"Ron?" and her voice comes out thick, an octave too high.
At the sight of his freckled, gradually reddening face, she takes a desperate step away from Malfoy, who has immediately tensed upon hearing Ron's voice. It is only then she truly sees how close they had been, because even with such a fresh gap between them, it still feels intimate, too personal. At least for Ron to see, at least right now, right here- in broad daylight, no less.
And really, truly, quite honestly, she's both incensed and thankful for Ron's intrusion, because it feels as though they had been on the precipice of something, and she isn't at all ready to face any of it. At least, she's not sure she is. Not sure what she feels.
Actually, she does. She feels out of control, more so than she has in a while, as if she's teetering over a cliff, with no way of stopping herself from falling over the edge.
There is a contrast, she thinks, between the loss of control she feels around Malfoy and around Ron. Thinks that the loss she feels around Malfoy doesn't truly feel like a lack of something she desperately needs to hold onto, a stark contrast to the hysterical feeling with Ron. It somehow feels like the two are precariously close to crashing together, and she's not sure what the outcome might be.
Her face feels hot, and she tries to keep her face straight, smooth, as she looks at her ex-boyfriend.
"What are you doing?" He asks, eyes lingering on the space between herself and Malfoy. His words are demanding, and there's a slight slur to his words.
Is he drunk?
"We're discussing a case, Ron," she says quickly, curtly, trying to keep her voice even.
She hasn't dared to look at Malfoy since Ron's arrival, but she can feel his eyes on her, appraising her. He doesn't seem at all pleased, can sense the displeasure rolling off him in waves.
"A case? You two-" he gestures towards them roughly, "You're working together?"
"Yes, has Harry not mentioned it?" She asks, perhaps trying to divert attention towards a more even ground, "Malfoy is an Auror now."
After a beat, she realises this is probably the worst thing she could have said.
Because Ron has dropped out of Auror training, dropped out a year ago because he couldn't do it, couldn't keep up with training, has since held this indignation for it, and now-
"Wow, I'd heard the Ministry was losing its touch, but a Death Eater? Really? What a joke."
He positively spits the words, and she feels Malfoy tense even more at her side.
"Right, well, your feelings about the Ministry, aside," she says before Malfoy can open his mouth, "we're discussing a case, details of which we can't have anyone outside the Ministry learning, so if you'll excuse us-"
She moves to take Malfoy's arm and make a swift exit, but Ron's face has gone a deeper red, his eyes narrowing on them, on where her hand has almost touched the blond's arm.
"I thought you'd be better than that Hermione," he says suddenly, and there's an inflection in his words, he is most definitely smashed-
She stops, stills.
"What?" She asks, baffled. But she knows, she knows that Ron is out for blood now, knows he won't stop pushing buttons with his cutting words until one of them-
"You could have had someone better," he says, and she wonders if he means himself, her heart feels like it's dropped into the pit of her stomach, "could have anyone, and yet here you are, practically spreading your legs for Malfoy, of all people-"
She feels Malfoy move, quickly, sharply, but she's fast too and she has her hand clasped around his forearm- briefly realises it is that arm- before he can do anything rash. Assesses him for the first time since Ron's arrival.
His face is dark, a stoned wall but still somehow entirely menacing. His grey eyes, of which had been glaring venomously at the redhead, were now turned to her in silent questioning.
"Please," she hears herself saying, low, "go and get Harry- you don't need to be here for this."
One of his eyebrows raise, his eyes searching her face. Ron, clearly unpleased with his lack of attention, snarls in the background.
"Oh, so I'm right, huh?" He says, but Hermione shuts him out, "You're letting him fuck you?"
"Trust me, Weasel, we both know her experience with me would be far more satisfying than anything you've ever tried to give her."
Malfoy's words are sharp, cutting, and entirely too deliberate, she thinks. Also, entirely the wrong thing to say, judging by Ron's expression. Knows this will escalate if she doesn't get Malfoy away, and get Harry, or someone else-
"Please, Malfoy," she whispers, begs, barely audible. His eyes are back on her again, and he seems to be debating, deciding if listening to her will be worth it. After less than half a second, he's moving, as if to pull away from her. But then he stops.
It truly feels like time has slowed, as he leans forward to position his face to the side of hers, his lips by her ear.
"Just to be clear," he murmurs, his breath tickling her exposed skin, "My thank you would have resulted in those same exact words from you."
His tone is entirely salacious, then, and it makes something twist in Hermione's stomach. In both immense anticipation and wonderment. Oh and horror, horror at knowing his statement had been entirely deliberate. A parting gift to rile Ron up further. Knows this because he gives Ron a dastardly, brief smirk. And then he is retreating, leaving. Leaving, she hopes, to go and find Harry.
She knows Ron has seen it, the- well, whatever this was, between her and Malfoy, and her face heats further.
"That's disgusting," Ron says, the second Malfoy is gone, "Where are your morals?"
"You of all people," she spits before she can stop herself, feels the rage as it boils inside her veins, "you do not get to lecture me about morals-"
He laughs, then, and it is bitter, drunk.
"I think I can, seeing as you're tainting Ginny's birthday with your lack of it." He gestures to where Malfoy's back is retreating towards the other canopies.
"That's rich, coming from you," she retorts, her blood on fire once more, "need I remind you of what happened at Harry's birthday last year? Or have you entirely forgotten-"
"We're not doing this again," Ron says, cutting her off, "I've already said I'm sorry-"
"Sorry? Sorry?!" she hisses, losing her temper, "this is fucking hypocritical, is what it is- how dare you, come here, questioning my morals, my love life-"
He seems to be opening his mouth to say something, but she isn't done.
"And honestly Ronald, I'm sick of it. Of having to deal with you, of having to endure sympathy looks from anyone who knows, I've been through hell and back because of what you did-"
"We've been over this! This-" he gestures to her, again to the direction Malfoy went in, "it's not the same, it's different-"
"Of course it's bloody different," she hisses, "you cheated on me, at Harry's sodding birthday party!"
The silence is suddenly deafening. It rings in her ears, and she feels sick, sick, sick. There is magic in the air, her magic, crackling in her fingertips, waiting to be used.
Ron doesn't say anything, his face looks pinched, contorted, as if she's slapped him. She really wishes she had.
"You made your choice, Ronald," she says slowly, after a moment, voice hoarse, "you chose to ruin everything between us, that was you, not me-"
"I didn't mean for it to happen-"
And it feels like her heart is shattering all over again. The same way it did last year, when she'd walked in on him with another girl. Another girl, at Harry's birthday party she'd organised with Ginny. Feels several tears rolling down her cheeks, hot and stinging.
Let's more tears fall.
"But it did happen, and there's no going back," she all but whispers across the space between them, "you made your bed, you need to lie in it, and leave me the hell alone."
Harry appears then, his face contorted in anger, and he is ordering Ron to get himself back into the Burrow, to sober up, "right this fucking minute," and Hermione thinks she's never seen him so angry-
She blinks some of her tears away as Ginny comes into view, her hands coming to rest on Hermione's shoulders.
"Come and sit down over here for a minute," she says softly, trying to be comforting, Hermione thinks. But her eyes look away from the redhead in front of her, and towards Malfoy, who's leaning against one of the buffet tables in the distance. His face is unbothered, cold, almost.
But his posture- his posture is stiff, hard, as if he's coiled tight and about to break. And his eyes, sharp and entirely too focused, are on her face.
She wonders why, wonders just how much of the last few minutes he's actually heard. Wonders why she's even wondering, why she even cares how much he'd heard.
Realises that the loss of control she feels with Ron is because she's ever so good at judging a person's character but she had been grossly wrong when it had come to him.
That because of him she's suddenly second guessing it all, everything, every person she comes into contact with, even Malfoy-
She doesn't sit down, no, she looks at Ginny and she removes her friends hands from her shoulders, delicately.
"I'm sorry for ruining your birthday," she says quietly, and she really, truly means it. Hopes that Ginny can see it on her face.
Harry is carting Ron off into the burrow, now, and Hermione thinks she'd rather not be seen by anyone else, not in this state, so she does the only thing she can think of, in the moment.
She heads in the opposite direction, away from the Burrow, away from the canopies, and Harry and Ginny. Away from Malfoy.
Marches away, and into the tall fields surrounding the Weasley's land.
He's following her.
Hermione only realises this after she's been wading her way through the thick grass for a good few minutes. Can most definitely hear him now, his steps, both languid and deliberate, behind her.
Knows it's him, because no one else would have dared to follow her, not right now. At least he hasn't said anything, she thinks. Small mercies. But she doesn't doubt he'll bloody stay quiet for long. Not if the gradually increasing sound of his steps are anything to go by.
She hasn't particularly made it that far, either. Not with these stupidly inconvenient shoes. Which is infuriating, really.
Hermione Granger wants to be alone, so of course- of course Draco Malfoy has to just be-
"Granger, do you have any intention of stopping?" His voice is infuriatingly calm, collected. It makes her want to scream.
"No."
And at first she thinks she might say more, but she is startled at how her voice sounds- sad, hollow, pained, and so she leaves it at a single word.
It makes her more angry, she thinks, makes her feel even more hysterical, makes her keep walking, the fact he seems so put together, whilst she's an absolute ruddy mess.
Knows that her face is likely streaked with dried tears, thanks to the now setting sun. Knows that her hair probably looks like she's been shocked with electricity by the magic that had crackled at her fingertips. Knows for certain, that she is not calm, nor collected. She is hysterical.
She doesn't want Draco bloody Malfoy to see her like this.
Not ever, not at all. Because this, how she feels right now, this doesn't feel like her. She isn't in control, isn't keeping a close watch on her emotions, keeping things straight, because she can't.
Her heart still aches with the thought of Ron, everything that just transpired. Everything from before, a year ago, when she had lost it all.
And he's still following her.
Wonders when he'll stop, when he'll give up. Knows that he won't, because he's stubborn, almost as stubborn as she is. Usually, she'd put effort into pondering that, pondering the fact they have something in common, but she's just so tired.
She comes to a dead end, then. Well, sort of. The grass and crops around her have become too thick for her to shove her way through, and even in this state, she can't bring herself to ruin someone else's crops.
Runs a hand over her face, and waits. Waits for him to say something, anything.
He doesn't- doesn't say anything.
Instead, she feels his hands on her arms, slowly, carefully turning her to face him. And the touch, his touch, feels warm, feels almost comforting.
It is as unnerving as it is pleasant. More than pleasant.
In fact, she is bolstered to find that it's melting away her rising anger and frustration, to find that she rather quite likes it- how his hands feel on her.
But she still feels like a ball of hysterics, a mess of a person, and so she doesn't look at him. Not even as she's turned to where he is, not even when his hands drop from where they hold her.
"Granger," he says, his voice carefully quiet. A controlled tone, probably occluded, she thinks, "look at me."
He's ordering her again. A part of her bristles at it, at the sheer nerve of him for it. Another part of her, the part of her currently fighting back emotions, wants to listen.
She stamps it down, shakes her head, quickly. Keeps her eyes on a particularly safe looking button on his shirt.
Feels his finger hooking under her chin, tilting her head up so she has no choice-
"Look at me."
Another order, and she knows that Malfoy never says 'please', not really, not like he means it, at least. But the inflection of his tone as he speaks, the way it is almost soft, emploring, Hermione thinks it's possibly as close to a 'please' as he's ever going to give her.
His tone startles her enough that she does look at him, then.
His sharp features appear contorted, his face ever so faintly grim, his lips tugged into a frown, almost. The white blonde of his hair is bathed in rosy tones from the setting sun, the light casting a set of magnificent shadows across his face on the other side, his skin. He is close enough to her that she can see flecks of both pale blue and black flecked in his grey eyes, which are skimming across her face, now.
The pad of his thumb comes to rest on her chin, his other finger underneath, and he tilts her face slightly from side to side, as if searching her for something. For cracks, she thinks, possibly even waiting, for her to cry? Or for her to grow angry that he is touching her so intimately?
Hermione doesn't know. She just keeps her eyes locked on his face, waiting, her heart pounding like a drum in her chest, fast and burning.
Something flickers in his expression, something that looks like hesitation, perhaps even conflicted-
He must find what he's looking for, because his hand stops tilting her face. But his eyes, they've grown stormy, devouring, a stark contrast to the sun's ethereal glow they're both bathed in. They linger on her lips, she thinks. Stupidly, numbly, she wonders why, wonders what he intends to do, and the thought hits her that perhaps he intends to-
He pulls her closer with the delicate hold he has on her chin, dips his head down to meet hers, and her breath catches in her throat. His lips are barely an inch from hers, his breath hot and enticing on her skin.
"What are you-" can't stop the words as they leave her lips, like a gust of wind, breathless.
He chuckles briefly, and the sound reverberates right to her stuttering heart.
"Thanking you, for the apples, the amends," he whispers, softly, and his lower lip just barely grazes her own. Makes her heart stop, for a half second, the entire feeling tantalizing in a way she's never felt before.
"Will you let me, Granger?"
His words are whispered, and they ghost over her skin, through her skin, and she suddenly feels entirely exposed. The cliff she's been teetering on for days, weeks, even, it feels like the edge of the cliff is gone. Because she's lost her balance and she is plummeting in a free fall, down, down, down-
"Yes."
The words are barely spilling from her lips before his are on hers, claiming hers. It is electric, shocking and titillating all at once, both gentle and entirely ferocious in a way that has something familiar fluttering in her stomach.
His kiss is all encompassing, she thinks, filling all of her senses, her vision, swallowing up all of her nerves in a single swoop.
His hands, warm and entirely gentle in comparison, have moved to her waist, to pull her flush against him. The contact is surprising, all too much but yet not enough, has her parting her lips, gasping into their kiss.
Malfoy uses this as leverage to deepen the kiss, swiping the tip of his tongue against hers in a way that has her pulse fluttering unsteadily inside her veins, asking for permission. She murmurs into the kiss, hands reaching to tug at the loose strands of his hair, hoping it is enough of an answer.
His hands squeeze at the dip of her waist in response, and she feels herself moan softly into his mouth. The sound seems to spur him on, a guttural groan vibrating inside his chest and he tugs her closer, impossibly more.
Her brain feels like mush, but it's now that she catches up to the moment, realises that she is kissing him, she is kissing Malfoy, of all people and she is enjoying it- thoroughly enjoying it-
He tastes intensely like apples and rum.
The thought is interrupted as he pulls away, just slightly, a moment to let them both breathe. His forehead rests on hers lightly and she pants breathlessly into the gap between them. There's a rumble in his chest, as if he's about to say something-
A loud whooshing in the air startles them both, and she breaks away from him to look up.
There's an ethereal, blue panther prowling quickly around them, and as she steps back, it begins to glide around Malfoy. And she is confused, baffled, because who in Merlin's name would be sending a patronus-
"Malfoy, get Granger and Potter and meet us at the ministry, now-"
And her heart stops abruptly in her chest at the sound, the voice, Humphries voice, because he sounds angry, strained, even-
"There's been another incident."