To Pierce The Veil
Sep. 30th, 2011 08:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
worksofstoneRating: T
Pairing: Dramione
Notes: Rough, rough drafts. Will get beta'd and britpicked later. Voyeurism Square.
“Congratulations.”
Hermione smiles wryly and looks down at the ring on her left hand.
“Thank you. It was a bit of a surprise.” She looks contemplatively at her hand as if she's still getting used to the unfamiliar sight. A slender golden ring is perched there, a ruby chip glittering from the thin band. Gryffindor colors, he thinks. As if their little trio needed another reminder of exactly where the lines were drawn.
Draco snorted. “To whom, precisely? You've been together, what, five years?” Five and a half.
“Just over five and a half. We'd said we'd wait until at least the negotiations was over, but I suppose that he wanted to hurry things along.” Draco can understand the sentiment.
Hermione looked up from her hand. “Speaking of the negotiations, we'd better start. There's barely three months left and I still haven't made as much progress as I'd like.” She walks over to her usual chair and places her bag on the floor. Draco is already seated, but he puts down his glass of elf-made wine. He's taken to sipping it while he waits for her to arrive.
She sits down and runs her hands through her hair, pushing it away from her face. She always does it before they begin. When she sits and faces him, he can tell that she's worrying again about finishing her lessons by the deadline. Technically, he's tutoring the Ministry's Head Negotiator for the International Confederation of Wizards. Negotiations won't begin for another three months, but she's always been one to worry about running out of time.
He remembers when the Ministry approached him about teaching Occlumancy, and how he'd originally balked. It was only when they'd mentioned the name of his potential student that he'd changed his mind. They're all adults now, and the past is dead and gone, but Draco couldn't pass up the opportunity to see Hermione Granger unbend enough to open up her mind. He's still amused by how it ended up being a pleasant surprise.
She's a fine student, and Draco can understand some of the pride that their professors must have felt. She's a genuine pleasure to teach, picking up concepts and theory as quickly as he can explain. It's only at this last, final stage of lessons that she's experiencing a true fight. Occlumancy is a tricky skill, a fusion of mental and emotional discipline. Mental discipline is not a problem for her, but she's never before had to shut down her emotions without a fight.
Their lessons have been going on for seven months; she arrives at his home once a week and is scheduled to take an hour of his time. These days, she's staying late more often. She's worried that she won't completely master Occlumancy, and he's become – if not indulgent – lenient enough to grant her more of his time.
They set up carefully delineated boundaries for where he's allowed to pry. Anything from her childhood is fine. Sometimes he took out memories of her at Muggle playgrounds or toy stores, just to feel her amusement. She's given him a bit more permission than that, though, in order to test memories that she wishes to hide. He's allowed to lightly tug at most anything that occurred in public at Hogwarts, up through their third year. He suspects that fourth year and beyond is off-limits for many reasons; simply put, it's a bit too close to the choices that ended up defining their lives.
These days she's mastered clearing her mind, so reaching for her thoughts only yields a void. Draco almost misses those earlier days, when it was all new. The emotional control was difficult for her, but not impossible. Draco suspects that she's treated it as a new form of academic discipline; a sharpening of her mind for a special purpose. Away from here – away from him – he imagines that she's still as open to others as the books she dearly loves.
They've moved onto the advanced forms now, the technique that defines a true Occlumens. If she can master the art of suppressing only the thoughts, emotions and memories that she wishes, she'll have learned all that he can teach, able to use her skill like an invisible weapon. Hiding in plain sight.
Even so, the lesser form is valuable enough. Should she go to the negotiating table with it, no one will be able to glean her thoughts. Draco suspects that her superiors and colleagues would consider her lessons finished, but Hermione has always wanted more.
As he watches, she frowns at some inner thought. She's distracted and not focusing her mind.
“At least attempt to concentrate, Granger.”
“My apologies, it's just I'm so busy with the conference. Did I tell you that they haven't even given us a final schedule yet? ”
“I know.”
She rolls her eyes at his resigned response. But he does know; he's had her schedule marked down and noted for months. He knows down to the very hour when she'll depart from the Manor for the last time.
He sips the wine. “Why don't you try using Legilimency on me? It might help you better understand this level of Occlumency, if you experience casting what you're trying to defend against.” He'd intended to teach her Legilimency, eventually, but perhaps more towards the end. Still, she's rather frustrated, and she's always responded well to the offer of learning something new.
She perks up but then looks conflicted. “Are you sure? The spell's incredibly invasive.” He feels a flicker of hurt at her hidden accusation, but then remembers that her mind doesn't work that way. It's simply a question about his comfort, nothing more.
“It's a tool, Granger. The trick is in the intention.”
That serves to re-assure her, and the doubt is gone from her eyes.
He continues. “I'll even simply clear my mind rather than conceal; it'll give you the best chance of casting a working spell.”
She rolls her eyes. “Of course I'll be able to cast a working spell.” She starts to raise her wand, but then stops. “Shouldn't we discuss what I should and shouldn't look at?” She asks.
He snorts in amusement. “Granger, I've been practicing Occlumency for almost ten years. I guarantee that you won't be able to see anything. Just try and cast the spell.”
He's pricked her pride, because she says nothing more. She aims her wand and speaks. “Legilimens.”
Draco can feel the spell fluttering against his barriers; it's weak, but it's there. It's far, far more than most witches and wizards can do on their first try.
She gasps and the feeling goes away. She lowers her wand and speaks. “It's like -” She's frustrated and trying to find the correct words. “It's like glass and steel, I can't seem to get a hold of anything, never mind break through.” He feels a surge of pleasure and pride at her acknowledgment of his skill.
“Try again.”
She rolls her shoulders and rubs her neck. Draco sympathizes. He can remember when this spell was work. She raises her wand and looks at him intently before beginning the movements that cause him to re-fortify his defenses. She whispers. “Legilimens.”
Her eyes are dark with concentration, her brow furrowed as she focuses. She holds his gaze and absently runs her tongue over her lower lip; a stray curl escapes from where it was tucked behind her ear. She ignores it and focuses only on his eyes.
Draco wants to reach out and brush the curl from her brow. If this is how she's always looked while she's studying, he has no idea how Weasley managed to keep it in his pants all those years at Hogwarts. Or perhaps he didn't. Draco shoves that thought aside.
Looking at her face now, her eyes intent on his, he wants the days when her thoughts fell open to his like sunlight through fine glass.
And some part of the mental barrier that he's holding cracks against the fluttering pressure, and then dissolves like sand running through an hourglass. Even through his surprise, he can feel her mental leap and then she's present, ever so tenuously, in his mind.
She looks around, pleased with herself, and Draco's so amused at her delight that he doesn't immediately throw her out. As he watches, a puzzled feeling crosses her mind; a sense of curiosity, and he feels her reach for something near that she thinks looks strange but whose starting thread seems almost like a memory that she should recognize.
And Merlin help him, but he knows these thoughts. Panic rises in his unconscious mind, but he can only watch as events unfold, quicker than conscious thought.
A young woman with a mass of dark, tumbling hair stands in the library of Malfoy Manor. She's reading a book that's cradled in her hands. She's caught up in her reading when someone places his hand on her shoulder. A smile crosses her face; for her, his identity is no surprise. The image becomes clearer, as she turns to greet the Manor's heir with a brilliant smile. They talk for a bit in unclear but playful chatter; the conversation goes rapidly back and forth. Then he leans in for a kiss. The kiss turns deeper, and soon the book has fallen from her hands. It's followed in rapid succession by their clothes, and soon they're writhing in ecstasy, lying tangled on the floor.
He can feel her watching in shock, but it's her faint sense of horror which gives him to strength to throw her from his mind.
They come to at roughly the same time; him choking back a snarl of fury, her gasping in pain as she clutches her head. A scarlet tide rises in her cheeks; she's not meeting his eyes.
“You fucking Gryffindors, you always think you can shove your nose into other people's business.” Draco snarls, enraged at her complete disregard for his privacy. He's dimly aware that this all-consuming fury is good, because it's keeping other things from his mind.
“Draco, I'm -” She looks absolutely rattled, but forges on, determined to apologize. “I'm sorry, I didn't intend to pry. I mean, we're adults, we all have thoughts – unconscious thoughts that aren't -” She swallows. “I truly was not intending to -”
Everything she says only makes him angrier. “You should have fucking thought of that first.”
She's red-faced and already rising from her chair, her bag clutched in her free hand.
“Get out. Get out!”
A vase explodes on his desk; uncontrolled magic, something he hasn't done since he was five. To her credit, Hermione jumps but doesn't scream. He dimly notes that she's holding her wand at ready as she backs out of the room.
He's risen to his feet at some point, staring at the empty doorway but not seeing it. Everything sounds dim over the roar of his pulse. It seems to take forever, but at last he hears the roar of the Floo, spoken words, and then a parting crackle. As he hears it, time seems to speed up, and he realizes that only moments have passed.
Draco sinks back down into his chair. His hands are shaking as he reaches for a calm that he cannot seem to find. All his usual techniques for focus are escaping him; it feels as though he's torn-up on the inside.
It's a fantasy, but not in the way that she thinks. The fucking, that's the simple part. The harder part is the way he wants her to look at him, as though she were his wife.
Pairing: Dramione
Notes: Rough, rough drafts. Will get beta'd and britpicked later. Voyeurism Square.
“Congratulations.”
Hermione smiles wryly and looks down at the ring on her left hand.
“Thank you. It was a bit of a surprise.” She looks contemplatively at her hand as if she's still getting used to the unfamiliar sight. A slender golden ring is perched there, a ruby chip glittering from the thin band. Gryffindor colors, he thinks. As if their little trio needed another reminder of exactly where the lines were drawn.
Draco snorted. “To whom, precisely? You've been together, what, five years?” Five and a half.
“Just over five and a half. We'd said we'd wait until at least the negotiations was over, but I suppose that he wanted to hurry things along.” Draco can understand the sentiment.
Hermione looked up from her hand. “Speaking of the negotiations, we'd better start. There's barely three months left and I still haven't made as much progress as I'd like.” She walks over to her usual chair and places her bag on the floor. Draco is already seated, but he puts down his glass of elf-made wine. He's taken to sipping it while he waits for her to arrive.
She sits down and runs her hands through her hair, pushing it away from her face. She always does it before they begin. When she sits and faces him, he can tell that she's worrying again about finishing her lessons by the deadline. Technically, he's tutoring the Ministry's Head Negotiator for the International Confederation of Wizards. Negotiations won't begin for another three months, but she's always been one to worry about running out of time.
He remembers when the Ministry approached him about teaching Occlumancy, and how he'd originally balked. It was only when they'd mentioned the name of his potential student that he'd changed his mind. They're all adults now, and the past is dead and gone, but Draco couldn't pass up the opportunity to see Hermione Granger unbend enough to open up her mind. He's still amused by how it ended up being a pleasant surprise.
She's a fine student, and Draco can understand some of the pride that their professors must have felt. She's a genuine pleasure to teach, picking up concepts and theory as quickly as he can explain. It's only at this last, final stage of lessons that she's experiencing a true fight. Occlumancy is a tricky skill, a fusion of mental and emotional discipline. Mental discipline is not a problem for her, but she's never before had to shut down her emotions without a fight.
Their lessons have been going on for seven months; she arrives at his home once a week and is scheduled to take an hour of his time. These days, she's staying late more often. She's worried that she won't completely master Occlumancy, and he's become – if not indulgent – lenient enough to grant her more of his time.
They set up carefully delineated boundaries for where he's allowed to pry. Anything from her childhood is fine. Sometimes he took out memories of her at Muggle playgrounds or toy stores, just to feel her amusement. She's given him a bit more permission than that, though, in order to test memories that she wishes to hide. He's allowed to lightly tug at most anything that occurred in public at Hogwarts, up through their third year. He suspects that fourth year and beyond is off-limits for many reasons; simply put, it's a bit too close to the choices that ended up defining their lives.
These days she's mastered clearing her mind, so reaching for her thoughts only yields a void. Draco almost misses those earlier days, when it was all new. The emotional control was difficult for her, but not impossible. Draco suspects that she's treated it as a new form of academic discipline; a sharpening of her mind for a special purpose. Away from here – away from him – he imagines that she's still as open to others as the books she dearly loves.
They've moved onto the advanced forms now, the technique that defines a true Occlumens. If she can master the art of suppressing only the thoughts, emotions and memories that she wishes, she'll have learned all that he can teach, able to use her skill like an invisible weapon. Hiding in plain sight.
Even so, the lesser form is valuable enough. Should she go to the negotiating table with it, no one will be able to glean her thoughts. Draco suspects that her superiors and colleagues would consider her lessons finished, but Hermione has always wanted more.
As he watches, she frowns at some inner thought. She's distracted and not focusing her mind.
“At least attempt to concentrate, Granger.”
“My apologies, it's just I'm so busy with the conference. Did I tell you that they haven't even given us a final schedule yet? ”
“I know.”
She rolls her eyes at his resigned response. But he does know; he's had her schedule marked down and noted for months. He knows down to the very hour when she'll depart from the Manor for the last time.
He sips the wine. “Why don't you try using Legilimency on me? It might help you better understand this level of Occlumency, if you experience casting what you're trying to defend against.” He'd intended to teach her Legilimency, eventually, but perhaps more towards the end. Still, she's rather frustrated, and she's always responded well to the offer of learning something new.
She perks up but then looks conflicted. “Are you sure? The spell's incredibly invasive.” He feels a flicker of hurt at her hidden accusation, but then remembers that her mind doesn't work that way. It's simply a question about his comfort, nothing more.
“It's a tool, Granger. The trick is in the intention.”
That serves to re-assure her, and the doubt is gone from her eyes.
He continues. “I'll even simply clear my mind rather than conceal; it'll give you the best chance of casting a working spell.”
She rolls her eyes. “Of course I'll be able to cast a working spell.” She starts to raise her wand, but then stops. “Shouldn't we discuss what I should and shouldn't look at?” She asks.
He snorts in amusement. “Granger, I've been practicing Occlumency for almost ten years. I guarantee that you won't be able to see anything. Just try and cast the spell.”
He's pricked her pride, because she says nothing more. She aims her wand and speaks. “Legilimens.”
Draco can feel the spell fluttering against his barriers; it's weak, but it's there. It's far, far more than most witches and wizards can do on their first try.
She gasps and the feeling goes away. She lowers her wand and speaks. “It's like -” She's frustrated and trying to find the correct words. “It's like glass and steel, I can't seem to get a hold of anything, never mind break through.” He feels a surge of pleasure and pride at her acknowledgment of his skill.
“Try again.”
She rolls her shoulders and rubs her neck. Draco sympathizes. He can remember when this spell was work. She raises her wand and looks at him intently before beginning the movements that cause him to re-fortify his defenses. She whispers. “Legilimens.”
Her eyes are dark with concentration, her brow furrowed as she focuses. She holds his gaze and absently runs her tongue over her lower lip; a stray curl escapes from where it was tucked behind her ear. She ignores it and focuses only on his eyes.
Draco wants to reach out and brush the curl from her brow. If this is how she's always looked while she's studying, he has no idea how Weasley managed to keep it in his pants all those years at Hogwarts. Or perhaps he didn't. Draco shoves that thought aside.
Looking at her face now, her eyes intent on his, he wants the days when her thoughts fell open to his like sunlight through fine glass.
And some part of the mental barrier that he's holding cracks against the fluttering pressure, and then dissolves like sand running through an hourglass. Even through his surprise, he can feel her mental leap and then she's present, ever so tenuously, in his mind.
She looks around, pleased with herself, and Draco's so amused at her delight that he doesn't immediately throw her out. As he watches, a puzzled feeling crosses her mind; a sense of curiosity, and he feels her reach for something near that she thinks looks strange but whose starting thread seems almost like a memory that she should recognize.
And Merlin help him, but he knows these thoughts. Panic rises in his unconscious mind, but he can only watch as events unfold, quicker than conscious thought.
A young woman with a mass of dark, tumbling hair stands in the library of Malfoy Manor. She's reading a book that's cradled in her hands. She's caught up in her reading when someone places his hand on her shoulder. A smile crosses her face; for her, his identity is no surprise. The image becomes clearer, as she turns to greet the Manor's heir with a brilliant smile. They talk for a bit in unclear but playful chatter; the conversation goes rapidly back and forth. Then he leans in for a kiss. The kiss turns deeper, and soon the book has fallen from her hands. It's followed in rapid succession by their clothes, and soon they're writhing in ecstasy, lying tangled on the floor.
He can feel her watching in shock, but it's her faint sense of horror which gives him to strength to throw her from his mind.
They come to at roughly the same time; him choking back a snarl of fury, her gasping in pain as she clutches her head. A scarlet tide rises in her cheeks; she's not meeting his eyes.
“You fucking Gryffindors, you always think you can shove your nose into other people's business.” Draco snarls, enraged at her complete disregard for his privacy. He's dimly aware that this all-consuming fury is good, because it's keeping other things from his mind.
“Draco, I'm -” She looks absolutely rattled, but forges on, determined to apologize. “I'm sorry, I didn't intend to pry. I mean, we're adults, we all have thoughts – unconscious thoughts that aren't -” She swallows. “I truly was not intending to -”
Everything she says only makes him angrier. “You should have fucking thought of that first.”
She's red-faced and already rising from her chair, her bag clutched in her free hand.
“Get out. Get out!”
A vase explodes on his desk; uncontrolled magic, something he hasn't done since he was five. To her credit, Hermione jumps but doesn't scream. He dimly notes that she's holding her wand at ready as she backs out of the room.
He's risen to his feet at some point, staring at the empty doorway but not seeing it. Everything sounds dim over the roar of his pulse. It seems to take forever, but at last he hears the roar of the Floo, spoken words, and then a parting crackle. As he hears it, time seems to speed up, and he realizes that only moments have passed.
Draco sinks back down into his chair. His hands are shaking as he reaches for a calm that he cannot seem to find. All his usual techniques for focus are escaping him; it feels as though he's torn-up on the inside.
It's a fantasy, but not in the way that she thinks. The fucking, that's the simple part. The harder part is the way he wants her to look at him, as though she were his wife.
