Spero

Chapter 4: Desire, and Power, and Control

Time warp: Amongst the crumpled balls of my Transfiguration paper is the notice I put up. The one about the newspaper.

Who would want to write a newspaper with bloody barmy Loony Lovegood!? Don't kid yourself.

Textbooks and quills splayed across the tables, and the cushy chairs were occupied in the Slytherin common room. Which leaves me here with Hermione. Sitting at the window of the Room of Requirement, I sigh; this is where I need to be right now. To think. She lies on the couch dozing as I count my losses. Less important on my scale of losses: a Quidditch match – to Gryffindor lost. A little higher up on the scale: Father, jailed in Azkaban; Mother, mad as a hatter; my family's reputation, left in a shambles.

But those are honestly the least of my problems.

Cradling your head in your hands and wallowing in self pity may not be very dignified, but that's all I can do right now. Merlin, what did I do to deserve this? Glancing at Hermione, all I can think is, Why is she here? I'm honestly not the one to come running to crying. I would cop it off to her being a woman, but it's just that she's Granger. Hermione Granger. I must be going mad. I feel hopeless, I feel angry, but most of all confused. How did this happen?

It was the day after Hermione Granger had found me, after I'd stunned Potter. I still stick by my story, he deserved – no deserves it. He's lucky he didn't meet a worse fate.

It was the day after the opening feast. I was staring at her. Again. I can remember thinking, bloody hell, what is wrong with me? I hated staring at her. I thought, Filthy little mudblood. Stuck up little know-it-all. Arrogant little Gryffindor.

I'd hated her for as long as I could remember. When we were first acquainted in first year, I hated her immediately. It was easy to, obvious really because she was arrogant and far too intelligent. Everything about her made me insecure. What was worse is she's a Mudbl – Muggleborn. Father expected the best from me, and I couldn't deliver it. Generations of good breeding couldn't beat a Muggleborn.

It infuriated the hell out of me. Logically, this made no sense to me. Everything my father had said. Every belief he had instilled in me. Gone. Slapped quite literally out of me, by her of all people. I suppose that's when things started to change. When she decided to stand up to me. It's the only thing that makes sense. I know that if the attack at the Quidditch World Cup had taken place a year prior I wouldn't have even thought to warn her that the Death Eaters were coming our way. I've been over and over it in my head. There is nothing else that can explain it. She's not drop-dead gorgeous, she doesn't hike her skirt up for attention, she doesn't even try to tame that unruly hair of hers. So I'm still left at odds.

I'd ended up stuck with her on the stairs. It was like she was everywhere. First on the train, then in the Great Hall the day before. Now here, on this staircase as I tried to get to Charms. 'Watch the staircases' they tell you in first year, 'they tend to move'.

"Yep, I have no idea what compelled me to do that," she told me after I'd complained of her rude manner in greeting me – of course in mock hurt. Sarcasm embodied the girl. It seemed to be the very soul of her when it came to me. I don't think I've ever heard another tone from her.

"Is it because you're five?" I suggested.

"I'm a little punchy; I haven't been sleeping," she admitted.

"Thoughts of me? Hey, I get it." I shrugged. "Sometimes I'm up all night just thinking about myself."

Hermione – Granger I had still been calling her then – had hmphed and turned her back on me. I took a step up and sidled up against her, glancing at her; she stared straight ahead, not acknowledging my presence. She had presence, a distinct style: not a tall girl, plain really, but the way she was, moving as she did, she looked to be so much more.

"As a rule, I like to start every schoolday with an attractive brunette waiting for me on the staircase," I mentioned, knowing this would get her.

Surprisingly she replied with, "Me too."

"I'm not a brunette," I remind her.

"Or attractive," she scoffs as the staircase settles into place. It makes this noise as if gears are clicking then locking together.

She walked off those stairs without so much as a 'are you coming?' I followed anyway. Being on the fifth floor rather than on the third, which I had originally been going for, meant I was stuck with her for two more floors. Two more staircases.

"Go away," she told me as she stomped down the steps to the fourth floor. "Don't you have anything better to do?"

"Why yes, I do, though I'd like to point out that we're both headed to Charms."

As Hermione approached the staircase to third floor it made the familiar noises of unlocking and gears clicking. The staircase is going to move. I thought we were cursed at the time. Some higher being was playing a trick on me and wanted to see the two of us explode. She let out a groan of frustration. "This is all your fault!" Turning sharply, she walked right into me and I caught her before she fell.

I felt the wind get knocked out of me as for some odd reason Hermione Granger has never been introduced to a book bag. Annoyed with her and the stairs, I retorted, "Oh right, because everything is always my fault!" I can't help that the stairs keep changing. I can't help that we have to go back up to the fifth floor to catch the staircase before it shifts back to it's proper place, the third floor. I'm not jaded, I know I can't control everything.

"I'm glad we agree," she said in that way that just makes me want to strangle her.

"Merlin, you are so arrogant." I could feel my blood pressure rising.

"Me? Why don't you take a look in a mirror?"

"Why don't you?"

"Real original, Malfoy." Okay, so that wasn't the best comeback I'd ever though of. All I could do is was roll my eyes in aggravation.
"What? Cat got your tongue?"

"Sometimes I wish you'd just shut up, Granger." She was starting to get on my nerves. I was compelled to do anything at this that moment to shut her up.

"Sometimes I wish you would," she shot back.

"Real original, Granger." I used my best mocking tone.

She frowned at me. "You can let go of me now."

Glancing down, I realised I'd still been holding on to her from before, tightening my grip as my annoyance went up. Repulsed and a little scared, I let go of her, shoving her backward. A little more force than I had intended to use made me turn quickly and head toward the fifth floor. "Well, Granger, are you coming?" I call over my shoulder. I heard her sigh, and the footsteps signaling her presence.

Impatiently I wait at the fifth floor stairs. I daresay I snapped at her, "Hurry up, Granger, the staircase is about to change again, you don't want to miss it."

I'm not sure whether she's untrusting, or she just always has to contradict me. "It's been what? Five minutes? The staircase is not going to change so soon."

I gave her my word, since she didn't believe me, "I swear it is, on the Malfoy name."

To this she snorted. "I trust your family about as far as I could throw you."

"Fine then, on your name."

"On my name?"

"Yes, yours, you're a constant really, quite predictable."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know, predictable is all. I know you're going to get 100 percent on our next exam. I know you're going to cry if I call you a 'know-it-all'. I know you're going to spend your evening in the library. Predictable, that's all."

"That's what you think of me?" Her free hand waved around signaling her outrage. Meanwhile, the staircase is starting to make that familiar noise. It's unlocking and gears are shifting. "You think I'm so predictable that you know I'd be in the library?"

"Granger, the staircase," I said through gritted teeth.

"Well you know what? I am most certainly not a 'know-it-all' I am not going to cry because you think so," she said with a sniff.

Seriously fed up, I pull her forward as the stairs start to move away from the landing.

"What the hell, Malfoy?"

"I told you."

"You didn't need to tug on me!"

"You weren't listening."

"Who says I should listen to you?"

"You never listen!"

To that she launched into one of her speeches. It's something she seems to be quite good at doing. I've seen her give them to first years, Weasley, Potter. I think if she could she'd lecture a chair. Which she might have, who knows? A part of me had something really witty to say, which would no doubt have sent her into another dizzying rant. I studied her, trying to pinpoint just how many freckles dotted the bridge of her nose. It's daring, how she looks me straight in the eye and tells me off. I could kiss her.

It was a kiss that had nothing whatsoever to do with love. Only desire, and power, and control.

"You look like a bloody fish with your mouth agape like that," is all I could think of to say.

Her neck was stiff, shoulders and upper back in a shape like a 'T', all glimmering of aggravation as she stormed off. I can remember thinking, "shit, what the hell was that?" as her steps echoed. In Charms I was staring. Again.

It was compelling to say something when I saw her in the library. Something snide, something sarcastic, something witty. So when I saw her sitting there at a table surrounded by books, I joined her. Sitting down across from her, I simply stated, "predictable."

"What are you doing?" she hissed at me.

"Studying." I indicated my parchment, quill, and textbook.

"No, you're not," she frowned.

"What, you think my grades just appear out of thin air?"

She said nothing to this, just glared. So, I sat in silence with Hermione Granger studying. She was right, and wrong, and I wasn't studying my assignment, I was studying her. Why had I kissed her? Why had I been so forward? Why had I done it at all?

She got up and left the table. I sat and wondered for a moment where she was going. All her things are were still here. She must have been going for a book. I decided I might as well follow her. I found her in an empty row of books.

Standing behind her as she reaches for a book, I wanted to laugh because she couldn't quite get at it. Her fingertips brushed the bottom of the shelf. From her frizzy mess of hair I smelled lavender – I'm so close. Frustrated, she gave up and started to reach for her wand. I took the book from the shelf.

"There's that book I've been looking for." I stood back and looked at it intently, turning it this way and that.

"No you weren't! Give it here, Malfoy," she protested.

Madame Pince appeared at the end for of the row. With a look of contempt, she whispered, "shhh!"

"Sorry," I apologised. Under my breath, I mumbled, "Ugly old bag."

A snort comes from Hermione.

"What a lady-like noise."

"How gentlemanly of you to get me my book." She snatches it away from me. "Now, will you move?" I intentionally blocked her way. "Stop acting as if you're 8."

"Like I'm 8?"

"Yes, when you're 16 I'm afraid torturing a girl you fancy doesn't work, quite frankly I don't really think that ever worked."

"Don't flatter yourself," I tell her. Did she really just imply that?

"Well, then, what the hell was that on the staircase?"

"Language, Granger." A small smirk appeared on my face. How comical.

"Look, I don't find my conclusion plausible either, but who in their right mind kisses someone and doesn't fancy them? Especially like that."

I step aside. 'Especially like that' she said.

Nothing – I tell you, nothing in my life was as personal as that kiss. Not the love from my mother when father yelled. Not my father's pride I enjoyed basking in when I was younger. Not the first time I kissed Pansy or any other girl for that matter.

Hermione didn't move. Which was surprising to me; I thought she would have. "Well?" she asked impatiently. With a sigh she said, "Malfoy, I don't have the time for this."

"Then leave," I tell told her.

"I'd think I have the right to an explanation."

I shrugged. "It never happened."

She looked confused. It's a little unnerving as she studied my face. Looking me straight in the eyes, she made me shift my weight. "Oh, it did happen. It was strange and very out of character, but it happened. I've no idea what to make of it."

"Never been kissed before, Granger?"

"I have," she says defensively.

"By Weaseled? Because that's not a kiss." I added offhandedly. "Oh Merlin, I think I'll be sick."

"No!"

"Oh right, Krum then?"

At this she blushed. "He is not the subject Malfoy. We are." It was my turn to snort. "What is so funny?"

"Did you just hear your self? We? As if you ever had a chance with me." I shake shook my head.

"Well then why'd you kiss me? Let me remind you, I did not kiss you, you kissed me!" She jabbed an angry finger in my chest.

I took hold of her wrist. "You kissed me back, and I reckon you fancied it." She turned a deeper shade of scarlet and I can't believe she did. "What? You did?"

"No," she said quickly, "I just … I thought you … never mind."

"You really think I fancy you, Granger? Thought you'd know better with your good grades and all. Aren't you supposed to be smart?"

"I …" She made the fish face again. Her mouth closed then opened and her eyes were wide.

"You?"

"You didn't feel it," she says, more of a statement then a question.

"It?"

"Yes, it."

"What is it?"

"That feeling they talk about."

"They?"

"Yes, they, the ominous they that know all."

"Oh, right, them," I said, and rolled my eyes.

"I should have never said anything." She seemed very angry and embarrassed as she stormed off.

I stayed there in her dust. I know full well who they were and what it was. 'It' is what 'they' said you felt when you were meant to be with someone. Pansy had gushed about it once; of course at that time I hadn't known who "they" were or what "it" was. I finally found out on the stairs. Not that I was meant to be with Hermione Granger. Not that I even wanted that.

She was back at the table. "I know what you meant," I say said. She ignored me, pretending to be enthralled with her book and her notes. "About feeling it," I try tried again.

This seemed to spark a little interest. "What?"

"It," I repeated myself, which is something I don't do often.

"It?"

"Yes, and I'm not saying it again."

She calmly closed her book and gathered her notes into a pile. Looking up at me, she asked, "So what are you saying?"

"I don't …" I'm speechless. "I don't know."

'I don't know' seems to be my answer for everything these days. I don't know what to do. I don't know why she's here. I don't know why she's been crying. I just don't know.

"Draco?" Hermione's soft voice drifts over from the couch. I look toward her. There are twenty-two freckles that dance across her face. I counted one night. I get up and join her on the couch where she has made room for me.

"Ah, am I still keeping you up at night? You look like Snape," I jest. Settling in on the couch beside her, I put an arm around her small frame, drawing her closer to me.

She looks at me through sleepy eyes and yawns. "You … are such … a catch. How have I been able to keep away?"

I grin at her. She has this way about her that she never shies away. Her eyes always meet mine. Her eyes that are brown and warm. Her mouth that smiles almost without her knowing it. The look of sympathy, of wanting to hear, but I will never tell.

I kiss Hermione Granger not out of love, but because I can.

She's so – maybe the word is 'vulnerable'? Yes, that is the word.

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