Year 5 - Stockholm

Chapter 23

The Claim

The sound of the village was in the distance. A darkening winter evening surrounded the forest. A soft white moon shined in the sky as witness to their lonely journey while sunlight dissipated toward the horizon. The only sound she heard was his breath as it struggled for control. Draco carried her across his back. Their destination, a mystery to her.

Hermione was incapable to making a sound. Still, as tears dribbled down her cheeks, she beat against his back in resistance.

It was all wrong. She smelled Terry's blood on him. The hot iron left a disgusting taste in her mouth with just the scent alone. He'd fought Terry just to steal her off into the night, angry and vengeful at her as if she was the only guilty party.

He was the one on a date!

She started to kick her feet wildly. Draco's hold on her thighs slipped. She dropped to the ground, finally free.

Her hands fought through her clothes to find her wand buried inside since it was of muggle design. Draco was quicker. Fingernails dug into her shoulders as he pushed her backward, back farther into the shadows of the forest until there was nothing behind her but a large tree trunk. His arms trapped her there. No where else to go without his say.

Fury radiated off him in waves. It was palpable through the air. The tension in his shoulders and the clouds of his breath only told of the rising beast within his control, bound to tear through that barrier and ruin her.

"What were you doing there?" He spat through gritted teeth. "What were you doing there with him?"

She struggled against his touch as he grasped the sides of her face. His eyes drilled through her skin. Their gaze unsatisfied until they were met with hers.

There was heat in his expression, just as much as she believed was in hers.

"I would have killed him. Do you understand? Killed him."

Hermione broke their eye contact. She stared out into the emptiness of the trees. Pain spread through her cheeks as he wretched her back to his examining gaze. It was filled with expectation, as he expected her to be just as he thought of her, an obedient pet to come at his beck and call, without thought of herself or the hurt he inflicted without the slightest care for her wellbeing.

It was not true. She was not a pet. She was a beast, a feral animal, just tamed enough to companionship. There was a level of trust extended to him. As soon as he turned on her, he should have expected claws to tear him apart.

Draco forgot who she was. He forgot what it meant to tangle with beasts.

He was against her. The bark of the tree scratched her cold skin, tearing little red lines throughout her pretty complexion. She wiggled her hips, struggling beneath the weight of his full body. Her hands clenched the shoulders of his shirt. The tear of fabric rippled through the unending silence.

Draco let out a strangled whimper. "Why would you do that, huh? How could you do that to me? Do you get wet with anyone now? Is that it?"

Her hands slapped his face. Hard. The length of her fingers stung against the cold air.

Bound to silence was the worse torture she could imagine. Her vocal cords burned with need. He was able to demonize her without return of just what he had done to her. She was due her fight. That much she knew. Tears poured from her eyes. The cold trails dripped down to the edge of her chin.

Scottish winters were fierce and frigid. She wore a cocktail dress with little beneath. The fibers were pierced with the reaching frost quicker than her tears dropped to the surface.