It is a challenge for me to myself. Make the most wanted characters of Harry Potter fandom do anything everything with each other but without uttering a word. Can I do that? Let me see. If I am not making the lips move to talk. I better work extra hard on the other senses, of sight, of touch, of smell and of hearing.

To all the reviewers a hearty thank you.

Now on to the story.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, but my thoughts of AU and OC, the rest all belong to J K Rowling. My mind lives in the Harry Potter fanfiction world though my body is still thankfully anchored in the monotonous reality of existence. My themes, plotline, and storyline may, therefore, get indirectly influenced by many of the brilliant fanfiction writers on this site. And I humbly bow to such creative genius who give me much needed literary pleasures to see through the toils of mundane life. Lastly, I don't have a beta, so please be merciful. Reviews would encourage this introvert writer to peep out of her literary closet.

High on ecstasy II

8th Year
Hogwarts

They had once again made him a target of their pranks. She was honestly fed up with the way things were dragging on. Nearly half of the term had gone by and the returning students were still claiming their share of revenge from the biggest bully Hogwarts had ever seen. She had a shouting match with Harry the other day at Hogsmeade. And Boy who lived had left the Three broomsticks, reeling with half baked angry excuses. She had put her foot down; unlike others she would give him a second chance. A chance she knew he had been begging for.

This time the Gryffindor table was beating their chests, they had sullied the fallen prince and had managed to rub his face in the dirt, the only place where he belonged. The Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs had added more fire to the rumor mill. Some said, he has successfully maimed, and the others wove fantastic tales of casting jinx at him that made him shred off his platinum blonde hair. She had to escape from their constant chattering. She indeed had, supplied an off-handed excuse of" going to the library", and had dashed off.

This time she had found him, in a deserted room, that could have functioned as a small hall for the staff to meet, but perhaps a century ago. His lips were bleeding. He had bruises all over his face, his robes were torn and his shirt askew. His hair could have been pulled at all directions; his forehead was sporting a nasty cut. She could see his chest heaving, his body rocking. He was scared and forlorn. Her footsteps had made him jump on his feet. His wand was out in his hand. But he had kept it pointed at the floor. She had whimpered. So, had he.

They had simply dashed forward to hug each other. Alive. Warm. Comfort. Finally grounded in one place. The greatest of enemies, the biggest rivals, indeed it was possible, none but they themselves could justify each other. He had broken into an uncharacteristic sob, while he had buried his face, in her beastly wild hair. She had strained her body to make sure she was touching him everywhere possible. Rubbing her hand over his shuddering back, pressing his neck and easing her fingers into his hair, she had ensured, the only he was to know in this empty space was that he had her to count on.

She had felt his long arms circle around her small frame. Had felt him draw her in further. And had felt his nose digging into her neck. Tears had tickled down her shoulders. She barely remembered how her robes had got unclasped. His muffled sounds had torn at her heart. Why could they not see, what all he had to go through? Yes, he had been a bully, an utter bastard. And, she was the first person to vouch for how vile he had behaved with everyone back then. But the war had changed each one of them. And perhaps, he had changed much before things had started turning grim.

That year when he had got the death eaters smuggled into Hogwarts, he had grown quiet, thoughtful and lost. And how could she forget that singular encounter at the Perfect's Bathroom? Since that day, her heart had started crying for the pain he was going through. She knew beyond what words to convey. And she had seen his eyes dart like a fugitive rat. He was living a trapped life. Unknowingly, she had started rocking both of them. Humming a childhood lullaby in her head as she had held him tighter.

It was then she had felt his hands move in sync with her soothing circles. Easing her taunt back muscles, massaging away her built-up stress. Until now, she did not realize the weight of the huge burden of grief she had been carrying over her. She had failed to moved past that guilt. The guilt of a survivor. And here was a man defeated in purpose and belief, still considering himself able enough to ease her burden. He had gone and broken that rusty lock hanging over her caged up heart. Turning his head slightly, he had rubbed his nose at the crook of her slender neck. And had planted a minute kiss, right on the slight curve. His lips had remained over that small patch of wet skin and that had undone her. Still holding onto him for support, she had started wailing. No there was nothing left to be embarrassed about. Now they were both equal. Starting afresh with every ounce of dignity lost.

She had felt his hands roam over her shaking body, and in no time had picked her frail form. Balancing her weight on his arms, he had managed to nudge her legs apart and she had wrapped them about his waist. To hide from invisible watchers, she had hidden her face at the curve of his neck this time, letting her tears wash his sinful pale skin. Wrapped about each other, they had continued to cry together.

Their individual flavors of love potion had once again started mingling into the thick damp air on this closed up place. Though, she was past recognizing the magic at work. She had cried over her parents, over those who had died, over the fading friendship she had with the others in her year. She had started preferring his presence. Even hidden away in such empty places. She desired to have him holding her just like this. Perhaps even kiss her over. Would she mind? There was still time. There were still days left. Months to live first. And they had agreed mentally through stolen glances, they would see to each other's needs. They would be around to hold each other, just like now.

She had heard him growl. She had felt him stir. And she had experimentally squeezed her legs. That first contact had made them groan in unison. But they would take it slow. They had many cracks in their souls to sew back together. They had nightmares to deal with. They had a history to burn down to ashes. But this time, she wanted to take back a souvenir with her, to remember this moment.

So, she had allowed herself to relax back into his strong arms. His fingers were pulsing like hot iron as they had been nestling her neck. He was a snake, and could slither in through her unruly mane. Why was she even surprised at that? But she was a lioness. She had to remind him that crucial bit of information.

She was the first one to shift. The first one to place a resounding kiss over that soft layer of pale skin right below his flushed ear. She had heard his breath hitch. And that was her cue. Rolling the tip of her tongue right over the wet patch, she had caught the marked area in between her teeth. His growl and a shuddering moan had rolled out in waves of primal desire. Without breaking the skin, she had marked him. he belonged to her. He would sport a certain love bite. And let the world be damned if they even thought of harming him again.

He had reciprocated by twisting his fingers into her hair and bring up her face close to his, their noses were barely touching. His burning grey eyes were demanding explanations. But she was not playing this game according to his rules. She had brought her hands up, trapping his still bruised face within her palms, she had cast a wandless, silent healing spell. Her eyes had glinted as she had watched those bruises cuts and wounds close and new skin cover up those flows over his perfectly sculpted face.

In gratitude he had closed his eyes. And she had lowered his face, so that she close touch his forehead with her lips. He had allowed her ministrations this time. Holding her close to his body. Giving her legs another squeeze, bringing their cores close together once again, she had fed the fire of desire that much-needed fuel called unsatiated want. Right between his platinum brows, above his pointed nose, she had darted her tongue out to trace a definitive "g". His favorite letter. And the sneaky snake had done the same, right under her jaw. A wet letter "g" etched over her soft skin, just above her throat.

Hermione Jean Granger had pushed at him, making him fall back. Draco Lucius Malfoy had unceremoniously dropped the most prized possession of his life. One on his back and the other on her knees. Like two prowling beasts of the wild, they were marking their territory. Their eyes had thrown the open challenge. The fight to stake a claim on each other. The winner would brand the loser as "Mine".

A/N: You hate it, you like it...but you cannot live without it. Tell me, why must I not end things right here, right now? Or... and maybe, I should reconsider not marking this complete.