Inappropriate Boundaries
Sometimes lines have to be crossed, and he did just that.
Author's Note: I've been suffering from writer's block for "Beautiful Disarray" and I've been reading Dramione stories lately to take my mind off it. So I thought I would write my first. I came up with it last night as I was going to bed, and couldn't get the idea of it of my head, so I wrote the whole story down immediately on paper.
This is the story of classic Dramione, the old "Head Boy/Head Girl" scheme with a humorous twist. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it.
So, read and review, please.
I'll love you forever.
-- Annie
As soon as the idea is mentioned, no, written, she frets. Big time. She stares down at the piece of parchment in disbelief.
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So does he, miles away. How could this happen? Sharing a room with the person he thought was the most unlikely to share a room with, an enemy no less, was impossibly and unfortunately happening.
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But she has a duty. She cannot deny that. And she will live up to that, no matter how hard it might seem, no matter who it is with. She will do it because she has to. And she cannot deny a privilege.
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And he cannot disgrace the family name.
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Their eyes meet at a train station on a crisp September day. He barely acknowledges her.
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He's already sitting in the compartment, looking bored. She enters, without so much as saying "hello." Because since when did niceties matter between them? They were mortal enemies.
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As they part hours later for dinner, he mutters he'll see her later up in their room. She ponders this, knowing this is the most civilized statement he has ever made towards her, and thinking better not to overanalyze it, she says goodbye to him. She realizes that her reputation is on the line as a model student and she vows that she will be much friendlier to him. But how can you really be nice to someone you've been miserably mistreated by for the past six years?
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They're in the room now, ready to say goodbye to summer and continue what will hopefully be a slightly more pleasant year than years past. Even if that means seeing the person you've loathed immensely for the past six years for the next nine months.
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Barely saying goodnight to each other, he heads for the green room, she for the red. And so, the start of living together begins.
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The next morning, she rises, nearly stumbling out of bed. As she heads for the shared bathroom, shock clouds her face to see another figure standing right outside the bathroom door, smirking at her unpleasantly.
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She blushes a bright crimson as she realizes she's barely covered. She glances sheepishly down her body, feeling very insecure. She's wearing a navy blue tanktop, just showing a slight bit of cleavage (but oh thank God she had worn a bra last night in case anything like this awkward occurrence ever happen while living with him; she just wasn't counting on it to happen this morning) and a sliver of her tan stomach. She's also wearing a flannel pair of green and pink plaid shorts that hang right below her waist, making her long legs stand out even more. Instinctively lifting her hand to her head, she can feel her curls are much wilder and unruly when she wakes up than when they're tamed during the day. But none of this should matter, right?
Wrong.
Oh so very wrong.
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He just won't stop staring. He practically wants to grab hold of her head and kiss her so hard right then and there so she can stop yammering about conduct and responsibility for a week, at most two weeks, if he bruises her lips long enough.
But that won't simply happen. She's not that kind of girl, and he is disgusted by the fact of him wanting to do that to her.
His silver eyes glance up and down her body warily, nevertheless appreciating what he sees. He finally meets her face, noticing her blush. Aw. So adorable.
Bet she's not that innocent. With a body like that?
Who wouldn't want to…
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His thoughts are interrupted by her delayed reaction of gasping. Face still flushed, she sees him, nothing but defined chest, solid abs, low torso, and black and green striped boxers.
Never, absolutely never, in her life would she imagine seeing him like this.
Oh God. She realizes she has just seen him. In his underwear.
But he does look good, doesn't he? Why, yes. Yes, he does.
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He gives a low whistle. "My, my," he says, his voice maliciously soft, "so that's what you've been hiding under those robes."
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She lifts her chin defiantly. "I could say the same for you."
He chuckles. "I'm sure many girls in your position right now would admit it than deny it."
She freezes.
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He takes a step forward, and another, and another. He's dangerously close to her now, just seconds away from planting that kiss he had just imagined between them.
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She looks up at him, glaring as she does. He cups her chin, lifting her face closer to his. Their noses are touching.
She can barely breathe. She can smell peppermint on his breath.
What?
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"You know…" Draco Malfoy drawls, "…you've really become quite beautiful in these last six years, Granger." He leans forward, his blonde hair tickling her cheek as he leans down and whispers in her ear, "It's just too bad you're not getting the bathroom first."
And with that, he pulls his hand away from her face, and enters the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.
Leaving behind a completely bewildered and utterly thoughtless Hermione Granger.