Disclaimer: I do not own these characters.
Hermione had expected him to be hesitant to see her, possibly a bit angry, but she'd thought that if she could just talk to him, things would be smoothed over.
She was wrong.
She sat her bag down, hands shaking, and took a step forward to clear the air, but his next words stopped her in her tracks.
"You're a bloody liar," he spat, snarling down at her.
Her eyes went wide as she stared at him, words not forming in her mind. It was his tone—full of vitriol—that stopped her. She opened her mouth like a fish out of water but no words came.
"Bet you both had a good laugh, making me think—" his voice broke as he stared at her, cheeks burning. "Was it a bet?" He took an angry step forward. "Or just some harmless fun?"
"No," she said, the word feeling inadequate. "No, of course not, I—"
"Then why?" he roared as he took another step closer so that there were only a few centimeters between them. "Do you hate me that much? Was it just to cause me pain?" he said, his voice dropping to a whisper.
"Cause you pain?" Hermione asked, a horrified expression on her face. "Ron kissed me. I didn't ask him to. I—"
"Made out with him in the bloody hallway for the whole bloody office to see!" Draco threw up his hands and stormed to the other side of the small room, raking his long fingers through his hair.
"He kissed me!" I yelled, anger taking the place of my initial shocks. "If you'd bothered to stick around for even another few moments, you would have seen—"
"I did!" he said, spinning toward her again, spots of red decorating his cheeks. "I turned around. Came back! And I saw you drag him into our office, probably to take advantage of him, just like you did me!"
"Take advantage?" Hermione gasped, heart racing with anger as she stepped toward him. "You kissed me, you bloody—"
"I distinctly remember you leaping at me like some deranged veela who—"
The sound of her hand connecting with his cheek cracked through the room. His cheek bloomed red, but Hermine didn't care.
"I came here," she said, hands clenched in fists at her side, "to tell you that what you saw was Ron in a state of desperation. To tell you that I made myself very clear to him that I wanted nothing to do with him in a romantic sense." She looked up into his eyes and saw that he didn't believe her. Unwanted tears welled in her eyes and she did all she could to keep them at bay. "I came here to clear the air, to see what last night—" she sucked in a breath and stopped. "But it seems that was a mistake."
The first tear fell as she turned, intent on leaving. She couldn't stand the hateful look in his eye anymore and rather than admit to him, or even to herself, that she'd wanted to see where this thing between them was going, she was going to leave and go lick her emotional wounds in private.
She leaned over to pick up her bag when his big, warm hand closed over her upper arm. She spun, ready to deck him if he was intent on fighting, still, but the look in his eyes stopped her. She couldn't tell what it was exactly—hope, desperation, confusion—but it wasn't anger, and that was enough to make her pause.
"I didn't like—" he said, his voice shaking slightly along with his hand, "seeing him kiss you. Seeing him touch you."
Hermione simultaneously bristled and melted at the possessive nature of his tone. He had no right. She should tell him that he had no right to dictate who kissed her and when. She'd come here to explain to him that she hadn't wanted Ron to kiss her and now was ready to say the opposite, just because she was mad. But instead, all she said was, "I didn't want him to."
He stared at her for a long moment, his face uncharacteristically open and honest. Then, as if he were afraid she would bolt or slap him or scream, he closed the distance between them.
Hermione gasped as she anticipated his lips crashing against hers and possessing them again, but he stopped a hair's breadth away. His exhale tickled her lips and she could see his wide eyes searching hers. When he pressed his lips to hers this time, it was soft—barely a caress. His eyes remained open, locked on hers, asking a question that she couldn't decipher, but desperately wanted to answer.
His grip on her arm loosened as his lips gently moved against hers. His fingertips trailed over her elbow. Goosebumps erupted in their wake as his hand hovered over the back of hers. The night before, he would have had her pressed against the wall now, had her hand clasped in his, but something about this almost touching was so much more intense.
He pulled away and his eyes darted over her face. With his other hand, he brushed the hair off her forehead with only the slightest touch of the tips of his fingers.
"I'm not—" he said, then faltered, his nostrils flaring. "I don't want—" He snapped his mouth shut, frustrated.
Hermione leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth and his eyes drifted closed for a moment. She found that her hands were trembling.
"I'm here because you're here," she whispered. His kisses had been light, but her lips tingled nonetheless.
Draco stared down at her, eyes wild with indecision, and Hermione realized she would have to make the next move. She could still remember the feel of his muscles against her as he'd held her the day before and she yearned for that again, but there was something about this moment—some charge in the air—that made this feel so much more tense.
This moment was real.
She shifted forward until her feet were surrounding one of his. Her chest pressed softly against his. He was taller than she was, so she leaned forward and gently pressed a kiss to his throat, right above his pulse point. His heart was racing.
"I'm here for you," she said, kissing that spot again. His hands came up and cupped her shoulders gently, and when she looked back at his face, his eyes were pressed tightly closed.
His breaths were coming rapidly now and when she pushed up onto her tiptoes, when her hands slipped up his chest and found the back of his beck and the slightly overgrown, baby-soft hair there, his breath caught.
"I came here to get away from you," he breathed, but she stayed where he was. "I couldn't stand to see him kiss you."
Hermione studied his face as he studied the backs of his own eyelids. She tried to force confidence she didn't feel. He was so handsome, and while she remembered all the times this same face had sneered at her, belittled her, hurt her, she also remembered all the smiles and easy conversation from the last year.
With hands that still trembled slightly, she reached up and barely cupped his face. His blonde stubble was rough and she realized she'd never seen him without a smooth-shaven face.
"I want you to kiss me, Draco," she said, her voice unintentionally sultry. "Not Ron, or—" she hesitated, but the words felt right. "Or anyone else." She was taking a risk. A leap. They'd kissed only once before this, and here she was saying she only wanted him to kiss her—just as possessive as he'd been. He could run from this and never look back.
He gazed into her eyes for a long, tense moment before he captured her lips again. His hands slid down her arms to her waist and he pulled her flush against him, but her feet stayed on the ground this time.
He held her against him, his arms around her, his hands rubbing her back as his mouth devoured hers slowly and deeply. She reciprocated, pushing back up onto her toes in order to kiss him more thoroughly, letting her hands explore the muscles in his shoulders, the back of his neck, the tops of his arms.
She grew lightheaded as his lips moved from her lips down the side of her neck. She gasped and clutched him as he nibbled her ear. When he moved to the front of her throat, she threw her head back and clutched him even tighter as his open-mouthed kisses over the soft skin there made her knees grow weak.
He found her mouth again and she sighed as she pressed into him a little more, wanting to get closer and closer.
"I want this," she gasped between kisses. "I want—"
"I want you," he growled, his hands gripped her waist and sending ripples of desire and pleasure into her abdomen. "All of you."
She thought he meant all of her physically and her fingers and toes tingled with the thought, but something about his tone, the way he looked at her, the way he held her—tightly, but gently, as if she might break—suggested he meant more than just her body.
Her mind raced along with her heart as she tried to formulate a response. His lips were hot and their breaths mingled in a way that made her wish this moment could last forever. His fingers slipped beneath her jumper and barely touched the overheated skin of her lower back and she wanted nothing more than to rip their clothes away and press her flesh to his.
She was a heartbeat from doing so, could feel how his own movements had become more insistent, suggesting he was ready to do the same when a loud knock on the door caused them both to start and jump slightly apart, though they still clung to one another.
With chests heaving and cheeks flushed, she looked up at him, but his eyes were already on her.
"Who could that be?" she asked, noting with a hint of pride that his lips were swollen and it was thanks to her.
Before Draco could say a word, they got their answer.
"I know you're in there, Draco," came a female voice from the other side of the door. "Your mother told me where to find you. You can't avoid me forever."
Draco's eyes met Hermione's and she saw panic there. "It's Astoria Greengrass," he whispered, clinging to her a little more tightly. "The witch my mother wants me to marry."