CHAPTER TWO: The Next Few Kisses

Wednesday, December 6th, 2006

The next time Hermione got caught under the mistletoe it was again with Malfoy – only this time in the Dining Hall entrance during dinnertime, and embarrassingly right in the doorway. "I'm going to call-in a magical pest exterminator!" she growled with a mutinous glance at the evil weed crawling downwards to bloom into happy life above their heads.

Malfoy darkly chuckled. "Saves me the trouble of hunting you down," he murmured in a tone that was for her ears only. "You've been dodging me lately, and I was beginning to miss sparring with you."

Sneering up at him, Hermione huffed in righteous anger. It was true that she'd been going out of her way not to get caught in any sort of circumstance that could possibly lead to… well, to what they were about to do again. Since the prior Friday, she'd abruptly turned about and resolutely marched in the other direction each time she'd seen that platinum-blond head of his bearing down on her, and any House-related issues were sent to him via charmed inter-departmental memo (an invention borrowed from the Ministry and incorporated at the school over the last few years). At meals, she sat on the complete opposite end of the table from him, and either scrambled to leave first, or chewed her food very slowly until he'd found no logical reason to linger and left before her. She'd even taken to spending an inordinate amount of time walking about the castle with Neville, so that in case she was ambushed by the mistletoe, at least it would be with someone she could stand to kiss and who was "safe" (after all, she and he had kissed under the mistletoe last year, and it had been no big thing).

"I haven't missed you," she griped and let out a deep sigh of resignation. "So be it. Just-"

"Get it over with?" Malfoy cheekily grinned.

Waving him off, trying to ignore all of the stares and whispers that were beginning to address them from the room's occupants, she leaned her face up to him. "Be reverent," she warned. "For the children's sake."

He didn't touch her this time, but he did slowly dip his head, making her wait for it. His smirk was positively wicked. "I will ever be worshiping of you when we do this, Granger," he murmured, his warm breath tickling her cheek.

"I meant it in the definition of 'respectful,' you git,'" she argued, clenching her hands tight and at her side to keep them from reaching for him. Her stomach turned over with pixie flutters.

Uncaring of the rising murmurs from the students, he paused a hair's breadth away from touching down on her lips. "Right, respectful," he calculatingly pointed out that she hadn't been thus far with those two simple words, and then there was no more time for banter as he kissed her again.

Hermione's staid resolve to keep this act chaste and appropriate for the impressionable viewing audience was easily swept aside the moment their mouths touched.

Godric, he had the softest lips! He gently teased her with them, sweetly gliding over hers with expert knowledge. So lost in the feeling, she forgot to…

"Kiss back," he whispered, momentarily pulling away to make the reminder before diving in again.

Blood racing through her veins, Hermione did as bade, letting her mouth innocently explore his with tentative, light brushes. She felt giddy and high as the pressure slightly increased in response, drawing her deeper into his seductive grace. Reaching for his hand for anchor, she tightly gripped him, absently caressing the inside of his wrist with her thumb in passing. A very low rumble of pleasure vibrated through his chest in response. Slipping his hand out of her hold with a quick turn of muscle and joint, he instead entwined their fingers in an intimate possessiveness. A quiet moan escaped her throat as his cool flesh entangled with hers.

There was a 'pop' above them, as the mistletoe's spell was broken and the offending plant disappeared, and immediately all of his warmth and deliciousness was stolen from her as he broke their magic and stepped away.

To her utmost mortification, the room erupted into cheers, jeers, whistles and clapping.

Unable to meet Malfoy's eye (he was probably gloating, the jammy goit), cheeks flaming with heat, Hermione struggled with her feelings. "I hate you," she whispered to him.

Turning away, she made to escape, but his hand sank into the bend of her elbow and stopped her. He stepped in close, tilting his head so his jaw brushed along her hairline. "No, you don't," he arrogantly, assertively stated.

Jerking out of his grasp, she hurriedly stalked away, heading towards her private rooms on the Sixth Floor, feeling his eyes chasing her with devilish amusement until she had climbed the Grand Staircase and was out of his sight entirely.

X~~~~~X

Monday, December 11th, 2006

The third time she just happened to get caught in the magically-nefarious web of obnoxious tradition, Hermione had begun to seriously have her suspicions that someone – namely Malfoy - was using the magical mistletoe spell to force her into uncomfortable intimacies with the King of all Vipers.

"How convenient," she drawled, looking up at him with marked skepticism, hands on hips. "Mistletoe. With you. Again. This is becoming more than a habit. I charge you're behind it all - another of your childish schemes to humiliate me, no doubt."

His face twisted into mocking amusement. "Have I told you that I love your Gryffindor imagination? It's quite entertaining all on its own, without my help. Honestly, if I wanted to get you alone, Granger, it wouldn't be too hard for me to do so in a more…" he looked about with finicky assessment, "romantic location."

She crossed her arms. "Oh? Then why the sudden urge to stroll through the Second Floor women's loo right after I ducked in?"

Malfoy innocently shrugged. "Had no idea you'd be here. I came to speak to Myrtle."

Dubious, she raised an eyebrow at him. "And since when are you and Miss U-Bend acquaintances?"

"Oh, Draco and I have been friends for ages!" Myrtle appeared from the top of a stall, floating over to Malfoy's side, unconcerned with her impolite eavesdropping. She giggled, wrapping ghostly arms about his neck, as if they were old lovers and cooed at him. "Well, since his sixth year, anyway. He always comes to see me, don't you, Drakkie-poo?"

To Hermione's utmost surprise, twin blooms of pink appeared on his pale cheeks. "Hello, Myrtle, have a mo'?" he sighed.

Nuzzling his neck, the apparition snickered. "For you, I have eternity, baby!" With a quick kiss on his cheek, she let him go to zoom upwards, hanging about the ceiling of the room. "But hurry up and kiss her anyway so we can get on with it," she scolded him with a faux pout, erupting into another bout of giggles thereafter.

"Merlin, as if Pansy hadn't been bad enough!" Hermione groaned, putting a hand over her eyes and shaking her head in cynical disbelief. "You'll bonk anything, won't you, Malfoy? Although how you're getting it on with a ghost might be a case for a publishable thesis…" She seriously considered that, wondered if she couldn't use him to research such a piece and strike a name for herself in the field of relations between the living and the dead. No, that would be too pitifully scandalous a subject to tie her coat-tails to, not to mention she'd earn a reputation as a perv. Oh well, there went that idea. "Then again, I suppose you weren't so discerning when you earned the nickname you did back in school, so it shouldn't surprise me in the least," she added for good measure.

He silently stared at her for long seconds. "You mean the 'Sex God' thing?" His flashed a naughty grin. "The She-Weasel certainly seemed to enjoy finding out the truth of that rumor behind Thomas' back one cold winter night back then."

Hermione's open mouth could have caught a dozen flies before she found the mind to argue his statement. "Rubbish! You're lying!" Okay, not so fancy an accusation, but it aptly conveyed her thoughts on the issue nonetheless. There was simply no way Ginny (whom she'd heard him call 'She-Weasel' on more than one occasion in the past) had been shagging the likes of him and that was final!

Malfoy's grin became positively predatory. "She still have that cute, little mole on her left breast, above her nipple?"

Bloody hell. Hermione had shared a room with Gin enough times over at The Burrow before marrying Ron to know her best girlfriend did, in fact, have a mole in said location (Ginny had never been shy about stripping down to change for bed in front of her). Wisely, however, she did not reply to his antagonism, clamping her lips shut and sniffing in distaste at him in deflection. "You're disgusting," she stated with significant scorn.

"Yes, well," he cheekily countered, reaching for her waist. "Jealous feelings aside, you've still got to kiss me to break the spell, like it or not, so pucker up, sweetness."

She slapped at his hands. "Please, you have such an overinflated ego! I am not jealous of your notches!"

His snickering breath delighted the skin along her jaw as his mouth closed in. "Yes, you are, otherwise you wouldn't be so brassed-off at me." Skimming his lips over hers, he stared at her through a half-lidded, sultry gaze. "Seriously, I find that terribly hypocritical of you, Granger, since I don't begrudge you your conquests."

Turning her cheek to avoid his kiss, she huffed in indignant anger. "How dare you insinuate that I slagged myself out! I married my only bedroom partner."

He leaned back, his interest clearly piqued. "You mean to tell me that you actually lost your virginity to the Weasel King? That freckle-face was it for you - all these years?" He laughed. "And you said you weren't a prig!"

Her slap wasn't hard, but it did shock them both. Her fury quickly returned, however, compensating for her momentary stunned alarm. "I suppose the idea of 'making love' is too much a noble and beautiful concept for someone as cold a snake as you to know much about, but don't you dare mock my choice to want such an act to be meaningful."

Steely-grey eyes softened as he reflected upon her words. "You're right. I apologize," he gave a slight, somewhat formal bow to his head. "But you're incorrect about one thing: I'm not so frigid as to have never made love to a woman." For a second, sorrowful regret flashed across his handsome, patrician features. "I did have a fiancee once, as you probably know from the society papers. But I suppose it's fair to say that neither of us have had good luck in that arena."

For the second time in two weeks, Hermione found her assumptions about Malfoy drastically shift. He'd been in love with that Greengrass bird? She'd always assumed that their engagement had been an arrangement of pureblood convienence, and that their break-up had been mutual, as Witch Weekly had professed. Apparently, though, she'd been wrong. He'd loved the chit!

The contemplation that Draco had once passionately, romantically given his heart over and bedded a woman, instead of simply shagging like some sex-starved teen, did strange things to her, she had to admit. A fantasy-image of him leaning over her naked body and watching her face while his hips thrust with patient intensity again and again came unbidden to Hermione's mind's eye, making her heart skip a beat, and her blood rush through her body to pool in her womb with fiery concentration.

Malfoy's wicked chuckle brought her back to the moment. He was reaching for her again, his face zeroing-in on hers. "Daydreaming about what it would be like?" he charmingly, correctly guessed. "Yes, I definitely love that Gryffindor imagination of yours."

He claimed her lips again, hot and skillful, burning her up with his talent. The man should win an award for such aptitude, she had the moment's odd thought before his thrusting, questing tongue took away her reason, shutting down her sanity once more. To say she was beginning to enjoy his taste, his scent, the scorching response he always managed to ignite within her was the understatement of her life – she craved it. Like a potions junkie, she was fast becoming an addict to the way Draco Malfoy could manipulate her body, and with merely a simple kiss.

Adeptly maneuvering them when the mistletoe's spell let go, he backed her towards the sinks – onto a ceramic vanity itself, effortlessly lifting and perching her bum rather precariously on the rim of a basin. Positioning himself between her legs, he spanned his hands across her waist and boldly roamed the expanse of her ribcage and bosom. Cupping her clothed breasts together, he pushed up and around, eliciting a moan from her, even as his mouth's intensity increased until he was practically devouring her.

Grabbing onto his shoulders for purchase, Hermione let him take her away to another time and space, his cool hands warming as they continued their kneading over her clothes. Releasing his fondling of her chest, he cupped her cheeks instead, holding her with venerate longing as his tongue plunged into the depths of her mouth, tasting every crevice, sweeping through the damp, sumptuous cave to coax her into giving back. Just as she did, gasping in surrender, he abruptly broke off, his lips instead trailing flame down her throat to that same spot as before, suckling hard, reinforcing his earlier claim upon her. "You're mine," he whispered, slicking his tongue over her vulnerable, responsive flesh.

A self-righteous scream interrupted the interlude before it could go further, and Hermione recognized the sound of Myrtle in distress. The ghost was sobbing, whizzing about in circles like a rocket ship, moaning about having lost out in love twice now – once with Harry Potter and now with Draco. Without a word, Malfoy let her go and paced into the center of the room to try to coax Myrtle into calming down.

It took Hermione a few more seconds to realize she was still sitting with her bum half-in, half-out of a sink, and that she'd just let the most dreadfully appalling individual in the free universe (now that Voldemort and his closest cronies were all either captured and/or dead) cop a feel upon her person.

Godric, they'd done it again!

Taking the opportunity of his distraction with the disconsolate bathroom spirit, she snuck off, hurrying out the door and up to her classroom where she proceeded to repeat the events of the other day (still hidden under the desk), casting a Cooling Charm over herself in the sweaty afters.

Dear, oh, dear, this was getting serious - and she was still no closer to figuring out whether the whole mistletoe thing was purposeful or if she was really just that bloody lucky (or unlucky, as the case may be) to constantly find herself captured under it with one blond-headed serpent. She'd have to do some investigating on her own. It was time to hit the books again, it seemed.

With two hours until her next class, she headed for the library to research the mistletoe spell in greater depth.

X~~~~~X

Saturday, December 16th, 2006

The last Hogsmeade outing of the term had left the castle practically vacant. Those not perusing the shops or sitting for a butterbeer at The Three Broomsticks were playing in the snow with ingenuous child-like joy. Hermione looked down upon them in the courtyard from the isolated balcony above the Entrance Hall, a Warming Charm keeping her from freezing, remembering her youth when she'd engaged in similar silliness with Harry and Ron.

Two pale hands appeared on either side of her, leaning on the railing, confining her in place. A warm body pressed against her back, and apple-scented breath stole across her temple. "Found you."

Against her will, her heart took off like a rabbit's on the chase. It required a false start to speak her peace in as even a tone as possible. "What do you want this time, Malfoy?"

Supple lips traveled the shell of her ear. "Isn't it obvious?"

She elbowed him in the gut, not hard, but enough to make her point. "Back off. I'm in no mood for your games."

Ignoring her, he lightly bit her lobe, causing her breath to hitch. "I'm not playing, Granger. Not with you. Not about this."

Angling her head away, she pushed at one of his solid arms, trying to get him to move. "Ha! Right! You've made it your life's work to trip me up, you slimy Slytherin. It amuses the sadistic side of your oh-so-charming personality." Pushing again, she tried to step to the side, but he refused to budge and let her pass. "I've been researching the mistletoe spell, you know. It was left as a retirement 'blessing' by Professor Vindictus Viridian back in the 1700's, but I checked him out, too, and it seems the man was of questionably moral character, as the backbone of his research was in creating mischievous spells that stirred-up trouble. The staff here thought his parting gift funny, however, instead of the negatively-provocative enchantment it was meant to be, and so it's stayed in place all these years." She brushed her bangs back from her eyes as the wind blew past, stirring her hair. "It's supposed to be an evolving curse that knows never to perch above the same two people twice in the same season. That means someone has altered the spell, because it's landed on us three times now." She disapprovingly looked over her shoulder at him. "I'm sure it's you. I just haven't figured out the 'how' part, yet."

Malfoy genuinely laughed. "I thank you for the compliment, as it would probably take a wizard of insurmountable wiliness to accomplish what you presume, but I assure you, it wasn't me. Of course, you're assuming it isn't simply an issue with the spell itself that's causing it to act strangely, and not due to outside tampering."

She'd considered that, of course, but it made her feel better (vindicated, in fact) to accuse him of setting up this whole plot, no matter how immature that sounded. "Whatever. The fact of the matter is that I don't trust you not to have something to do with this."

"And why would I?" he countered. "Aside from the obvious fact that I'm enjoying making your knickers wet."

She snorted in a rather unladylike fashion. "Hardly. And I think you'd do it merely for the sake of sticking it to everyone's craw that you've been able to get me - the woman who publicly vowed at dinner one night just last year to kiss the Giant Lake Squid before she'd let her lips touch the likes of yours when asked about this ridiculous mistletoe custom then - to snog you. You weren't there, but I'm sure word got around."

Out of her peripheral vision, she saw his mouth part on a smile. "Did you really swear to something that preposterous?"

Sighing, she rolled her eyes. "Yes, now for the last time, let up. I don't wish a scene, what with the children directly below."

He paused in his advances for a moment. "Fine, no witnesses then." Those long arms of his wrapped about her waist and hauled her back into the darkened recess of the alcove, where she was summarily shoved back into the wall. Perfectly aligning their bodies, pressing in close, he quite thoroughly incarcerated her. "Better?"

Turning her head at the last moment, his lips met her throat. This did not deter him in the least, though, as she'd hoped; he quite capably suckled upon her pulse instead… really, rather erotically even. "S-stop," she murmured, feeling her body shaking now that the evidence of his rather sizable arousal pressed against her belly. Her hands on his chest tried to push, but there seemed no strength in her arms to do so.

His mouth settled above her ear. "You don't want me to stop."

Swallowing around the lump of feeling in her throat, she licked her lips and turned her head to press her cheek into his, trying to use it to shove him off instead. "Why are you doing this? You hate me."

Rubbing his skin along hers, he hummed. "Do I?"

"I hate you," she reminded him.

He chuckled darkly against the indent of her jaw and ear. "Do you?" Before she could fathom to counter the move, his hand was at her waist and under her blouse, pressing hot against the flesh of her tummy. "Let me prove to you just how incorrect both of your suppositions are, Hermione." With deft, light fingers, he danced across her abdomen, up her ribs to very carefully, very gently cup her right breast. Simultaneously, his lips and tongue glided over her throat, flicking at her sensitive skin, drawing ever closer to her mouth.

Unable to prevent her reaction, Hermione's back arched and her hands clutched at his robes when he stroked his thumb over her covered, tightening nipple. "Oh!" she couldn't help the soft gasp that escaped her lips.

Malfoy's answering groan vibrated through her whole body, bringing to life parts of her that were beginning to sluggishly wake up. "That's it, sweetness," he coaxed as she instinctively rubbed her pelvis against his. "Take your pleasure from me." He ground against her, even as his fingers ducked under the cup of her bra and found her bare flesh. One stroke was all it took to make the tiny bud taut against his palm. He moaned again, capturing her lips.

Madness! This was utter… "Oh, oh!" she cried as he pinched her with just the perfect amount of pressure, pulling her nipple out from her body a bit before letting go and repeating.

"So sweet," he murmured as his tongue snaked between the seam of her mouth to entice hers to come out and play. "So fucking sweet." His slow pelvic thrusts rode her lower lips through their clothes, hitting at just the right angle to clip her clit, bringing electric shocks to that portion of her anatomy with practiced proficiency.

Caught in the maelstrom of feeling, Hermione was overwhelmed with need. Yep, two years was much too long to deny this kind of pleasure.

When the chilled air touched her bared upper leg, she jolted out of the sensual haze and became all-too aware that Malfoy's free hand was currently sliding between her thighs. Merlin, she was letting him practically finger her right there above the Entrance Hall! "No!" she panicked, finding new strength and finally pushing him away, unbalancing him and sending him back several steps. The folds of her long skirt, which he'd bunched to her hip, fell so that her hem hit the floor, safely covering her lower body from view.

Cheeks flushed, silvery eyes shimmering with lust, he stared at her with clenched fists at his sides, his breath as uneven as hers. "You want me," he bluntly stated with heat. "I want you. What's the problem?"

Biting her bottom lip, running a shaky hand through her hair, she struggled to make sense of her rioting thoughts. "Wanting - it's not enough. I don't do these kinds of things, Draco."

Two steps and he was back in her private space again, looming over her, hands resting on the wall behind her. "Why not?" His nose lightly smoothed over her cheek. "Why can't you want me, Hermione? Why is this wrong?"

"Because-" she stammered, stalled as his lips neared hers again. "Because we're being forced. It's not… natural."

He huffed with small amusement. "I see no mistletoe right now," he pointed out, and kissed her again with melting efficiency. Her knees nearly buckled, but he caught her about the waist and pulled her in, supporting her.

Never in her life had she felt such desire for a man - not even with Ron, whom she'd desperately loved for so long. And Malfoy was correct: there was no foreign spell compelling their intimacy just then; there was absolutely nothing she could cling to for excuse for her reaction this time. It's true - I want him, she finally had to admit to herself, her body already giving over to the insanity. "It's so wrong," she whispered as he pulled away to attack her neck with desperate tenderness.

"Sweetness, this is the only right thing I've ever done with you," he murmured in her ear, and holding her in a fierce embrace, he found her mouth again and this time, didn't let up until the need for air required them to do so.

X~~~~~X

Hermione had managed to escape Malfoy's attempted seduction of her long minutes later when a student ran into the Entrance Hall and loudly called for help. Melly Goodstone had been knocked unconscious, slipping on some ice coming back from Hogsmeade. The Slytherin boy who'd just two weeks prior had tripped her up, and who had made her miserable for years with his taunts and teasing – Brad Pritchard – had carried her within the shelter of his arms all the way up the hill. Clearly, the young man had forgotten he was a wizard and could easily have levitated her instead.

Panicked, the sixth year was red-faced and wide-eyed, protectively cradling the witch to his chest, as they ran to meet him at the bottom of the Grand Staircase. "She slipped and went down hard. Cracked her head. I was right there, but I couldn't catch her in time!"

"It's all right, Brad," Malfoy soothed him with a cursory check of the back of the girl's head. There was blood and she wasn't responding to being touched – worrisome signs, both. "We'll get her up to Madam Pomfrey right away."

He attempted to take Goodstone away, but Pritchard stepped back, a menacing look on his face. His grip on Melly tightened. Hermione couldn't have been more surprised, as the young wizard had ever been antagonistic of the Gryffindor in his arms, from practically the get-go of their school career together…

Oh. My.

Her gaze shot to Malfoy's silhouette. The master of calm and control, he talked the boy down with reason, and took the limp Miss Goodstone into his arms, quickly heading up to the medi-ward. Brad nipped his heels the whole way.

Clearing away the gawkers, sending them on their way with warnings to be in before it got too cold or dark out, Hermione headed after the two males to assure Melly's diagnosis and proper treatment. When she entered the ward, she found Brad worrying over the young witch as Poppy waved her wand about the girl's head, sealing up the wound on the back of her skull and checking for internal damage. Draco stood at the young wizard's side, his hand on his shoulder to calm him.

It was an odd sight, making Hermione pause. Seeing Malfoy acting in the role of the supportive father caused an immediate, innate biologic response in her; specifically, it made her want him all the more, recognizing him not only as a healthy, attractive physical specimen (he would make really good-looking puppies, as Grandmum Granger might joke), but also as a strong, emotional provider.

As if sensing her thoughts at that moment, he glanced up at her. When their eyes met, it was a powerful jolt through her system…

Yes, there was no question she wanted Draco Malfoy anymore, and clearly, he wanted her with a similar desire. Now the only problem was how to reconcile such an outrageous thing before it got out of hand.

Bloody mistletoe!


TO BE CONTINUED…