Malfake

It seemed as if someone had turned on an icy shower above his head when Hermione’s face flashed behind the compartment door’s glass as Draco squeezed through the corridor filled with teenagers seeking empty seats. “Hey there! Reverse! It’s crowded!” a conductor’s voice echoed somewhere ahead. “Come on, everyone, quickly, two steps back.” God damn it! The junior fellow students who were not used to disobey rushed to distance, pushing Draco’s legs, forcing him to step back involuntarily. All color and blood seemed to drain from his face as he aligned with the transparent partition again. Fortunately, none of the trio of friends were looking into the aisle. It was time to exhale, hoping that the incident had subsided, but… “Move aside! Let us through to the med kit, there’s an injured child here, make way!” the worried voice of a worker in a service uniform flew over their heads. “All of you, go to the nearest compartment!” Draco stood on tiptoes and spotted a boy a few meters ahead, his hand resting on a broken nose. The conductor held him by the shoulders, making their way forward. Please, not this… The crowd, like water through cracks, began seeping into the doors on the left, giving way to the passage. Kids on either side of Draco also tugged at the handle of that damn compartment. “This compartment is for seniors only!” he shouted, dragging a couple of enthusiastic eleven-year-olds away from the open passage by the collar, and entered himself, locking the door. The three heads inside of it turned to him. “What have you forgotten here, Malfoy?” the scruffy-looking Potter immediately took charge. Behind him, a frowning Ron peered out from the seat by the window. It was an amusing sight, and Draco wouldn’t miss the chance to comment on Weasley’s clumsiness if circumstances were different. Unfortunately… “I indeed forgot something. A jewel. Extremely rare. Shiny. Potter, you’ll never get your hands on it, so of course, you’d steal it to survive the year with your pauper friend.” “Harry doesn’t steal anything, you idiot.” Ron retorted, and Draco could tell from his genuinely angry face that Hermione hadn’t told them anything. “If you lost something because of your clumsiness, and now someone else takes advantage, you can’t trust a wand to such an idiot.” “Boys, don’t respond to him” flushed but quickly regaining control Hermione shook her head. “His hands are so slippery that even what was practically invested in them is falling out.” She raised her eyes impassively, as if stabbing him in every pupil, and then looked away, leaving him to bleed. “Time for you to leave” Potter pointed to the door with his chin, “to steal candies from kids. After all, Salazar’s entourage won’t handle such a simple task without your talent” “And you, Potter…” Draco menacingly raised his finger… … experienced Hermione’s head on a shoulder… “Should focus on arriving to school in one piece, or else 'candies'” — he emphasized the word — “will be sticking across your throat for a long time.” As he walked away through the now-empty corridor, for many seconds it seemed to him that the girl was walking behind him, burning a hole in his back. *** “I need to wash up…” after all that. Hermione stood up, wanting to hide her face not only from the heat but also from other people. Even the closest ones. “Shall I escort you?” Ron perked up. “It’s okay, the restroom is right here, on the right.” She left the coupee and disappeared from the guys' sight. Meeting Malfoy was always an event you couldn’t prepare for. And even if she stood for hours at the entrance to the Slytherin dungeons waiting for him, she would still jump, catching the platinum sparkle or a snippet of his speech from behind the turn. She was never ready for him. She was more ready for the OWLs, though there were still 8 months left until them. Having crossed several rectangular windows in the direction of the train’s movement, showing a deciduous forest like on an old film, Hermione unfastened a heavy latch and entered the restroom. She’d have to sacrifice her makeup for freshness, squeeze out a little soap, and rub her eyes as if she could erase the memory of the ghost slipping into the trio’s protected fragile world. Her eyes stung, but that means it’s healing, mom used to say that about medicines in childhood. Hermione rinsed her face and immersed it in a pile of paper towels when she suddenly heard the door closing behind her. “Damn, didn’t they teach you how to use a latch…” an intrusive mirage chased her. Hermione abruptly turned away from the sink, feeling like a fox for a fraction of a second. A fox driven by a hunter at the roots of some wide tree. “What the hell are you doing here” said Draco with caution, but no anger. Out of surprise he didn’t have the time to put on his mask. The phrase sounded absurd in the setting of the restroom though. This summer, she pursued me in my mind, and now, apparently, I’m finally cursed because I’ll bump into her physically three times a day. “Make way for the Honeydukes trolley, kids!” the voice of an old candy-seller croaked nearby, and the thing almost rolled over Draco’s feet, making him shove into the restroom, letting the old nag with a cart pass. Hermione swallowed, noticing how he instinctively closed the door behind him. There was no more than a meter and a half between them. “Listen, Draco,” she took a deep breath, giving herself determination. “Please, in human terms, leave us… them alone. The guys.” Single drops that missed being absorbed into the towel hung from the rings of her hair. The lashes stuck together in small triangles, and under her left eye there was still a small gray spot of mascara. Like a bruise. “I hate your idiots” Draco spat, leaning back against the door, increasing the distance between them to the maximum in order to stop doing it again: staring as if into the Gringotts vault. He crossed his legs in black trousers at the ankles. “Why?” For the first time in six years, Hermione asked that question. As if it had been obvious before. Well, because it’s Potter and his entourage, what other reasons do you need? “They’re jerks.” Hermione closed her eyes patiently, suppressing the angry pulsation that would prevent her from speaking clearly. “That’s not true. And that’s not an answer.” “Helpless idiots who would have been kicked out of school without your help” Draco raised his chin, smiling maliciously. “Alone, they’re nobody.” “Do you not understand the concept of friendship?” Hermione tilted her head, reading through his armor. Why is she so… focused today? “I don’t have to justify my likes and dislikes. Especially to you. No. To anyone!” he got angrier and angrier, provoked by her right, honest questions. Hermione shook her head, recalling the party. Truly, two jesters, two slutty ones, and one, it seems, completely insane. No wonder questions about friendship hit him in the most vulnerable spot. These people are useless. “Only one year left. Let’s be… civilized.” “Don’t tell me how to be!” Draco hit the wall with his fist, and something clinked, immediately hiding behind his pristine sleeve. Hermione blinked, squinting, but Draco quickly moved his hand behind his back. “Do it not because I ask. Do it for yourself, Malfoy. Have you ever thought about the future? You know, seeds need time before sprouts appear above the ground. And what will grow in a couple of years if you continue to live in such hatred?” “Don’t feed me your philosophical nonsense, mother. You know nothing about real power.” Doesn’t she? The jingle of her silver earrings as she was leaving the mansion room echoed in his ears every. Damn. Evening of that summer. He didn’t leave. He stood with his back to the metal door, as if not feeling its coldness. He has no soul. She imagined. It was a dream. Perhaps a side effect of that pyrexia that hit her a couple of years ago. And the scars on his knuckles were not from Lucius’s beatings, which she once caught sight of with the corner of her eye while being lost in Knockturn Alley. Perhaps he just roughed up some first-year while Crabbe and Goyle held him. Laughable! He didn’t even invite them to his fake party, opting to entertain the elite, so to speak. And this is the elite? What a sad, and, most importantly, self-deceptive life. “Are you stuck in there?” Someone’s fists banged on the toilet door. “I got poisoned by a sandwich, I’ll be sitting here for a while!” Hermione shouted, praying that the fellow student behind the door would not recognize her voice. She hadn’t said it all yet. She still looked at the metaphorical float of the metaphorical fishing rod in hope of a catch. “Strength is self-control, Malfoy” Hermione continued, gritting her teeth, as the footsteps faded away. “So far, I haven’t got the impression that you possess it.” Now she finished. Hermione scanned his cold face with a proud look one last time before pushing him away from the door, swinging it open and disappearing, leaving behind a subtle hint of floral hand soap. … Shut down your savior syndrome, Hermione. He’s a big boy. Big and handsome, like a pedigreed puppy. Shiny from expensive shampoo, combed and stretched according to all biological standards, as if on a show. A show of ugliness, death, a devouring circus. It would be ironic if it weren’t so bitter. The cryo-beam still was freezing her brain as she returned and sat back at her window seat. There was hot tea on the table. She didn’t tell her friends that Malfoy invited her because… Because why? There were so many reasons in her head that Hermione regretted asking herself this question, slumping listlessly on the back of the sofa. It took all her strength to endure it when these two sat across from her. And each one, in its horror, seemed to compete with the previous one, igniting waves of shame and guilt. Traitor. Fingers traced spirals on the blue velvet seat. Ron stared intently, worried. His foot touched her shoe under the table, but suddenly Hermione wanted to pull it away from this soothing touch, as if it pricked her skin under the shoe. Unworthy. Is that the real reason? Stop, brain, stop nauseating with synapses to the surface of consciousness. Last year, before summer, she would have given everything for Weasley’s hands to close behind her back, first stroking like a warm breeze on the shore of the Mediterranean, and then unzipping the dress. She waited for his lips on her neck, like… like… like mom waited for her paycheck? Hermione had no other examples of desperate desire. Until she got this fake invitation. From a fake person. Pure Malfake. And fell into it, into the chance to be wrong. How she wanted to be wrong… And this attempt cost one hundred and twenty Galleons in debt to Harry. What she had made up as a reason was even sickening to recall. Hermione seemed to have spent the entire reserve of her weak dark side on just this summer. *** “You can’t imagine how much I missed you” Ron’s whisper from behind warmed her ear. The broad palms of his hands glided from the sides to the girl’s stomach under the shirt. “I thought this dinner would never end.” She calmed down because after the long shaking of the train ride and the following hearty dinner the mirages had receded to the background. He is still here, her Ron. He is still not an Occlumens, and he never will be, so building walls in the conscience is not necessary, at least not today. This thought made Hermione loosen the fingers that had stopped his further movement upwards, and they, getting approval, slipped higher, under the thin bra. Everything is fine. Exhale. She released the air from her lungs, catching Weasley’s lips, intertwining his tongue with hers. They played with them like snakes. Snakes. Ron slipped out of his shirt, unbuttoning only a couple of necessary top buttons, and Hermione turned to him, getting closer to the source of heat. She ran her fingers over his abs, reaching the button of his trousers. Her lips touched his broad chest muscles, and below the waist a magnetic force ignited, demanding touch. Hermione’s hand left the opened button alone and slid down the pants, gripping the hardened bump. “Look at me, Hermione” he groaned as her delicate fingers squeezed him below. Ron took her by the chin, tilting her head up; in the semi-darkness, their eyes sparkled only with the reflections of a couple of bedroom torches. When he laid himself on top of her on the sheets, it was like a solar eclipse — the world ceased to exist beyond the bed. Like no one else, Ron knew how to touch her in a way that sparked. There was no need to explain. Unlike Ginny, who had already studied every inch of Dean’s bedroom ceiling in the finest detail, Hermione never left his embrace undone. “Come to me” the girl whispered, heading to her bed. Hypnotized, Ron followed her. “I see a few extra details in this puzzle, Herm,” reaching with a long arm, he caught the zipper of her skirt. “It seems this skirt belongs to the Charms classroom, not the bedroom…” The zipper buzzed, and the guy’s hands pulled the pleated cover off her hips, then hooked the edges of her panties and pulled them down to the floor; Hermione stepped out. “Sit down,” Ron gently pushed the girl towards the bed and knelt beside her. First her. Always her first. That’s how Ron Weasley is — generous, attentive, passionate… Hermione felt his rough tongue between her legs and took a deep breath. Electricity ran through her thighs, branching out in different directions, and the muscles beneath it played, turning the girl’s body into a living stream. She leaned her head back, fully lying on the cover, clutching the strands of Ron’s red hair with the fingers of her right hand. It was wet, so wet that she knew — even if he spends just two minutes on caresses, she’s already physically ready for more. Even the first time didn’t take much time. His tongue spread her petals, managing not to touch the sensitive spots with stubble. Ron instinctively felt where to press and when to speed up. Hermione squeezed her nipples under the shirt, squinting harder: “Ron, I’m ready.” The guy rose, lowering his pants. The glans of the penis touched the aroused clitoris. Her beauty: curls spread on the snow-white cover, the waist visible from under the lifted shirt, were the purest happiness. Ron vowed to himself every time that he didn’t deserve anything like that. He directed his member lower with his hand and pressed with his hips; the shaft slid inside without any obstacles. From the long wait for this night, Ron wasn’t sure if he could last even five minutes, but he gritted his teeth, feeling the bliss of her inner walls. Hermione emitted a quiet squeak of the long-awaited penetration. She arched her back, allowing him to sink deeper, and Ron’s large tense figure familiarly lay on top of her chest. Cleanse me of doubts, leave only yourself, remind me how I love you, Ron. Let me shed my skin like a snake. Snake. She released sweet sobs into his lips. Ron speeded up, barely controlling himself. He pulled her shirt up, almost tearing off the still-buttoned buttons, exposing her chest, devouring it with burning eyes. Hermione was perfection. Ron nibbled on her pink nipple, and the girl’s legs spread wider, asking him to go deeper and more intensely. My boy. Weasley maintained the set pace well; a wave originated where their flesh rubbed against each other, and Hermione no longer had enough oxygen. “Deeper, Ron!” the girl moaned, and he roared, barely suppressing the surge of excitement caused by her voice. The girl’s legs clasped behind his torso and locked together. Radiance filled her, and the bitten lip didn’t cause pain. A sweet prolonged moan exploded Ron’s eardrums; the girl arched beneath him, pressing her stomach to his, pulsating, forcing him to lose self-control and empty himself. He squeezed her right breast with his hand, tilted his head back, and finished, parting the dried lips. The pink liquid of nothingness filled the consciousness of the lovers. The world revealed itself again only when Ron rose on his hands above Hermione to let them both breathe. The couple lay on the pillows, covered with a thin blanket. Hermione kissed Weasley’s collarbone, throwing one leg over his. Fingers ran over his abs. So strange to think once he was jealous of her with Harry. Unthinkable, how can you exchange this for something else?