Well, I have a midterm tomorrow and haven't really touched this story in ages, but I like it and it is unfinished, which is bothersome. One more chapter after this – I hope it is satisfactory…
The halls were drafty. She clutched her arms to her chest to block the chill and took a deep breath. And another and then one more. She needed to clear her head so that she could concentrate on what she was about to do. Sneak off in the middle of the night to meet Draco Malfoy, of all people. She shook her head once, twice, to try to clear it.
The halls were barren, as far as she could tell from her vantage point in the crook between the stair and the Muggle Studies corridor. She could go back to her room, back to her bed, and get some sleep before her exam tomorrow, pretend that it never happened, that whole night after the Yule Ball and the Room of Requirement and the smoldering eye-lock and the my-name-is-Malfoy-and-I'm-going-to-sneak-up-on-you-and-freak-you-out thing.
She huffed at her spiraling mind. Who was she kidding? She was way too involved. And now it was now or never and she knew it, and he probably knew it too and there would be no turning back after this point.
One more breath, a glance right and then left, and then she hurried down the hall, up the stairs, and onto the wing of the castle that would lead her to him, trying all the while to look like she was supposed to be out at night hours past curfew.
Almost breathless, she reached the room, and after the customary procedure, squeaked the door open, slid in the room, and turned to barricade herself inside. She had succeeded in not surveying the room and now spun cautiously to do so.
He was not there.
Christ, she should have guessed. Stupid. She berated herself, stupid. He probably set her up, told some teacher that she was stalking the halls in order to get her in trouble, so that she would get detention or lose house points or something childish and stupid and mean and terrible and how dare he! How dare he play her emotions like this?!
Her face red with frustration, she spun on her heel to rush out of the room to the hall. She stormed down the hallway getting angrier and angrier at him, but mainly at herself, at how she trusted him and cared about him, feelings which were obviously misplaced. She rushed around a corner next to a picture frame with a sleeping brown dog inside when she crashed into someone and fell to the ground and oh Merlin she was in trouble and how dare he and Merlin Merlin Merlin, this is not good.
Jesus, Granger. Where in the world are you rushing off to? I asked you to meet me at the Room, remember? He pushed himself off the floor, brushed off his jacket, and offered her a hand to stand.
She ignored it, struggling to her feet. He shrugged and put his hand back in his pocket and, after seeing that she was alright, turned carelessly down the hallway to open the door for the second time that night. After you, Granger.
Face burning and head held high, she swept past him in a manner which was as aloof as she could muster, and perched on the farthest chair. The fire crackled before her and she watched the flames jump to and fro on the log that did not really burn.
I started it a while before you got here, but I didn't tell you when to come and I was hungry, so I headed down to the kitchen to get some food. You weren't planning on leaving were you? I mean, you aren't afraid of breaking the rules or anything, right?
The smirk was back. She could tell that he's teasing her and despite herself, she smiled. She rolled her eyes to hide the gesture, but it was too late, he'd seen and now he knew he'd won. He'd gotten the upper hand. His smirk grew and she mentally scolded herself. Deep breath, get a hold of yourself, it's just Draco. Malfoy, that is. Just Malfoy.
What do you want Mafoy?
Your company, Granger. Is that too much to ask?
Fight the blush, fight the blush. No, seriously. What do you want?
I am being serious. But I also want your opinion on something. I have been trying to get this spell right for ages, but I can't get it for the life of me and I figured that if I had to ask anyone for help, you would be the most knowledgeable. Plus, you owe me one.
She sat there blinking at him. Blinking and gaping. Mouth open, trying to catch flies gaping. W-what did you say, she sputtered. My opinion. On something important. You want my opinion. Mine. Right, I'm going to go now.
She stood up to leave, but he sidestepped to block the door, the smirk and the smile and the vigor leaving his face. He stood before her defeated, round shouldered, and he spoke the one word that showed her that even through the blushing, she had maintained the upper hand.
Please.
Hands fisted on her hips, she huffed to hide how much she was flattered, and shook her head to show her disapproval. Okay. I'll do it. What are you trying to do?
He grabbed her wrist to drag her over to the cabinet. She hadn't noticed it before, but it was broken and obviously bewitched. You want me to fix it? Why?
You can't tell anyone, you swear? No one. Hermione, I'm serious. No one.
He called her Hermione. Fine, fine, why?
He turned his head downcast, scuffled his shoes on the floor. It's for my mom, okay? Her birthday's coming up, and I just wanted to get something nice for her. This looks positively ancient, and nice too, if it weren't broken.
She couldn't help it, she had to laugh. The thought of Draco – were they really on a first name basis? – wrapping up this armoire for his mother was hilarious. She couldn't stifle the chuckle and then neither could he and the two of them laughed properly, together. She was laughing, sharing a joke, with him. It was brilliant.
Okay, let's see what's going on. She rolled up her sleeves, took out her wand and approached the wardrobe. Closing her eyes, she could almost feel the spells swimming on the wooden surface. Not all of the magic was particularly nice, either; some of it was downright evil, dark magic on her life. But he was so sincere, hovering over her, incredibly concerned and anxious for her success.
Almost about to admit defeat, she suddenly felt a jar in the pattern, discord, something off. She focused on it, feeling the magic, rolling it around on her tongue, tasting it in her mouth. Suddenly she knew the verse, and silently she magnified it in her mind, making it the biggest and brightest concept in her consciousness, allowing it to engulf her body and her spirit for just one moment and then, carefully, she funneled it out of her body, through her wand, and onto the dresser. The armoire glowed briefly and then dulled, but retained more life than it had before.
There. Now you can fix the outside framework without anything magical preventing you. I would suggest doing it by hand, more personal that way, but magic should work too.
Hermoine, you're bloody brilliant. And then his arm was around her waist and his hand pulled at her neck and his mouth was on hers and hungry and desperate and thankful and honest and she kissed him back just as passionately and she knew she should, but she couldn't stop. Her hands snaked up his back into his shiny, perfect hair, and she anchored herself there and he pressed against her and she against him and it was so unexpected and so exciting and so wrong that her mind protested, but she couldn't stop and then his hands were underneath her shirt, causing her skin to tingle and her hands were tugging at his belt and she couldn't stop or turn away, but she had too, she had too.
Breathless, she broke apart, pulled back, stared at the floor. Draco, what was that? He barked a sharp laugh. A kiss, Hermione, a kiss. Was that not obvious?
Well, I mean, of course, but, Merlin, what was that?
He moved to close the space between them, was so close that she could see every fleck of blue in his eyes, that she could smell him, could feel the heat radiating off his body. He bent down, kissed her softly on the lips, and then pulled back. That, Granger, and you might want to write this down, was a kiss. Was the thing that Weasel, frankly, lacks the balls to do. I've said it before and I'll say it again: he is a fool. A fool for letting you go. And, I know, I know, this will never work, not in this world. But I couldn't let you walk out that door without hearing this and feeling what I feel and I couldn't pass up this opportunity. So, I guess, that is that.
Her mind was reeling. What? What did he just say? That Ron was a fool for not kissing her? That he would, and had, because he wanted to? That if he weren't the Prince of Slytherin and she weren't the Princess of Gryffindor, that he would kiss her out in the open? That he was telling her how he felt?
Well?
His question hung in the air, and she, after a deep breath, closed the last of the space between then to capture his mouth on hers and then they were one again and stumbled backwards to fall on the loveseat and spent the rest of the night being next to each other, this once, moving in unison.
The far call of the early pre-breakfast bell shook them out of their reverie and they tumbled apart to hurry on their clothes and rearrange themselves in order to be respectable again. To once again be Malfoy the Slytherin and Hermione the Gryffindor, enemies by birth. She spun to leave, but he grabbed her wrist, turning her towards him to offer one more kiss. Remember, tell no one. You promised. See you around, Granger.
And with that, he was gone, and she was left in an empty room with only two small sofas, a half-fixed wardrobe, and a naïve heart to keep her company.