True Slytherin Intentions

Chapter 1| Wicked Secrets

Hermione sat, staring numbly out the carriage window as she took in the excitement of the first years skidding around the train as they hurriedly gathered aboard running back quickly for last-minute hugs and promises. She could barely remember that same excitement in her first year, and as she struggled to bring back memories a weak smile spread over her lips as the realisation that the past few years had taken a more tremendous toll, then she cared to admit. 

Yet the crowd that ran to surround them the minute they step through the wall onto the platform should have been enough to Hermione, but it only reminded her of how different she really was. Many students had chosen not to return to repeat their final years, the idea of walking those same halls that watched so many friends die, was just too much. Those that did were obvious as they stood to the sides in the shadows glum looks crossing their faces. Even through their smiles, you could see the sadness lurking beneath the trauma bursting to break free. 

Hermione didn't want the fame; she wanted normalcy. She just wanted to be a typical student, a normal girl for once. She didn't want to be a hero. 

It had taken a good forty minutes to push past the growing crowd and find a quiet compartment at the back of the train with fellow 7th-year students, all repeats. It seemed this year would be split into two—those that were there and those that weren't. A few familiar faces greeted her, but it was nothing more than a nod, every smile felt as though they were transported back, as though they were standing there in the rubble the pain of loss not truly tangible, truly acceptable. They'd won. But at what cost?

 A smile had been all anyone could muster.

Then came the faces that weren't there, the ones that should have been.

Would they be at Hogwarts? The rumour was that everyone who died in the war would be hung up on one of the floors. 

Even Ron had wondered the same thing, blurting it out the night before only to leave everyone in pain-filled silence. 

She feared that maybe her choice to return wasn't the best one. Tucking a strand of loose curly hair back behind her ear she couldn't help the quiver in her lips. What if it became too painful? Hogwarts was once home sure, but now it was home to the monsters that plagued their memories. All that history, could she face it every day for the next year?

She had too. Hermione knew it was her only chance to experience Hogwarts the way she should have the first time. There was no danger, no real threat of exams and bad grades . . . she had too. She had to take the opportunity to be carefree for once. She had to learn about herself, who she was outside of all the danger and world-ending threats. She had to discover who she was as a woman and what she enjoyed. Something she'd never had the time or interest in learning before. 

There was nothing she couldn't learn from a book . . . apart from that.

Finally, the train had departed, and Harry and Ron had lost themselves in conversation about their plans for the year. Ginny grinned ear to ear, her legs tucked underneath her as she wrapped her arm around Harry's and rested her head down on his shoulders.

"I'm going to go and change into my robes", Hermione muttered bored of hearing all the quidditch talk as she stood shaking Rons' arms from around her shoulders reaching for her black purse flinging it over her shoulder and hurrying out towards the bathrooms.  

Pulling on the familiar grey skirt felt like a ritual to Hermione. Still, the urgency for her school uniform to be in perfect form suddenly dissipated as she left her white shirt untucked, the sleeves messily rolled to her elbows, and the first three buttons were undone. Her tie lay lose around her neck, trapped underneath her vest as she moved her socks to her knees and slipped into her freshly polished black shoes with an inch of the heel. Glancing in the small square mirrors pinned above the small sinks, Hermione took in her appearance.

Her skin was pale from the lack of sunlight, not just from the fact she was basically on the run for a solid year but also the fact she had spent months trapped in her room reliving a nightmare. Her eyes had seemed to harden, the dark brown engulfing almost all the little slithers of hazel, and her lips had seemed to become plumper. 

As she tied up her hair into a messy bun on the top of her head, Hermione's eyes dropped to her chest, almost popping out of their sockets. The black lace trim of her bra was clearly visible, her breasts pressing through the gap in the material. She'd completely forgotten how much she had grown into her body and how much she'd grown out of her clothes. Even her skirt rode further up her thighs. While on the run, a nourishing diet wasn't exactly on anyone's mind and the amount of weight she had lost was almost frightening, she had forgotten how adept she really was. Yet relaxing her arms back down to her sides, she forced the shock and urged to button her shirt down into the pit of her stomach. She wasn't the only girl in Hogwarts to wear her sweater unbuttoned that low! So, what if she did? Whose business was it anyway?

There were worse things in this world.

A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips as she grabbed her robes and shoved them back into her purse until later.

A part of Hermione knew she had to feel differently; she couldn't be the exact same version of herself walking through those halls. She wouldn't make it if she were. 

Hurrying back into the stool, she closed the door and sat down on the closed toilet seat, preparing herself for what came next. It had been so long since she'd seen the castle, the last memory she had was of fire and death. She could still hear the crumbling of the bricks, the licks of flames and the smell of musk, metal and powdered dirt. A part of her relished at the idea that she could finally replace those images with what it should have been.

Just as Hermione had gathered herself and her courage, she heard the bathroom door swing open, and the sound of light chatter fill the silence. "Have you seen him? He's barely muttered a word since getting on the train." 

She knew that voice! Leaning closer to the cubicle door, Hermione narrowed her eyes, trying to remember. "I know. Blaise said its been pretty tough on him since his father's sentence." Her eyebrows rose curiosity now getting the better half of her. "He seems the same but . . . different? I dunno."

"No, I get you." Pansy! That was it. "No surprise if he's pretty pissed. One war won't wipe eighteen years of his life and everything he's been taught." Hermione mentally sighed, knowing it was probably true. There probably wasn't a changed bone in his body, not for the good anyway. She may despise him, that doesn't mean she didn't wish he'd change for his own well being, "Either way, he was always so intense in that department, but lately he's been way too intense. I had to spend the summer in Italy with my grandmother. I just couldn't do it anymore."

A blush crept across Hermione's cheek as she realised what they were talking about and she suddenly felt suffocated in that small cubicle wishing she could turn her ears off.  

"Huh, you're telling me!" Hermione couldn't tell who the other voice was, and she was sure it wasn't someone she knew by name. She knew Malfoy was well versed when it came that side of things, she could still remember the googly eyes he'd get and the sudden new interest he'd be chatting up every week or so. But it always felt wrong hearing them go into more detail then she'd ever cared to hear. "The first time was my last. I'm not into that. I don't submit. It was too . . . much." 

Too much? Hermione's interest had shamefully peeked as her mind replayed the night before.

"You're telling me! At least before he'd take a break. Before summer he was all the time every minute where and when he wanted. Not that that part was necessarily bad," she added with a giggle. "But after a while, it's getting old. Not to mention all the rough play? Fun the first time, just downright weird the second. Especially when he's binding my arms and legs behind my back, that's the line drawn. He wants a slave if anything. And I'm not anyone's toy. But still, one of the best f***s I've had."

Hermione almost scoffed at her statement, the entire time she'd been at Hogwarts that was all Pansy had been. A toy constantly pinning over Malfoy no matter how crap he treated her. She was a walking talking i***t with the space in her skull occupied by Nargals.

Yet that couldn't distract her from the fact that her heart had quickened in her chest and the curiosity that lay dead before came alive stronger than before. She'd read books on the subject, of course, the muggle world was renowned for its erotica, and she assumed they were touching on b**m, but it was something Hermione pushed to the darkest parts of her mind. s*x hadn't been an issue before, but she couldn't deny the excitement that had stirred between her legs. 

Now that she had time to entertain those thoughts, it was becoming more of an issue.

She sat there listening to Pansy and her friend compare and list Malfoys s****l interests, commenting where they felt necessary, and Hermione couldn't stop the embarrassment that stained her neck bright red.

What felt like hours but had only been a mere eight minutes, they finally left, and Hermione scurried out, catching her breath as she burst out into the brighter lit carriageway. She knew too much about Malfoy and grossed her out. At least that was all she was willing to admit.

Regaining herself, she walked back into the compartment that still held her friends chatting away. She sunk into the seat next to Ron, his arm automatically wrapping around her and pulling her closer. But even as the smell of peppermint toothpaste invaded her nose, the memory of Malfoys lips and her newly founded information invaded her mind.