Drawn ( A Dramione Story)

Warning

The Black Forest was a curious place. It was oddly comforting, yet terrifying. The trees were painted with blood of many, dark and light, creature and wizard alike. So many fell victim beneath the cover of the dark canopy.

Hermione's heart throbbed painfully in her chest as she explored further through the darkness.

The distance was good. Alone in nature was mind-clearing. She wasn't about to be whipped up in some kind of hormonal storm of lust and happiness at a moment's notice. It was just as it was before. Just her. All on her own.

Things were as they should be.

Malfoy was with Pansy now, apparently. She refused to be angry about it. There was nothing more to their agreement than just shagging. They had no arrangement that said otherwise.

Besides, what he did with his private love life was none of her concern; he was a free agent. He could shag who he liked, and she could, too. Had she been under the impression that they weren't sleeping with other people? Yes. Did he appear to be more than satisfied with her? Again, yes.

Throwing her head back, she expressed her frustration aloud. Her groan echoed through the eerie quiet.

WHY WAS SHE SO HUNG UP ON DRACO BLOODY MALFOY!!

If she told the fourth year Hermione that she would love fooling around with Malfoy on school grounds and his personal villa where their weekend fun usually took place, there was no doubt that young Hermione would break down into fitful sobs at the sheer horror of herself.

But, things were so different back then. Life was easier. Scary, of course, but simple. Sides were clear cut. Dark and light were the only things there. Good and evil. Love and hate. She read all those lines with precision, careful to keep herself and her friends on the side of logical reason.

Logical reason was not hopping into the sack with Malfoy. That was something else. Something sinister.

Something so awful and pleasurable that she blushed to even think about. How wonderful it all made her feel.

Hermione loved to watch Malfoy's trousers tighten with his excitement around her. It was so wicked to feel the surge of excitement herself, too, like her body was a traitor to her entire mind as she succumbed to the shuddering ecstasy that he gave.

Then there was his cute little protective edge around the castle. He'd linger close to her, trying to remain apart of interactions alongside her rather than be the odd man out. Even if it was something, he wasn't remotely interested in. He'd stand there by her side. Never willing to part, and never convinced otherwise.

When she slipped on a puddle in the stairway – apparently a few sixth years had a water duel out of eyesight from the professors – Malfoy caught her, skinning his own shins in the process so that her flesh was saved the pain. Of course, she was the one tasked with tending to his wounds. He refused to see Madame Pomphrey since Hermione was likely to be more experienced than the 'old heifer' anyway.

Godric, that smile. She loved his smile. It was a thrill like none other to make him smile like that, or even laugh! He never laughed easy; his humor was rather dry. The gift of it was more exciting than it should be. If it were to be a record she could play over and over again, she'd always be content.

Hermione hadn't noticed how deep she'd traversed into the wood. She was far away from sight of Hogwarts, and the reach of light. The trees were thick. Brush in tangled knots below her, trying to grab at her ankles. Dense silver mist hanged just over her head.

It smelled old. Rotten decay and mold. The very power filled her nostrils with each breath, more like a gasp for oxygen since it'd grown dense. So dense.