Time and Tide

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Hermione was mired in drowsy half-consciousness. It was not the calm, gentle waking from sleep, where awareness crept in like a lover, caring and quiet. It was instead a hangover's stupor, with full-body pain and a nauseating curl in her brain and gut. The space behind her eyelids was too bright to bear, the darkness too crushing to stand. And here she was, trapped in limbo. The worst of both worlds.

Her foot twitched. An instinctive response, like a horse flicking its tail to dislodge a bothersome fly. The tingle moved up her leg, more a meander than a focused exploration. Then, a jump that helped to wake her: hands against her side, encircling her waist. Fingers rubbing slow circles against her skin.

Hermione moaned. She tried to move away but only managed to roll her neck. Her face angled toward the light, and she grimaced at the sting of it.

The hands continued their journey north, skimming the bones of her torso. Tracing the bottom edge of her breasts.

No.

Adrenaline shot through her system, and she pried her eyes open. Her assailant was a thin man dressed in dark denims and an old sweater. He had a sharp chin, and his jawline was dusted with the shadow of stubble. He had pulled his platinum blond hair back into a small, sloppy bun.

No.

Draco Malfoy looked at her from over his shoulder, his gray eyes narrowed and assessing. He held her sealskin in his hands.

"What were you doing at the well?"

His voice barely rose above a whisper, but it felt like a shout to her pounding head. The Stunner still had her in its grip. She frowned and turned her head away. She needed space to think. To strategize.

He dropped her skin, and the absence of his fingers flooded her with short-lived relief. His boots thudded across the wood floor, and she flinched away from the edge of one as he straddled her. He trapped her supine form between his legs, looking down at her from stranding.

"The well," he repeated.

She shook her head, or tried to. The motion was jerky, her neck still stiff from the curse.

He squatted down, slowly, so that she could feel the horror of his approach. Witness the full force of the menace behind his eyes, which were as dead and dull as the scales of a beached fish. His hand drifted to her neck, the web between his thumb and forefinger settling just below her chin. He applied pressure. Enough to show he meant it.

"I will not ask again."

She tried to lift her leg. To knee him, grab her skin, and make a run for it. Her heel only scraped across the floor. He noted it with a raised brow.

"You think I haven't done this before?" The pressure on her larynx increased. "You think I don't know how long the effects of a Stunner last? Or how to get information out of someone who doesn't want to give it?" He leaned down, their noses almost brushing. "You think I give a shite about you, Granger?"

"No," she choked and jerked her head forward.

But he was too quick, or she was too slow. He flinched clear, his hand leaving her neck just long enough for her to swallow a painful breath. Then, a new world of pain. A backhand to her cheek that left her seeing stars. She gasped, tasting blood, and blinked away her doubled vision. He gripped her chin, sending a jolt through her tender jaw as he faced her forward.

"That will not help you," he growled. "The well."

"Praying," she said, forcing the answer past his hand. It wasn't technically a lie.