A/N: This chapter is a little longer than usual. Hope you enjoy!
Chapter Four
After the Potions lesson, Harry caught up to Hermione in the corridor.
"Are you OK, Hermione?" Harry asked. Then, without waiting for a response, he spat, "I can't believe Professor Slughorn has put you with Malfoy. You would've been put with Cormac McLaggen, too, if Malfoy hadn't gone and opened his big mouth. D'you want me to ask McGonagall to try and get you out of it? Because-"
"No!" Hermione cried sharply, spinning on her heel to stare at Harry with wide eyes.
Harry blinked back at her, evidently confused by her strong reaction.
Harry doesn't know about the plot, she reminded herself. As far as he was concerned, Hermione had just been paired with not only the biggest tosser in Hogwarts, but one with a particular hatred of Muggle-borns; it was no wonder he was worried about Hermione's wellbeing. Well, Malfoy was still a tosser who hated Muggle-borns, she considered, but at least he'd promised to be nice for the duration of their ruse.
As she thought this she couldn't help feeling a prickle of guilt. She felt awful keeping such a big secret from Harry, especially when he was so concerned for her; she wanted nothing more than to tell him about the plan. But she'd promised Malfoy she wouldn't tell anyone, and her characteristic Gryffindor sense of honour prevented her from going back on that promise.
"No," Hermione sighed. Thinking quickly, she added, "I don't want Professor Slughorn thinking that I'm not capable of completing my schoolwork. He's a new teacher, too, and this is the first major assignment he's ever given us, so I'd rather not start the year by making a poor impression."
Worry clouded over Harry's gaze. In a lower voice, he said, "Are you sure, Hermione? I saw how Malfoy upset you in class. Professor Slughorn might be a Slytherin, but he's not a bad man; I'm sure he'd understand if you explained what a prejudiced git Malfoy is."
"That's alright," Hermione said. "It's only for a week, anyway. I can deal with Malfoy for seven days." Seeing Harry's doubtful expression, she added, "But if he becomes really unbearable, I'll go and speak with Professor McGonagall."
She decided to change the subject before Harry could push her on it further.
"Where's Ron?" she said, making a show of looking around the corridor for him.
"Taking Lavender to the hospital wing," he said glumly. "Apparently the Mandrake scream made her faint, but I think she was putting it on a bit so that Ron would fuss over her, to be honest. It was only a baby Mandrake. It's not like anyone else fainted."
Hermione sniffed. "How pathetic that some girls feel the need to go to such extraordinary lengths to get a man's attention."
And you're not? a voice whispered in Hermione's head.
"I wish I could say that it's just Lavender being crazy, but Ron seems pretty obsessed with her, too," Harry said miserably, kicking a crumpled ball of parchment on the floor. "Hey, I was thinking after our lesson today, Hermione. You don't think Lavender's slipped Ron a love potion, do you?"
"That would be impossible," Hermione argued. "You saw today how complicated Amortentia is to make. I hardly think a successful dose of Amortentia would be within the talents of – of someone like Lavender."
"Well, maybe not Amortentia, exactly," Harry went on. "But a less potent love potion, maybe. I know that Fred and George sell love potions at their shop in Diagon Alley. Maybe she got it from there."
Harry's words suddenly made an idea sprout in Hermione's mind. Maybe… maybe she should slip Ron a love potion. It would certainly make Ron forget all about Lavender. And, most crucially, she wouldn't have to bother with performing this convoluted ruse with a prime tosser like Malfoy. She would have some Amortentia to hand once she'd finished Professor Slughorn's assignment. Amortentia was very tricky to make correctly, but if anyone could do it, it would be her.
But there were numerous problems with that idea which made Hermione dismiss it as untenable. The first was that it was completely and utterly unethical. Creating a ruse to make Ron jealous was one thing, but spiking Ron with a dangerous potion to make him fall in love with her was quite another. It went against all her longstanding and strongly-held beliefs on consent. Another was that, quite simply, she didn't want to make Ron fall in love with her because of a love potion. She wanted him, first and foremost, to feel the same jealousy and hurt she'd felt when she saw him kissing Lavender. If he happened to discover his feelings for Hermione in the process, then all the better. But if he did, she wanted him to love her for her. It wouldn't exactly do wonders for her plummeting self-esteem to know that her crush would only give her a second glance when off his head on Amortentia.
She also didn't know how Malfoy would react if she told him she wanted to pull out of their agreement, she thought with a prickle of dread. Malfoy was relying on their ruse to get out of marrying a Pure-blood girl. If she did anything to endanger that, she wouldn't put it past someone as cruel and conniving as Malfoy to tell Ron about her plans – or worse.
She realised Harry was still waiting for her answer.
"It's possible," Hermione pondered. "But I don't think it's very likely. The sort of love potions Fred and George sell aren't particularly potent. If she did drug Ron, it would have worn off my now, surely."
"Maybe," Harry said apprehensively.
The two walked the rest of the way to their next lesson in a comfortable silence. Hermione let her thoughts turn to Malfoy, who she would have to meet for the homework assignment tonight. A strange feeling fluttered in her stomach at the prospect, which Hermione put down to nerves. After the profound way in which he'd rejected her in class, she had no idea how he would be with her tonight.
She threw back her head, supressing a sigh. Just what have I gotten myself into?
In the Slytherin Common Room, Draco was also apprehensive about meeting Granger that evening.
He was languishing on a green leather sofa, watching the hands of the grandfather clock in one corner of the room tick closer to ten o'clock. He was comfortably full after dinner, and warm near the fire that was blazing away in the hearth. Normally he would be dosing off right about now, but tonight he was itching to meet Granger and get their assignment – and their plotting – over and done with. The letter his parents had sent him was still looming ominously over his head, and he knew they would be expecting a response from him updating them on his progress soon. The sooner he could get to work and derail his parents' plans for him, the better.
He would've liked to have been alone with his thoughts, but news of his pairing with Granger for the assignment had spread like wildfire among the Slytherin students. Most found it hilarious that Draco had been paired with the student he hated most in all of Hogwarts (except Harry, of course) and had been teasing him about it all day. Draco couldn't believe how stupid the lot of them were. As if he would allow himself to be paired with an insufferable Mudblood if he didn't want to. He'd have written to his parents and arranged to be placed with a different partner quicker than you could say 'My father will hear about this'.
It wasn't long before Blaise Zabini and some of the other Slytherins joined him on the sofa, no doubt to rub his face in his predicament for the hundredth time that day.
"Not going to bed yet, Draco?" Blaise grinned, throwing his arm over the back of the sofa. "I would've thought you'd be tired after such a long day brewing potions with Gryffindors."
"He's probably staying up so he can shag someone in the Room of Requirement after hours," Theodore Nott remarked, looking up from the book he was reading. "That's what you were doing last night, wasn't it, Draco?"
Pansy, who had also joined them, looked displeased at this information.
"Haven't you heard, Theodore?" Blaise said, his grin spreading wider. "Draco's been paired with Hermione Granger for a homework assignment. He has to meet her every night for the next week to work on a love potion."
Theodore wiggled his eyebrows. "Sounds romantic."
"Please," Draco said ill-temperedly, "it's Granger. She couldn't attract a Hippogriff in heat."
The Slytherins tittered. Pansy laughed especially loudly, as if Draco had just told a particularly funny joke. The sound of it grated on Draco's ears.
"In fairness," Theodore offered, "Granger is pretty much the best in our year at Potions. At least if you're paired with her you can guarantee to get a good grade."
"Yeah, but is worth putting up with her Mudblood stench?" Blaise snorted.
For some reason, Blaise's comment annoyed him. He was sick of everyone in Slytherin having a stiffy for Pure-bloods, especially when that line of thinking resulted in his parents pressuring him to marry some Pure-blood cow.
Ugh, my marriage…
Draco closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You know, Blaise, you're starting to sound like my father."
Blaise shrugged. "It was just a joke, mate. As long as you're getting enough sleep to win the Quidditch match against Gryffindor this weekend, I don't really care."
There was a murmur of assent amongst the Slytherin students – except Pansy, who flicked back her hair with a disdainful sniff.
"Speak for yourself, Blaise," she said contemptuously. "I, for one, don't want Draco bringing her Mudblood stench back into the common room."
Draco whipped round, his nose wrinkled in a snarl. "Then maybe you should stay away instead of throwing your pathetic carcass at me every five minutes."
Pansy flinched. Silence fell on the Slytherins, who were staring at Draco with stunned expressions.
Draco let out a sigh. He knew he'd been too harsh on Pansy; he was just so irritated by the letter his parents had sent him, and Pansy was a constant if unknowing reminder of his predicament. He felt a little guilty – Pansy didn't know how annoying she was being, after all – but he wasn't about to apologise. He was Draco fucking Malfoy. He didn't do apologies.
"I'd better go," he muttered, rising to his feet. "Wish me luck."
Draco left the common room, ignoring the curious gazes burning into his back. He lit the tip of his wand with a hasty Lumos charm and made his way down the dark corridors to the Potion classroom.
When he arrived, Granger was waiting for him outside with an angry expression. Her arms were crossed and she was tapping her foot.
"You're late," she said accusingly.
"Despite what you may think, Granger, I actually have better things to do than stir potions with insufferable Mudbloods."
She ignored his slur. "Well, see that you're on time tomorrow," she huffed. "I don't want to spend my evenings waiting around for you to show up."
They pushed their way into the Potions classroom. Moonlight was filtering in through the windows, casting long shadows across the floor and turning the brown stone of the chamber to silver. Hermione suddenly felt very strange about being alone in the classroom with Draco after curfew. It felt like she was breaking the rules, even though she was perfectly within her rights to be here for the purposes of the assignment. She remembered Draco telling her how he often took girls to the Room of Requirement, and wondered if he'd ever made love to any girls in an empty classroom instead.
Draco was clearly not feeling so uncomfortable. He strode confidently ahead to the storage cupboard at the back of the classroom where their potion was brewing, then flung it open. For a moment Hermione and Draco just stood there, looking at each other expectantly.
"Well, aren't you going to get our cauldron?" she said impatiently.
"Me, carry our cauldron? Do I look like a fucking house elf to you, Granger?"
"Well, one of us has to carry it-"
"You carry it, then. Problem solved."
"Don't be ridiculous, Malfoy. You're much stronger than I am. It would make far more sense for you to carry it."
"I can always summon a house elf if you're too much of a weakling, Granger…"
"Fine," Hermione finally snapped. She was not going to renege on her commitment to house elf rights over the sake of carrying a cauldron. "I'll carry it, then."
Hermione stood on her tiptoes and reached for the cauldron, with some difficulty since she was short and their cauldron was on the top shelf near the back. Draco was watching her struggle with evident satisfaction, which angered Hermione even more. She finally took the cauldron, staggering a little under its weight, and thrust it with a thump on the table.
She brushed away her hair, which was already beginning to clump with sweat on her forehead.
"Now, I've read up on Amortentia in Advanced Potion Making," she said, a bit breathlessly, "and apparently, the potion is at its most potent if you stir it under direct moonlight, rather than moonlight that has passed through a window or such like. Therefore, I think we ought to take it outside to stir. It's more potent if we stir it by the light of a waxing moon, too, with a full moon on the seventh and final night, but I suppose we can't control that…"
Draco cast his eyes to the ceiling, biting back the urge to remind her what a gargantuan swot she was. "If we must, Granger."
He went to the door, casting his eyes back at Hermione, who was struggling to lift the cauldron back up.
"We don't have all night, Granger," he drawled.
Prat, Hermione thought privately.
They made their way from the classroom to the grounds, Draco striding ahead while Hermione wrestled with the cauldron some lengths behind him. At first it was amusing to watch her struggling to carry his things, like the little Mudblood servant she ought to be, but after a while Draco began to grow impatient at her slow pace. After Hermione slopped about half of the potion he'd worked so hard to make going down the stairs, he decided that he'd had enough.
"Give that here, Granger," he said irritably, snatching the cauldron from her arms. "You're slower than a one-legged giant."
Hermione once again felt that strange jolt when their arms brushed, but it was quickly drowned by her feelings of loathing for the Slytherin.
"Thank you, Malfoy," she hissed through gritted teeth.
They moved much quicker from then on, and it wasn't long before they reached the grounds. Hermione had to bundle her robes around her for warmth as a chill September wind swept up from the moors and stirred her curls. The Hogwarts grounds stretched before them, dusky blue slopes falling away into the swathes of pines that made up the Forbidden Forest. The moon was only a pale sliver in the sky but it was bright and unobstructed by clouds, to Hermione's relief.
She thought they'd stir the potion here and now but Malfoy kept walking, heading down in the direction of the Herbology greenhouses.
"Where are you going, Malfoy?" she said. "We can't stir the potion in the greenhouses. As I said, the potion is less potent if the moonlight is obstructed by-"
"I'm not going in the greenhouses, you idiot," he snapped. "Just be a good girl and follow me, would you?"
Hermione considered making a retort over about his patronising remark but decided it would be easier to just do as he said. He stopped at a little garden behind the greenhouses, which Hermione guessed must be for plants that could only grow outside. A small silver tree grew in the centre of the garden, with apples that looked suspiciously as though they were made of solid gold. Fireflies hovered lazily through the air, illuminating pots of flowers and a cluster of toadstools that sneezed when Hermione looked at them.
"Is there a particular reason you've brought us all the way down here?" Hermione said crossly, wrapping her robes around her more tightly. I would've brought a coat if I'd known we were going so far into the castle grounds.
"I used to shag girls here when the Room of Requirement was occupied," Draco said, taking the silk cover off the cauldron. "The greenhouses obstruct us from view of the castle."
"And what good is that, may I ask? Surely the whole point of the ruse is that people see us being lovey-dovey to each other."
"They don't need to see us just yet," Draco growled. "Just knowing that we're spending time in each other's company will be enough for now. Anyway, I thought it would be good to have somewhere we could discuss the ruse without being disturbed, since you were so incapable of being subtle about it in Potions."
Hermione couldn't deny that she felt a bit uncomfortable being here with Malfoy, alone and out of sight and earshot of anyone else in Hogwarts. She still hadn't forgotten the way he'd grabbed her in the corridor the other night, and how it'd made her feel: like there was some dark streak in Draco that was willing to rape her or even kill her because she was a Muggle-born. You're being silly, she told herself. She tried to hide her fear by busying herself with her Potions book, illuminating the pages with a trembling wand.
"I-It says here that we have to stir in seven times anti-clockwise, then re-cover it with the silk cloth," she said. "But we have to it gradually, not all at once."
Draco snorted. "This homework assignment is ridiculous. I'm missing out on precious sleep, here. Why do we even have to stir it by moonlight, anyway?"
"Well, as well as werewolves, the moon has a powerful effect on love, and in particular lovesickness," Hermione explained smartly. "It's because of this that the moon has traditionally been used as a symbol of love in art and literature. Moonlight imbues the potion with the quality of lovesickness, which feeds into the drinker's obsession for-"
"I don't care, Granger," Draco said flatly. "Let's just get on with it."
Hermione glowered at him. Wordlessly, she took the ladle she'd brought with her and stirred the potion once.
"Do you want to make notes on the potion, then?" she said briskly. "Slughorn asked us to document any changes, after all."
Draco leaned lazily against the tree. "I think I'll let you do that part, actually."
"But I'm busy stirring the potion – this is meant to be a team effort…"
"Do it after, then."
Granger felt a rush of irritation at Draco's unwillingness to help, though at the same time she felt slightly relieved that she wouldn't have to risk her grade being impacted by any mistakes he made. After stirring the potion, she took out her quill and scribbled on some parchment: Aroma is slightly stronger after brewing for the day. Potion still lacks characteristic mother-of-pearl sheen, however.
She finished writing. Suddenly Hermione felt very awkward. They still had a good five minutes to go before it was time to stir the potion again, and she didn't know how she was supposed to fill this time. She'd met with Malfoy alone before, obviously, and it hadn't been awkward then, but that was different – they'd had pressing matters to discuss then. She swung her arms and shifted her weight to the balls of her feet. Draco watched her with narrowed eyes.
"So," she said with a false cheeriness, "what's happening with your marriage, then? You suggested that you didn't like the Pure-blood girls your parents had picked out for you, but you never told me about it properly."
Draco looked away. "Why do you care?"
"I don't," Hermione insisted, her bright expression falling into a scowl. "I'm just trying to pass the time."
"Then pass the time without being an irritating troll-arse."
"Have you forgotten," Hermione said, her voice rising a few octaves, "the rules we agreed on, Malfoy?"
Be nice. Ugh, he thought. How could he forget?
Reluctantly, he turned back to Hermione. "Look, not like you'd know anything about it, but for Pure-blood families, it's common to get married when you come of age at seventeen. I'm obviously going to be seventeen this year, so my parents sent me a letter telling me that they want me to marry another Pure-blood girl – and soon, in case they all get snapped up by other suitors." He kicked a flowerhead bad-temperedly. "The problem is that my choices are limited to Pansy Parkinson, Daphne Greengrass, Millicent Bulstrode and Hannah fucking Abbott. I don't want to marry any of them – not now, anyway."
"I thought you liked Pansy Parkinson," Hermione said gingerly. "Didn't you go to the Yule Ball with her in fourth year?"
"She's alright," Draco admitted, "as a friend. But she would drive me up the wall if I had to marry her. We had – well, we were shagging each other last year, to be frank – and she got really weird with me. Started acting like she was my girlfriend, or something." He gave a disdainful sniff. "As if I would ask Pansy to be my girlfriend. Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?"
The disrespectful attitude with which Malfoy spoke about women – even Pansy – outraged Hermione.
"Well, why buy the pig when all you want is a little sausage?" she countered.
Draco glanced at her. She thought she saw the corners of his mouth twitch in the beginnings of a smile.
By this point, a few minutes had passed. Hermione gave the potion another stir.
"OK, so you're using the ruse to get out of marrying one of the Pure-blood girls in our year," Hermione went on. "My guess was that if your parents saw you fall in love with some other girl, they'd relent and let you marry her instead. But what are we going to do then? It's one thing for us to pretend to date, but we naturally can't get married."
The thought of marrying Draco made a blush creep up Hermione's neck. But her bashfulness was short-lived when Draco gave a humourless bark.
"Merlin, Granger, for someone so intelligent, you can be surprisingly dense," he said. "My father would be struck down by lightning twice before he ever allowed me to marry a Mudblood. And my ancestors would be turning in their graves so fast that they'd generate enough electricity to strike him down a third time, if we ever did marry. But that's exactly the point." His grey eyes gleamed silver in the moonlight. "If they found out I'd fallen in love with a Mudblood, they'd be so horrified that they'd tolerate me marrying a Pure-blood – or even a half-blood – much later on. It's a bit like the time I smashed up this thousand-Galleon broomstick my father bought me as a child. I decided to run away from home; and by the time I came back, they were so concerned about me going missing that they'd forgotten all about the poxy broomstick."
A mixture of feelings rushed through Hermione as Draco finished speaking: shock that he'd paid her a compliment by calling her intelligent; surprise that a wizard like him knew how electricity was generated; but most of all, humiliation that she was considered so disgusting by wizarding society that Malfoy's parents were willing to break tradition, something considered very important by Slytherin families like theirs. Malfoy and his friends regularly called her a Mudblood, and she'd learned to tune it out – she knew they were mostly just saying it to get a rise out of her. But what Malfoy had told her was confirmation that there were real, prejudiced bigots in wizarding society who truly believed Hermione's parentage made her lower than dirt. And it felt awful.
She stirred the potion with her back to Malfoy, trying to hide how badly his words had hurt her.
"Well, I'm glad to be of service," she said flatly.
"I knew you Mudbloods were good for something," he drawled, though Hermione thought that his words sounded more teasing than malicious.
"Can't you just tell them 'no'?" Hermione said savagely, feeling a rush of anger towards his parents. "You know – tell them to take their Pure-blood supremacist nonsense and shove it up their backside."
Draco did not answer for a moment. When Hermione turned to look at him, he was running his hands through his pale hair with a strained expression on his face.
"You don't understand," he said finally. "I'm a Pure-blood. A Malfoy. My family expect a lot from me, as does every other bloody witch and wizard – didn't you hear Slughorn in class today when I told him my name? I have to get the best marks in class. I have to win every game in Quidditch. I have to marry some Pure-blood bitch and have perfect little children who I'll probably place pressure on, too. And when all that is done and I've left Hogwarts, I'll probably have to get some important and influential role in the Ministry, like my father. I can't just – just swan around – being average. I'd be betraying my family name if I did."
Hermione was silent as she took in Malfoy's words. They surprised her. Malfoy was always bragging about how important and rich his family were. She never considered the possibility that he might feel burdened by his status.
"I see," she said quietly. Then, she added, "I do understand though, Malfoy. I'm not a Pure-blood, but I know how it feels to constantly have to prove yourself. For some reason, people seem to think that Muggle-borns aren't as good with magic as other witches and wizards."
Now it was Draco's turn to feel surprised. He knew that Hermione was an unbearable swot, of course, but he didn't realise that she tried so hard because she didn't want people to think she was some talentless Muggle-born. With a stab of guilt, Draco realised that it was people like him who were fuelling such prejudices.
Hermione busied herself with stirring the potion again, but an odd atmosphere still hung in the air. The realisation that Hermione Granger, of all people, probably understood him better than some of his closest friends in Slytherin left this strange sense of intimacy that Draco was certain would be gone by the morning. It was if some invisible fairies had sprung up from the garden around them and cast a spell to make up go down and wrong things right.
Hermione clearly felt it, too. "Malfoy," she said after a pause, "you know you said you normally shag girls behind the greenhouses?"
"Mm?"
"Well," she continued, and Draco noticed that she was looking very bashful, "what's it like?"
"What, shagging on a hill behind some greenhouses?" he drawled sarcastically. "Dirty. Obviously."
"No, I mean…" She gestured vaguely with her hands. "Making love. In general."
"Making love," Draco echoed mockingly. "I assure you, Granger, there was nothing to do with love involved when I was railing Tracey Davis amongst the garden shrubs. Just call it what it is: fucking."
"That's a horrible word for it! I'd won't-"
"Say it," Draco growled, advancing towards her.
"No!"
"Say it."
"Fine!" Hermione said, exasperated. "Fucking."
Hermione had backed up against the tree, and Draco was now so close to her that his breath was tickling the curls on her forehead. He was suddenly aware of how much smaller she was than him. It was like he were a wolf and she were a defenceless deer. He could have snapped her arm like a twig, or held her down amongst the flowers and raped her, and so long as she didn't have her wand to hand there would be nothing she could do. If he wanted.
He could get away with it, too. There would be no-one around to see him Obliviate her after; and even if that didn't work there would be no witnesses to support her if she told. He would just write to his father, and his father would pull some strings and convince the Board of Governors that Hermione was a notorious liar and Draco a model student who had never so much as put a toe out of line. There would be no need for Occlumency or Veritaserum. Not even his father would chastise him – they wouldn't care what he did with a Mudblood.
"So you are a virgin," Draco breathed.
"And what does it matter if I am?" Hermione protested. Her breath was hot and sweet against his face. "In fact, it doesn't matter if I've fucked a hundred men or none at all. Virginity is just some ridiculous concept invented to control witches."
It probably didn't matter, in truth. Draco had shagged both virgins and girls he would've referred to as 'sluts', and he'd never actually noticed a difference down there. Still, he couldn't deny that the thought of Granger being a virgin made his cock stir slightly in his trousers. He thought of touching her in places she'd never been touched before and feeling her collapse, trembling, under his fingers. He thought of sliding his cock into her perfect, untouched slit, and imagined the pride that would come with being the one to finally tame Gryffindor's lioness.
"Do you masturbate, Granger?" he said softly.
Hermione's face flushed red. "Well, I obviously wouldn't tell you if I did," she said hotly. "And not because I'm ashamed of it either, mind, because masturbation is a perfectly normal and healthy thing to do, and it's deeply sexist that wizards can talk openly about it whereas witches can't, so-"
"Well, it feels like that," Draco said, leaning back against the silver tree and closing his eyes, "but better. Much better. And," he added after a moment's pause, "it's… cosy."
Draco half-opened his eyes to see Hermione staring at him in bewilderment.
"Cosy," she repeated. "Right. Care to elaborate?"
"Well, you're obviously physically close to them when you're doing the deed. Afterwards, you often cuddle with them for the rest of the night. And you can talk about things it would be weird to talk about in any other situation. Since you like your little euphemisms," he growled with a glance at her, "I would say that being intimate is probably the most accurate way to refer to it."
Hermione blinked, feeling stunned. She knew sex was meant to be a special thing between two people, and she'd heard people had 'pillow talk' after doing the deed, but she never expected Malfoy to appreciate that side of things. But the more she thought about it, the more it made sense. From what she'd seen, Draco didn't really have any proper friends he could talk to about important issues. His best friends were Crabbe and Goyle, but they were idiotic goons who were more like minions than friends; Hermione couldn't exactly imagine Draco opening up to them about his feelings. He was friends with some of the other Slytherins, too, like Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson, but they weren't as close, from what she could see. Talking to girls post-coitus was probably the closest Malfoy got to meaningful conversation.
She suddenly felt incredibly lucky to have a friend like Harry she could talk to about her feelings, even if she was concealing the plot from him.
For a moment they simply stared at each other. Draco realised that, although she was somewhat plain in daylight, Hermione seemed to blossom in the moonlight. It kissed her skin so that her cheeks looked as pale and smooth as porcelain, and it caught her hair so that her curls looked like little ribbons of light. Fumes were rising from the potion, the same sharp apple and musty oak smells as before, and went swirling round Draco's head until he felt dizzy. Hermione licked her lips, and the moonlight shone on the wetness there. Draco was gripped by a sudden urge to kiss them.
He grabbed her head and forced his lips upon hers.
Immediately Draco went reeling as Hermione's fist connected with his face for the second time since being at Hogwarts.
He glanced at her again to find her with her wand drawn and pointed at him. Her eyes were bright with a mixture of fear and fury.
"What," she said, her voice trembling with rage, "was that? And don't tell me this is part of the ruse," she added hotly, "because you said yourself that no-one can see us from here!"
Draco, who was rubbing his injured jaw, simply shrugged. "I felt like it."
Hermione lowered her wand by an inch or two but still looked furious. "You are the most spoilt, entitled excuse for a wizard I have ever met," she seethed. "A witch's body is not some toy you can play with when you feel like it. You aren't entitled to kiss me!"
"In my defence, Granger, girls normally like it when I kiss them."
"So not only do you have a complete lack of respect for boundaries, but you are also so arrogant that think that every witch in the world is falling over themselves to be harassed by you. Wonderful."
"I don't think, Granger. I know."
"Yes, you certainly don't 'think'," Hermione said, her voice growing shrill, "otherwise you would have remembered that one of the rules we agreed on was 'no funny business'!"
"Does it look like I'm laughing?" Draco drawled, deadpan.
Hermione gave an exasperated huff and turned to leave. Draco caught her wrist. Immediately she whipped round and pointed her wand at him, thinking that perhaps he would do worse than force a kiss on her, but to her surprise there was a somewhat curious expression on his face.
"Look, I'm sorry, alright?" His voice was strained, as if the words took him some effort to say. "I didn't mean to upset you." Just when Hermione thought he might be making a sincere, heartfelt apology and taking responsibility for his actions, he added, "It's – it's the fumes from this Amortentia. You know I'd never come near a little Mudblood like you normally. I can't exactly be held responsible for my behaviour under the influence of this."
Hermione yanked her arm out of his grip. "Fine," she spat. "But I'm going to bed, before the 'fumes' make you do something stupid again. You can finish stirring the potion and take it back to the classroom. It's about time you actually did something on this assignment!"
With that, Hermione stormed in the direction of the castle, her bushy curls bouncing almost comically as she went. Draco watched her leave, feeling with disappointing certainty that whatever spell they'd been under that night was now very much broken.