Bloodlust

Chapter XXII

Hermione watched Malfoy glance over his wristwatch, studying the look on his face.

Hurried. Desperate. Like a ticking bomb as time ate itself gradually.

Hermione wiped her tears with the back of her hand as she picked herself up from the floor. She held her balanced against the bedpost, supporting herself to sit on the edge of her unmade bed.

"We?" She asked in a low voice, almost reluctant to ask.

Malfoy was silent as he looked at her for a while. Thinking.

Hermione took the opportunity and monitored the colour of his eyes, silver-grey.

"Where are we going?" She asked away, relieved by the colour of his eyes.

She waited until she saw his expression flicker, she knew he had something to say, until his expression withered, shifting into a reluctant look.

Hermione was tugged back to consciousness when she felt a cold, sticky hand around her wrist. Her eyes dropped to his hands, catching the bloodstains on his knuckles. The combination of Malfoy and blood was never the beginning of peace. Her arm seemed to yank itself and backed away from his grip as though her body had memorized the perimeters of her terror against Malfoy.

A lightning strike seemed to stab the core of her brain as flooding memories came rushing without warning. The memories she spent days locking away from the shallow parts of her consciousness resurfaced against her will. Her knees folded as she dealt with the blinding pain in her head and the weakness due to the lack of nutrients in her body.

Hermione clutched her head, holding a handful of her hair tightly with one hand while the other aided her weight against the floor. Her elbows were not far from giving up until she felt arms around her, lifting her off the ground and out the door.

The war inside her system was brutal. She knew it was Malfoy's arms around her. She memorized his body in unpleasant ways. Her mind always reminded her of how he felt against her body. Her flashbacks always reminded her, to the point that she felt as though she knew him more than anyone else in the world - as though she knew him more than any of his friends or even his mother. She knew him more than anyone - more than he knew himself. His scent. A perfect mixture of black roast coffee and peppermint chocolate with a hint of firewhisky and blood.

She knew the broadness of his shoulders, the spaces between his fingers. She knew his lips against her skin. She knew his eyes that served as her warning sign. She memorised almost everything about him that planted familiarity and terror into her.

Hermione knew she must pick herself up from crumbles and fight like the Gryffindor that she is, but the truth was blunt and bitter. Only Malfoy can help and ruin her at the same time, and it shattered her heart upon realising that she could only let Malfoy destroy her instead of helping her. Hermione misplaced herself in the ruins of his control. She was too hopeless to only find help and pain from one person.

Her nape felt sore as she kept her head up using her strength. It had been a long fight with her mind until she decided to rest her head against his chest as he ran through the corridors. The beating of his heart was loud, and the way it jumped against her cheek showed his strange hurried behaviour.

"You feel warmer today than all those days," said Hermione.

"Yeah? How so?" Asked Malfoy as he softly panted.

"I've known your touch well enough - you're mostly cold and dead to the world," Hermione continued, gripping weakly at his shirt, placing one hand against his sternum.

Malfoy skimmed down at her, meeting her weary eyes.

"Your eyes... I love it when they're silver-grey."