Disclaimer applies once again: JKR is owner of Harry Potter.
A/N: Thanks for the responses to the last chapter. It was very fun to write! Hope this one gets an exceeds expectations! LOL! And so, it continues...
Chapter 9
Hermione had left the Weasley residence with such haste that Harry insisted he would drop by later. She feigned a headache to the hosts and guests before apparating home. It was history repeating, although tenfold on this round, and she found herself in an emotional rage, post Malfoy contact. She had really done it this time. What could possible outdo that performance? It was the spilling of her guts, to put it nicely.
Well, she certainly heaved as she ran to the bathroom in afterthought. Tears were the novel addition to her state, however. Her grip on the toilet bowl was relentless as she sobbed uncontrollably. That was the final straw: Hermione Granger was utterly out of control. She dragged her torn self to her bedroom and fell onto her bed covers fully clothed, entering a dreamless, post emotional release, slumber almost instantly.
It must have been quite a few hours later as Hermione awoke to a dusk lit room, her eyelids sore and an overbearing pressure hammering through her head. She groaned in discomfort, in self contempt, in despair, as she covered her face with her hands. Then, she did something so unlike her: she swore. At the top of her lungs, "Fuck!" Exhausted sleep overcame her once more.
The second time Hermione awoke, it was to the touch of a soothing hand on her shoulder and a gentle shake.
"Hermione?" It was Harry.
"Hmmm," she murmured in acknowledgement.
"You feeling ok?" He inquired, sitting on the edge of her bed.
"Mmm," was her feeble response.
"You had your wards down, so I figured you were awake," he whispered. "I'll leave you rest and we can catch up during the week."
"Ok," she managed, only just registering his presence.
"Maybe you want to get under your covers?"
"Yeah," she dragged, shifting to sit up.
"You sure you're feeling ok? Can I get you anything?" He asked with concern, he eyes searching for her gaze. She avoided looking at him.
"Uhm, maybe some water, painkillers, and maybe a sleeping potion I have in the kitchen," she grumbled. She did not want to leave her bed.
"Be right back," he encouraged. She sat there, blank.
Harry walked back into the bedroom with her requests, frowning upon observing that she hadn't moved. Her eyes were glazed over and puffy. He rushed to offer her the much needed tablets. She accepted robotically: tablets on tongue; glass to lips: drink, swallow. Repeat for sleeping potion sculled from the vial. She still hadn't looked at him.
"Do you have comfortable clothes you can get into?" He asked, trying to be helpful.
"I guess I should change," she responded croakily looking down at her jeans. Hermione moved off the bed reluctantly and headed to the bathroom, re-appearing wearing a tank top and cotton pyjama bottoms. Harry lifted the covers of her bed and she slid under them, turning to her side, in the ever comforting foetal position. He covered her snugly, kissing her cheek.
"Get some rest. Looks like you've run yourself down," he observed. She nodded her head in response before the sleeping potion set it. And so, once again, Hermione entered her newly preferred altered state of consciousness.
ooo
Sunday marked the recovery of a second eventful weekend. However, there was no recourse in immersing oneself in chick flicks. Hermione Granger awoke with a newfound enthusiasm. She hadn't been for a jog all week and that was the very first thing she did.
Apparating discreetly to the lovely Regent's park, she jogged through the rose gardens, stopping occasionally when one particular variety took her breath away, and continued on unleashing the built up tension as her lungs filled with the crisp morning air. She returned home, withdrawing to a relaxing bath amongst perfumed candles, reminding her of the rose gardens, as she meditated, attempting to clear her mind of its unease.
There was little attempt to revisit yesterday's events in her mind. She was too weak, and the thought made her instantly pale. She had no idea how Malfoy had reacted to her sudden outcry, and frankly, she didn't want to know. If there was ever a time when she desired to turn back the clock, the moment in the study definitely made the top of her list. She wished for a time-turner. Dressed and making a sandwich in the kitchen, she heard the crack that signalled someone had apparated into her apartment. Harry must've returned; he was the only one who knew her wards were down.
"Hi," she heard a familiar voice at the archway of her kitchen. She spun herself around, not sure if she had heard correctly, only to have her fears confirmed by the presence of a pair of grey eyes fixed on her. Her breath hitched, and she was certain her horror at his presence did not go unnoticed.
"What are you doing here?" her voice quivered. She leaned against the kitchen bench, her elbows back as her hands gripped the edge for comfort.
"Spur of the moment decision," he shrugged, his eyes scanning the room before reverting back to her. He was still; she could see he was just as confused about being there, a slight uncertainty he failed to conceal emanated from his stance. Hermione could not believe what was happening.
"Haven't you heard of an owl?" she bitterly asked. "Instead, you just invite yourself over? How did you know where to go?"
"I checked the floo network for 'Granger residence'," he admitted, his tone flat, as if he were anticipating her reaction.
"Oh," was all she could manage in recollection.
They stood there in silence. She felt exposed: Malfoy was in her home, she was scantily dressed in shorts and a singlet, and she had nothing to say to him. Not now, not ever. She had extinguished all reliance on words.
"Well, are you going to at least offer me a drink?" he asked, trying to break the silence, it seemed he had decided it was fine to reflect the mirth in his voice. Malfoy was one to easily find comfort in situations.
"What do you drink?" she asked absently,
"Champagne," he stated matter-of-factly. They remained unmoved for a moment longer before Hermione suddenly burst out in laughter, moving her arms across her stomach to control it, only finding it a hapless attempt. She was laughing so hard: for the ridiculousness of the situation; for her lack of control; for the irony of it all; and mostly, for the sheer fact that he thought it amusing. When she finally managed to compose herself, Hermione looked up at him, her eyes teary from her fit, to see him smiling. It was the same smile she had seen that day in Dixon's office, the one that wasn't directed at her. Her heart began to beat faster, a new reaction to Malfoy's presence.
"I'm out of champagne," she responded in more jest then seriousness. It was his turn to laugh. The room circulated with an electrifying energy that she felt through to her toes, as the silkiness of his baritone overthrew the thumping sound of her heart that had filled her head. He stopped and stood staring her, regarding her like she was a puzzle to be solved. She crossed her arms over her chest protectively, not knowing what to say, because anything she would open with would inevitably lead to yesterday.
"Right then," he leaned against the art deco timber of the archway, "coffee it is."
Hermione nodded, and moved to the espresso machine her parents had given her. She busied herself, trying to forget that Malfoy was in her kitchen. She heard his footsteps approach her.
"What are you doing?" he asked as he stood next to her, watching her. He smelt of cinnamon and spice.
"You wanted coffee, didn't you?" she said, confused at why he was questioning the obvious.
"I never said I wanted you to make it." She stopped what she was doing and glared at him.
"Coffee is not something I can just conjure with the spell Malfoy, not the way I like it anyway," she snapped. He placed his hand on her arm. She was taken aback by the sudden gesture. Her heart started to race again, and she narrowed her eyes at him in annoyance.
"Let's go out for coffee…and maybe some lunch," he suggested, raising his eyebrows toward her half-made sandwich. She followed his gaze to her attempt at food preparation, before removing her arm from his hold.
"What makes you think I want to go out for lunch? And, with you?" she cried with vehemence. "Malfoy, what the hell are you doing here?" She was no longer able to control her self, stepping away from him to distance herself from his intoxicating smell.
He was quiet for a moment, looking down, focusing on something. She followed his gaze to her bare feet. She sighed in frustration. "Malfoy!"
The first smirk of the day presented itself but his gaze did not budge. Instead, he moved toward her, and with two swift strides he was directly in front of her, his head at the same angle looking down, but with the close of distance, his focus landing on her face.
"You distract me" he simply said, his voice husky, his eyes dark – a liquid mercury. She stood unmoved. My, how the tables had turned, and how unfortunate that it was in the comfort of her home.
She narrowed her eyes in defiance, "Are you mocking me, Malfoy?" He had the audacity to smile again.
"Shut-up, Granger," he teased.
"Excuse - ," but she never finished, as her system was shocked by the sudden presence of his lips on hers. They were surprisingly gentle and soft as they remained locked with hers. She stood there, beginning to process what was happening but as soon as it had started it was over. He had pulled away, looking at her expectantly. Her eyes widened at the realisation that Malfoy has just kissed her to shut her up.
"How dare you!" She yelled, grappling with her disbelief that he could be so rude. He just raised his brows in confusion.
"What the hell are you on about Granger? It was just a kiss!" he bellowed.
"You kissed me to shut me up!"
"What!"
"You are unbelievable!"
"Granger, have you lost all sensibility? If you think that's my attempt to shut you up, then you are sorely mistaken!" She could see the rage building but was blinded by her own. The next thing she knew, he was kissing her again, this time with vigour, with passion, as he pushed her back into the bench, his hands trapping her as they gripped the benchtop on either side. She responded with equal fervour, their movements becoming more hurried and consuming as his lips demanded hers to open and his tongue commanded entry into her mouth. She let it, succumbing to his exploration. Her hands grabbed the bench, elbows back as he moved closer, chests colliding. Their breathing became heavier, as their kissing became deeper and more heated. She fought his tongue out of her mouth and moved hers into his, eliciting a moan from him as his hands moved to her waist. She rested her hands on his chest, beginning to register what was going on as she tried to push him off. She gripped his shirt into her balled hands and shoved, breaking contact.
They were both breathing loundly; the air around them was stifling. He leaned forward, resting his forehead with hers.
"That… was to shut you up," he managed between pants, annoyance in his voice that she couldn't understand. She shoved her hands into his chest again in an attempt to excape contact completely, trying to catch her own breath in the meantime. He obliged, grabbing her wrists, removing her hands from the grasp of his shirt as he stepped away. Hermione was irate – with herself, with him.
"I think I should go. Sorry to intrude, I don't know what I was thinking," He broke the silence. She was the first to move to look at him, his expression once again notoriously inscrutable. She nodded in agreement. He walked out of the kitchen, leaving her standing there consumed by her thoughts, so much so, she did not even here the crack marking his departure.
It was a good ten minutes before Hermione moved from her current spot. 'What the hell had just happened?' she thought, her brain would haemorrhage if she even tried to make sense of her life at the moment. This newfound lack of control was unyielding. Draco Malfoy had come to her home, catalysed a series of extreme reactions, asked her out to lunch, albeit indirectly, and then kissed her because she wouldn't shut up. Well that was certainly a new addition to their interaction. To top it off, she had kissed him back, her feelings from the night of the ball flooding back. She laughed at the ridiculousness of it all.
After what she had said to embarrass herself at Ron's, nothing compared to how consumed she felt by the proceeding events. Not only did Malfoy distract her when she was physically around him, he was now a definitive permanent fixture in her mind and it appeared that he felt the same way. He was distracted by her. Hermione Granger was baffled. Draco Malfoy suddenly amused her.
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