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Chapter 4 –

Draco thought Granger had beautiful eyes, a deep chocolate brown. When she was examining herself in the mirror, he had the urge to turn her around and look at them more closely. She probably would have hexed him.

To think, she thought there was something wrong with her. Crazy girl.

He sat down on the floor in the upstairs hall, and to his delight, she sat down next to him. He said, "So, what game can we play now?"

"I don't know, you're good at picking the activities, you decide," she said.

"We could snoop around the house," he said.

"That's not nice," she repeated her words from earlier.

"Granger, Granger, Granger," he said, shaking his head in disapproval, "I hate to keep reminding you of this, but I never once said I was nice. No one has ever said I was nice. Who wants to be nice? Nice is boring. Nice is ordinary. Nice is mundane."

"I want to be nice. Does that mean that I'm boring, ordinary, and mundane?" she asked. He had the urge to touch her for some reason. Right then. In the hallway, as they sat on the floor, side by side. He put his hands in his lap, do thwart off temptation.

Draco said, "You are nice, but on you, it works. It's part of your appeal."

She said, "My appeal? Thanks, and you know you've been very nice to me today."

"It's all an act," he smiled lazily.

She smiled as well and put her hands in her lap. Maybe she wanted to touch him, too, he thought. She said, "It's hot up here. Let's go back outside, where there is at least a breeze."

"No snooping?" he asked, watching her stand.

"No snooping," she repeated. He got up on his knees first and she reached out her hand. Was that for him? He took her hand and let her help him stand.

"How chivalrous of you. You are quite the gentleman," he said.

"I'm a lady," she joked.

"I need definitive proof, before I make my final judgment," he said. He leaned his right shoulder against the wall.

"What kind of proof?" she asked, standing up straight, a bit put out.

"Let me see some female anatomy, and then I might be swayed into believing you're a lady," he said.

"You are a pervert," she said, laughing. She started down the hall.

"Just a quick look," he said.

She turned to look at him as she started down the stairs, "NO!"

He ran in front of her. He said, "Maybe a quick feel? Either breast would do."

She looked shocked, but she had a large grin on her face. She hit his arm and said, "Never!"

"Never?" he asked back.

"Draco Malfoy, you are a sick pervert," she said, trying to step past him. She tripped on the very last step, and fell on her knees. Her hands reached out to catch her as she fell on the landing below. Several of the guests from the wedding were in the kitchen, as well as Harry. Everyone rushed up to her, including Malfoy, who was on the landing.

"Did Malfoy push you?" Harry joked.

Draco reached down to help her up. She accepted his hand. He kept her hand in his and escorted her over to sit at the kitchen table.

"Your other hand is bleeding," Draco said, as he kneeled down beside her chair. He let go of her good hand, and took her injured hand in both of his. "I can heal you," he said.

"Its fine, and I'm a healer, I'll fix it myself," she said. By this time, a small group had gathered around. Hermione felt prying eyes from every corner on her and Draco. He still had her injured hand in his. She leaned close to him and said, "Its fine. I'll go back upstairs to the bathroom, and I'll be right back down." She stood up and went back upstairs.

Draco stood up. Potter was staring right at him, with a menacing look. Harry said, "What's your angle?"

"Excuse me?" Draco asked.

"You and Hermione. What's going on?" Harry asked more specifically.

"Nothing. We're just having a nice time at a wedding, is anything wrong with that? Would you rather that she had stayed at the chapel, had a good cry, and then forgo the reception for a bottle of vodka and some ice cream at home, all by her self?" Draco rattled.

Before Harry could process what Draco said, Hermione came back down and held out her hand. "All better," she said. There was still a small scratch, but the bleeding had stopped. "It might scar," she added.

"Scars give you character," Harry said, with a smile.

"Scars make you a character," Draco said. "Come Granger, we have a game to play," he said, holding out his hand for her. He held out his arm earlier, and she took it. Would she now take his hand? She took it when she was injured, so what would be the harm if she took it now? She looked at his hand, then at Harry. She took Draco's hand and said, "See you in a bit, Harry. We're off to play a game, I guess."

They went out to the front porch. There was an old white wooden swing hanging from the porch, suspended by a rusted chain. The paint was peeled, and some of the spindles from the back were missing. Draco steered them toward the swing, and they both sat at the same time.

"Do you think it will handle our weight?" she asked.

"It will mine, now yours is another thing," he said.

"You aren't nice, are you?" she said, actually amused at what he said.

Ignoring her disparagement on his character, he said, "What to play, what to play…let me think for a moment."

"Oh, heavens," Hermione said, "If you have to think, we'll be here all day."

"You're not that nice, either, I've just decided," he said to her.

"I know a game!" she said excited. She turned in the swing to face him. "We have to pick a fictional character or someone from history, and the other person has to ask ten questions, and we have to remain in character when answering. The other person tries to guess who we are."

He looked at her as if he just tasted something bad. Was she barking mad? That sounded boring. "I don't think so, as you've already concluded about me, I don't like to think too hard, and that game sounds like it requires a lot of brain power. I think we'll play the game of Truth or Dare."

"No, I'm not eleven years old," she said.

"Let's play Dare or Dare."

"No."

"Let's play Truth or Truth."

"No way."

"Let's play spin the bottle."

"With only two people? No, I'm not thirteen either."

"Let's play pin the tale on the weasel," he finally said.

"You go get the weasel, and we can play," she said.

By this time, he was swinging them quite high. She had her feet tucked under her body, since they were of no use. He was the pilot and the navigator. Hermione finally said, "Don't swing us so high, I seriously doubt this swing will hold us."

"Is Granger scared?" he mocked, swinging even higher. The rusted chains squeaked and squealed. Hermione looked up to the ceiling of the porch, to make sure the chains were secure in the eyehooks.

She said, "Please slow down."

"No!" he said. With that said, he jumped forward, landed on the floor of the porch, and the swing bounced all around. He put his hand on one of the chains to stop the movements.

After it stopped, she stood up and said, "You, Malfoy, are an arse!"

She walked back in the house.

In a very bad mood.

Damn it!

Draco opened the screen door. She sat on the couch. There was some redheaded Weasley relative in a comfortable armchair in the corner of the living room, fast asleep. Draco sat beside her on the couch.

"Are you angry with me?" he asked, not really concerned, because if she was, he was sure it would be short lived. He could just 'up' the charm a bit more, and all would be forgiven.

"No, I'm not really angry," she said. That surprised him. He might still 'up' the charm, just for the hell of it. Just because he wanted to, and just because she might want him to.

"Good," he said. He got up and left the room.

She was going to call out to him, saying, 'I said I wasn't angry,' but he had already gone through the kitchen, and out the back door.

How strange.

He stepped back in and said, "Come on, Granger." He held out his hand again.

"Where are we going?" she asked, taking his hand as she stood up. In his other hand, he held up a bottle of wine, unopened, and two wine glasses. "Are we going to get sloshed?" she quizzed.

"If I'm lucky," he smiled.

"Where to?" she asked.

"The roof, but of course," he said to her.

She shook her head slightly and said, "I don't think so. I hate heights."

"Too bad," he said. He still had her hand. He disapparated with her to the roof. She had no choice but to follow. Maybe she would be scared and have to hold on to him for dear life.

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