The Line Between Life and Death
A/N: Alright, I know I posted a chapter last night, but I can't help it! I've got the bug again. There were already some views! I'm shocked and pleased! I promise that I'll be finishing this fanfic. It won't be falling to the wayside. But I would really adore some reviews. Tell me what you like about it, what can be done better. Oh, and a warning, readers? This is definitely lemonade. More sugar and flavoring than real lemon, but if steamy scenes offend you, then I'd skip parts of this. As always, I beg you to read, enjoy, and review!
There was time for quiet and thankfulness, finally. And finally, there was something to be thankful for. A real direction was known, though not the specifics. Everyone trusted Harry's words that he knew what the Horcruxes were and where they were hidden. No one questioned. No one wanted to question. It was easier to believe and hope and ride on towards a real destination in mind than wandering aimlessly, following up on dead-end leads and misinformation. With a direction, morale seemed to skyrocket with the Order.
Downstairs in the great room of Grimmauld place, people were sipping firewhiskey or pumpkin juice and talking quietly, speculating with enthusiasm what Harry might have meant. No one knew because before the volley of questions could be tossed at him, both Ginny and Molly fiercely forced everyone from his sickroom, both proclaiming there would be time enough after Harry had had time to rest for a bit and gather his strength. Ginny remained while Molly shooed people away. Ron patted Harry's hand as he left. The dark look he threw at Hermione and Draco didn't go unnoticed by Harry, but he was far too weary to even begin to fathom what he'd missed. He was more interested in knowing how long he'd been gone for, what had happened in the meantime.
Ginny was only too happy to fill him in on the harrowing fight of the Harpies, the terror, the bravery of everyone involved. Spells flew left and right, the smell of burning feathers and shrieks of pain and outrage. She told him everything she could remember, though by the time her story got to them arriving at the sprawling manor house, she could remember only flashes and decided to skip them altogether. Harry didn't need to know what he'd looked like or that Ginny had lain with her head on his chest, quietly making peace with the loss of his life. He protected her from some information, the least she could do was the same for him.
After the gruesome details were spent, they sat quietly together, just touching each others' hands, thinking their own thoughts in a comfortable silence. Harry broke it after a few minutes. "Ron seems…" he wasn't entirely certain how to finish that statement. He was obviously worried for Harry, a state Harry was unhappy with. After all, his own damn fault for making his friends worry.
"Ugh…" Ginny lay back on the bed, upper body on Harry's legs. "You've missed a bit there, too." She told him about the fight in the hallway, about Ron calling dibs, about him finding Hermione and Draco entangled, cuddled up and napping.
Harry had had a suspicion something was changing in Hermione, but that was par for the course, wasn't it? Change needed to happen. People had to grow and evolve, otherwise they stagnated. They grew static. They faded from memory. Hermione was always changing. Sure, some core things stayed the same. Her generous spirit, her temper, her laughter all stayed the same. But likes and dislikes ebbed and flowed like the sea. That was normal and natural; something that was going to happen regardless of what battle was raging on around them, with or without their presence. But to hear that Draco Malfoy had somehow woven his way into her world like a crippling kudzu vine, had grown on her like a fungus… it both displeased him and piqued his curiosity. Maybe there was something he wasn't seeing about Malfoy.
Hermione's judge of character was impeccable. Harry knew he was weak when it came to grudges. Holding grudges wasn't strength, no matter how much holding onto anger sometimes made him feel strong. It blinded him to what could be. The thought that Draco Malfoy, would-be murderer of Albus Dumbledore, could be genuine and sincere enough to change (and change rarely comes easily) was disorienting. It was disconcerting. He worried about his friend's heart… both of them. Ron was so easily wounded.
Hermione was stronger by far than either Ron or Harry. Harry was modest enough to recognize that. She had to be stronger than either of them… she'd put up with their bullshit for longer than most would have. She saw through their bravado, knew when to push and when to back off (though that was a hard-won trait for her). Maybe she was seeing through to something in Draco Malfoy that needed to be pushed to grow. Malfoy could be an asset, if he chose to be.
It was in the choosing that worried Harry. He sat again in quiet contemplation, kissing Ginny's fingertips thoughtfully. He was trying to reserve judgment on the situation, trying to view it objectively and found that he was having a lot of trouble. He imagined Hermione marrying Draco Malfoy (Hermione Malfoy! Ugh!) and saw him as the pale, pointed boy on the train their first year. That same arrogant bratty spoiled little boy who knew nothing of his luck. He saw him as that terrified boy, screaming in the Great Hall after the troll had been released. Harry saw the glint of mirth in his eyes as he taunted Hermione until her head bent and tears rolled over her still-chubby cheeks. His chest rolled with conflicting emotions.
He wanted his friend to be happy. He wanted her to find what he had found with Ginny… he wanted everyone in the world to have a chance at finding that special, amazing person. He did not want that person to be Draco Malfoy. And Ron. Poor, poor Ron. He thought he was in love with her. More than thought, Ron knew he loved Hermione. They both did. Harry knew that Ron was confusing an admiration, tightness in his trousers, and genuine enjoyment of her company for romantic love. Theirs was a complicated relationship and one Ron insisted on making even more complicated. Harry knew both of his friends must be hurting in ways that had nothing to do with him. After all, even though he was the Chosen One, life would go on without him. He had faced his own mortality enough to know that.
He and Ginny sighed at exactly the same time with the same intensity. They looked at each other and laughed, Harry shrugging his shoulders. "I guess there's not much we can do about this, is there?" Harry asked.
"Oh, we could meddle, of course, love." Ginny sat up, pressing Harry's palm against her cheek. "We could. We could try and break her and Draco up, help Ron with his plan. It wouldn't make Hermione love Ron. It would depress her, confuse her and we'd be doing her an injustice. I trust that woman. She sees more than most people do, I think. She's so smart, smart in a way that doesn't happen often. She's not just good with her books, but she has a way of seeing the world that just… is different." Ginny shrugged this time.
"Would it do any good to get rid of Malfoy at all?" Harry still wasn't keen on him being around, item or not with Hermione.
"I think that ship's already sailed. We've established that he's useful. Another pair of capable hands should always be welcome. And I refer to my original point. I trust Hermione. If I can trust her and Draco can trust her, why can't you?" Ginny traced the lines of Harry's fingers absently.
"Draco Malfoy said he trusts Hermione?" Harry looked at her dubiously.
"Word for word. Told that to my brother. To his face, even. After they'd been at it." Ginny jutted her chin out, a go-to expression of defiance that she couldn't help.
"He trusts her…" Harry mulled it over. Well, of course Malfoy ought to trust Hermione. Of course he ought to. She was brilliant, most brilliant witch to come out of Hogwarts in an age. She was too kind hearted and forgiving for her own good, though. That could get her into trouble.
"What do we do about Ron? Think he'll be able to function with him seeing them? I mean, seeing them… you know…" Harry swallowed, pressing thoughts out of his mind hastily. He knew what he and Ginny did. He did not want to envision Hermione, a sister in all but blood, doing what Ginny did to him to Draco Malfoy. He did not want to think about Draco enjoying it. Most of all, he didn't want to think that Malfoy would use it against her, hurt her with it.
"I have no idea about him, Harry. There are some times that I think Ron is the most steadfast creature I've ever known… and then he goes and does something to surpass unheard of stupidity and he surprises me again." Ginny smiled wanly, shaking her head. "Oh, he's not a stupid boy… just… blinded. He just wants so much to have this," she held their hands up, "that I think he'd do just about anything for it. Even convince himself that he's got it when he hasn't. You know how bull-headed he can be. The only one who can convince him that Hermione isn't the one for him is… Ron."
Harry had to agree, however grudgingly. "That still doesn't mean that Ron can be here and do this with Hermione and Malfoy being all snuggly." He said 'snuggly' with plain disgust. It was so childish, Ginny had to laugh.
"He'll have to get over it. And it isn't as though they're standing about, snogging for the entire world to see. They aren't half so bad as us, and I'm not even your girlfriend." Ginny frowned, pausing, "Although, Hermione hasn't said that they were officially an item yet, either. Smart girl. She's probably testing the waters. I know I had to." She grinned wickedly at Harry. "Take a taste of the milk to see if the cow's worth buying."
"Hey, now! Who're you calling a cow?" Harry playfully pushed her and she flopped dramatically over on the bed, the back of her hand placed dramatically on her forehead.
Meanwhile, Ron was downstairs, looking over all the faces in the room. All of them were familiar, smiling faces. He'd eaten with these people, fought with these people. He knew them as so few people can really know one another these days. And two faces were missing.
The soothing babble of people discussing the upcoming meeting, wondering about tactics, how they'd organize the search if they knew the secret locations churned around him in a pleasant white-noise. The firewhiskey burned down his throat and steamed his chest. It coiled into a hard, cold knot in the pit of his stomach. His imagination was getting the best of him. Hermione, his Hermione and bloody Malfoy. Gone. Alone. His hands all over her, Hermione making little noises… Ron's anger gave way to something. It was defeat. He hung his head and stared into the bottom of his glass.
It was empty. Someone poured him another glass and Ron muttered thanks without even looking up to see who'd lent a helping flask. He drank some more and felt the prickle behind his eyes. He was a seventeen year old male who'd spent much of his life in emotional turmoil for one reason or another. He'd cried too much today already. His heart was leaden with the cold truth that he'd lost. He had lost her. Ron wasn't sure for how long he had lost Hermione. For all he knew, it could be forever.
He refused to imagine Hermione, bright and vibrant and happy smiling at Draco Malfoy the way that Gin smiled at Harry. Harry and Ginny made sense, for Merlin's sake! They made sense! They made sense the way he, Ron, made sense with Hermione! Wasn't that how their lives were supposed to play out? Go through childhood, watch each other grow, fight evil, destroy the evil, win the day, and win the girl. For the first time, he wondered if he, himself, might have the famed Hero Complex everyone said Harry might be harboring.
Suddenly, it sounded absurd. His life wasn't a fairytale. Life was never meant to be a fairytale. And it enraged him. Life was unfair and cruel in ways he had never fully understood until now. Tears burned his eyes and he refused to shed them. He shut his eyes against the onslaught and breathed deep. He drank some more.
A pleasant buzzing sensation filled his head and dulled the pain in his heart. He could breathe normally, the knot in his throat and stomach unclenched. He downed the last of his drink and leaned his head back against the chair and the alcohol swept him away in the way that it does. For a while, it wipes clean your pain. It dulls your senses. It eases heartaches and bad memories and fear. It gives you false courage. He reveled in it, so pleased with himself he could have rolled in it.
The talk rose slowly in speed and energy and he let it wash over him like a warm shower, enjoying for the moment his total inability to imagine what Hermione might be doing or having done to her, alone in a room with Draco Malfoy.
What was really happening to Hermione was nothing so romantic. She was not a character in a dime store Harlequin romance novel. She was not easily swayed by her feelings, nor anyone else's. Hermione was a woman driven by logic and Draco was severely testing that logic.
"I just can't see how this will ever work with Ron pushing…" Hermione rubbed between her eyes, feeling a wrinkle of doubt. Her fingers were laced through pale, strong fingers. Draco's thumb absently rubbed her palm.
"Why does he have any say at all in what we do?" Draco was fighting the urge to be angry, knowing good and well that anger would solve nothing in this case. He'd had his fill of anger for the day, anyway. He sounded tired.
"He doesn't, not really." Hermione sighed, "But even though I don't love Ron, I love him. He's family. He's worried about my being hurt. "
"He's worried about losing you to me. He's worried that he's second best, again." Draco shook his head. "I've watched it for years. He's always in someone's shadow. Someone is always better at something than he is… and he thought that you were his answer to that, his way to be someone's number one."
Put that way, and Hermione had to agree that was a lot of what fueled Ronald Weasley; she had no choice but to agree. "I don't think he sees it that way, though. That may be a big part of it, but he does care about me. Even if it's not the way he's convinced himself he does. I've always been there for him. So little has been constant for him or Harry. But Harry has Ginny. She's not leaving him and he won't leave her. Ron is alone. Oh, he has his family… but you know all too well that family isn't always enough."
Draco closed his eyes. This was so not what he wanted to be happening. He wanted more kissing. More hands in her hair. He wanted her body molded to his, with or without clothing. He needed her next to him to help blot out the events of the day. Her mere presence helped dull it, make the pounding in his head ease, but he needed more of her. He concentrated on her voice.
"Hermione. You're amazing. How did I never see it before?" He wandered aloud to himself. "How do you have the energy for all this feeling?"
Hermione laughed, "I don't know. But I do and I can't turn it off. I'm afraid Ron won't take this laying down."
Draco grinned wickedly, "Will you take it lying down?" Oh, double entendre.
"If you mean, will I accept Ron being stubborn and cutting his nose off to spite his face, then no. I most certainly won't take it lying down, though I've no idea how to mend this particular broken fence. If you mean will I take you lying down… then, the answer is probably, eventually." She said it straight faced (okay, maybe there was a hint of a smile tugging the corners of her mouth up). Draco's eyes widened and he licked his lips.
"Granger, you dirty, dirty bird." He pulled her to him, "I like it."
"I said eventually! Eventually does NOT mean you can rip my clothes off right now!" She laughed and swatted his hands playfully. He laid back, her body more on him than on the bed. She snuggled her face against his neck and breathed in the smell of him, felt his chest under her hands. Suddenly, she knew what all the fuss was about in the Astronomy towers. It would be so easy, so very easy to give into temptation. But she was hardly that kind of woman. She'd lose respect for herself, giving her virginity to the first person who struck her fancy.
"Does that mean tomorrow? Or the day after? I just want to know so I can mark it on my calendar." He laughed softly again, his hands roaming no farther than her back. Maybe they dipped to cup her bottom briefly. He reveled in the feel of her, the firmness of her, and the softness of her. He traced the concavities and convexities of her body with his hands, like a blind man trying to see her. He memorized every line of her body that she would allow him to. He pushed no father than he thought would be acceptable.
Finally, she leaned up and kissed Draco. He couldn't help his body's reaction. He ground upward against her thigh, groaning into the kiss. He was surprised and pleased when she moaned in return, grinding right back. Her fingers tightened on his shirt collar, their kiss becoming frantic. His hands shook as he found the soft, warm skin of her neck and brushed his fingers over her collar bone, dipping lower.
She responded by locking her ankle around his leg, pressing against the rapidly growing hardness between them. Something happens when humans are faced with death. We are hardwired to spread ourselves along the world, dandelion fluff in a vast yard. We seek to destroy destruction by creating life. Hermione was far from ready for that, just yet, but losing herself in the feeling of touch? Certainly she was ready, and ready to give parts of herself to someone that had been kept close.
Draco sat up a bit in the bed, panting, flushed. He looked at her, pleading in his eyes. The vulnerability, the sheer human emotion welling up on his face pushed Hermione over the edge. With a hastily thrown glance over her shoulder to make sure the door was closed, she sat up a bit and with shaking hands, raised the hem of her shirt up.
She was terrified. No one had ever seen her topless, unless it was dressing in the girl's dorm. She knew she didn't have large breasts, not like some of the girls. She wasn't as curvaceous as some. Draco had certainly been with more beautiful women than herself. What would he think of her?
Draco saw the hesitation, the self doubt. Hermione Granger, doubting herself. He never thought he'd see the day and knew that now was not the time to gloat. Now was the time to lend a helping hand. He took the hem of her shirt and whispered in a rough voice, "Raise your arms."
Without a word, she did as he asked. He pulled the shirt up and it stuck on her chin briefly. Not entirely romantic and seductive, but Hermione had no grand illusions of this part of life would be like. She rarely had grand illusions about anything.
She sat there in jeans and her bra, white lace, blushing from the roots of her hair to the rim of her jeans, oh, god… the rim of her jeans. Draco made a small animal noise in the back of his throat, thanked Merlin for this moment, and drew her to him. The lace was scratchy against his suddenly bare chest. When had that happened? He didn't even remember taking it off. Hermione, too, seemed to want the skin-to-skin contact and was struggling to take it off. This, he'd had lots of practice at and reached back with deft fingers to help. Within an instant, the bra was gone and lying who knew where in the floor, among other clothing.
Her breasts were small, but full, with delicate pink nipples. Without pausing to think, he scooped her up into his lap, cupping the sides of them in his hands. Hermione closed her eyes, mouth parted slightly. The sight of her, bare breasted, in his lap was enough to push him close to the edge. He was so hard he hurt. He couldn't move too fast or he'd end this. The patience was pain and pleasure and god, it was hard to think clearly. She looked down at him, positively mewling with anticipation.
"My god, woman…what are you doing to me?" Draco had the clarity of mind to wander aloud before he brushed his thumbs across her nipples. The stood erect with surprising quickness. They begged to be licked, sucked. He couldn't refuse her body its desperate need. He bent his head to her chest, taking one, then the other into his hot mouth.
Hermione had never known such reckless abandon. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once. And Merlin, his mouth was hot and his tongue! Oh, his tongue! What was he doing? It didn't matter then, as he very lightly nibbled one nipple. She raked her hands through his hair, pressing his head to her chest tighter. Draco shifted Hermione until she was full on straddling him so he could press up against her. He thought to seek relief, but only more painful pleasure came from her weight so tantalizingly close to his hard length was to be found.
Her breasts were in his mouth, her back smooth under his hands. Her hands were in his hair and he had never found such amazing intensity, such true affection. It made the actions of their flesh together seem… so much more than anything that had happened before.
She ground down into him, softly speaking his name against his ear, "Draco. So good…yes." It was more coherent than he would have been able to say, if his mouth hadn't been full. He grabbed her hips roughly, pushing her down harder as he thrust upward. She could feel him between her legs. She was so incredibly turned on; the pleasure was like a pain flooding her core, seeking any kind of release.
Draco pulled his head back, flicking his tongue against her nipples, "I have to have more."
"I can't…oh...I want more…" Hermione wasn't sure how to have more, exactly, but she knew she would not be having sex. Not today. Not with anyone.
"No sex... just… more." Draco's voice was rough, his fingers playing across her breasts.
"More." She agreed, hunger in her eyes.
Draco moved her from his lap with a regretful expression, his hands off her breasts for as long as he could stand it. He unbuttoned his pants and tugged them down, kicking them off the end of the bed. He wiggled out of his underwear, threw them somewhere.
He was in the glorious nude. His lean seeker's body was all taught, lean muscle. His chest was rising and falling rapidly and Hermione could see his heart beat in his neck. That wasn't all she could see. For the first time in her life, she was seeing all of a man. Nude. Perfect. Hard and long and straight, Draco smiled at her, knowing his body was glorious nude.
Hermione unbuttoned and tugged her way out of her jeans, leaving the cotton underwear in place. In a fit of the bashfuls, she slithered under the cover, drawing them up below her breasts.
What Draco had seen was enough to chase every thought out of his head. He slipped below the covers himself, crushing her body to his. His mouth met hers and he felt fire erupt in his body. An undeniable need to have her, to feel every inch of her body. Hermione was overtaken, her head swimming and she refused to fight it. Refused to deny herself anything in this moment. She accepted that what would be just would be. Hermione cast herself to the winds of destiny and the liberation was amazing.
His naked body was wrapped around her nearly-naked body. Her hands grew courage she didn't know she possessed as they boldly marched over his body. She opened her mouth to him as her hands cupped his ass. Oh, Ginny was so right! His arse was amazing and tight and firm and suddenly his mouth was on her breasts again. Hermione panted, beyond words now.
His thickness lay heavy against her leg. She could feel it throb with his heartbeat and without thinking, she wrapped a hand around him. She had now seen a man nude, and touched that most private of parts. All in one day.
Draco threw his head back, gasping for breath. Her hand held him strongly. It was still and he whined in the back of his throat, thrusting against her hand. That seemed to shake her and she stroked him. She moved languidly, obviously enjoying this newfound power she had, this ability to reduce Draco Malfoy to an incoherent, begging boy. It was intoxicating. Her thumb slid over his head and found it slick. Draco moaned, dragged at her panties with a hand. He pulled them down to her knees and she slid a leg out of them. Without thinking, she opened her legs to him.
Her hand moved along him with more urgency, now. Something was boiling inside of her, desperate for his touch and she was sure she would combust if he didn't touch her, all of her. Just as she was hot enough to be sure steam must be rising from under the covers, his fingers dipped inside her.
She was hot and wet and Draco closed his eyes. Her body was velvet and he needed this, knew she needed this. First one finger inside of her. She was tight and he had to go slowly, fearing he'd hurt her. She gasped once or twice and he glanced at her face to be sure it was a gasp of pleasure and not pain. Slowly, there were two fingers inside her, pumping in time with her hand. When he saw her watching his face, he with drew his hand from the covers, fingers glistening and sucked them clean. Her expression was beautiful and innocent and god, was it seductive. He pressed against her hand again and again, faster as he replaced his hand, feeling for the bright spot of pleasure that he knew would be there. He stroked her clit softly, gently, matching pace for pace. She gasped and moaned and arched her back and he gasped and moaned and arched his back.
They were climbing into whatever this was between them, jumping into head first. And it was amazing. His body was singing with pleasure. He stroked faster and faster and she was so hot and so wet, and her hand was so tight. Hermione was, at this point, totally unconscious of what her hand and body were doing. All she knew was that Draco was playing her body as a master musician might his favorite instrument. Even when she masturbated, she couldn't manage to get her body to feel like this. Perhaps it was his experience, perhaps it was the feeling of someone else's hand, but perhaps it was also because of the electricity between just them. Maybe it was because it was Draco's body and no other that she was pleasuring as he pleasured her. Whatever the reason, it didn't matter. Not at that moment.
Faster and more urgent they pushed each other on. Hermione whispered Draco's name and he whispered hers. Draco came first and when the heat of him his her thigh, when she felt him sliding down her leg in a very intimate way, knowing somehow she touched him like no other, she reached her climax. It was excruciating pleasure. Her body convulsed and she was rocked, robbed of words, soundless exhalations were the only thing she could manage. He collapsed against her. His hand was still inside her, her fingers still wrapped around him as she shrank back.
They were quiet for a long time, reveling in the afterglow that comes with all first sexual encounters. Draco lazily kissed her shoulder, twitching his fingers playfully. She jumped, feeling like she'd be shocked and giggled. The enormity of what had transpired between them hadn't hit her and wouldn't fully hit her until the next morning.
Right now, all she cared about was that he was there, next to her. Their bodies were still locked in an intimate embrace. Death was held at bay for another evening. The morning would dawn, bright and cool and Hermione thought she would be better prepared to deal with the real world by then. Right now, all she needed was this bubble of happiness, of pleasure, of simplicity. It struck her how absurd that seemed. Lying naked in bed with Draco Malfoy after having her first orgasm by anyone other than her own hand was simple? What a strange, strange life she lived.
A/N: I know, I know. More mushy stuff. But there's about to be a LOT more action than romance here shortly, and Draco's a horny seventeen year old. This'll tide you pervs over and him, too. lol Thank you to the people who've recently (and in the past) put me on your author alerts and favorite stories! It absolutely makes my day!