The Sortinghat's Mission

Chapter 21

Warning: This chapter contains non consensual sexual acts.

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February held another date, on the fourteenth of course. She and Malfoy were again at Madam Pudifoot's drinking tea and talking about everything and nothing before enjoying a sunny winter day. Malfoy had asked her more questions about herself, such as her favorite memory as a child, what she wanted to do when she grew up and if she held any relations to anyone in England. It was nice knowing that he wanted to get to know her, that he paid attention to her and he looked delighted every time she told him something about herself.

They walked through the streets of Hogsmeade before Malfoy swiftly dragged her into an alley and pushed her up against the wall. Hermione giggled when he started peppering her with kisses. He clung to her body tightly and Hermione to his, enjoying the feeling of his slender but muscular body so snug against her own.

His soft kisses soon turned into a passionate snog with her hands in his hair and his on her bum. He was squeezing it lightly, a question in his eyes as he searched hers. As to not overstep. It had been that way since their date on the lawn and Hermione thought him thoughtful for it. They have gone on at least four dates now, her friends consider them practically a couple. She didn't dare to speculate, they hadn't really talked about it.

Hermione let her eyelashes flutter close and yielded into the embrace even further to show him that she enjoyed what was happening. Malfoy's experienced hands were flowing from her arse to her waist, making the sensation in her lower abdomen tingle. She wanted to squeeze her inner thighs together, to make the sensation stronger. It was odd how easily he corrupted her with these thoughts and feelings.

They continued to snog, him pawning her up against the alley wall, her moaning his name, for a fair amount of time before he withdrew. Malfoy's cheeks were flushed and he had something dark in his eyes, but not quite the same as the shade Riddle had had in the library. She didn't mean to notice that stuff. But she couldn't help but to compare. How when Malfoy kissed her it wasn't with quite the same intensity that Riddle had held, not quite the same sensation was sent to her center, and not quite the same amount of time did she spend pondering over what he thought of her as she did for Riddle.

"I think we'd better get up to the castle now for dinner." he said a little hoarsely.

Hermione just nodded and took his hand as they began to walk the way up to Hogwarts castle.

They parted at the great hall, she went to the Ravenclaw table and he to the Slytherin one. But just before she got on her tippy toes to press a light peck on his cheek. Hermione didn't know if she did that to mark her territory, as Prudence would have explained it as, or if she simply just felt like kissing him goodbye after their date. Even if she did know, she probably wouldn't confess to it.

As she walked up to her group of girls and sat down, she felt a pair of eyes on her. It had been quite some time since these precise pairs had looked so much at her direction. Riddle's eyes were dark, not the normal icy gray ones. And he was staring right through her. He looked almost livid, and for what, she couldn't understand. He was the one that didn't want anything to do with her, so why would he stare at her now? Why would he look so angry? Was it because she had kissed Malfoy? Maybe he found her a slag since she had kissed him just a few months ago, and Wood a few months before that. Hermione didn't know if it was proper snogging guys as often as she did, but there had only been three. It wasn't so bad, was it?

She could barely listen to what the girls were chatting about, she just smiled and pretended to be a part of the conversation. Her mind was spinning, and her eyes kept darting back to his furious ones. Could it be possible that he actually cared for her? That he wanted her the same way she had wanted him back in that library? She didn't believe for a second that she had made it up herself. Her imagination was far less erotic than what had happened.