Flat in Bath

Fighting Spirit

She attempted numerous ways of escape before giving in. She knew it was fruitless in the first place, but owed it to herself to at least attempt the door or the window. Even trying to apparate, but it was no use ... Malfoy had penned her in and left her completely to his mercy.

She had spent a few minutes wondering how she could shower without a bathroom, until she found that the room she was occupying had a door that lead her to her own shower room. Then, she spent a few minutes wrestling with the idea of not showering on purpose, knowing that Malfoy might not want to get his hands on her again if she was unclean.

The thought almost ran over until she realised that she felt unclean and dirty because of him, so decided to shower for herself and her own sanity. And as the hot spray cascaded down onto her, she tried to block of the betrayals from her body earlier. Yes, Malfoy had her pinned and yes, he was performing all kinds of sordid acts upon her body ... but did that mean she had to react to them in the way that she did?

Could she call it assault? After all, in the back of her mind she couldn't deny that she didn't tell him to stop when he told her to. She didn't say no, and he kept going ... kept going and going until –

Hermione shampooed her hair vigorously, getting the image of his large body in front of her and his stormy eyes out of her brain. The man was a bastard. A hard, horrible, manipulative bastard and she was going to have to fight hard or beat him at his own game. She was just petrified of Malfoy only being part of a smaller picture ... what if there was a much bigger picture and she just didn't know it yet?

"You certainly filled out, Granger..."

Hermione screamed and turned around, hands instantly coming up to hide her most private parts. "Get out!" she shouted at him, flushed in the face from his unwanted invasion. "How dare you-"

His eyes were taking her in, travelling up and down the length of her and stopping at her eyes, fire in his when he finally smirked at her. "Your dinner is on the table." And then he walked out, leaving her gaping at his audacity... the man was a twat.

Stepping out of the shower and made sure she had a towel firmly wrapped around herself. She towel dried her hair as best she could and then stomped into the bedroom, not expecting to see him sitting there on the other side of the little two-seater table that was against the mirrored wall on the left side of the room. He was drumming his fingers on the edge of the table, as if waiting impatiently for her to sit down.

What was all of this? The intimidation, the ... touching ... the highly inappropriate lack of spacial awareness when it came to personal grooming ... and now he was feeding her? She didn't know whether to laugh or cry, because she knew he was torturing her in every which way except physically. It was any wonder he would actually let her sleep on the bed ...

She'd gone and made herself angry again, and his presence wasn't helping at all. She was impulsive and passionate and responsive – she was going to make him regret intruding on her shower experience. Instinctively, when she reached the table, Hermione picked up her salad bowl and threw the contents at him.

Shit.

As soon as she'd done it; felt the initial triumph of getting one over on him, she knew that she regretted it. He sat there, salad leaves decorating his shoulders, dressing dripping down his shirt, and some of it sliding down his neck. For a moment he didn't even blink. Then he was moving. His chair tipped back, and he was going for her.

She panicked and ran. Where, she didn't know, as there was nowhere to go. She headed for her bathroom again and as she reached the door, he was on her. He propelled her inside and flattened her against the emerald tiled wall with only his hand on her chest holding her in place. He wasn't hurting her, but his strength was astonishing.