Hi! Thanks for all the great reviews. They really brighten my day. 3
Wow, that was cheesy.
WELL. This chapter...I didn't really have it planned it out so I decided to just make it up as I go along and I hope it works.
Read and PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW! Thanks. (:
Hermione woke, eyes still scrunched tight, legs and fists curled close to her body, to a relentless tapping noise. She groaned, and burrowed herself under the covers, squeezing her pillow around her head, one end covering each ear, trying to drown out the noise. Even through the thick feathers, she could still hear the tap tap tap that refused to stop. She decided to just ignore it, and closed her eyes again, sinking into the thick mattress. She could see the dreams starting to hazily appear in her head, and she was falling, finally falling again. And the tapping noise seemed to have stopped. She smiled unknowingly in that state between reality and sleep, but it quickly turned into a frown as the tapping noise drove into her skull yet again.
"Bloody hell, make it stop," Lavender Brown called out from her bed across the room, whipping a pillow with all her strength, which wasn't much, in the general direction of the noise. It landed with a soft plop in the middle of the floor, and Lavender rolled over, her soft snores ringing out again. Hermione punched her pillow in frustration, then yawned loudly, stretching out her arms and legs before slipping off the bed and looking around for the source of the horrid tapping. She struck the jackpot when she noticed a beautiful black owl standing on the window ledge, framed by the pink early-morning sky. He had one talon extended, tapping the glass in a robotic rhythm, and his other foot had a small piece of parchment strapped tightly to it. Hermione stepped tentatively toward the glass, trying to think of who would be writing her so early.
Any of her friends?
No, they were either sleeping in the very room she was standing in, or another room in the Gryffindor tower.
Hagrid? No, the owl was too...sophisticated. Sleek. It was much too well-groomed to be handled by such a lovingly messy man that Hagrid was.
One of the teachers?
Possibly, but she would've recognized most of their owls. Only a few teachers had never sent her an owl, but it was much too early for a teacher to be sending her one now. They would've waited until a later time, when they wouldn't be disturbing her peace. This reminded her that it was an inhumane time to be awake, and, yawning, she checked her watch, then grumbled angrily to herself when she saw it was only five o'clock.
There was still one option, of course. But...no. She didn't want to think of him. She had done enough of that in the last couple of days. As much as she was disgusted with herself by the mere thought of it, she couldn't get his stupid, smug, incredibly handsome face out of his head. It was like he was permanently glued to her brain, and, as much as she hated to admit it, he seemed to belong there. Without Draco Malfoy in her head, it seemed almost empty. She wanted to slap herself for being so obsessive over a boy she had punched out of her hatred for him in the previous year. He was still that cockroach he was last year, but something had changed. Something had clicked inside her when he popped out of nowhere that one day by the greenhouses, and she was forced to look inside his deep, beautifully silver eyes...
Snapped out of her reverie by another exasperated tap on the glass, Hermione rushed forward, her socked feet muffled on the floor as to not wake her roommates, and unlocked the window. She opened it softly, letting a burst of cold winter air into the room. Shivering, she untied the note from the outstretched foot of the owl, who blinked at her with it's giant, glassy eyes, waiting. She murmured a quick thank you, then quickly closed the window behind it as it swooped into the sky, streaming through clouds and disappearing from sight. She glanced at the thin envelope in her hands. In swirling cursive she didn't recognize, her name was plainly on the front, nothing accompanying it. Settling back under her covers, her legs crossed and elbows resting on her knees, Hermione quickly opened the stark white envelope, pulling out a small piece of paper with only a few words scribbled neatly onto it.
Meet me at The Three Broomsticks today at 3 o'clock. Bring no one. -DM
She didn't need to be as extremely clever as she was to know whose initials were added onto the bottom of the note. Eyebrows furrowed, she read over the letter again, soaking in each word individually and deciding that she wasn't going crazy. Malfoy had indeed asked her to meet him in Hogsmeade in ten hours. She wondered why, remembering all their previous encounters. She thought he liked her, or at least he sure acted like he did. She liked him, that was for sure, but she hated herself for it and her friends would never agree to it if they knew of their crooked relationship. Harry, Ron, and Ginny, the three people she could turn to for anything in the world, would be crazy if they were to accept the fact that Hermione was infatuated with the enemy. It surprised her that Malfoy was so open about it; it was as if he didn't care what others thought about the two of them, which was definitely out of character for him. She smelled something fishy, but pushed it out of her head immediately.
I'm going to make the best of this, she thought to herself fiercely. Sealing the letter back into the envelope and quietly sliding it under her mattress, she lowered herself off the bed and shuffled towards the bathroom, her trunk hovering in the air behind her. She settled in front of the mirror, examining her face from every angle. Sighing, she closed the door behind her, opened her trunk full of clothing and various cosmetic products she only used for special occasions, and got to work.
Draco Malfoy sat at a corner table at the back of The Three Broomsticks, which was dimly lighted and practically empty except for the couple snogging in the opposite corner. Draco ignored them with disgust, and rapped his hands on the table impatiently. He glanced at his watch once more, as he had done thirty times in the past ten minutes, and saw that it was already a quarter past five. Settling back into the sticky vinyl of the booth with his arms crossed over his chest, he watched the doorway, forehead creased and eyes boring through each customer that walked through the door. This wasn't the Hermione Granger he knew, the one that was always the first to walk into the classroom, who had never been late to anything a day in her life. He knew it was only because it was him she was meeting, but it was still uncharacteristic and was making him grumble under his breath.
This meeting was most certainly part of the plan, yet his heart panged each time someone walked through the door that didn't have Hermione's signature bushy hair. He felt like a date that had been stood up, and he wanted to mentally slap himself for feeling like that. Why should he care if she didn't come? This was only for the gain of the plan, and there were certainly many more ways he could get her to fall in love with him. Only now, when she wasn't coming, did he feel slightly guilty for dragging her and her feelings and her heart into a battle between him and Potter. He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn't even notice Hermione walk through the door, looking around for him like a lost puppy for its owner. She finally spotted him in the corner, alone, with a pained expression on his face and his eyes lost in their own little world. She quickly patted down her hair one more time, adjusted her jacket so it hung straight, and made her way to the back table. She stood to the side, not wanting to sit down until he noticed her.
"I don't want anything to order yet, thanks," he huffed, not fully looking at her, until his head snapped back and he really saw her. He momentarily felt his breath leave his chest as he eyed her up and down, not even believing his own eyes, "Hermione?" he gasped, and she nodded, confirming his thoughts. She looked different. She actually looked...hot. Her tight jacket hugged her tiny hips, which were covered by a pair of skinny jeans he hadn't even knew she owned. Her face looked angelic compared to every other day, covered in a golden blush, her eyes-which looked wider than ever-were framed by pitch-black eyelashes that swooped dramatically, and her lips were glossed in a light pink color that made her slightly bucked teeth look a normal size. Her hair looked straightened and glossy, and she hesitantly bit her lip as she stood uncomfortably, kneading her hands.
"Can I sit down?" she asked, bringing her hands behind her back and looking at the booth in embarrassment, avoiding Draco's gaze at all costs.
"Oh, yes, yes of course," he still gaped, awestruck, then gulped and jumped out of the booth, motioning his hands toward the seat across from him in a signal that she took to mean, "sit down".
"Thanks," she mumbled, still averting her eyes, and Draco nodded in response, then said something about getting them Butterbeers. She murmured in agreement, and he slowly stood up, still soaking in the sight of her, until he walked towards the bar and out of sight.
He pushed his way through the crowded room until making it to the front bar, where Madame Rosmerta was busily making drinks for all the customers, who were shouting out orders rudely and loudly. She yelled at them to quiet down, and Draco took a seat at one of the stools, patiently waiting until she came to him. That gave him some time to think about what he had just seen. He thought about the way Hermione looked. He turned back to see where she was sitting, quietly staring at her own hands, and saw the way her hair now caught the light, her lips looking plump and inviting. He turned back and let his gaze fall over Madame Rosmerta but let his thoughts fall elsewhere. He grinned to himself, as he knew she had only made herself up as she did to impress him, but the smile faltered as he realized it had worked. He had known that she was a pretty girl before, if not entirely attractive, but now she was a bombshell. It was a wonder what some new clothes and a bit of makeup could do to a girl, and to the guy she did it for.
"Get you anything, Mr. Malfoy?" Madame Rosmerta finally asked, leaning over the bar and batting her eyelashes flirtatiously at the boy.
"Two Butterbeers, please, Ms. Rosmerta," he smiled, and he swore he saw her swoon a little as she rushed to get his order filled. He chuckled to himself slightly at the effect he had over women, but stopped short as he realized Granger, of all people, had just had that effect on him. He had prided himself on being the boy girls couldn't get out of their heads, but now that little Hermione was prying her way into his.
"Here you are," Madame Rosmerta handed him his Butterbeers with a wink, and he thanked her before turning and making his way back over to where he was sitting before, muttering an incantation so that path was cleared before him. He hastily set the drinks down on the table, and Hermione looked up at him expectantly. He was momentarily lost in her chocolate-brown eyes, and she looked a little confused.
"Well?" she said, and his eyebrows furrowed.
"I beg your pardon?" he asked, genuinely confused, and internally longing to stare at her some more in comfortable silence. He needed some time to soak in her new look, after all, as he told himself.
"Why am I here?" she didn't meet his gaze, perfectly content to focus her attention on her drink, which she was now stirring with a little too much force.
"Can't two friends just normally go and get some Butterbeers together?" he cracked a grin as she looked up, surprised, "I see you come here with Potty and Weasel all the time," she didn't seem to notice the fact that he was aware of her schedule, and her eyes were filled with questions when she finally looked back at him.
"Friends?" her voice faltered slightly at this word, "Since when are we friends, Malfoy?" her voice now seemed a little stronger, with a hint of scorn, and she continued, "I know there must be more to this. Never before have you called us friends. Never before have you been interested in my company. In fact, you didn't want my company whatsoever." Draco tried to speak, but she cut him off when she saw his mouth open, "Now, I don't know why you wanted to meet me here, or why we had that certain encounter in the dungeons, but I certainly know its not because we're friends. We're not, we never where, and the way this is going, I don't think we'll ever be. Now, tell me, I beg of you, why you're doing this to me?"
"Doing what to you?" he murmured, but her only response was a deep blush that spread across her cheeks, "If you mean the fact you had to pretty yourself up for me, that was your choice, not mine?" her head snapped back up, and she narrowed her eyes, practically hissing at him.
"That was for my personal gain, not yours," she knew she was lying to him and to herself, but he didn't need to know that. But it seemed he did, but the half-grin that cracked onto his face, "And wipe that smug grin off your face," she snapped, folding her arms over her chest tightly and frowning at him.
"You want to know the truth?" he asked, and she nodded firmly, staring him down. He adjusted his collar nervously, and cleared his throat, "Well, I-"
But he was cut off by Madam Rosmerta, who took time off from the busy bar to shuffle her way over to her favorite customer and ask him if he needed anything extra. She glared at Hermione with jealousy as he answered with a polite "no thank you", and then shuffled back to where she now had an angry crowd waiting. Hermione still looked at him with that expectant gleam in her eye, and straightened up a little when he cleared his throat yet again.
"I like you, Hermione," he managed to whisper, and she perked up, "I want to be friends with you," at the mention of the word friends, her face fell and her eyes narrowed again. Only she could know of the disappointment that clouded her previously hopeful mind, but he could tell that she was somewhat let down by the spark that flew out of her eyes. He cleared his throat again, slightly disappointed in himself, and he searched her face, longing for something more than friends. Only for the plan, of course, he tried to convince himself, but faltered when she sighed, taking a sip of her drink.
Baby steps, Draco, he told himself, following her lead and gulping down some of the sweet Butterbeer, Baby steps.
Review! Pretty please! I would love you forever.
I am more proud of this chapter than any of the other ones so far. I seem to have a problem with writing long chapters, though. Oh, well.