Title: Silence Screams the Truth
Fandom: Harry Potter
Author: LadyDarkling (Shay, thewickedquill)
Authors Notes: Written for the A Musical Heart Challenge on Granger Enchanted. Inspired by the prompt: You were meant for me, He whispered and wrapped his long elegant fingers in her mass of curly hair. And I was meant for you Granger, the quicker you come to accept it, the happier well all be.
Special thanks to my beta, Wildsky and to DHLane.
Disclaimer: All HP canon characters and situations belong to JK Rowling, Scholastic and WB. No copyright infringement intended and no monetary benefits are derived from this work. I claim no ownership; I just play in the sandbox with all the pretty toys.
Silence Screams the Truth
It was unsettling just how safe she felt. The comforting feeling of the steady heartbeat beneath her cheek, the rippling, corded strength of the very firm body beneath and surrounding her. Her senses were enveloped and emboldened by the heady scent of spicy musk and sweat that hung heavy in the dark room.
Silence used to be something she craved. Stealing away into the safety of the library or some hidden corner of a long-forgotten place once played an important role in her life; a means for her to find herself, soothe her nerves, collect her thoughts. Now she wasn't quite sure what to think of it. Silence scared her now, for it spoke the truth. One cannot hide behind emptiness. One's fears and worries echo and grow in stillness.
And she had realized something today that could not – would not – be ignored.
Words need not be spoken to be heard.
Her companion shifted beneath her, his dark hair spilled over the plump downy pillows, long limbs moving restlessly within the confines of the damp silk sheets of the bed they shared. The long lines of his broad chest stretched and strained beneath the taut golden flesh resting at her fingertips and some power dark and dangerous whispered and prodded her onwards, ignoring the fluttering of her fearful heart.
And so, tentatively, she reached out, trailing trembling fingers over her lover's ribcage, nearly recoiling with surprise when his breath hitched as she skimmed pebbled nipples and traced the line of sparse hairs that thickened and dipped down his belly, before they disappeared beneath the sheet. She stopped, then, almost afraid of seeing up close that which she had enjoyed in the dark of night whilst lost to abandon in a haze of lust and longing so deep and demanding she had been powerless to disobey.
She flushed hotly as memories of the previous night assaulted her mind, gasped at the play-by-play reruns of her most intimate encounter yet. Heaviness filled her belly, and, heart in her throat, she recalled exactly why she never allowed herself to be in this sort of position.
It wasn't that she thought herself unappealing. She might not have been a classic beauty and she certainly was no model, yet Hermione knew she had grown into her looks and was confident enough in her attractiveness to know she could be desirable. She had discovered her sensuality and used it to her advantage; she could dress, walk and talk the part and enjoyed flaunting it when she did. She had no lack of potential bedmates or casual boyfriends, but when it came down to it, the relationships never lasted. None seemed to want her long or hard enough to make it work.
This brought her back to her current dilemma.
She really should get out of the bed, extract herself from the strong arms holding her close, remove her knee from between her lover's legs, dress quickly and quietly and take her leave. She really should, before he woke and remembered who he was with and what he had promised her the night before. She really had to-
"Going somewhere, love?" her lover's sleep-deepened, gravelly voice rumbled in her ear. She squeaked, pulling back quickly and tumbling in an undignified heap onto the floor beside the bed.
The wizard she had been trying to avoid peered over the side of the bed, smirk firmly in place as he glanced down upon her sprawled form and chuckled at the sight of her wide eyes, wild hair and perfectly shock-shaped lips. It wasn't until he gave her a heated once-over, starting at her legs and working his way up to her heaving breasts where his gaze lingered, that she became aware of her previously forgotten nakedness.
Hermione scrambled for the sheet draped over the side of the large bed and yanked it to her, covering her thoroughly embarrassed self.
"Anxious to cover you or uncover me?" he asked playfully, climbing off the bed, gloriously naked and completely unabashed. He reached forward sure and swift to gather his witch into his embrace, holding her securely as she flailed her arms in an attempt to free herself. He drew her back into the bed, cradled her against his chest and rested his chin upon her shoulder, inhaling deeply. She stilled.
"I knew you would try to run," he spoke quietly into her hair. "Why can't you simply believe what I say, little one?"
He was glad that she couldn't answer. He doubted she would have said anything he'd want to hear. Although, it was entirely possible that he simply didn't want to know what she thought. Her rejection would be too painful, even if it would be too late for her to back out of this regardless. Looking into her face now, he decided that his original assessment was right on the mark. Her face was screwed up in rage, lips running a silent litany of what he assumed to be curses.
Thank the gods he'd thought to silence her before she'd noticed he was awake and enjoying her ministrations. Such talented hands and lips his little lioness possessed! He grinned to himself, knowing her talents didn't end there. It was a shame that he'd not allowed her to continue just a while longer, he'd certainly been enjoying her explorations, but her body language had betrayed her and he'd had no intention of letting this witch go. He'd had to act quickly.
"I will remove the silencing charm once you promise to listen to what I have to say without interruption. Can you do that?"
She glared at him with pursed lips.
"Well?" he asked again when she continued to stare at him angrily. Finally, she gave a reluctant nod.
He raised his hand to remove the spell and paused, studying his witch thoughtfully. "Your word, witch."
She nodded again, more forcefully this time, and he believed her. With a wave of his fingers her voice returned. She huffed and muttered, "Fine, but when you're finished, we're done."
"Is that so?" he said with a playful leer, running long fingers through her unruly hair. "What if I don't want us to be done?"
"Who said you have a choice?"
It appeared that his witch hadn't realized that they were already connected. If she'd found herself in this situation with anyone else they'd have had their bollocks hexed off yet she was barely mad.
The sweet, cursed Fates. How he loved this special connection to her!
He caressed her arm affectionately. "Feisty witch!"
She swatted his wandering hands away and clutched the sheet tighter to her body. "Cover yourself and get on with it. I'd like to go home."
He chose not to correct her. This was her home now, it had been the moment she agreed to be his the night before. She became his witch with the simple utterance of affirmation when he claimed her as his own. She'd not be going anywhere; not today, not any other day. She belonged to him now.
Rabastan acceded to his witch's request and covered his groin with a pillow. It wouldn't do to make her too uncomfortable. There would be plenty of time for that later on.
"I know your fears, little one." He held up a hand to stop her from responding. "Uh, uh, uh. You promised you would let me speak without interrupting. Now, allow me to repeat what you already know." She raised a questioning brow but kept silent.
His smile was predatory when he claimed, "You are mine." He then peered down at her, cupping her cheek with one hand while the other traced her heart-shaped face, then the outline and seam of her lips, resting there as he gazed searchingly into her eyes.
And it seemed he had found what he was looking for; the spark of recognition, the slight darkening of her irises, pupils beginning to bleed out with awareness. He could feel her heartbeat quicken and her skin heat beneath his touch. He smiled.
Hermione couldn't contain herself. "How exactly do you figure?"
He clasped his hands together, pressed them to his lips and chuckled, a deep resonating sound that made her insides tingle. "You're priceless. I should have known you couldn't keep that smart little mouth of yours shut long enough. I may just have to give it something else to do," he mock-threatened with a dangerous edge. Hermione gasped, arousal and indignation warring within her.
The latter seemed to win out though and when she began to argue a shadow fell across the dark wizard's face and his eyes clouded over. At the sight of his hardened features, even Hermione's bravery failed her. This was not a wizard to trifle with. The softness she'd seen earlier had been for her benefit, of course, but his anger now reminded her of just who she was dealing with and of what he was capable.
"Why must you deny me, witch? Why can you not accept that you belong to me? You were mine before either of us was born. The Fates chose you for me, made you for me."
"And yet your sister-in-law would have cursed me into insanity, your brother would have killed me without a second thought. Where was your caring then?" In her desire to put some distance between his feelings and her insecurities, she lashed out in the only way she knew how.
Rabastan grabbed Hermione by the shoulders and shook her. "Do you think I would have allowed it had I known? You are the only one for me, Hermione. I cannot live without you and there can be no other. I would have killed them for laying even a finger on you, blood kin or not!" He released her and turned away, staring unseeingly into the darkness. After a moment he continued, "The Dark Lord knew of my… connection to you. It was he who sent me away. What do you think finally prompted me to turn from the only life I'd ever known?"
Her heart pounded. When he'd promised her his undying loyalty and love last night, she'd assumed it was the heat of the moment and that he would say anything to get what he wanted from her. She'd never imagined he spoke the truth, or that such a confession might fall from his lips.
He turned back to her and took her hands in his, willing her to see that he meant what he said, to finally hear his words for what they were: proof.
"Last night when I saw you at the gala I could not wait any longer. The minute you walked away from Weasley I knew I had to claim you. I had been willing to let you go as long as you were happy and I thought you were, with him. Much as I hated it, I was willing…" His eyes sparked dangerously for a moment before he shook off his darker thoughts. "But not anymore. It doesn't matter," he amended, staring deeply into her eyes and running his fingers over the bite mark clearly outlined at the juncture of her shoulder. "You're truly mine, now."
Hermione's eyes glazed over and she shivered beneath the intensity of her lover's perusal. She'd never felt so naked and vulnerable, and it wasn't her state of undress, either. Something about the way he looked at her seemed to look through her, made her body go hot and her mind turn to mush. She should be fighting his claims of ownership - she didn't belong to anyone! She wasn't a possession to be kept or flaunted or a prize to be won.
But something about the possessiveness in him made her feel warm and loved, special and needed. She should be balking at his behaviour, not encouraging it yet she couldn't help but lean into his touch.
Pride flared when his dark eyes glinted appreciatively as she allowed her flimsy silken armour to puddle in her lap, baring herself once more to his hungry gaze.
With a harsh shout, he pushed her down into the mattress and moved to cover her body with his own. Her breath came in small gasps. He growled into her skin.
"Mine, witch. Your home is with me."
And as he laid her out upon their bed like a sacrifice to the gods and worshipped her body as if his life depended on it, she couldn't find it within her to deny him. The two lovers fell into rhythm as their bodies and souls communicated in ways words could not.
The silence screamed the truth. This was home.