A/N: I do not own the characters. They're JK Rowling's. Also, the story line and SOME of the dialogues are lifted from the Korean movie "The Classic" So please don't sue me.
So if anyone of you had seen the movie, you'll surely be familiar with this.
Summary: Hermione discovers something nice about the rain. Draco/Hermione.
Jan 31, 07: Finally, after two months, I have come to my senses to had this story beta'ed. Thanks to my wonderful betas, Ash and Jay, for editing my fic.
Dec14,11:Revised version uploaded. Enjoy.
Rain Dance
Today was raining, just had it had rained last week.
Hermione was at Madame Puddifoot's tea house enjoying a cup of tea. Don't mind asking her what she was doing there alone in a place famous for couples. She thought this was a nice alternative to enjoy her reading time than staying in the library.
"Hermione, do you know what this is?"
She lifted her head in time to see Madame Puddifoot padding her way to her table. The owner had an umbrella in her hand. "Umm…an umbrella?" Even a 5-year old could tell what an umbrella was.
"A very special umbrella," Madame Puddifoot corrected.
Hermione rolled her eyes at the silly scene before her: the old woman was adoringly staring at the plain black umbrella and stroking it as if it was a fine work of art that costed a fortune.
"It is special because that Malfoy boy gave it to me. He must have known that I like him."
Hermione almost spilled her tea at the woman's daring assumption.
What is this lady talking about?
"Would you kindly return this to that Malfoy boy, my dear?" the Madame Puddifoot sighed as she handed her the umbrella.
With her brows furrowed, Hermione suspiciously eyed Madame Puddifoot, wondering why the old coot was even telling this to her, or even asking her to return the umbrella back to him. Unless you have been living in with the trolls in the forest, it was a Hogwarts fact that the two were like oil and water. They would be hexing each other into oblivion if there were merely five meters apart.
Damn Slytherins!
The truth of the matter was, Hermione had been fancying a certain blond Slytherin for a while now. To fancy this bloke would be a complete understatement, but Hermione Granger could not even believe it when she realized she had fallen hard for the pompous, arrogant, bigoted, and insufferable git that was Draco Malfoy.
She would rather have a snogging session with Snape (she shuddered at this thought and tried hard not to gag) than admit to anyone about these treacherous feelings toward the ferret prat.
When she had punched the wits out of Draco back in Third Year, she had never felt more liberated in her life, and boy, it had felt so damn good. It surprised her a great deal that she was capable of doing such a barbaric act, but nevertheless strongly felt that Draco deserved every bit of it and she was never sorry for what she had done.
Everyone knew of Draco's utmost dislike in Harry, Ron, her, their friends, and well, the rest of Gryffindor for that matter. But after the whole punching incident, things started to turn slightly into a different direction. Harry and Ron had still been on the receiving end of Draco's nasty hexes and insults (and vice versa), but they pale considerably at the attention he was giving Hermione: his taunts and annoying presence around the her had become more frequent, their banters had become a Hogwarts fixture, and when he was not in his dormitory or dining with his Slytherin friends at the Great Hall, he spends a large chunk of his time getting into her nerves.
One would have thought that Malfoy liked her and the boy just resorted to what a 5-year old would have done to the girl he liked: pulling her hair.
As if. The odds of Malfoy fancying her back is like having Voldermort and Harry together on an afternoon tea.
"Madame Puddifoot," she sighed, "as much I would like to do favors for you, you know very well that the ferr-Malfoy and I don't exactly get along. Why don't you give that back to him that next time he's here?"
Ignoring Hermione's excuses, Madame Puddifoot continued, "Do you remember the time it rained hard last week?"
Of course, how could I not? I was here in Hogsmeade fraternizing with my enemy!
oOOo
Last week
It was raining cats and dogs. Searching for the nearest cover, Hermione darted towards the nearby oak tree, regretting that she had not brought anything to protect herself from the rain.
She was busily murmuring colorful expletives to herself that she failed to notice another person scurrying towards the tree a minute later.
"Nice range of vocabulary there, Granger. Does the Weaselbee know you have such potty mouth? I bet he would like to hear them when you do him at night"
Oh great.
The last thing she wanted at the moment was to be trapped under a tree with the boy she just dreamt about the night before. The subject of her dreams the previous night was none other than Draco Malfoy and its details left her uncharacteristically distracted the whole day. At Potions earlier, she had not noticed she was stirring her potion six times counter-clockwise (the book had explicitly stated three times clockwise) and she would have continued to do so had Harry not poked her and asked why she had been staring at the "albino brat", who was just seated a few rows in front of her. She was horrified when she realized she had been indeed guilty of Harry's accusations and immediately focused on the task at hand before she could screw up anything like blowing up her cauldron and Snape docking off points from her House. Obviously she couldn't tell Harry she had a dream involving her and Malfoy together engaged in naughty activities one could call as borderline pornographic, to which Hermione blushed deeply.
What made matters worse was that Draco seemed to have heard Harry and turned his head to face her. He didn't say anything but he had cocked an eyebrow up and curled his lips into a smirk.
"I'm trying to think of all sorts of ways to maim him, Harry. Nasty ones." She had explained with a voice loud enough for Malfoy to hear. It was a pathetic excuse, but an excuse nonetheless. Maiming? No. Far from it. Nasty things? Yes. The good nasty ones, if you get her drift. She added a glare in Malfoy's direction hoping it was enough to cover her blunder up.
Snapping back to reality, she turned around to face Malfoy. "You wanna hear more? I would never run out of things to say where it concerns you. And for your information, I'm not doing anything with Ron. "
I'dratherdoyou.
"You have such a dirty mind, Malfoy." Hermione huffed.
Hermione, you are such a hypocrite.
"My dirty mind to complement that dirty mouth of yours, Granger. It seems that we match. However, it's too bad for that you'll never know how dirty I can be." There was the smirk again. And that glint in his eye.
"Malfoy, did you just come all the way here to annoy me?" Hermione closed her eyes and heaved a heavy sigh. She knew where this was going and she was not in the mood for it. Malfoy would normally be the one to come looking for her and initiate the insult hockey. Sometimes it gives butterflies in her stomach knowing that Malfoy would be always the one to seek her out, even if it is just to insult her.
"It's raining, Granger. Do you think I'd risk of getting drenched following you just to annoy you?" He was right. Hermione had been thinking about Malfoy all day and she had been paranoid enough to associate everything as Malfoy-related.
"We can't stay here too long. You would not want to be stuck here for the next hour, would you? Looks like the rain will not stop anytime soon. I say we make a dash to Three Broomsticks. Savvy?"
We?
Hermione raised an eyebrow and narrowed her eyes in suspicion. "What are you up to, Malfoy?"
"I'm being nice here, Granger."
"Nice is not a word to describe you. In fact, 'nice' and 'Draco Malfoy' in one sentence is blasphemy."
"I know I'm never nice. That's why this is the perfect time to pounce on the opportunity to witness a nice Malfoy". He grinned. Seriously, this person must have polyjuiced himself into Malfoy.
I would pounce on you anytime, Malfoy.
"We'll get wet."
"We'll get wet anyway if we stay here too long."
"We don't have an umbrella," she reasoned. Half of her wanted to refuse, half wanted to take Malfoy's offer. She was playing hard to get.
He started taking off his cloak and held it above his head. "We don't need one. I think this would do."
What a persistent ferret!
He was right, though. The rain was not going to stop anytime soon and she promised she would meet Harry and Ron at the Three Broomsticks. Perhaps she should take on Malfoy's offer.
"Fine." She stepped beside him under the cloak. It was uncomfortable being this close to Malfoy. She'd never been this physically close to him and at the moment her stomach was doing all sorts of somersault.
Andhewasbeingnice!
She had not prepared herself to be in this kind of predicament so she did not know what to do. She'd rather have an annoying and rude Malfoy than a near pleasant one (just nearly pleasant, since he's still a git, in way). At least she'd know how to handle the former. But she had to admit, Malfoy had not called her Mudblood since Third Year. That had to count for something.
"You ready, Granger?"
Hermione just merely nodded.
They broke into a splashy run, side by side, bodies extremely close to each other. It was making her dizzy, and the faint waft of cinnamon and pine coming from Malfoy was not helping her get the all sorts of fantasies out of her head. She was trying hard to keep herself from burying her nose onto Malfoy's shoulder and savor the sweet smell assaulting her senses.
Ravish, more like it.
The next thing she knew they were infront of The Three Broomsticks. "Here we are. Safe and wet." She heard him say.
Wet indeed. She could feel strands of her hair sticking onto her face. She also wanted to touch those blond locks away from his face. Hermione wondered how it they would feel like between her fingers.
She could have sworn she saw Malfoy beamed her a genuine smile. But perhaps her eyes were playing tricks on her. This Malfoy business today was not doing her any good.
"You go in first. Wouldn't want Potter and Weasley hot on my trail if they see us going in together," he said.
This whole situation was making her uncomfortable. Again, a nearly nice Malfoy is uncomfortable in her dictionary. She decided not to say anything fearing that she might blurt out or do something she might regret later on. Nodding her head, she turned her heels around and pushed open the swinging doors of the Three Broomsticks.
Why does Three Broomsticks have to be so close?
oOOo
"Did you know that Draco was here when it started to rain that day?" It was more of a statement, rather than a question. Madame Pudifoot's dreamy eyes were staring out of the window without so much as a twitch. "He was looking out of the window, this very window, Hermione. Then suddenly he turned to me and asked if I brought an umbrella."
She felt as if someone had Imperiused her, as Hermione was involuntarily drawn to where Madame Puddiffot stood. Her eyes followed the old woman's gaze and found herself surprised at the revelation that was presented before her.
"I said I didn't bring any. He handed me his umbrella and said I could have it. I don't know what had gotten into him, but he was muttering something like that it was alright to get wet and he just ran off in the rain."
Just about fifty feet directly outside the window, there stood a familiar oak tree.
"It was raining cats and dogs outside," Madame Puddifoot continued. "Draco would have definitely gotten soaked if he didn't have an umbrella."
He got soaked alright-with me, that is.
She finally made up her mind and stood up, grabbing the umbrella from the old woman. "Madame Puddifoot, you're right. I'll return this to him for you." As she was about the grab her own umbrella, she stopped at her tracks and turned around to face Madame Puddifoot once more and asked, "Did you bring an umbrella?"
"Of course, I did."
"You could have mine."
She stormed off in the rain and headed back to Hogwarts, leaving her own umbrella at the teashop while keeping Draco's with her, still unused.
The rain isn't so bad after all.
oOOo
She found him sitting at one of the comfortable leather armchairs at the farthest end of the library, his feet resting lazily on top of another similar armchair, his head supported by his arm propped at the armrest, while a book was perched on the on the other hand.
Hermione was starting to think she had gone all barmy, running off back to the Castle in the rain to find Draco, of all people. Well, she does fancy him and nobody knows that, and he doesn't need to know that either. But she never imagined herself behaving in a nonsensical manner such as now.
She slowly advanced towards Draco, with droplets of water forming a long messy trail behind her. Filch would be definitely having an awful fit about this. The squeaking of her shoes on the marble floor had prompted Draco to look up, his silvery gaze slowly shifting from the book to her, curious as to whom his intruder was.
"Granger," he sneered, seemingly delighted at the thought of another opportunity to torment her. How could he not be? She was willingly letting herself into the viper's pit.
He put down the book on his lap and clasped his fingers behind his head. Draco's eyes travelled from her head to toe, then back up, but stopped right smack at her chest. Smirking, he drawled, "I didn't know you were the lacy kind of girl, Granger. You're not such prude after all. I'm shocked."
Seducing? Lacy? What the heck is he talking about?
Oh crap.
Plain white shirts on girls don't go well with water.
She forgot she had still been wearing her Hogwarts uniform, and earlier that day before leaving for Hogsmeade, she had taken off her grey jumper, leaving the ensemble down to the white button down shirt, Gryffindor necktie, and skirt. She immediately folded her arms across her chest to conceal her lacy undergarment in its all glory underneath her already semi-transparent shirt.
Hermione was about to retaliate at his almost lewd comment when she was cut-off by him. "For the smartest witch in our year Granger, you sure are stupid not to know what an umbrella is. Tell me what's wrong here: you're holding an umbrella, unused, yet you look just like Weasel's ugly rat that just drowned."
She had expected Draco to ask her this and even she herself knew this doesn't make any sense either. But the thought of knowing Draco's little secret and letting him know she knows about it was too good to pass up.
"It's not my umbrella," she replied after a while. "Madame Puddifoot asked me to return this to you. You left it at her shop last week."
He simply blinked at her.
"I'm not the only one who's allowed to get wet even though I have an umbrella." She continued, hoping Draco would get the hint; which he did, as his stoic expression faltered momentarily.
If one word could describe the atmosphere that was quickly forming within their proximity, it was nothing but awkward – with a capital A, as Hermione would put it. So to avoid any further embarrassment on both parties, she hastily placed the black umbrella on Draco's lap and said, "I'll see you, Malfoy!"
Before words could escape from Draco's mouth, Hermione was already gone.
She didn't see the red patches that slowly crept up on Malfoy's pale cheeks.
Fin