by: ScarletDeva
Summary: The war between good and evil has been raging for about three years now and no one is safe from its ravages. Especially not those caught in choices they no longer understand or want to deal with. Now all they have to figure out is a way to forget. Even if it only lasts a moment.
Author’s Note: I had a dark vision of the war with Voldemort. If you think about it, nothing in the world is black and white. My question was how would some of my favorite characters deal with a gray world. This ficlet is slightly disturbing in its themes.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Not yours probably either. Oh well.
Rating: R.
Dedications: Airelle Vilka – my HP obsession is all your fault missy. Aislin BlueStar – even if you think I’m retarded over my character choices, I still like you…for now. And of course, Megs – I love your confidence and interest in my writing.
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Hermione headed from the library back to her room, her body moving lethargically. The war had permeated the whole world, unsparing even of those who should be sheltered from such ravages of reality, the young, the innocent. It seemed that no one was either of those any longer.
Last weekend, Padma Patil was cornered by a gang of dark wizards. She refused to join them and went out in a blaze of glory, taking them out with her. Hermione, as the Head Girl, spoke at the funeral service.
She breathed out tiredly and shifted her bag to the other shoulder, her semi-unbuttoned robes pulling slightly open with the movement.
***
Draco Malfoy stalked away from Professor Snape’s office, not really heading anywhere in particular. He grunted angrily and punched the wall, not breaking his stride. Snape asked him to become a spy for Dumbledore, knowing that Draco did not have any real desire to become a Death Eater. Draco rolled his shoulders uncomfortably. He didn’t want to be involved, not with Voldemort, not with Dumbledore, not with anything that didn’t appeal to his temporary and ever-morphing whimsy.
“Oomph,” he heard a female voice as he felt his body collide with something soft. He looked down and met a familiar pair of mahogany eyes.
“Granger,” he sneered tiredly. She moved back and adjusted her bag as it had been jolted from position by their accident. Without bothering to reply, she stared at him, willing him to move to the side and let her pass. He stood still. She sighed and crossed her arms over her chest, her robes opening further. He absently noted that what was under the robes did not look like the Gryffindor uniform. Unless of course they changed it to a fitted, dark purple shirt and what looked like a pair of snug, dark blue pants made of some rough material.
“Hey!” she called out for the second time, snapping her fingers near his face. He shook his head, his loose light blond strands brushing over his forehead. “Are you really in the mood to pick a fight now?” she asked, her voice turning soft and somewhat defeated.
“No,” he replied, his own tone emphatic. “I… I was just wondering what was the point of all of this,” he added in a startling moment of clarity. Not knowing what to expect, his darkened gray eyes searched the floor for any cracks. A loud thud had him jerking his head up, finding that she dropped her bag absently and was staring at him with rounded, tempestuous eyes.
“None. There is no point,” she declared and started to laugh. Her amusement did not seem to reach her eyes but in another moment her eyes were hidden by her delicately tapered fingers and she was sinking to the floor. He watched her, arms hanging limply, unsure what the proper reaction would be, if indeed there was one. She leaned back against the wall, her robe slipping off her shoulders, and struggled for air and laughed. Finally he quirked an eyebrow and she laughed yet harder as she noticed. “There’s no point Malfoy. None whatsoever.” She shook her head, a few wisps of unruly honey brown hair escaping the messy knot. “You have to have a reason to fight. Voldemort and his minions have one. Power. But us… all we have left is a tired feeling of opposition.” She noted his jaw drop ever so slightly. “Oh we’ll beat them, have no doubt,” she added, “but we will be left with nothing. Because we don’t have anything left in us to rebuild.” She let her head drop back against the wall and giggled weakly. Suddenly his face was right in front of hers, his eyes swirling with dark emotion.
“Fuck Granger,” he spat out, “why the hell are you talking like that?”
“Why the hell do you care?” she asked, her amusement weak in the face of her overwhelming exhaustion. Her latest battle scar ached as the edge of her robe rubbed against the burn. She winced.
“Granger swearing?” he asked, hiding his discomfort and surprise at her words.
She smiled wryly, noting it despite his best efforts. “Oh come now, we all know that you don’t really care who wins this war. Or what happens after.” She tapped a finger on his chin. “So why do you care about how I talk?”
“Oh please,” he said, “I just don’t like to see the world flip itself on its head.” She raised her hand again, her pointer finger outstretched and he smoothly grabbed it before she could tap him again.
“And why, if I may ask, is the world flipping from my words?” she whispered mockingly. His eyes narrowed into thin slits.
“There are only a few constants in this world Granger,” he replied thoughtfully, “Dumbledore is a little kooky. Potter is everybody’s Golden Boy. Lockhart is a fool. And finally, Granger is always fighting for equality and good and all such nonsense. Take away any of that and I’m no longer sure what world we’re in.” He leaned just a bit closer, trying to see some glimmer of hope in her eyes.
“Get over it,” she laughed. “I’m all out of righteousness. All emptied out. The balance is down to zero.” She lifted her head and brought her eyes an inch away from his. “I’m no one’s hero anymore.”
“Shut up,” he forced out though clenched teeth.
“No,” she denied him, her eyes full of something he couldn’t identify. He growled under his breath and breached the final distance between them. His lips landed on hers, immediately taking possession. She gasped.
“Shut up!” he growled against her mouth and his arms shot out to yank her body against his as his tongue sneaked past her lips which were parted with shock. She tasted faintly of char and muffins. He meant only to make her stop talking but her taste intrigued him, made him curious for the first time in a long time. He flicked his tongue against hers. He almost pulled back when he felt her respond, but she didn’t give him a chance, as her arms grabbed his shoulders and pulled him forward. He lost his balance and fell against her. She bit his lower lip, hard enough to hurt, but not to pierce skin. His original intent did not matter anymore. He shifted over her, making himself as comfortable as possible with his knees on the hard stone floor, as he tried to lose himself in her mouth.
She thrust her tongue into his mouth, delighting in the shivers racing over her skin. Her hands reached up to tug at his dark robes, ripping them open, her questing fingers sneaking under his shirt to skim over his hard abs.
He felt himself get aroused, hard and quick, and grasped the back of her head with his hand, pushing her mouth as hard as possible against his own. She slurred something into his mouth and wrenched away from his hold. He stilled, wondering if she was going to hex him into tomorrow and craving another taste of what felt like oblivion. She didn’t reach for her wand but pushed his face to turn sideways and latched on the side of his neck with her lips, suckling hard. He groaned and suddenly nothing mattered again, not his name, not his place in the world that was torn apart by two fiercely opposed powers.
She allowed her hands to run upward over his chest, pulling up his black sweater with her movements, while his hands quested over her sides, kneading her softly. She moaned into his skin, overwhelmed with the physical sensations, forgetting everything but the moment. She liked it that way. She moved off his neck just long enough to admire the angry red blotch and then quickly pulled off his robes, then his sweater, with his eager assistance. Her fingers flicked at his skin, and she smiled, drunk on the power that his groans evoked in her. She shifted, allowing his knees to prop her thighs apart and clamped her mouth on a small, pebbled nipple. He threw his head back and blindly reached to tear her shirt. His hands encountered only smooth skin under it. Her teeth worried his skin gently as her nails scraped over his back.
“Wha…?” he gasped, reaching for the zipper of her pants.
“Make me forget Draco, just make me forget,” she half commanded half pleaded. He nodded and pulled the zipper. She bit his collarbone and pushed his hands away, expertly removing the rest of her clothing. His fingers tore at his pants, the buttons flying off. He rolled over for a moment to shuck them off and lunged back over her.
“I will. If you can make it all go away,” he affirmed, staring into her now brown-black eyes. She nodded and he slipped his fingers under her hips, repositioning her just right, set his palms against the floor and pushed in. She banged her head down against the floor, her eyes filling with tears at the sudden pain. He froze, but she slipped her palms over his behind and pushed him forward. He grunted, his hips beginning a merciless rhythm. She smiled. Their bodies slammed against each other harshly, each time eliciting satisfied moans. Nothing existed anymore, just Draco, Hermione and the mindless moment of abandon.
***
He screamed out incoherently and she arched up, her own scream silently ripping out of her mouth. They both collapsed down, his body pressing hers into the slick gray marble.
“Nothing else is here anymore,” she whispered as her arms hugged him limply. The scratches on his back contrasted angrily with his pale skin.
“Mhmm,” he replied into her
shoulder. “It’s better this way.” And that was all they had to say. Soon, Hermione would have to get up and
finish her trek to the