Chapter 9 - Prim, proper Hermione Granger's skirt
Hermione's in the Transfiguration classroom. The room is empty but for a black leather armchair in the centre of the room. She recognises it as the one she and Malfoy transfigured, though she can only see it from the back. She doesn't understand how it's here. They transfigured it back into a desk when they were done with it. And where are the desks, for that matter?
She walks slowly around the edge of the classroom. There's someone in the chair, she can see a black-trousered leg poking out from the side of her vision, but they're hiding their face in their robes.
Only when she's standing directly in front of the chair, does the person reveal themselves.
It's Malfoy, sitting like he's a king and their transfigured chair is his throne. He smiles, wide and genuine, his face lighting up when he sees her.
"Hermione," he says breathily. It's the first time she's ever heard him use her given name. "Come here."
She steps forward, smiling widely, her face a mirror of his. It feels so easy and familiar, like they do this all the time, even though she can't quite remember when. It doesn't matter. He smiles so beautifully.
Malfoy holds out his hand and she takes it, letting him help her climb sideways onto his lap.
She kisses him and he kisses her back, his lips soft and welcoming. There's a fluttering low in her stomach and she presses closer to him.
"Draco," she murmurs against his lips. "I've missed you."
He strokes a gentle hand over her hair and down the side of her neck. "I've missed you, too," he says.
Then he wraps both hands around her throat and squeezes.
She struggles against him, but his grip is too strong. She fumbles for her wand, but it's gone, she's lost it. Maybe she never had it at all.
The last thing she sees before she passes out are his grey eyes, dark with hatred and disgust.
Hermione wakes up desperate for breath.
She bolts up in bed, ripping her blankets off and shoving her hair away from her neck.
She gasps and heaves in air, scrambling for oxygen. It was a dream. She's safe. She's fine. Everything's fine.
Gradually, her breathing slows and the feeling of the dream falls away. In its place is the memory that triggered it. Earlier tonight when she… god, she can't even think it.
She rolls over, sticks her face in the mattress, and pulls a pillow over her head.
How could she have let this happen?
She nodded. She actually nodded. When he said she liked him, she fucking nodded.
And when he kissed her, she let him. She kissed him back.
Hermione can't even begin to process what this means. Malfoy. Her. Malfoy.
No one can ever know. Harry and Ron can never, never, ever know.
What has she done?
She peers through her bed curtains at the clock on her nightstand. 5:23am. Too early to wake up, not so early that she feels obligated to try to go back to sleep. It wouldn't be worth the risk of another nightmare.
She stares at the vengeful green of her bed curtains until she hears the rest of the girls in the dorm stirring, then she gets up. She smooths her hair, puts on her robes, and stands with her shoulders squared.
Nothing is wrong. Nothing is weird. It's Saturday. She gets to spend the whole day in Hogsmeade with Ron and Harry.
At breakfast, she eats quickly. Malfoy's not there and as soon as she's finished eating, she goes and hovers behind Harry and Ron at the Gryffindor table in the hopes of encouraging them to eat faster so they can get going before Malfoy makes an appearance.
It doesn't really work. Or, well, they eat quickly but they eat a lot, so it's a wash in the end. Either way, they make it past Filch's secrecy sensors and out of the castle as one of the first groups of students to leave.
"What's the rush again, Hermione?" Ron asks as they walk along the road into the village.
It's another dreary day, the clouds dark with the promise of yet more rain. The wind is already picking up.
"Just best to go before it gets too busy, don't you think?" she says with as much breeziness as she can manage.
Her reputation for practicality seems to be enough that her statement passes muster, and before long Harry and Ron move on, recounting an anecdote they seem to find amusing about a sinister sounding ankle-dangling spell from Harry's potions book. She maintains that nothing good can come from that book, and tells Harry as much.
It's not the chief thing on her mind, but it's a familiar enough argument that they can have it without too much extraneous thought on her end.
They make it to Honeydukes, where Hermione buys herself some chocolate, thinking that she could use a bit of a treat. They have a run-in with Slughorn, who praises Hermione, invites Harry to supper, and completely ignores Ron, leaving Ron in a foul mood.
Then on their way to the Three Broomsticks, they have a run-in with Mundungus Fletcher and a suitcase of stolen goods from Grimmauld Place, leaving Harry in a foul mood.
Once they're in the pub they see Ginny and Dean kissing, which puts both Ron and Harry in even fouler moods, scowling into their butterbeers.
"Are you all right, Hermione?" Harry asks after the fifth time her head snaps up at the sound of someone coming through the door. It's possible she's a little jumpy.
She just can't stop worrying about running into Malfoy. What would she even say? Or do? Or, oh Merlin, what would he say? What would he do?
"Yes, of course, I'm fine," she says, and drains the last of her butterbeer. "Shall we call it a day, then?"
The boys agree heartily and they head out of the pub, passing Theo and Neville walking in together on their way out. They trudge back up to the castle through driving sleet as the cold and wet seeps through Hermione's shoes and into her socks, all three of them lost in their own miserable thoughts.
What a bloody day. She wants nothing more than to take a long, hot bath and disappear into bed with a book. Then she'll go back to sleep and try again tomorrow.
But in front of them on the path, she hears the increasingly shrill cries of Katie Bell and a friend, and her first thought is that the last thing she needs today is to have to pull out her prefect's badge and break up a fight.
It turns out to be much worse than that. Katie Bell's been cursed by the necklace Hermione saw in Borgin and Burkes a few months ago. Imperiused as well, by the sounds of things.
So instead of a bath and a book, Hermione spends a good part of the rest of her day in McGonagall's office fielding questions about what they saw and listening to Harry talk about Malfoy and accuse him of being behind it all.
The whole thing would be marginally more bearable if she didn't go bright red every time someone mentioned his name.
Harry's accusations turn out to be baseless — Malfoy was in detention with McGonagall the whole time. Which explains why he was nowhere to be seen in Hogsmeade, at least.
In a way, it's a relief. Because she knows it could have been Malfoy. She believes he's capable of using an Unforgivable and cursing an innocent person.
But it's easier, for the sake of her personal sanity, if it wasn't him.
And now they know for certain that it wasn't.
Not that Harry's convinced. He spends so long going on about it that she can't take it anymore and feigns a headache. She retreats, as planned, to her dormitory and spends the rest of the day with her chocolate, a book, and Crookshanks for company.
It would be rather nice to stay like that forever.
On the other hand, whoever attacked Katie was aiming for someone else. Slughorn? Dumbledore? Or, worst of all, Harry?
Hermione stays up worrying about it for half the night and for several nights after that.
Until she falls asleep, at which point she has the same dream about Malfoy. Each time, she wakes up pulling at her neck and gasping for breath.
The worst part is, now she knows how it's going to end. Even in the dream, she knows he's going to choke her. She knows this dream doesn't have a happy ending.
Every time she goes to him when he asks.
Every time she kisses him anyway.
It's possible she's going insane. No one in their right mind would keep going back for more, knowing how it's going to end.
When she wakes up on the third night, after catching her breath, she attempts to be reasonable. She's Hermione Granger, after all. She's a reasonable person.
Dreams are just dreams. To believe otherwise would make her as bad as Professor Trelawney, with her ludicrous dream diaries and outlandish interpretations. Just because she's aware in the dream of the choice she's making and its consequences, that doesn't mean she'll make the same choice in real life.
Of course not. She's never going to kiss Draco Malfoy.
Again, she reminds herself miserably. You're never going to kiss Draco Malfoy again.
And that's a fact. She's been avoiding him successfully for three days now, how hard can it be to keep that up for the rest of term?
Hard, it turns out.
On Wednesday, Slughorn assigns the class a complex potion that requires three sets of hands to add ingredients, stir, and adjust the heat frequently, with multiple steps occurring simultaneously. He assigns the groups randomly and Hermione ends up with Malfoy and Ernie Macmillan.
"I suppose we'll just get started, then?" she says primly, once they've arranged themselves around their assigned cauldron. She doesn't spare Malfoy a single glance, seeing no reason to change her strategy of avoidance. "Step one is to slice the valerian root, dice the peel of blood orange, and grind the goat horn."
"Mind if I do the orange?" Ernie asks brightly.
Hermione nods.
"I'll handle the grinding then, shall I?" Malfoy says smoothly.
"Of course," Hermione says, clearing her throat and reaching for the knife for the valerian root.
"Did anyone get a chance to go into Hogsmeade on Saturday?" Ernie asks, boldly ignoring the tension and attempting to make conversation.
"For a bit, yes." Hermione says. "Horrible weather, though. We didn't stay long."
"No, us neither," Ernie says politely. He lowers his voice. "I heard you saw the — you know — the girl who got cursed?"
Malfoy fake-coughs loudly.
"Alright there, Malfoy?" Ernie asks.
"Fine, thanks," he says smoothly. "So I suppose you got quite wet on the walk back?" he asks, looking at Hermione.
"Er, yes, we all did," she says cautiously. "It was raining."
"Interesting."
"Why's that interesting?" Ernie asks.
No one answers him. Hermione chops her roots with determination.
They finish their respective tasks and gather the other ingredients from the store cupboard. Hermione sets up the cauldron and reads the next steps aloud.
"Here, I'll light your fire, Granger," Malfoy says, reaching over and lighting the space under the cauldron with his wand.
"Hers? Is there more than one?" Ernie asks, scanning the instructions in confusion.
Hermione furrows her brow and decides that this is a moment for carrying on like nothing's happening. She sets the orange peel to simmer in a litre of pond water and sets a timer for three minutes.
"Could I have the snakewood please?" she asks absently when the time is up.
"Oh is that what you're calling it?" Malfoy asks.
"Pardon?"
"Anytime Granger, anytime."
"What's happening?" Ernie asks, looking between them as he passes her the handful of cuttings from a snakewood tree.
"Absolutely nothing, Ernie. Thank you."
By Friday evening, Hermione's had enough.
She sits through dinner on Malfoy's left side, as per Pansy's ever inconvenient rules and Slytherin 'tradition'. He manages to work the words "kiss", "dangerous", and "knew it" into the conversation no fewer than six times each.
What his point is — other than driving her up the wall — she has no idea. Perhaps that is the point.
Either way, as she makes her way into the freezing common room after the library closes that evening, she does so with a purpose. She will be putting the Malfoy situation behind her once and for all.
She's going to speak with him, calmly but firmly, and express in no uncertain terms that she's not amused and it's time to leave what happened last week in the past.
She suspects he may not find that particularly motivating.
But she's not going to do nothing. It cannot carry on like this. She refuses to allow it. There is enough going on, all of it far more important than Draco Malfoy, and she will not be distracted. This has gone on long enough.
When she arrives in the common room, Malfoy is hogging the couch closest to the fire, reading. He's sprawled out, his head on the armrest, his tall frame reaching all the way to the end.
"Malfoy," she says, marching up to him. "I need to speak with you."
He barely lifts his head. "Only speak?" he drawls. "That's a surprise."
Hermione huffs. "I'm getting rather tired of this, Malfoy. We're going to discuss this like adults," she enunciates calmly. "Now, please move your feet so I can sit."
"No."
"For Merlin's sake," she mutters under her breath. She grabs the hem of his far pant leg and tugs, knocking both of his legs roughly to the floor.
He gasps and drops his book. Hermione takes the opportunity to sit. The couch is exceptionally comfortable and warm.
"Ah yes. Just like an adult, Granger." He raises an eyebrow at her. Then, he swings his legs back up and drops them in her lap. "I was here first."
She sputters and jerks her hands away from his feet, crossing her arms over her chest. "I — that's —"
"You're here, you've made me lose my place in my book. Just get on with it. Make your speech or whatever." He waves a hand, gesturing for her to begin.
She angles her head up and looks him in the eye, ignoring the warm weight of his feet on her legs. "I would like to discuss our… situation. What happened last week was regrettable, and I'm sure we can both agree, a one-off. There's no need for there to be any awkwardness or ongoing focus on what happened. I'm prepared to forget about it and go back to keeping a civil distance. Can you do the same?"
"I had no idea I was doing anything else. What exactly have I done to upset you?" His tone is polite, but his eyes flash in challenge.
He's going to make her say it.
The fire crackles in the grate in front of them. This close, the warmth is wonderful. No wonder he hogs this couch all the time.
"You keep making comments." She channels her inner McGonagall, and speaks with hawkish professionalism. "Of a sexual nature. And in reference to what happened."
"What happened being…?"
She grits her teeth and takes a deep breath. She will not bend. "The kiss," she hisses.
"If something I said reminded you of that, I'm sorry Granger. That wasn't my intention. Could it just be that you've been thinking about it?" A grin quirks at the corner of his mouth.
He's enjoying this.
"You've been doing exactly what I said you were doing and you're not going to make me believe something untrue, Malfoy."
He narrows his eyes at her, considering his next move.
"What do you think people are going to think?" he asks after a moment.
"Sorry?"
"About us. After tonight." He smirks.
"What do you mean tonight?" she asks tentatively, wondering what precisely he's playing at. "There's nothing happening tonight."
"Tell me, Granger," he begins casually. "If you walked into a common room and saw a boy and a girl sitting like this" — he gestures between them, his feet in her lap — "what would you think?"
She opens and closes her mouth several times.
"Nothing," she says definitively. "I would think nothing. I'm not even touching you!"
He laughs, once.
"Haven't I told you you're a bad liar? You'd think they were fucking."
"No, it would depend on who they were, their history," she protests. "Besides, that has nothing to do with anything and —"
"Doesn't it? I disagree." He sits up straighter, leaning his shoulder against the back of the couch. His feet jostle in her lap. "See, I'm not bothered what anyone thinks. But you are. That's why you didn't like what I said in Potions and at dinner. You're terrified that someone might find out." He points a finger at her. "Tell me I'm wrong."
"I — fine, you're not wrong. On this singular point only. It shouldn't be a surprise," she says, her pragmatic tone becoming more and more effortful. "No, I wouldn't like it if people knew, but it's not like you want it getting around either!"
"Who says?"
"Oh, you'd be fine with the whole school knowing you kissed a mudblood?"
"It's not about that," he says slowly, fixing her with his grey eyes. "No, not at all. It would be about the whole school knowing that I'd managed to get under prim, proper Hermione Granger's skirt. That she chose me over Weasley. Over Potter. That I won."
A shiver runs up her spine. She's so outraged she can't even speak for several seconds.
And even then, she says picks at the smallest point imaginable, in the scheme of things, no correction of the horrifying misogyny built into his statement, no assertion that she is not a prize to be won.
"You did not get under my skirt," she seethes.
"Not yet," he says, his smirk more pronounced than ever, and picks up his book as if the conversation is over.
Hermione takes several deep breaths and wills herself to focus. She came here to talk to Malfoy and convince him to leave her alone. Things have gone a bit off the rails, but she can get back on track, back in control.
She takes a moment, guiltily, to look around the room at who might have noticed them. Crabbe and Goyle are in the corner. They were playing some sort of game, but it looks like they're packing up now. They're not the gossipy type, anyway.
There are no other sixth years left in the common room. It's emptied out quite a lot since she arrived, actually. It must be getting late.
Malfoy stays where he is, reading his book and ever so often twitching a foot, making her jump.
She decides that the best course of action is to wait, see if they can manage to be the last ones in the common room. With some privacy maybe she can get him to relax, drop the facade, and listen to her.
She stares into the fire, absorbing the warmth until the last stragglers leave the common room.
"Draco," she says as soon as they're alone.
His head whips up. "What did you call me?"
"It's your name, isn't it?" she asks innocently.
"Mmhmm," he concedes hesitantly, narrowing his eyes.
"Draco," she says again softly, gently, tenderly, "why are you doing this? You don't like me. You've always hated me. Is it really all a game to you?"
She uncrosses her arms from her chest and lets them relax against Malfoy's ankles. He tenses. There it is – her control, sliding back within reach.
"What if it is?" he sneers. "Ever consider that I don't have a secret heart of Gryffindor Gold? Maybe I'm just not a good guy."
"I don't buy that excuse for a second," Hermione scoffs. "No one does anything just because they're 'bad'. People don't do things without a reason. Now tell me, what's yours?"
She is maybe beginning to lose sight of what she's trying to achieve here. There's trying to unnerve him, there's trying to insist he leave her alone, and then there's just… curiosity.
"Don't tell me you think I'm a good person, Granger. I assure you, I am not. Not at all." His voice is low and deep, similar to the threatening tone she's heard from him in the past, but with no real bite. It sounds put-on and fake.
"That's not what I meant. I just think you have a reason for everything you do. Like anyone does."
"Why?" he asks. "And why do you care?"
"Because I want you to stop harassing me all the time."
"I've never harassed you," Malfoy scoffs. "I've just talked to you."
"Harassment can involve talking," she says mildly. "But whatever you call it, why do you do it?"
He finally closes the book he was reading and sets in on the floor. He shifts on the couch, his feet wriggling in her lap.
"Cause you get so… riled up about it," he says with a shrug. "It's fun."
She processes and it sounds…true. She doesn't quite understand how harassment is fun, but perhaps for Malfoy it is.
"Thank you," she says genuinely, "for telling me. Now we're getting somewhere." Big breath in. "Okay, what about the kiss? And before that — all the getting in my face and threatening me and stuff. And the chair thing." Breath out.
"I don't know, Granger," he rakes a hand through his hair, looking immensely put-upon. "I don't know, okay? Maybe I just wanted to."
She takes another moment to process. Again, he doesn't sound like he's lying.
"So you're saying all that was, like, impulse? That you really don't know?"
"That is what I said."
"Huh."
Malfoy raises a foot and drops it, a gentle kick.
"Did you think it was some dastardly plan to ruin your life? Or to get to Potter? I thought you said you didn't think I was evil."
"I distinctly remember that what I said was that I thought you made choices for a reason. Perhaps I was wrong." She pinches the ankle he kicked, a gentle retaliation. "There is one more thing I want to know."
He opens his hands in a gesture that seems to say, if you must.
"Why did you stay tonight? You could have left at any time. You didn't have to talk to me."
"I was curious," he answers easily, not missing a beat. "You always manage to surprise me, Granger."
She processes that for a moment, letting her vision blur as she tracks the flames dancing in the grate.
Then it hits her, the missing piece.
"What you said before, about wanting to? That included the kiss. You wanted to kiss me. And it's not just about some stupid winning thing, some contest with Harry and Ron, is it? You wanted to."
Part of her thinks Malfoy's going to deny it. Or run off to his dorm to escape. Or attack her for even suggesting it.
Instead, he sits up on the couch, takes his feet off her lap, moving slowly. He doesn't meet her eye until he's fully vertical, but when he does, his eyes are positively smouldering. The fire-light reflects vividly against the grey.
He's going to kiss her again.
Part of her wants to bolt, to take back what she said and run away. Part of her remembers her dream and how he always seems safe in the beginning, but ends with his hands wrapped around her throat.
He seems safe now.
She doesn't bolt.
A/N: Does anyone else miss Theo? Don't worry, he'll be back next week!
Thanks to sunshineceline for the beta and for always making me *work* for my kissing scenes.
And, as ever, I appreciate every review - they make my day :)