Because
"Did you hear? Malfoy has a girlfriend!"
Malfoy? Girlfriend? This is news. She stops in her tracks, hitching her bag further up her shoulder and digging a book out of it, pretending to study its pages. But she's listening, and intently too.
"I heard it's that pretty Ravenclaw girl…"
"I heard she's a Muggleborn!"
"I heard she's a Gryffindor!"
"…wonder if she's pretty?"
"…I don't think Malfoy would date a Gryffindor, Jenna…"
"…wish I knew who it was, he's so handsome…"
Stupid gossiping Hufflepuffs. With a mental scoff at the adjective, she walks away, heading for the library. But only after she's seated with her books spread before her does it occur to her that she should have asked those girls what they were doing in the corridors, when it's free period only for sixth years today.
"In here again? Don't you think five hours a day is pushing it a bit?"
The voice – sharp, sarcastic, with a bit of melodic undertone, and a tendency to husk.
She glances up from where she has been busily scrawling notes, brushing a stray strand of hair out of her face.
The person – tall, pale, blonde-haired and steel-eyed, a cold mask to serve as a face.
His lips curve in a smirk, and she narrows her eyes for a moment – "Didn't know you cared so much, Malfoy" – before turning back to her work. With a movement practiced over long years of essays, she dips her quill into the inkwell and sets it to the parchment. Flips a page in the book before her. Begins to write once more.
He snorts. "In your dreams, Granger." Then, as if it's an afterthought, he adds, "Your constant mutterings are just as annoying five hours ago as they are now, when I came to study before I realized I couldn't focus. So I left, and returned about a minute ago, thinking you'd be gone. Unfortunately, my wishes were not granted."
Her raised eyebrow only makes his face spread with dark mischief. "I study too, you know," he correctly interprets.
"How admirable – you've finally figured out how." She bends once more over her note-taking, turning another page. Fresh ink twists into words. The effects of Veritaserum are…
Once again, he succeeds in distracting her as he raps his knuckles on the wooden table, sufficiently directing her attention towards him. She turns her head slightly and then immediately regrets it. Is it possible to hear someone smirk? Malfoy has certainly managed the feat.
Reluctantly she raises her eyes to his. "Why are you over here, anyway?"
He shrugs, a quick subtle movement. "Wanted to ask you to shut up."
"What?" The word is torn from her before she can stop it. She sees the right corner of his mouth twitch and her fist tightens around the soft feathers of her quill. Damn.
"I can hear you from across the room."
Her face is a mix of surprised fury and confusion, but he sees, with a mental nod of approval, that she completely composes herself before answering.
Although, he notes, the indignant reply she has undoubtedly restrained still burns behind her chestnut eyes.
When she speaks, it is very deliberate.
"I don't talk when I study, Malfoy."
She spits his name like a watermelon seed.
He lifts a shoulder, partly to show how little the comment affects him, and partly just to annoy her. "The fact that I can hear you says different, Granger."
The careful, copied enunciation of her name causes a flash of vexation to shape her features. She purses her lips, her gaze blazing from beneath those long lashes.
He arches an eyebrow as a challenge.
With an enormous amount of self-control, she wrenches herself away from his grinning façade, tucks her unruly hair behind her ear and looks back down at her work.
The point of her writing utensil has pressed into the parchment, creating a blot the size of her thumbnail.
She breathes a curse under her breath and grits her teeth, refusing to look up at the Slytherin who still hovers above her desk. She can hear his quiet laughter, and her nails dig into her palm in a stupendous effort to not react, to not say anything.
Her bag dangles from the arm of her chair; she reaches into it, feeling around. Her fingertips brush extra quills, the spines of books, the smooth curve of a spare inkwell. She frowns as her touch sweeps the corners of the satchel but does not encounter the polished wood of her wand. Where is it?
"Looking for this?"
His long fingers twirl the object of her search languidly, and she glares at him. "Give it, Malfoy."
A pale strand of hair dangles in his eyes, and he flicks it away with the tip of her wand. Her wand! Her body tenses as she resists the urge to stand up and strangle the smirk off his face. But she manages.
"Why?" He draws the word out through his lips.
"I need it." Three syllables at a time is the most she can pull off at the moment. "So give it." Or else…
He cocks his head, pretending to consider her request. "Now, now, no need to be rude. I think a simple please would do the job nicely, don't you, Granger?"
Her eyes fixate on the wand he spins in his hand. "No."
His silver eyes widen in mock rebuke, and he tsks. "Well then, I guess I'll just have to keep this."
He flips the wand up into the air and catches it neatly, then pivots on his heels and begins to walk off. For a moment, she can't do anything but just stare at him, mouth open like a dog looking for handouts.
Then:
"Malfoy!"
He stops and makes a half-turn, looking at her over his shoulder.
"Miss Granger, you are much too loud!" The librarian.
She closes her eyes briefly, displaying all her absolute fury and frustration to him. When her lids open, she sees the smirk dance across his features. "Sorry," she mutters.
Then she lifts her gaze to Malfoy's, holding it there unwavering.
"May I… please… have my wand back."
His eyes sparkle with barely contained humor, and his grin widens.
Instead of replying, he glances down at the stick of wood in his hand, then, in a sudden movement, a casual demonstration of his unerring skill as a Seeker, he tosses it up into the air. She watches the light catch its polished surface as it pinwheels down in an arc towards her.
She half-stands to catch it, but it lands on the other side of the table, so she leans across to pick it up.
Her elbow hits the ink bottle, and it quivers for a moment before toppling onto her page of fresh notes.
Surprised, she lets out a small yelp, then hops up quickly to avoid the ink, which now spills over the edge of the parchment and squirms underneath her book, and drips off the table onto her chair and the carpet.
Malfoy's laughter is audible from across the room.
She curses under her breath, then grabs her wand, fighting off the impulse to send a nice painful jinx his way. Instead, she places the inkwell back upright, and begins to siphon the mess away, the tip of her wand tracing away the splotch on the table, then off the cover of the book, and finally the floor – which is humiliating, because she can sense that he is still there, watching her with that infuriating smirk on his face, and completely unwilling to help.
The last bit of ink is mopped up and she stands with a sigh, and goes to stuff her wand back into her bag before rethinking and putting it in her pocket instead. Without glancing at the blonde boy who stands a few feet away, she sits down, picks up her quill, and starts writing again, the point scratching against the rough parchment.
His presence nears once more, and her eyes narrow behind the curtain of hair that swings over her shoulder, blocking her face from his view.
"Have fun?"
Her shoulders clench, but she keeps up a pretense of hard work.
"All right, as long as you stop that muttering. Other people have to work, too. N.E.W.T.s coming up and all that. But of course you would know about those. Been studying since second year, haven't you?"
This time, her frayed line of restraint breaks, and she snaps her head up to look at him.
"Says the person who just figured out about them. And that wasn't even because you found the motivation to get up out off your lazy arse and do something, it was 'cause your girlfriend told you. Pretty Ravenclaw that she is."
She doesn't know why the last part comes out, but it does, and instead of making him mad, he grins.
"Didn't know you cared so much, Granger."
Then he saunters off, and she's left to throw curses at his back before getting up abruptly herself, finding the library a much too distracting place to work.
Patrols are exhausting.
She gets back to the common room, and Ron immediately heads up to his dormitory, yawning. She's not ready to sleep yet, though, because she wants a bath.
A brief stop in the girls' dorm to grab her pajamas and a toothbrush, and she's heading for the prefects' bathroom, a spring in her step, already looking forward to hot water and strawberry-scented bubble bath.
But after she gives the password – "Amortentia" – and emerges into the high-ceilinged, linoleum space, she stops in her tracks.
Malfoy lounges in one end of the tub, his platinum hair slicked back with water. The only parts of him visible (thank Merlin) are his arms and shoulders, which are bent, his hands tucked behind his head. Multicolored foam covers the rest of him, along with the remainder of the water's surface.
His eyes were closed, but when she enters, they fly open, grey gaze startled for a moment, before they relax and begin to smirk, even before his mouth curves up. "Granger."
"Malfoy." She's disappointed. She can't take her bath with him here. Hell, even the thought is revolting.
"Care to join me?" He gestures at the massive tub, the size of a small swimming pool.
She grimaces and shakes her head vigorously. "No, thank you! I think I'll just leave. Thanks for the offer though."
She begins to back away but he stops her. "Wait. I'll get out."
He strokes to the steps at the edge of the tub, and begins to hoist himself out – surprised by his courtesy, she realizes what he's about to do just in time and turns away hastily, closing her eyes to ensure him full privacy. His deep-throated chuckle penetrates the darkness.
"Oh, I don't care."
She grits her teeth. "Unfortunately for you, I do. So please just hurry up?"
Again with the audible smirk. "If you say so."
She stands frozen like that for a few moments, gripping the soft fabric of her pajamas to her chest, listening intently. There's the sound of rustling, and feet on the wet tiles, and a zipper.
"I'm decent now."
She breathes a sigh of relief, and pivots slowly.
"Decent?!" she gapes when she catches sight of him.
His teeth flash in an honest-to-Merlin smile, but she doesn't see, too busy gawking.
If a pair of jeans is 'decent', then I'm freaking Dumbledore.
He's muscled and fit, and drops from his wet hair flick down onto his bare chest, trailing little paths down his torso. Under her gaze, he stands completely confident, lifting an eyebrow as she struggles to pull her searching stare away.
"Enjoying the view?"
Finally she seems to come out of a sort of stupor, and raises her eyes to meet his own, her mouth still half-open. "If that" – she gestures at his half-naked state – "is decent, then what's your definition of scandalous?"
A grin tugs at his lips. "Wanna find out?" He brings a hand down to his fly. She follows the movement instinctively, eyes flicking down to where his fingers are beginning to unzip –
"No! Stop!" Her arms come up in front of her face and she turns her head away, squeezing her eyes shut. Her pajamas fall to the floor.
He chuckles, then quickly crosses the bathroom to pick up her fallen clothes, unfolding them curiously. When he glimpses the tiny shorts and tank top, he lets out a full-blown laugh.
"This?" He waves the garments in her face. "This is what the goody, stick-up-her-arse Hermione Granger wears to bed?"
She glares. "And I suppose your pajamas are that much more proper?"
"Actually, I sleep in boxers," he gets out. Her eyes widen. Too much information.
Composing himself, he refolds her clothes and straightens up. "Here."
"Thanks," she says reluctantly, taking them back, making sure not to touch him. She has to look up to see his face. When did he get so tall?
"And I do not have a stick up my arse."
"You do so," he counters. "You spent five hours in the library yesterday."
She sputters, at a loss for words. "That was… that was because I was studying! We have N.E.W.T.s coming up!"
"That was because I was studying!" he mimics her tone. "Face it, Granger, you so do. I bet you haven't even had your first kiss."
"I have so!"
He raises an eyebrow. "You have? With who?"
A blush stains her cheeks, but she meets his curious stare defiantly. "None of your business."
But he's already wondering. "Was it that Quidditch player? Krum? The one who had a stick shoved farther up his arse than you do?"
She can't take it – she reaches out and whacks his chest, but he doesn't even flinch. Under her palm, his muscles are hard and unyielding.
"… don't tell me it was Weasley, that would just be sick…"
"MALFOY!"
His amused glance is infuriating. "What?"
She throws her hands up into the air once more, dropping her pajamas – again. This time, he picks them up and slings them across the room, where they land on the long counter honeycombed with sinks that lines the edge of the bathroom. Stupid Seeker with his stupid Seeker skills.
"Just… why do you care so much, anyways?"
This time, the playful tone of voice drops, and his eyes harden. He runs a hand through his hair, making it stand up in blonde spikes. His sudden change of manner is unexpected, and she involuntarily takes a step back, daunted by this boy who has abruptly turned cold. But he grabs her arms, the touch running sparks up her skin, and stops her in her tracks.
"Because…" He drags out the word, while his gaze fixates on her, trapping her. She freezes, immobilized. For in his eyes are a million emotions, overlain by ice but completely, utterly visible to her. And some are readable, and some are obvious, but most are darker, and shrouded, and he looks very, very dangerous.
"Because…" And he steps closer. His nearness makes her shiver. His hands slide up to rest on her shoulders.
"Because…" He repeats a third time, and this time he lets his fingers trail across the bare skin of her neck, making their way up to stroke her cheeks softly, with a touch so unlike the expression he wears.
She is suddenly very conscious of the fact that he wears nothing but a pair of jeans.
Before she can contemplate this further, though, he leans forward and crushes his mouth against hers.
The lips that can so easily anger her with a well-timed smirk just as effortlessly entrap her in a kiss, and his palms come up to fully cradle her face. She doesn't kiss him back, completely stunned. Vaguely she's aware of her hands, curled against his abdomen, and her eyes flutter closed, a reaction more brought on by instinct than anything. But his hard body paired with the softness of his mouth working against hers is addictive, a drug she refuses to take but craves when she finally relents enough to have a taste, and a small moan escapes the back of her throat as he pulls her ever closer, molding her curves to him, forcing her to twine her arms around his waist.
When her tentative fingertips first touch his skin, he groans, and the sound is enough to penetrate her daze, and she yanks away so quickly that her head snaps back.
For a moment, they do nothing but stare at each other, breathing hard, grey and brown, her hands splayed flat across his lower back, his falling to her shoulders, where they lie limply.
And then he speaks.
"Because of that."
Without another word, he crosses the room, where he picks up his shirt from where it lay in a heap on the floor, and pulls it on. He leaves a moment later, leaving her staring at the place where he'd been, completely confused, hair mussed and eyes wide.
She's lounging in the bath, the smell of strawberries rising up around her, when the door bangs open.
With a small shriek, she makes a move to cover herself, before realizing that the bubbles do the job much more efficiently, and instead she looks up to see who it is.
"Why are you back?"
She didn't really mean for her voice to be so sharp, but it comes out that way, and he flinches as the words hit him, like they're tangible.
His hair is still wet, sticking up in all directions instead of his normal, completely uniform style. She finds she likes it better that way, then scolds herself for thinking such thoughts.
In an unusual display of vulnerability, he pushes his hands into his pockets and steps carefully closer.
"I can't."
She tilts her head to one side, confused. "You can't what?"
"I just broke up with Kelly" is his explanation.
"Kelly? Who's tha – ohh… your girlfriend?"
He sighs. "Don't call her that."
"Why?" She's even more puzzled now, and pushes herself up, using the edge of the tub as leverage. She's been slipping 'cause she can't touch the ground. Then she immediately regrets the action as Malfoy's eyes dart down to her almost-exposed chest. With a scowl, she lets go and allows herself to float gently in the water, only her head and part of her neck showing.
"That." He points to her – well, her chest in particular. Or where it would be had she let it show. "That is why."
She looks down at herself, then at him, then back at herself. Then she glances back up at him. "Me?"
He laughs, a trace of his old humor back, before it melts into exasperation. "Yes. Yes. Because of you. Don't you get it, Granger? This is why I can't."
"Can't what?" she asks for the three-millionth time.
"Can't stay away."
As if to prove it, he yanks his shirt over his head, pulls off his jeans, and then quickly lowers himself into the tub, before she can react in any way, like screaming and closing her eyes, or running away. And just as swiftly, he strokes over to her, strong arms pulling water without any effort.
"Malfoy!" she chokes out through her surprise.
He is sitting dangerously close to her now. "What?"
"What? What?!" She's at a loss for words. "What are you doing?"
He shrugs. "It's the prefects' bathroom. I am a prefect. Therefore, I am entitled to use this bathroom. Just like you."
"But… but… I don't have any clothes on," she protests weakly, scooting away and crossing her arms over her chest.
"Neither do I," he points out. Then he smirks, a devilish expression sweeping across his face. He reaches out to her and she squirms away. "Besides, I like it that way."
"Malfoy!"
"What? I think we can make this work."
He swims towards her again, and she doesn't move, this time frozen by his proclamation. So when he lays a hand on her arm, she jolts back.
"We? We? What do you mean, we?"
With a sigh, he runs his hand through his hair, messing it up even more. Then, with the exaggerated pronunciation that one might adopt when talking to a toddler, he says:
"We, as in you and I, as in us, as in boyfriend and girlfriend, as in – ugh, fuck it!" He splashes at the water.
She's stuck on the words "boyfriend" and "girlfriend". "You? Me? Are you… are you…"
He throws his hands up in the air. "Yes, Granger. Yes. I am fucking asking you out, something I have never done before, and – "
"Wait a second," she puts in. "You've never asked a girl out? Then how did you have a girlfriend?"
"She asked me out," he says, like it were obvious or something.
"She… asked you… what?"
"Despite your qualms, Granger, some people do find me handsome." He rolls his eyes.
Surprised by this, she studies his features. The sharp angles of his jaw and cheekbones, the grey eyes set under eyebrows that he raises more often than not, the soft line of his lips, the way his blonde hair spikes up and a single strand of it falls over his face. The contrast of pale skin and light hair to the stormy gaze he fixes on her. His sculpted musculature – she remembers him shirtless.
He's right – he is handsome.
She's so stunned by this revelation that she doesn't speak for several seconds, and he inches closer, putting a careful hand on her bicep. This time, she doesn't move away.
Instead, she reaches out and brushes that one lock off his forehead, and he stiffens at the touch, before relaxing and leaning in.
She lets her fingers trail over his brows, down around his eyes, and caresses his cheeks and nose. She feels his clean-shaven-ness, and the smooth skin around his lips.
When the pad of her thumb touches his mouth, she feels him inhale sharply, and a small smile graces her features. She traces his upper lip and the curve of the lower, his breath hot on her fingertips. She lets herself learn the planes of his face, and when she rests her palm against his cheek, he reaches up to place his hand over hers.
"You're handsome," she says, almost in awe.
He smiles. "You're beautiful."
It's the most emotional thing she's ever heard him say, and for a moment she can't really do anything but look at him, trying to figure out what brought this statement on. Because she's not beautiful, she knows it. Her eyes are just a little too big, and her nose is a little small, and her eyebrows are neither waxed nor plucked, and freckles are not attractive. And her hair is a huge tangled mass around her head.
He sees her skepticism and touches her face. "You are."
She shakes her head. "I'm not. Ravenclaw Kelly's a lot prettier than me."
Frowning at the name, he strokes her cheek. "No. I'm not a fan of redheads. I prefer brunettes."
"But…"
The complaint is cut off when he kisses her again, his lips dancing against hers. This time, she responds, dropping her hand from his cheek and moving her arms to rest around his neck, unconsciously pulling him closer. His fingers trail down to grasp her waist, and they slam together.
Somewhere in the back of her brain, she remembers that she doesn't have any clothes on, and neither does he.
With a gasp, she wrenches herself away, dropping her arms from his neck. He keeps a firm grip on her waist. "What?"
"I'm naked," she says.
He glances down at her, unmistakable laughter shining in his eyes. His fingers begin to explore her bare skin. "So you are."
"You're naked, too," she explains.
His eyebrow arches. "So I am."
"Draco…"
It's the first time she's actually used his first name, and the corner of his lips twitch. "I don't see any problem with your nakedness, or mine, Hermione."
His voice saying her name is like hands running over smooth silk, and she blushes. "You haven't even asked me out yet."
His eyebrow goes up again. "Oh, so that's the problem, is it?" He runs a hand down the side of her torso, just barely brushing against the swell of her breasts, and continues down to her leg. She gives a small gasp. "Luckily, that's easily fixed. Hermione Granger, will you please be my girlfriend?"
At the "please", he trains his gaze on hers, silver eyes smoldering beneath blonde lashes. For a second, she is rendered speechless by the intensity of his stare.
"Um…"
He glances at her lips as she licks them nervously, making her think of his mouth, and the way he kisses, and the way it makes the butterflies in her stomach explode and scatter out into the wilderness.
Instead of answering, she pulls him down towards her and presses her lips against his softly, just for a moment, eyes fluttering closed briefly before reopening.
When they break apart, he smiles.
So does she.