me around the castle for once?” she snapped, angrily.
The grin remained smeared across his pale face as he corrected, lowly, “May. It’s ‘May you stop shoving me around the castle’.”
“You’re the last person I want to offer me advice,” spat Hermione. “Whether grammatical, or otherwise.”
The grin dropped from his lips, and she felt that familiar fear deadbolt to her stomach. Instinctively, she stepped back against the wall and kept her wary eyes on his stony expression.
Slowly, he moved closer to her, each step taunting her intentionally. “While you are Gryffindor’s princess prefect, the rules of curfew still apply, Granger. Unless you are on patrol, that is.”
Her body shrank back into the wall as he stopped a touch away from her. “It’s no business of yours what I do, . As far as you’re concerned, I don’t exist. Keep it that way.”
“It is my business when it’s me you’re following,” he growled, and placed his hands on either side of her head. The arm-cage made her feel even smaller before him, but she willed herself to keep the fear from showing in her eyes.
“That’s arrogant, even for you, . What makes you think I’m following-”
hissed – literally hissed – in her face. Cringing, she turned her head to the side and allowed the shudder to run down her spine. “I’m not certain which angers me more,” he whispered dangerously. “Your lies, or your insolence.”
Hermione clenched her teeth together as his nose brushed against her cheek. “What do you want, ?”
The question was growing tedious, even to her. She’d asked him this many times over, and was nowhere closer to an answer than the first time. Blaise’s words echoed in her mind, ‘You use Gryffindor courage and brashness to interrogate a man who operates on lies, mistruths, and cunningness.’ Think like a Slytherin, she told herself.
“I want to know why you’re following me,” he replied. It was the first time he’d answered the question directly, perhaps with a flavour of truth. But she suspected there was much more that he wanted.
“I wasn’t …” her lie faltered as he tutted softly. A warning. Hermione inhaled shakily, and tried her best to ignore the slowly added pressure of his body against hers. The proximity was a distraction. Unnerving. “Fine,” she gritted out. “I was following you.”
“I believe I asked why,” he whispered and brushed his soft lips against the shell of her ear. “Not for a confession.”
“Because …” Again, she hesitated. He didn’t interrupt her this time, but the lie fell silent in her dry mouth. Blaise’s voice reminded her, ‘Draco will respond better to you, and treat you better, if he thinks you are warming to him.’
Hermione slipped on her usual mask of confidence. Slowly, she turned her head to face him directly. His eyebrow arched at her boldness, and his lips quirked at the sides. “I was following you, because I wanted to speak with you.”
Icy words replied, “Is that so? And what would a mudblood want to speak with me about?”
“Exactly that,” she said. His fierce grey eyes didn’t blink. He stared right at her and she stared back. “You call me a mudblood, you throw me against walls, hurt me, intimidate me, but you can’t stop coming to me. Every time I look at you in class, you’re staring at me. When I’m in the Great Hall, you’re watching me. I turn a corner, and there you are, finding any excuse to talk to me, to be near me. One might conclude you fancy me, . But I know better than that. You’re up to something, and that something involves me. I want to know what and why.”
“That’s quite the demand,” he purred. The smirk remained in place, but no humour shone in his dark eyes. It was clear he was evaluating her. But Hermione saw that she’d caught him off-guard, and went to use that to her advantage.
Before she could speak, swept away from her and raised the cloak in his hand. “This,” he said, the cloak rustling in the air, “I will return for a price.”
“That’s not yours to take!”
“You wanted to know what I desire with you,” he argued. “Is that still the case?”
“Yes,” she said, her eyes on the cloak.
“Firstly,” he began, “I want my wand.”
“I don’t ha-” Draco cut her off, flicking his hand in the air. Hermione released a shrill shriek as she was thrown down the corridor. Draco’s bounding footsteps followed her as she crashed onto the solid ground with a crunch.
Hermione, on the ground, groaned from the pain thudding within her every muscle and bone. The warmth of fresh blood matted her curls to her forehead, but Draco just stared down at her, unfazed.
“Lie to me again, mudblood, I dare you,” he seethed, radiating danger and fury. “Return my wand, and no more injuries will befall you … for now.”
Cursing under her breath, Hermione took his wand from her skirt pocket and tossed it at his feet. The wooden stick seemed to roll toward him, drawn in by its master. Draco clicked his fingers and the wand jerked up before it slipped into his pocket.
“You got your wand,” she said, struggling to climb to her feet. “Now give me the cloak.”
“In time,” he said, coldly. “For a price.”
She placed her hand on the wall to steady herself. Her vision blurred from the blinding pain in her skull. “What price?”
Draco tucked the cloak under his arm and smirked at her. The expression had her blood boiling and heart racing. “A date,” he said.
“A date?” she shrilled, almost laughing. “You’re mad!”
Hermione grunted as he snatched her neck and hauled her closer to him. Her feet only just touched the ground as he lifted her face closer to his. His eyes glowed with danger as he looked down at her. “I can show you how mad I really am,” he whispered darkly.
“I want no such thing,” she wheezed – his grip had tightened around her neck. “I want no date with a creature like you, nor do I want to see any depths you’ve deluded yourself into thinking you have.”
He laughed, darkly, and released her. Hermione clutched her throat, but he kicked out his leg and swept her feet from under her. She landed on her side and cursed up at him.
“Bad mudblood,” he scolded with a grin. “You know where to find me when you change your mind.”
With that, he stepped over her heaped form and disappeared around the corner.
Harry stormed up and down the quiet common room.
“You did what?!”
Hermione tapped her foot nervously on the floor. Her fingers dug into the soft arms of the chair. “I …”
“I can’t believe you, Hermione!” Harry booted a footrest away from the armchair. He then rounded on her. “I said, don’t do anything without me. I explicitly told you, If you see Malfoy’s name, wait for me.”
Hermione’s jaw ticked before she slowly rose from the chair. Her glowering eyes reached up to his emerald ones. “You listen to me, Harry Potter,” she hissed. Harry faltered. “I don’t need your permission to anything. I saw an opportunity, and I took it. I hardly expected to be found whilst under the invisibility of the cloak. That’s not on me.”
“Because of your stupid choice, my cloak is in Malfoy’s possession. Do you know what that means, Hermione?”
“It means that I will have to get it back.”
Harry cursed under his breath and ran his fingers through his tousled hair. “It means, ‘Mione,” he said quietly, “that one of the few things I have left of my dad is in Malfoy’s hands.”
Hermione licked her lips and looked down at the floor. She hadn’t thought of it that way. But, of course she hadn’t. Her only focus had been Malfoy’s attack and his peculiar – and unsettling – demands.
“I’ll get it back,” she promised.
“How?” he spat. “How do you propose to have Malfoy return one of my personal belongings?”
Hermione sighed and dropped back down into the armchair. “He offered me a trade,” she said. “The cloak in exchange for …”
“In exchange for what?”
Her shoulders lifted as she shrugged. “A date.”
Hermione almost flinched as Harry kicked the footrest again. He’d gained a few eyes on him from the common room loiterers. Ginny, in particular, watched with undiluted interest.
Harry paced for a while. He was quiet, and Hermione remained silent, too, as he strode up and down by the fireplace. Soft murmurs of the other Gryffindors talking melted with the crackles of the simmering flames. Eventually, Harry fixed the footrest to stand in front of the armchair. He perched himself on it and fiddled with his round spectacles.
“A date,” he repeated, rolling the word with his slowly moving tongue. “What could he want with you that would require a date?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. Though, she had her speculations and theories. But, until she knew anything for certain, she decided that Harry was strictly on a need-to-know basis. When it came to Malfoy, Harry was clouded.
“How do you feel about it?”
Hermione raised her brows. “Honestly?”
Harry nodded.
“I’m not afraid, if that’s what you’re asking,” she replied confidently. “He puts me on edge, I suppose, but I’m not frightened of a silly Slytherin as pathetic as Draco Malfoy.”
The words were empty, she realised, even as she spoke them. But Harry knowing how afraid Malfoy truly made her wouldn’t help anything.
“Then you’ll do it?” he asked. “You’ll do this … date?”
“I have to,” she agreed. “I don’t see any other way to get your cloak back. Not yet, at least.”
“It’s about more than the cloak, now.”
“Harry-” she began cautiously.
“No, listen to me,” he interrupted. “This date-whatever-it-is … It’s an in. An opportunity to get intel. Malfoy doesn’t have to tell you anything … But you can get answers, or try to. Observe him – figure out what he really wants with you.”
“And get the cloak back,” she finished.
Harry smiled lopsidedly. It was insincere, she noticed. “Yeah,” he said. “That, too.”
“What information are you after?” she asked suspiciously.
“I think he’s a death eater,” he said. Hermione rolled her eyes – she’d heard that line too many times before. Harry added, “And I think that, somehow, you weave into his plans. I want proof that he’s one of them – the mark, perhaps.”
“Oh, sure,” she laughed. “I’ll just ask him, I suppose. Hey, Malfoy, do you mind showing me your forearms?”
Harry scoffed and removed his glasses. He cleaned the lenses with his tie. Before he fitted them back on his face, he said, “You’re a lot smarter than that, Hermione. You’ll find a way.”
“A date?”
Hermione dropped her bag onto the table and slipped into the seat opposite. “That’s what I said, Zabini.”
The pureblood’s unreadable eyes betrayed nothing. “And you’re telling me because we’re such great friends?”
Hermione huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. “I need to discuss it, Zabini.”
“Potter and Weasley cannot assist you in the area of friendly advice?” he replied coolly. The tranquil iciness in his voice wrapped around her tense muscles.
“You know him,” she reasoned. Hermione clasped her hands together and rested them on the edge of the table. Her composure slipped into place. “You know how his mind works,” she added. “Harry and Ron … They’re ruled by their emotions, and their hatred for Malfoy. I can’t trust them to act rationally. I need logic.”
“Oh, Granger,” he said silkily. “I may blush.”
Hermione shot him a steady stare. “I want to know what I’m getting myself into here, Zabini. Why does he want to go on a date? What’s his end game?”
Blaise smiled and dropped his quill onto the pages of an open book. “While I appreciate the compliment,” he said, “I mightn’t be able to assist. I do not know how the mind of that particular mystery operates. Knowing Draco as a friend and knowing his deepest thoughts are two completely different matters.”
Blaise flipped the book shut, trapping the quill inside. He gathered his things and stood.
“Come by the lake after lunch,” he said. “I may have answers for you then.”
Hermione narrowed her eyes suspiciously but nodded firmly. Any chance at answers was worth it – It could give her the advantage she needed in the dangerous dance with the devil she’d found herself in.
Lunch had been a tense affair. Hermione had picked at cucumber sandwiches, eating only the crust. It was her favourite part, the crust. She’d watched her fingers peel apart the brown strips of the bread to avoid the other productions going on around her.
Ron had spent the entire forty-five minutes having his face chewed off by Lavender. Cormac had sat himself a few seats up and suggestively licked his fingers clean whilst attempting to catch her gaze. It was repulsive. Harry, on the other hand, had decided that he was still furious with her. His silent words clawed at her eardrums. She couldn’t look at him, either.
Huffing quietly, Hermione dropped the crust to her plate and let her eyes roam around the Great Hall. The Slytherin table caught her attention. Blaise stood from his seat beside Malfoy and took a slender, pale hand in his own. Hermione dragged her stare up the arm to the girl it belonged to. Luna Lovegood.
Blaise boldly wrapped his fingers around Luna’s hand and escorted her out of the Hall. He seemed totally oblivious to the incredulous stares scattered around the students, especially the Slytherins. Though, some Slytherins appeared unfazed. Mainly Nott, Crabbe, Goyle, Greengrass, and, of course, Malfoy.
Hermione didn’t shudder when she locked eyes with Malfoy. The arctic eyes he bore held her gaze. But there wasn’t palpable malice in his eyes that time. Hermione doubted herself, but there seemed to be a question in them instead.
Harry scooted closer to her and whispered into her ear, “He’s looking at you.”
Hermione wrenched her gaze from Malfoy’s darkening one. “I know, Harry.”
“Now’s your moment,” he whispered. “Tell him you want to go on the date.”
“What, now?” she choked out. “In front of the entire school, Harry?”
Harry thinned his lips. “Right. Sorry. Better do it later. After the bell, I guess.”
“Can’t,” she said, and grabbed her bag. “I have other plans.”
Harry went to inquire, or protest. But she’d snatched a luscious green apple and left before he could.
Malfoy’s eyes followed her out the Great Hall.
Hermione found Blaise where he’d said. The Black Lake. He lounged on the lush grass with his shoes kicked off. Luna pranced around in front of him, snatching thin air before stuffing it into a crystal blue jar.
She didn’t look up from the jar as she greeted, “Hello Hermione. Are you here to help capture wrackspurts?”
“Oh,” uttered Hermione. “No, Luna. I was hoping to have a word with Blaise, actually.”
Luna smiled dreamily at the jar before she skipped closer to the shore and searched the dirt for more invisible, non-existent creatures.
Hermione sat beside Blaise and folded her legs into a basket. Blaise didn’t so much as glance at her – he tranquilly watched Luna dig little holes on the shore.
“So,” said Hermione. “You and Luna, then. I didn’t see that coming.”
Blaise fleetingly allowed a sly smirk on his face. Hermione observed his profile studiously as it relaxed again.
“Care to explain?” she prompted.
“Not particularly,” he said, eyes fixed on Luna ahead. “There is nothing to explain.”
“You don’t seem like the ‘catch wrackspurt’ type,” she said.
“No,” he agreed with a slight nod. “But, I am the ‘humour my girl’ type.”
Hermione baulked and rested her wide eyes on the side of his face. “Your girl?” she repeated incredulously.
Blaise smiled, eyes still on Luna. “Perhaps I am getting a little ahead of myself. One day at a time, as they say.” He craned his neck and rolled his stiff shoulders. Slowly, he tore his eyes from Luna and met Hermione’s baffled stare. “Questions?”
“What?”
“You have questions,” he said. “That is why you came here, is it not?”
“I came here because you said you’d have answers.”
“I said I might have answers,” he corrected, and looked over at Luna. She hopped on the shore and snatched invisible insects from the air. “And I only have answers if you have questions to answer, Granger. That’s how it works.”
Exhaling through her flaring nostrils, Hermione straightened her spine. “Right,” she said. “Is he a death eater?”
The reaction she’d expected didn’t come. Blaise’s eyebrows didn’t raise in shock, his lips didn’t part in a gape, his muscles remained perfectly relaxed. He mulled over her question for a few moments, silently.
“Why do you ask?” he replied after a while.
“You said in potions,” she explained, “that you don’t wear Voldemort’s mark on your arm.”
Blaise turned his face to the side and swept his mocha eyes over her face.
Hermione added, “You said nothing about Malfoy.”
He smirked and met her curious stare. “That is a question you should ask Draco,” said Blaise. He paused and considered her. “You took my advice.”
“What?” she asked, frowning.
He explained, “Draco was in a tolerable mood today. He mentioned that he saw you last night. Put the pieces together, and the jigsaw is this – You’re the reason for his agreeability today.”
“I’m sure he’s done many things between seeing me last night and now,” she argued. “Not to mention, he might’ve simply woken up in a good mood. He might’ve dreamt about killing kittens and puppies. That would explain it.”
Blaise chuckled gently. “You said yourself, Granger. I know my friend. That is why you’ve come to me, is it not? Because I know Draco.”
“I came because you told me you might be able to answer my questions. So far, you’ve only gone off on little tangents that help me in no way at all.”
“I have given you enough information,” he said indifferently. “It is up to you whether you find them useful or irrelevant.”
His gaze flickered back to the shore. Luna had a jar of dirt now. Hermione fleetingly thought of a movie she’d seen last summer with her parents. Pirates of the Caribbean, it was, and the Pirate sang ‘I’ve got a jar of dirt’ in the face of a monster who couldn’t step on land. The jar did nothing to save the pirate, but it offered a sense of safety in perilous times.
Is that what Blaise was doing? Was he offering useless dirt to comfort her in a way?
“Now,” said Blaise. “I’ve said all that I will. If you don’t mind, I’d rather like to return to Lovegood.”
“Why?” she blurted. “Like I said before, you don’t seem the type to hunt wrackspurts and nargles with Luna Lovegood.”
“You are so blinded by your narrow perspective,” he said coldly. “To you, I am catching wrackspurts by the lake with a girl who carries an unjust reputation. To anyone who isn’t ruled by a narrow-mind, I am watching the girl of my affections spend a lovely day outdoors, enjoying an activity which brings her happiness.”
Blaise got to his feet and stretched his arms above his head. Hermione stood and glanced at the castle doors. A shadow moved between them.
Blaise looked at Hermione. “For your own good,” he said, “I suggest relieving yourself of your solid perspectives. That way, you may just be able to wriggle yourself out the corner you haven’t realised you’re trapped in yet.”
Blaise went to walk away, but Hermione grabbed his shirt. He sneered down at the crease. “What about the date?” she asked.
“All I have to comment on that,” he said and removed her fingers from his shirt, “is that you should’ve seen it coming. The fact that you didn’t merely shows the disadvantage you have and how vulnerable you are.”
Blaise jogged away to the shore. Hermione stayed on the grass and watched as he crouched down beside Luna in the water and helped her scoop out slimy pebbles.
It didn’t sit right with Hermione at all.
Hermione climbed the stairs to the foyer. Her free period was almost over, and she had double Arithmancy soon. Unfortunately, Malfoy was in that class. He was in most of her classes, as a matter of fact. It wasn’t a surprise.
A shadow loomed up the wall. It gave his position away before he could slam her against another wall. Hermione whipped around and backed up. Malfoy advanced from grounds. He must’ve been watching her and Blaise on the grass.
Her fingers shook slightly. She clenched them to hide it.
His black sweater covered his crisp white shirt, and smoothed over the muscles beneath. Though, his usually combed blonde hair was a little unkempt that day, as if he’d run his fingers through it a dozen times in the past hour at least.
Malfoy’s eyes raked over her uniform. “How is your arm?” he asked casually. But, she heard – no, felt – the needles in his prickly tone.
Her arm ached at the memory of his assault. “I want the cloak back,” she hissed.
“You know how to earn it back,” he said, slowly approaching her.
Hermione stopped at the bottom of the main staircase and folded her arms over her chest. “Fine,” she said. “One time only, Malfoy. One date, and I get the cloak.”
“Deal,” he said, his voice as cold as his icy eyes.
“And,” she added, holding up her hand. “I pick where we have this date, and when.”
Malfoy smiled – a rare sight – and placed his hands in his pockets. He advanced, stopping only when he towered over her. “Not likely,” he whispered and bowed over her. Hermione raised her chin and met his cool eyes. “Tomorrow,” he said firmly. “On the Quidditch Pitch at precisely midnight.”
He lowered his head, and she stiffened. His lips neared hers and sucked in the shaky breath she released. But, then he was gone, leaving behind a frazzled Hermione and a whisper of his derisive laugh in his place.
- 5
- 6
- 7
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Twisted