Hey guys! Here's chapter eleven, but before I go ahead, can I just say something which may answer one of my reviewers' questions from the last chapter – as this is a Fanfiction, events are not directly in canon with the actual series. For all intents and purposes, in this story, Astoria Greengrass is in the same year group as Hermione and Draco. Hopefully that cleared things up a little anyway, enjoy!
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Chapter Eleven – Opposites Attract:
The huge clock at the top of the Astronomy Tower tolled midnight – twelve deep, thunderous chimes boomed out across Hogwarts, echoing through the corridors, reverberating across the high ceilings, notifying all who remained in the Great Hall that the Yule Ball had come to an end. Both students and teachers alike trickled out through the wide doors and headed off to bed, many red and sweating from dancing, their arms around dance partners, their faces set with exuberant grins. The Yule Ball had been a great success – one of the best formal dances in the entire history of Hogwarts, without question – everybody had spent the night doing the things that they loved, celebrating their youth as well as the Triwizard Tournament, partaking in activities ranging from lively dancing accompanied by the glamorous rock-and-roll band the Weird Sisters to drinking the Three Broomsticks' very own homemade mulled mead and toasting the wonderful memories they had created there that night. Everybody in the school had been so preoccupied with immortalising the evening, making it one the school would be hard done by to forget, that they hadn't noticed the absence of two fourth year students, one from Slytherin house, the other from Gryffindor, from their midst, both of whom had been present at the festivities until around ten pm., around which time one had slipped out, her face stained with tears, and the other had quickly followed.
"I still can't believe you let Weasley get to you so much," Draco informed Hermione, cracking open his fifth bottle of mulled mead with his teeth and taking a haphazard swig. "Not trying to offend you," he assured her hastily, holding his hands up. He had been taught several times already that evening that Hermione Granger's temper was like a tropical storm – volatile, explosive and unpredictable. Having already been in a snarky mood when he had first found her, he had leant the hard way that the slightest insult, the tiniest degrading comment could trigger the lightning in an instant. "But you of all people can do better than that low-life piece of dragon dung," he went on, inadvertently slurring these last two alliterative words. "Fair play to you coming with Krum..." He paused. Hermione had elbowed his side and now held her hand in front of his face expectantly. Laughing once, he handed the bottle of mulled mead to her. She raised the neck to her lips and swallowed down half of the bottle's contents in three gulps before handing it back to him, her fingers quivering. Draco continued. "But I reckon you could do even better. Especially if you looked like you do right now more often." These words surprised him – they sounded strange coming out of his mouth. Although he was only voicing what he had been clandestinely thinking all evening, saying the words out loud made them almost tangible and undeniably real. She's not going to remember anything I say now in the morning, his alcohol-befuddled brain told him.
Hermione laughed manically, so much so that her chocolate brown, slightly-clouded eyes began to water. "You're funny, Malfoy," she said. "Bloody hilarious."
"So we're back on last-name terms again then, are we, Granger?" he asked sarcastically, feeling his head start to swim. His vision went foggy for a moment as a wave of head-rush hit him. "Whoa," he groaned, lying back on the staircase. To his surprise, Hermione lay down beside him, rubbing her temple with her fingertips. He could vaguely see that students were passing them in small clumps as they made their way upstairs to bed – when the clock had first chimed midnight, Draco had been shocked that he and Hermione had been sat on the bottom step talking for over two hours. The time had passed unimaginably quickly.
"You do know its gone midnight, right?" she asked bitingly, looking across at him mistily. "Shouldn't you go and kiss Parkinson goodnight before she has some sort of withdrawal-related aneurysm?" Hermione smirked uncharacteristically.
Draco scowled at the thought of his dance partner. "I could say ask you the same thing about Krum," he said, his eyes on hers. "Although I'm sure he'll be the one doing all the kissing," he added in a theatrically hushed tone, his voice thick with implications.
Hermione shot up at these words, swaying slightly as she did so. "And what is that supposed to mean?" she demanded, her voice squeaking at the end of the sentence.
He immediately knew he had overstepped the mark, the invisible, unspoken-of line they had drawn at the start of the conversation that separated drunken banter and personal issues, but, not wanting to infuriate her further, he attempted to explain his point. "I guess..." He laughed, certain that what he was about to say would spark the stick of dynamite that was her temper. "I just don't have you down as the, you know, touchy-feely, romantic type." Hermione just stared at him, her jaw slack, her eyes wide with mildly irritated confusion. She nodded and made a gesture that implored him to expand on what he had said. "I'm in no position to be judging what with my lack of recent success in the romance department," he admitted lazily. "But come on Granger, while we're being honest, have you ever properly kissed a boy?" His jaw clenched tightly and he bit down on his tongue to stop himself muttering an apology – although the look on her slightly red face made him instantly regret asking, and despite the alcohol-induced enchantment he was under, he was still Draco Malfoy, and Draco Malfoy didn't apologize to anybody for love nor money, especially somebody like Hermione Granger. Just because he was seeing her in a whole new light tonight, old habits could only die hard and he had no immediate desire to test that theory.
"Why on earth would I answer that question?" she asked angrily, her already flushed cheeks blanching. She folded her arms instinctively, defensively. "What makes you think... I don't..." Hermione trailed off, staring at something in the distance, her eyes crossing slightly.
Draco sniggered. "That'll be a 'no', then." It wasn't a question, but a statement.
"I can't believe you would just... why would..." She broke off, her eyes coming back into focus. She sighed, turning to face him again, and said sheepishly, "I guess you're right."
Draco sat up beside her, completely shocked that Hermione had revealed this information to him. He had never seen her look so genuinely embarrassed and vulnerable – the usually haughty and unruffled Hermione now sat with her hands folded in her lap, her cheeks red, a thousand questions and curiosities suddenly burning in her eyes. Her ash brown hair was falling down in places from the sleek bun it had started the night in the form of, and traces of her make-up, now almost completely gone, still tainted the peaches-and-cream semi-circles above her high cheekbones. "Hermione Granger," he said slowly, his headache ebbing away somewhat. He chuckled once. "Never been kissed."
To his surprise, Hermione laughed with him. "I know," she giggled. "It's just ever so slightly pathetic. It's meant to be an 'unforgettable experience', the glory of first love and all, fireworks going off inside your head, blah blah," she ranted, shaking her head. "But whatever." He could tell she was putting on a brave face.
"Ever so slightly pathetic," he repeated sarcastically.
It was at that moment he realized that he had been staring at their feet for quite some time. Feeling silly for not noticing earlier, he looked up again quickly, just as Hermione did exactly the same thing. Subconsciously he found himself gently shuffling along the step, inching closer to where she sat. She moved slightly too, readjusting her position, accommodating for his increasingly close proximity to her. Neither of them spoke. Hermione's brow furrowed slightly as she gazed at him. Draco felt very much like an actor in a silent movie – everything had changed from Technicolor to greyscale in an instant, everything except him and Hermione. Nothing made a sound around them, although he knew students were still strolling noisily past them on the way back from the Yule Ball. It was as though they had slipped inside a thick, impenetrable bubble of air. He saw her chin tilt downwards, she moved her face closer to his, he could smell the heavenly, almost intoxicating scent of her skin mixed with whatever perfume she was wearing and all he wanted to do was drown in it...
"Mr Malfoy, Miss Granger," said a distinctive voice through the wall of the bubble. Draco tore his gaze from Hermione and looked up to see Professor McGonagall standing over them. "The Yule Ball ended twenty minutes ago. Uh..." McGonagall raised her eyebrows, obviously surprised at seeing them sitting so near to each other. She eyed the empty mulled mead bottles disapprovingly. "If you would kindly make your way up to bed now."
"Sorry, Professor," Hermione mumbled, not once looking away from Draco, who didn't say anything.
"Yes, well, goodnight, and merry Christmas." And with that, she swept away from them up the Grand Staircase without a look back.
This was where they would part. Standing up, Hermione sighed and said, "Well, believe it or not, it has actually been rather nice talking to you... Draco." She brushed herself off with her hands and pulled the remaining clips down out of her hair, shaking it out and combing through the ends with her fingers.
He nodded and swallowed. "Same goes for you, Granger." He winked, feigning nonchalance in regards to leaving her here. He knew they would never be able to talk again like they had tonight with all walls down and no holds barred.
"Goodnight," she murmured, turning on her heel and beginning her ascent up the stairs. Unable to force himself to speak, he merely watched in silence as she walked away from him, her dress billowing in her wake, her shoulders relaxed.
"Goodnight... Hermione," he whispered, knowing she couldn't hear him. When she reached the top of the Grand Staircase, she turned to see him still standing at the foot, but he didn't feel foolish. Their eyes met for an endless moment. Turn around, said a voice in the back of Draco's head. Turn around and go to bed. However, a different voice, a voice that sounded considerably more trustworthy, told him not to. His mind knew which of the voices it was taking orders from and, before he even realized what was happening, he was calling out her name and his feet were carrying him quickly up the staircase toward her. Her gaze followed him, her feet moving in time with his, closing the gap between them, the expression on her heart-shaped face a mixture of confusion and mild amusement.
"Missing me already?" she asked quietly, lifting and hand and letting it rest over her heart. Unable to stop himself any longer, he reached out toward her and held her hand in his, her skin feeling red-hot against his ice-cold. He pulled her by the hand into a niche beside one of the silver suits of armour, his eyes never leaving hers, and pushed her back up against the wall.
"Try forgetting this first kiss," he murmured, then his lips were on hers, absorbing each other's body heat, moving gently in turn to accommodate their ever-shifting positions. They were like opposing poles at the ends of magnets, attracting and repelling just the perfect amount to maintain the harmony they had created. They had struck a balance. Positive and negative. Yin and yang. Opposites attract, thought Draco, as their mouths moves against each other. It was as though they were two connecting jigsaw puzzle pieces, made to fit flawlessly with one another. His strong hands were exactly the right size to hold Hermione's forearms to the wall, locking her in place. Hermione's soft jaw was the perfect shape for Draco's lips to caress it gently. Her hands tensed against his chest as they kissed, clutching fistfuls of his dress robes. At exactly the right moment she leaned her head back against the wall, allowing space for Draco to feather gentle kisses along her jaw and down her neck – after a minute or so, leaving him wondering whether or not Hermione had lied about her lack of kissing experience, she bent slightly and brought his mouth back up to hers. He felt her tongue dart across his bottom lip, her teeth nipping his skin lightly. He chuckled once. "I never thought I'd see the day," he murmured as he dropped a kiss beneath her earlobe. "Decent first kiss?" he enquired, smiling.
She pouted, considering this, before she laughed out loud. "Does this answer your question?" she asked serenely," pulling his lips to hers once more.
Recalling the memory of the first time he kissed Hermione triggered a series of alarm bells in Draco's head. As though to emphasise his point, Astoria moaned quietly at that very moment, shuddering beneath his touch. Her hand found his neck and she began fumbling with the buttons of his shirt in the darkness. She only managed to unfasten two before Draco pulled away from her.
"I can't do this, Astoria," he told her, fixing the neck of his shirt once more and brushing himself off. Astoria stared at him, her eyes wide with rejection. Draco pushed his hands through his hair, feeling the thin sheen of sweat that now adorned his pale forehead. He knew his cheeks were flushed – blood boiled beneath his skin, and he felt as though every nerve ending in his body was a live wire, sensitive and dangerous.
"You weren't saying that earlier," she reminded him, her breathing having returned to normal again.
"I know," he said, straightening his tie. "But I'm saying it now."
Right on cue, the school bell rang directly outside the broom cupboard, signalling the end of the first double lesson. He picked up his bag and, feeling more guilty than he ever had in his life, pulled open the old wooden door. He crossed the threshold and looked back at Astoria, who remained just inside the doorway, her back against the wall. As he glanced at her, the strangest look crossed her harlequin green eyes, a look that feared rejection, a look that burnt with desire to know why what just happened had happened, a look that said, in a thousand different languages, I'm going to get you, Draco Malfoy, if it's the last thing I do.
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That's all for now folks! I apologise to all my readers that said they dislike the memory sections, but I thought this one was pretty adorable and kind of vital to understanding the story and how things happened at the beginning, so try to find it in your hearts to forgive me just this one! Now, question time: what did you think of the memory? How am I at writing kissing scenes, considering I've only ever been involved in one, which wasn't particularly enjoyable under the circumstances, in my fifteen-year-old lifetime? What do you think Astoria will do next? Was it good of Draco to end what was happening, or do you think he should have just carried on? LET ME KNOW! xxx
