Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any character in his world.
A/N: This is my first go at Harry Potter fanfiction. So, judge fairly and openly. I take any kind of feedback.
The first time they touched it was completely one sided and left his nose bent at an odd angle. He should have been angry, and he was. For show anyway. Walking away, head held high even though blood was pouring down his face, he cursed loudly for anyone near to hear him.
But mostly, he was impressed. The girl had one hell of a right hook.
Her wand was drawn. His was down at his side. There were lights flashing all around them, bodies hurdling through the air and voices screaming hexes and curses. They were still. Silent, as they stared at each other.
The second time they touched it was completely one sided and left her speechless. He felt empowered as he walked away from the silent girl. Could imagine the fingers she held to her lips, while a smirk spread over his tingling ones.
It felt good to know a way to shut her up.
Their eyes met and he felt his heart clench in his chest. He saw, out of the corner of his eye, another Death Eater stop and watch them.
The third time they touched, it was completely mutual and left them both breathless. Her hands had gripped his hair firmly and he could feel pain shoot through his scalp. His hands squeezed her hips and her moan was all he needed to know that she was in as much pain as he was.
Neither of them spoke as he walked away from her.
His face turned toward Draco, who merely smiled at the man before raising his wand at Hermione. His smile faded to a smirk as he turned back to met Hermione's surprised eyes.
The fourth, fifth and sixth time they touched, it was passionate, with years of hate and days of lust rolled into one. It was hard and fast and left them both shaking and angry. Yet completely satisfied. They never spoke of what went on when they were alone. They never said anything to each other at all. Silence was what kept them from breaking and pulling away. It meant that it wasn't real.
It couldn't be real, as he was a pureblood, and she, well, she wasn't. It would be the downfall of the both of them if it were anything but a played out fantasy.
So, silently, they'd meet. They'd touch and they'd pretend. And he'd walk away while she fixed herself and, separately, they'd rejoin reality.
He notice the other Death Eater turn, obviously convinced that Draco would take care of it.
The seventh time they touched, it left his cheek red and throbbing. Her eyes were narrowed and held a hatred that even he couldn't return. He kept his face stony, all except for his lips. Which were turned up in a smirk. He had made it real, and she didn't like it. He didn't much like it either, but his mouth always ran off before his brain could catch up. So the air between them had deflated and everything that they were, and everything that they weren't, fled out with the drawl of his words.
"I like it when you moan my name, mudblood."
She had walked away that time. The smirk faltered, but he never let it slip.
Hermione's eyes narrowed to anger as he watched her steady her wand back at him.
The eight time they touched, it was softer than usual, and he had kept his eyes open to make sure it was really real. She had done the same. Robes up against waists, pants down around ankles, and more tenderness in his flitting fingers than the misleading scene gave on. Their eyes stayed locked the entire time while their hips moved together gently. His eyes didn't even close when his final thrust sent chills down his spine. Her eyes stayed focused on his while her body shuddered.
Their mouths, for the most part, had stayed silent. They walked away from each other at the same time. Returning to their lives, far away from their reality.
His eyes stayed blank as his lips moved mechanically, the words trained into his brain reverberating loudly off his tongue as the girl's eyes in front of him widened, panicked and shocked.
The ninth time they touched, her eyes were red-rimmed and her cheeks were stained with saline. His eyes were sad, but dry. His hand lingered on her face as she let out a strangled sob. He didn't dare embrace her, they weren't like that. But he allowed his hand to stay glued to her cheek. When she slid from his touch and kneeled on the floor, he lowered himself with her. She leaned into him, and against his character and his better judgment, he folded his arms around her.
"Why," she had asked.He was surprised at her voice. It was the first time she'd spoken to him while they were alone. And it wasn't an easy question.
"I have to," he'd replied simply. He didn't feel the need to go into detail, and she didn't feel the need to press for any. She just cried harder. He wanted to tell her that it wasn't what he wanted. It was his predestined fate, a promise to his father. It was the mark on his arm, the price on his head. It was Potter and Weasly and Crabbe and Goyle. It was Voldemort. It was his side and her side and the many lines they couldn't cross to merge them.
It was a number of things outside their made-up reality that was tearing him away. But it was his beating heart and her trembling body that made him hold on to her tighter.
And it was the burning sensation on his forearm that made him let go and walk away from her.
She jumped out of the way, surprisingly easily, and landed roughly on her back. Pulling herself back up, she looked around anxiously for the boy who had just tried to kill her. He was no where in sight.
The tenth time they touched, it had been three years since the ninth. She was in a wedding dress and he had just climbed through a eighth floor window, leaving his broom by the sill. Her eyes had widened quickly before they narrowed at his reflection in the mirror, no doubt conjuring the memories that plagued the both of them.
She had moved from the mirror, and was walking toward the door. Intent on leaving him without a second glance. His hand moved around the crook of her elbow and she stopped.
"Hermione," he pleaded. The Malfoy pride and dignity vanished with the demise of the Dark Lord's reign.
She pulled away and turned to face him. Her eyes no longer narrowed, but downcast and glistening.
"Don't," she whispered. His heart beat heavy against his chest and he wonder what it was exactly he was thinking in coming here.
"I was stupid," she said just as quietly. "I thought--" her voice stopped in a sob as she lost her composure and fell against the wall. He reached for her but pulled back when a frightening gasp escaped her lips. The cry that crawled from her throat made his lungs close and breath failed to reach his mouth. He closed the distance between them, hands on either side of her face, and let his eyes say everything he couldn't.
He was sorry.
He didn't mean it.
She didn't know the whole story.
Didn't understand why he did what he did.
That he loved her.
His lips brushed against hers, his body tense, waiting for a shove away that didn't come. Their eyes were open, staring into each other. He pushed into the kiss, letting more of his silent pleas pass through their touching tongues. Out of breath and shaking from the connection of flesh, he pulled back. Her breath was ragged and her tears were flowing heavier then moments before.
"I think you should leave," she said, still leaning against the wall. He nodded slightly, moving back so she could straighten herself out. She wiped her face and let a frown fall over her features.
He turned from her, and for the last time, he walked away. Leaving her to the reality that they both had tried so hard to forget years ago.
He knew that she saw his smirk. Saw his wand pointed at her and heard the words that flew off of his tongue.
He also knew that she didn't see his eyes, pleading that she jump the right way. Knew that she didn't see his hand twitch slightly to left, right before he finished the curse. Didn't see that the green light would have hit just above her right shoulder if she had stayed perfectly still.
And for the rest of the night, she didn't see him trailing behind her, and didn't hear him silently stun any Death Eater that she couldn't fight on her own.