He really had gorgeous eyes. Silvery, steel; the kind of color that was clear in terms of appearance, but not when it came to trying to read his emotions. They were completely enchanting, sprinkled with a bit of blue-specked tragedy. The kind of eyes that made you stare, whether you wanted to or not. He walked the way eighteen year old boys walked - slightly overconfident. He wasn't really strutting, but more like leisurely strolling with heavy steps, letting his broad shoulders move gracefully with his body. He was a marvelous example of the male specimen, having had inherited the aristocratic, ruggedly masculine good looks of his father along with the charm of his mother. As he passed by me, his eyes slowly dropped down in an almost lazy fashion, having the audacity to trail its gaze upwards until catching my eye. Saying that I wasn't only a little breathless would be like denying the color of the sky. He didn't smile or smirk or even acknowledge me for that matter, but the spark of amusement in his eyes said everything.
I had already accepted the fact that I was attracted to Malfoy on some physical level, understanding that it wasn't actually a crime if nearly the entire Hogwarts' female population felt the same. He had changed, though. Give or take a few years, he had both grown physically (as was observable by the gawking females as he passed) and grown up mentally. Matured is the word; he had seemed to become his own person. I hadn't heard another, "My father will blah-etc you when he hears about this," for a while now. Don't get me wrong, he still sneered and smirked and made completely unnecessary comments that were totally uncalled for. It was just that he was less childish, you could say. No more "mudblood" or "Potty head", but more of a balled fist and a rude gesture, or a spewing of curses that were characteristic of a slightly over-confident, almost-adult that had filled out quite nicely.
Well, boys will be boys.
I observed his passing out of the corner of my eye, just as I heard, "Hermione, you all right?" Next to me, Harry gazed at me in a concerned fashion, as I'm sure he noted the way my nose wrinkled slightly, which it had a traitorous tendency to do so when I was pondering something deeply.
I brushed him away. "Yes, of course, I'm fine. Just thinking about the next Potions assignment," I muttered lamely, but to no surprise, he wasn't fooled. Neither was Ron for that matter, as he threw an arm around my neck in a particularly chummy way, and grinned at me. "She's checking out the blokes, aren't you?" He said it in a rather loud and intrusive manner so that I couldn't help to be embarrassed when people turned around to look in a curious fashion. I swatted him upside the head.
"Hey, hey!" He chuckled, still keeping his arm on my shoulders, which was quite heavy as if a log had been thrown across my back.
I told him so.
He made an irritated face, but then leaned even more heavily on me. "Don't change the subject. Tell me. Who was it that you were ogling in such an obvious manner?" He whispered conspiratorially.
"I wasn't ogling anybody!" I protested heavily, watching as a slow, knowing smile spread across Harry's face. I was a bad liar.
"You can't even tell your best mates?" The black-haired fiend feigned a rather convincing pout, finally giving in to laughter and throwing his head back uproariously. I gave them both the usual 'you're-so-bloody-stupid look', and quickened my pace. They were only in such a good mood because they had won the match against Ravenclaw yesterday.
They easily caught up and stepped in front of me, their large frames blocking the way. "Hermione, you know that look never works. After the hundredth time of being subliminally told that we're stupid arses doesn't faze us anymore," Ron admonished. Harry nodded beside him.
"A girl can try," I sighed.
They ignored the sarcastic remark. I always envied the way that boys could suddenly be completely deaf of anything they didn't want to hear. Nonetheless, they continued to badger me. "Tell us, and we'll find out if he's interested." Ron said the last word in a sing-song voice, while Harry stood beside him waggling his eyebrows.
I snorted and rolled my eyes. No doubt they could. Maybe find out somewhat tactlessly, but find out nonetheless. At their prodding looks, I finally said, "Malfoy. Malfoy looks rather good in his trousers today, no?"
Harry slowly blinked and rubbed his jaw.
Ron stared at me for a bit, and scratched the hairs on the back of his neck.
I rolled my eyes.
Eventually, the daft boys caught on. Ron even recovered enough of his composure to mumble, "And here I thought you had taste."
"Apparently not, considering the likes of people that I associate myself with," I shot back.
"Rubbish. You love us, and you know it," chided Harry. On my right side, he slung his arm around my shoulders, while Ron did the same on my left. "I'm starved." Ron suddenly muttered, forgetting the whole ideal. For once, I was glad for the fact that food was his number one priority. Harry, on the other hand, looked intensely at me for a few seconds longer and smiled most curiously.
Harry leaned in close and whispered, "I'll find out who you're pining after. Eventually. I'm not Harry-bloody-Potter, savior of the world for nothing, you know. I have connections, darling."
This time, I was the one who laughed. "Come on. Let's get to lunch, before Ron dies." Sure enough, the expression on Ron's face was one of complete exhaustion and desperation. He had quite the flair for dramatics.
I staggered into the Great Hall as gracefully as possible when these two attached to me, who insisted on using my body as an arm rest.
Lunch, it was.
- - - -
Pureblood or not, males do notice when a pretty girl walks by. However, the differentiating factor between us males, is that some of us just don't leave our pride hanging along with our tongues. I happen to be one of those select few. Some call it indifference, snobbery, or just plain 'playing hard to get'.
I call it tact.
Hermione Granger was pretty enough, I could give her that. You'd have to be either blind or not on the straight and narrow to see that. Although, even Eamonn Simms, the proud and declared comer out of the closet, did once say rather crudely, "I would shag that girl silly, if she were into the, you know, sex for only pleasure thing." That elicited a chorus of 'yeahs' from the rest of the male listening party.
Crude, I know.
I turned my thoughts back to the present and watched as Granger, flanked by her two asinine groupies, walked towards me. As she got closer, I unabashedly traced my gaze up the length of her legs, along her torso, and up to her face. I watched her blush, as I blatantly studied her face. Granger was the classy kind of pretty; not the slag, overly made-up to enhance what you weren't born with, kind of pretty. If it weren't for that stick that seemed permanently lodged up her arse on most occasions, I probably would have been attracted to her on both the emotional and physical level. Then there was the blood thing, which I got over it a few years back, but that was a story for another time. I caught her eyes, which interestingly enough, seemed to hold an air of attentiveness and curiosity buried under the usual stone cold indifferent gaze that she seemed to save especially for me.
Was she sizing me up?
Bloody hell, she was.
I even think her eyes lingered on the south of the belt area for a second there.
Suddenly, our eyes broke contact, as Potter himself, king of all things that irritated me shitless, caught her attention.
"It must be bloody fantastic to share a room with her," Zabini suddenly muttered beside me, eyes trained on the same thing. I scoffed, and slid him a sideward glance.
"You have no idea," I said, letting the vague meaning swing in the air, implying things that had obviously never happened.
Granger was Head Girl. As if that came to anyone's surprise. But then throw in the fact that I was appointed Head Boy, and you'll get a whole lot more than easy acceptance. People who hardly know me are always bloody surprised when they find out that I'm smart. As if my performance could possibly be below average, whether in class or in bed. I suppose my position got a bit of a boost from the head of my house, as he seemed to like to remind me every chance he got. Apparently, he proffered my well-roundedness to the headmaster ("He plays quidditch. He's athletic, Dumbledore."), as well as my good leadership skills ("He's captain, Dumbledore.").
Quidditch is good for more than one thing, so it seems.
Contrary to most of the beliefs of Hogwarts' male population, our living arrangement isn't exactly ideal. Ideal would mean one bed and very confined quarters, if you catch my drift. On the plus side, Granger seemed to have mellowed out over the years, thankfully enough, since hardly anyone wants to be throwing back Headache Droughts every few minutes.
"Damn. We're going to be late." Zabini sighed idly next to me, pretending concern.
I rolled my eyes. "Let's go." I quickened my step, feeling a pang of annoyance as I heard the rest of our group grumble loudly as they protested against moving. Pity, considering half of them were on the house team.
I would say that they were wholly responsible for our continuing losses to Gryffindor.
We half-jogged across the courtyard to Binn's classroom, to find him half-asleep, teaching the same lesson he had taught yesterday.
I don't even know why I bothered half the time.
- - - -
"Granger, I'm bloody hungry," Malfoy suddenly growled from his spread-eagle position on the couch, nurturing the petulant child that seemed to live inside him.
I looked up from the large table in the common room that we shared, where I had been writing a foot-long Potions essay until I had been rudely interrupted by my roommate's childish demands, and gave him a glare. I then ignored him and continued writing.
I took my cue from the boys: ignore whatever you didn't like.
A second later, there was a thump beside me, as he got up and pulled a chair up next to mine. He swung his foot around the back and straddled it.
"I'm serious. I'm starving and bored as hell," He said, pushing himself into my personal space to see what I was writing. "That's a terrible sentence…" He continued, eyes perusing the lines. He really never knew when to shut up.
I roughly pushed his face away with the palm of my hand. "Do go away."
"Jesus, woman," He growled, rubbing the bridge of his nose, as he gave me a rather antagonizing look. "I was just lookin' for a bit of sympathy," He paused, suddenly leaning into the curve of my neck, so that his lips brushed my skin ever-so slightly as he spoke, "and some entertainment."
The tingles that went through my body were completely unwarranted, making me jump a bit. I hurriedly pushed him off. "Malfoy! Don't you have things to do, like homework, or laundry, or shave?" I rattled off.
He seemed to seriously contemplate my words, as he rubbed his chin. "Shave? I shaved this morning, Granger. I don't look scruffy, do I? Not the way Weasley does by Friday morning, yeah?" He said, giving me a wink.
I ignored Malfoy's jibe at Ron and his tendency to place sleep before shaving on his list of To-do's.
He continued, "And in any case, lucky for you, I'm free this entire weekend."
"Lucky for me," I repeated with a tinge of sarcasm, sincerely hoping he would sense my hostility and leave. He continued to look at me expectantly. "Then go sleep," I offered.
He looked faintly amused. "Sleep?" He repeated the word as if I had just suggested he go have a midnight romp with Filch. "I could think of much more entertaining things to do on my expensive, white sheets."
"Right. As if shagging you're pale ass on top of your thousand thread count Egyptian cotton sheets is one of my more pressing priorities."
"Don't knock it 'til you've tried it, love," he said with a smirk.
Before I could protest and shoot some witty snappish remark at him, he got up and walked around to the back of my chair, leaving me in a much more vulnerable position than before. I felt his large hands rest on my shoulders, slightly squeezing them. If I had happened to swallow my pride whole, I would've even said that his actions produced a pleasurable, relaxing feeling that drifted throughout my body.
The day I admitted such things would be the day that my pride choked me to death.
I felt his lips graze the side of my neck. "The offer's open," He murmured.
A dangerous mixture of nervousness and recklessness spread throughout my entire body, as I contemplated my next move. Smirking to myself, I got up slowly, forcing Malfoy to stop his actions and lift his head off my neck. Turning around, I slowly slid one of my arms around his neck and placed my other hand on his cheek, slowly tracing his jaw line with my thumb. As his eyes widened in disbelief, a brief flare of pleasure burst within me, a product of the knowledge that I could knock Draco Malfoy off his guard.Ignoring the tremors in my legs, I pressed myself fully upon the length of his body. I leaned even closer, pressing my lips to the side of his jaw, placing light kisses up to the corner of his mouth. I hadn't expected myself to be so affected by the contact, but I was. Inconveniently. I was dimly aware of the warmth of his skin, the minty breath that came out of his parted mouth, and the way his breath hitched as I got closer and closer to his mouth. No to mention the growing hardness that was pressing not so subtly into me.
"Granger, are you serious?" His voice sounded so different from his usual measured calm and collectiveness. It was rough, hoarse, sounding as if he didn't have enough oxygen. There was a rumble from deep within his chest.
I shifted my position so that my lips were a centimeter away from his. There was a second of tension, before I breathed, "No, so stop propositioning me,". As I said it, my lips brushed his ever so slightly. The tingles that erupted were so unexpected, that I almost leaned in completely and kissed him. But I didn't. If I had, that would've defeated the whole purpose of the carefully planned maneuver.
Ignore, ignore, ignore.
Pushing myself out of his embrace, I forced my legs to stabilize and start moving. My vision was hazy, my lips were tingling, and my legs were shaky: I'd seen better days. I had underestimated the attraction of Draco Malfoy. Yet, I had accomplished my purpose, and had perhaps, from the rare look of extreme shock on his face, managed to completely disconcert the wanker for once.
It took a while for him to process what I had said.
- - - - -
I was breathless. She made me breathless. It was a little bit ridiculous and it would've been funny. That is, had it not been me.
"Wh-what?" I heard myself stutter, but I was too dazed to be appalled at my lack of composure.
"You heard me," She stated smoothly. She was grinning a smirk that looked a little too much like mine, but she was still trying to conceal her heavy breathing.
"Goodnight, Malfoy," She stated calmly, patting my cheek like I was a pre-pubescent boy. I watched her retreating back as it disappeared into her bedroom, with a mixture of detachment, and an urge to yell, 'wait!', on the tip of my tongue.
Dammit.