An inferior piece of work, written entirely on a whim.
DMHG, PG-13.
Those in italics are events from the (recent) past, and the bolded words represent the represent.
Criticism, praise, all are accepted... :)
Stasya
"Hermione, I've been a jerk."
He sneered at her attempts to help him up, and spat copiously, "Get away from me, mudblood. I wouldn't want your filthy hands dirtying my robes."
She just stared at him, stunned into silence, his books and quills still in her small hands. He snatched them away from her; jaw clenched, and strode away, his black robes fluttering at the hem.
"I know."
She shrugged, ignoring the curious and smirking onlookers, picked up her own books and left without clearing up the spilt ink. Someone else did it instead. She trailed a distance behind him, not deliberately but because they were headed for the same class, holding her head high and striding with a purposeful dignity.
"You aren't going to forgive me, are you?"
Not flanked by the usual bodyguards, he spun around impatiently, uneasy at her nearness. "Stop following me!" He commanded angrily, but she could see that he was distracted. His hand moved unconsciously to his neck and rubbed it furiously till it turned a shade of red.
"I'm not following you," she said icily, brushing past him dismissively, "We both have the same class."
"No."
He gaped after her. How dare she…brushing past him like he was the piece of filth…She was no one of great beauty, minimally pretty features, with a not so perfect figure, and yet daring to taunt him so shamelessly! He gripped his bag more tightly, "Granger," he shouted after her, clenching his teeth at the failure of dominating her. But she had turned around a corner, and was out of sight by then.
"But you can-"
In her mind, she smirked, amused at how ruffled he was. She could sense him following her now, loud footsteps that denoted anger, slapping across the stone floor and coming towards her. Finding an unprecedented sense of anticipation, peppered with minimal fear, she stopped and turned around to face the blond youth.
"Yes, I can forget."
"Take this as payback for third year, a debt four years overdue," he narrowed his stormy gray eyes, and raised his hand to hit her. Her eyes widened, fearful, and quickly backed away and caught his hand just in time, senses sharpened by various encounters with the more deadly. His gaze was aquiline, startled and fearful all at once. She abruptly let go of his hand, and strode away briskly.
"Good."
His gaze never left the girl in front of him as they walked to class, both aware but indifferent of each other's presence. Had he really intended to slap her? Why was he so distracted by her mere being around him? The classroom came into view all of a sudden, and he was walking so fast that he had to backtrack to enter.
She had already taken her seat beside her friends. He scanned the rest of the room and sat himself next to Parkinson, who had quite obviously saved the seat for him. But he kept his eye on her all the time and it was clear that she was confused by his attention.
"Though, I don't know why I fell for you in the first place."
After class, he waylaid her as she headed for the library. She ignored him again as she walked past, unknowingly tempting him to grab her and tell her how utterly bewildered he was. Yet he wasn't one to be ignored, and as she reached out for the door handle, he grabbed her sleeve and pushed her into a deserted corridor.
"You can't ignore me forever," he growled, strands of un-gelled molten gold hair falling into his eyes.
"I can if I want to," she shot back defiantly.
"Neither do I."
"You confuse me," he said solemnly, seemingly subdued, but the look in his eyes betrayed the neutral tone of voice as he reached for her hand and held it to his chest against his heart. They stood still, afraid to breathe, afraid to move. The rhythm of their hearts seemed to shake the whole earth.
"And vice versa."
"It can't be-"
And then she had pressed her lips to his, his hand still holding hers, and the air was sizzling with unbridled passion of two people hungry for each other. Melting into each other, kissing, loving… He let go of her hand and wrapped his arm around her waist, pressing his lips against her harder, bringing their bodies to melt together like chocolate, his lean; hers soft.
"It's a paradox, Draco, the ultimate paradox."
"I've been wanting you all along, without knowing it," he breathed, arm still around her, staring into her eyes.
"What makes you think I haven't?"
"I'm so sorry, Hermione, I've been a jerk."
Fin
