A/N: Well, I'm back. I come baring a little fic that attacked my brain after almost an entire summer of not writing. It's not much, but I'm satisfied with it. I'm hoping that ya'll like it, too.
Enjoy and please review!
Disclaimer: I am merely borrowing these characters and places from the great and powerful J.K. Rowling. They are not mine. Not a single thing. Just the plot.
A Summer Night in Scotland
Hermione sat in the empty, moonlit Great Hall. She was still turning over her diploma in her hands absentmindedly. Her dress had a small brown stain on the front from when she had spilled some butterbeer on herself at the party.
There was something oddly sentimental about the spot that she was sitting in. She had taken every meal from September to June in that very spot since she was eleven. She had made her friends here, she had shared her secrets here, she had cried over petty trials of adolescence here, and she had laughed so hard that pumpkin juice nearly shot out of her nose far too many times to count, right here.
There was a resonating knock that came from the entrance of the hall. Shaken from her reverie, Hermione glanced in the direction of the huge oak doors that stood proudly open. Standing in the doorway was a man, clad in dress robes. Due to the absence of light, she couldn't quite make out the identity of the figure…until he spoke.
"I should have known that you'd still be here, Granger."
Hermione sighed and turned once more to face forward. "I try, Malfoy."
Draco's perfectly shined shoes tapped on the ground as he went to sit at his seat at his respective table, facing her.
"I still can't believe you beat me for valedictorian," he said, shrugging off his robe and laying it with care across the table before sitting down.
Hermione placed her diploma neatly into her purse. "You honestly think that I would have let you win?"
"It would have been a rather refreshing change."
They sat in silence, quite awkwardly.
Draco buffed his nails against his shirt. "So, what is the Head Girl going to do after she leaves here tonight?"
Hermione folded her hands in her lap and sighed. "I'm going to go home, sleep, and then, in the morning, I'm going to sort through about thirty job applications over breakfast." She looked up at him. "And how about you?"
"Oh, you know. I'll go out, hit the clubs, talk some beautiful woman into sleeping with me- the usual."
Hermione flinched. "Must you be so degrading?"
Draco shrugged. "It's who I am."
"Well, maybe people would like you better if you were a bit more civilized," Hermione said, frowning.
Draco smirked. "I don't need to be civilized. I have money."
Hermione huffed.
"Besides, why do we have to make this about me? If you would get that stick dislodged from your arse, then maybe people would like you better," Draco said, leaning forward onto his elbows.
Hermione's eyebrows shot up. "Excuse me!"
"I mean, would it kill you to be just a little less uptight? Some people would have taken that comment as a bit of sarcastic humor."
Hermione rose to her feet and began to climb over the bench. "I do not have to take this from you."
"Why? Are you afraid to face the truth?" he asked, also rising from his seat. He quickly walked between the tables in long strides and ended up at the entrance of the hall, effectively stopping Hermione from exiting.
"The truth? The truth is that I hate you!" she yelled, trying to push past him. "And I never want to see you ever again!" she added as an afterthought.
Draco smirked. "No worries, mudblood- the feeling is mutual."
"Oh, well, now that we have that out of the way…"
Draco blocked her from exiting once more, causing Hermione to throw her hands up in defeat. "Sweet Merlin, Malfoy, what do you want from me!" Draco reached down and held Hermione's arms to her sides. "What are you doing!"
Draco leaned down and brushed his lips against her ear. "I'm going to see if maybe I could remove that stick," he whispered, huskily.
"Stick? What stick? Malfoy, what are you-"
Draco pressed his lips to hers, producing a muffled yelp from Hermione's throat. Still holding her arms to her sides, he backed her up against one of the tables. Draco ran his tongue across her lips, seeking entry. It wasn't until his access was granted that he loosened his hold on her arms and reached around her back.
He began to push her onto the table, keeping one hand around her back and the other bracing their weight on the table. He climbed on top of her and settled himself between her legs. The hand that had previously been around her back soon traveled to her hip, bunching up the fabric of her dress, the other groping her breast through the bodice.
Hermione pulled away, breathless. "This doesn't change anything," she said heavily.
Draco looked intently into her eyes. "I didn't expect it to." He closed the distance between them and sealed their lips together once more.
It soon turned into what every encounter of theirs was- a passionate battle for dominance. Nails scratching, tongues swirling, teeth gnashing. Pain with the pleasure. Climbing, climbing, climbing and finally bursting into oblivion.
And so it ended just as soon as it began. Both of them were making halfhearted attempts at fixing their hair and smoothing out their clothing. Draco had already reached the door. He paused for a moment, almost as if he was going to look back, but then turned and made his way down the dimly lit corridor.
Hermione stared up at the silent, starry sky that the illusion of the Great Hall's ceiling emitted. She felt strangely empty. It wasn't raining, it wasn't cloudy. It was just an ordinary summer night over the quiet hills of Scotland. She picked up her purse and left just as silently as Draco had, heels clacking on the stone floor.
Hermione wondered if she should have said something that night. To express her gratitude, or to just clear the air between them. And she often wondered if one Draco Malfoy wondered about it as often as she did, or if he, too, stayed up on clear summer nights reminiscing about the day that his world was sent spinning off into a place too complicated and perplexing for words.