Title: All Nights (7/?)
Keywords: Harry, Hermione, H/Hr, Ron, Draco, post-HBP
Word Count: 2, 145
Rating: R
A/N: This chapter gave me a headache to end all headaches. The good news is, chapter 8 is coming along really well, and will probably be about twice the length of this one.
A/N 2: I'm not a Draco fan. Never will be.So there'snot a very big chance I'm going to be writing redeemed!Draco. *hides from the Tom Felton fangirls*
Dedication: For Chelsey for spending three and a half amazing days with me in the country. And for telling me this didn't suck as much as I thought it did. You? Rock.
After the initial shock passed, Ron's face twisted into a dangerous scowl. He strode forward, hesitating as if unsure whether to use his fists or his wand.
Malfoy leaned back, casual almost, tossing the cup up and down in his hand. "You three are so predictable. It's a bit boring, really."
A strange noise tore itself out of Ron's throat, halfway between a scream and a growl.
"You are so fucking dead, Malfoy," he said.
"Calm yourself, Weasley. With blood pressure that high, you'll keel over and roll yourself into an early grave."
Hermione couldn't do anything but grip tightly to Harry's elbow, feeling like the typical distressed damsel and not liking it one bit. Hate for Malfoy bubbled in her chest. How could he stand there so calmly when minutes before he'd had her on her back, taking great pleasure in torturing her?
"Give me one reason why I shouldn't Avada Kedavra your pale white arse, Malfoy," Ron spat, his ears reddening.
"Because, you dipshit, I'm on your sodding side." Malfoy waved the cup. "See this? It's your next horcrux-one I managed to save for you."
"You…" Ron said slowly, a twisted smile on his face. "You're on our side? Just how thick do you think I am?"
"Do you really want me to answer that honestly, Weaselgit?" Malfoy nodded his head in Hermione's direction. "I saved the Mudblood's life. That must count for something."
"Saved her life?" Ron roared. "You… you…"
Ron advanced, but Harry lunged forward to grab his arm. "Ron, wait."
He knew, Hermione thought, letting go of Harry. He knew about Malfoy. He knew-and that was the only reason he'd surrendered the cup. He knew and he'd let Malfoy torture her… for fun…
She felt a wave of nausea pass through her. Harry was the one person she was sure would do anything if her life was threatened.
Vaguely she heard Harry tell Ron that Malfoy was telling the truth-he was on their side. They were arguing about it, their voices becoming louder. I should tell them to keep it down, but she lacked the strength.
Malfoy stood back, still holding the cup, his smirk self-satisfied. She didn't care if he was on their side, she didn't trust him. Wouldn't ever.
Ron and Harry were still arguing. They were talking about her now. She didn't want to listen-nothing could possibly justify Harry's actions…
"I would have done anything for you!" she said, only she didn't say it at all. They were both too far away and Malfoy stood there smirking and she was falling.
I'm in shock, she thought. That's normal. You don't just get up and walk away from the Cruciatus Curse.
She didn't have time to yell or make a noise. Her vision faded, spots dancing up in front of her eyes. She swayed, her eyes fluttering closed, her legs giving in from under her.
She fell, a part of her registering that Harry caught her before she hit the floor. Of course.
****
When she woke, she was safely in her room at Grimmauld Place. She half-hoped to find Harry watching over her. If he could offer some sort of explanation… some sign of affection…
But she was alone and she felt fine. The only scars were the emotional ones-how typical. She knew it would be a long time before she forgot what the Cruciatus Curse felt like.
Someone knocked on the door. Again her thoughts strayed to Harry. She could not decide whether or not she wanted to see him.
It was Ron. He smiled when he saw she was awake.
"Hey," he said.
"Hi." She tried to smile. "Where's Malfoy?"
Ron's expression tightened. "With Harry."
"Oh?"
"Yeah," Ron said. "They're trying to figure out how to destroy the horcrux."
"So it's true, then," she said. "He really has changed sides."
Ron glowered. "I wouldn't be too sure of that, Hermione."
Hermione nodded, remembering Malfoy's joy when he tortured her.
"I couldn't stay down there anymore-I thought I'd strangle the smug git." Ron called Malfoy several more unpleasant names. Hermione listened quietly, secretly pleased that Ron appeared to be so angry on her behalf.
She even ignored her part of her that wished it was Harry instead.
Eventually Ron calmed down enough to tell her what happened, most of which Hermione had already determined for herself. Suspecting that they would try and steal Hufflepuff's cup, Severus Snape was sent to head them off. He'd let them do the work of uncovering it and then take it from them.
"Because we'd be weak from getting around the protection charms," Hermione surmised. "Only-it didn't happen that way."
"No," Ron said. "When Malfoy heard about the plans, he went in and got the cup for himself, he put a fake in its place."
"Malfoy was able to circumvent the protection charms?" Hermione said.
"Yeah. Can you believe it?"
No, Hermione thought bitterly. "So the cup we went after-the cup Harry handed over to Snape-"
"Was a fake," Ron said.
Hermione watched him steadily. I was tortured for a fake cup… Harry nearly sacrificed me for a fake cup…
"How much of this did Harry already know when we went in?"
Ron shrugged. "Dunno. You'll have to ask him."
***
Hermione turned the cup around and around in her hands-as if that'll help me any.
Harry, Ron, and Draco all watched her silently.
"Have you tried burning it?"
"Yeah," Harry said. "No go."
"Look, Granger, we've tried everything. Contrary to what you might think, we're not stupid." Malfoy paused. "At least, I'm not."
"Shut your mouth," Ron snapped.
Hermione's hands shook as she examined the up. Her concentration was shot-being around Malfoy left her jumpy. Being around Harry…
He'd barely spoken to her since they'd returned. He gave no explanation, no apology, only silence. Unless he needed her help.
She set the cup down.
"I'll think about it."
Malfoy swore. "Granger, I don't think you understand what this means. Having this thing here? It makes us a fucking target."
"I can't do anything about it this instant. I'm sorry."
Malfoy narrowed his eyes. "You're going to have to tolerate being in the same room as me at some point."
"She doesn't have to tolerate anything about you, Malfoy," Harry said quietly. "Now leave her alone."
"You're one to talk, Potter."
Hermione couldn't listen anymore. She pushed passed them, intending on holing up in her room with her books. There was a way to destroy the cup. And she would find it.
***
She was jolted out of her research by a knock at her door. Sighing, she set down her book.
She gasped. It was Harry. But he looked like he'd been on the wrong end of a duel. A bruise was forming on his right cheek and there was a large gash along his jaw, dripping blood onto the carpet.
"Malfoy looks worse," he said simply.
Her breath caught. She didn't know what to think. His gaze pinned her in place, his eyes traveling up and down her body until she blushed.
He leaned down and kissed her and she reacted, her arms winding their way around his neck. She moved against him, fitting like she was made for him.
I should care that he's bleeding, but she didn't. They walked backwards towards her bed, avoiding books spread out on the floor. They kissed over and over, hands blindly coming up to touch faces and hair.
They landed in a tangle of limbs on the bed, Harry on top. His weight was familiar, reassuring, and she sighed, her hands tangling in his hair. He kissed her nose and then her cheeks, like he was in a hurry and had to get in all he could before it was too late.
She cupped his face and he hissed-she's forgotten about his injury. No matter, he bent his head to kiss her neck, his glasses cutting into her skin. She squirmed and he grinned, his hands busy undoing her shirt.
They kissed again, his tongue sweeping into her mouth, his pace expressing urgency. She tilted her head back when he made his way back to her throat, kissing and nipping at her skin, traveling down to the swell of her breasts.
His hands brushed her hips, tickling her stomach until she moaned. She loved the way he could make her feel-like she was desirable. Wanted.
But she knew they couldn't do this-not now, not like this. There was too much unsaid between them. She had to know what had happened back in Borgins & Burkes.
His fingers were on the waistband of her knickers when she stopped him.
Her "wait" was met with a bewildered look, like he couldn't quite comprehend her words.
She gave an apologetic smile, reaching for her trousers to cover herself up. "I'm not in the mood."
His mouth fell open and she almost laughed at the expression on his face.
"Oh, no," she said. "I just stomped all over your ego, didn't I?"
He blinked and sat down next to her. "Actually… yes." He waited a moment. "What… I mean, you… you seemed to be enjoying yourself." A thought seemed to hit him. "It wasn't me, was it?"
This time she did laugh, the lost and desperate look on Harry's face making her want to throw her arms around him and hold on.
"No, it wasn't you. At least, not in the way you mean."
"Oh," Harry said, shifting.
Slowly she began to re-dress, her movements slow as weariness set in. She could feel Harry's eyes on her, his mind lost in thought.
She rested her head against her pillow, her eyes closed. After a moment, Harry stretched out next to her, his fingers combing absently through her hair.
"Did I ever tell you that Malfoy mastered Occlumency?" She shook her head. "Turns out, he's quite a skilled Legelimens too."
Hermione waited. "Oh?"
"Legelimency's an interesting skill. It's what Voldemort uses to break into other people's minds. You can even leave imprints on another person-memories… thoughts." Harry's hand stilled on her hair. "He… when Snape threatened your life… Malfoy, he told me what he was planning on doing."
"He broke into your mind, you mean," Hermione said.
"Exactly. He told me he to wait, that he had to make Snape think he was on his side." Harry scowled. "Fucking bastard."
Hermione flinched, surprised to hear Harry use such strong language.
Harry's voice was hard when he continued. "Malfoy tortured you because he still hates you and he still hates me and he knew I wouldn't know what to do about it. The only reason he's on our side is because he hates Voldemort even more than that."
Hermione studied him, the pain and guilt evident on his face. She touched her fingertips to his lips, understanding that his avoidance of her bad been due to how deeply her torture had affected him. He grasped her wrist, his eyes deepening.
"Listen, I don't care how much Malfoy claims he did it to fool Snape-it doesn't matter. You and Ron, you come first. Maybe it means I really should go off on my own, but I can't and I haven't." His voice dropped. "I'd do anything if you were in danger, I promise. So I just… I thought… you ought to know that."
Harry slumped a little, like the speech had exhausted him. She knew she should tell him that the horcruxes were more important, but she couldn't. She traced his face with her fingers instead; the slope of his nose, the outline of his lips, the rise of his cheekbones.
He leaned forward to kiss her gently. His tongue flicked out against her lips and her arms came up to encircle his neck. A sigh escaped her throat, thoughts of Malfoy fleeing to the corner of her mind.
He kissed his way down her neck again, his hands caressing her skin and undoing buttons. She leaned back, giving permission with her eyes, letting him express his regret in touches and kisses. This was their own language, free from the complications and confusion of words, pure in that it belonged solely to them.
They said each other's name, sometimes over and over like a chant, sometimes to reassure each other that it was real, they were real.
He tugged down her knickers and she looked at the ceiling, trusting him with everything she had, knowing he'd take her to new places. His tongue delved into her, circling her clit, causing her to arch and clench tight handfuls of the bedcovers.
I'm sorry, he seemed to say and she arched and whimpered and cried his name. His teeth scarped against her and the ceiling blurred.