A/N: Thanks to Sandra for pointing out that the italics didn't take the first time I posted this chapter. Oops! Still trying to figure out FFN :) Also, thought I should note that "just trying to diffuse the tension" was a line from Deathly Hallows, and The Dead Poets Society isn't my brain baby - it's a movie and was a suggestion by Lunamionny for the location of Draco/Hermione's date.
So clear like the diamond in your ring
Cut to mirror your intention
Oversized and overwhelmed
The shine of which has caught my eye
Vindicated, Dashboard Confessional
Sleep was not something that came easily to Hermione. She suffered from insomnia regularly. All the mind healers in the world reassured her that it was a normal post-traumatic stress response, and that the potions they recommended would help her sleep. Sometimes they did, but other times, they didn't. Despite not taking her potions, the night of the masquerade was the best night's sleep she'd had in years. It wasn't, however, without vivid dreams.
She was nervous, which was to say that her palms were sweaty and her legs wobbly. She'd changed her outfit no fewer than five times, because strappy black heels didn't go with the jeans she'd chosen, and then again because he hadn't told her what type of date they were having, and then again because she was most comfortable in jeans and a jumper and why would she possibly sacrifice her comfort for a date? In the end, she settled on an oversized, lavender sweater and comfortable leggings that hugged her curves.
Her hair was wrapped up in a tight knot just below the top of her head, and little curly strands of it cascaded haphazardly from the bun, as if they'd naturally fallen there — they hadn't, of course, they'd been strategically pulled and placed there to draw attention to things like the slope of her neck or the diamond studs in her ears.
Despite the fact that she wanted to appear nonchalant about this date, every small detail had been carefully orchestrated in order to lay the foundation for it — their fifth date. The date. To entice him into the next stage. She'd finally get to know if Draco Malfoy's prowess in bed lived up to the legend that had been boasted in the tabloids.
The doorbell of her flat rang twice in quick succession. Hermione took one final, sweeping glance in her full length mirror — which assured her quite vocally that she looked positively stunning — and went to casually open her front door, as if she hadn't been chewing the inside of her lip or fidgeting with her fingers for the entire afternoon.
He stood there just the same as always: cool, calm, and collected. Dressed in charcoal trousers that fit snug around his waist and were no doubt tailored for his perfectly fit body. A form fitting v-neck black sweater hugged his lithe frame and exposed the hollow of his throat where Hermione's eyes zeroed in and led her to imagine, not for the first time, running the length of her tongue over it. His throat bobbed under her stare, and when her eyes met his, her stomach flipped.
His lips twitched and his gray eyes sparkled as he leaned against the doorframe and lifted his chin.
"'Lo, Granger."
"Granger? You awake?" There was a shift in movement to her right, and she groaned but refused to open her eyes. A slender, cold hand enveloped hers. "It's impolite to pretend to sleep when someone tries to wake you."
Hermione licked her lips. "Sod off," she whispered, her breath catching on the dryness of her throat. She finally opened her eyes. "It's impolite to wake someone who's suffered a catastrophic incident."
He rewarded her wit with a throaty chuckle, and leaned over the bed, a chunk of light hair falling into his eyes. "Are you almost through lying in bed all day, you lazy sod?"
She spluttered and yanked her hand from beneath his. "Lazy sod! I was bitten by a vampire and nearly bled dry. Exactly how soon were you expecting me to make a full recovery?"
Draco smiled and flashed his teeth, perfectly straight and fang-less. "Excuses, Granger. Nothing more. I've witnessed you overcoming far more adversity in less time. I think you're milking it."
"Ha!" Even as the exclamation left her, Hermione's body revolted against the energy it took to make it. She tried to push herself up, but couldn't summon the strength. "So says the King Of Whinging," she said instead, settling back against her pillow while her eyelids fluttered closed.
"Lame comeback." Draco's hand met her shoulder and despite their chill, warmth spread through her bones. "Rest. It's no fun if you're not on top of your game."
She hadn't expected to find herself in the midst of muggle London with her hand wrapped around Draco's elbow as he guided her down the street and into the hustle of the West End. He walked on the outside of the pavement, blocking her from the road as cars zoomed by. A perfect gentleman, always. She supposed he was raised as such.
"Where are we going?" she asked him. The thrum of excitement that had been coursing through her since he arrived at her doorstep hadn't disappeared, and in fact, had only escalated the more they'd walked through the city.
"Patience, Granger," he teased with a half-cocked smile. "I promise you'll like this."
And, she did.
When they reached the tiny, hole-in-the-wall establishment, she wasn't sure what to expect. The door was old and wooden, and at its side hung a sign that read The Dead Poets Society. It looked run down, shabby, and most definitely not somewhere that she'd expect Draco Malfoy to patronize.
Draco pushed the door open and placed his hand gently on her lower back. As he guided her through the door, Hermione's jaw dropped. The first thing that hit her was the leathery scent of old, worn books. An earthy scent soon followed, and while Draco's hand encouraged her further into the dimly lit room, she couldn't stop her eyes from flitting around to take it all in, paying absolutely no attention to where her feet were leading her, implicitly trusting Draco to guide her steps.
In the center of the place was a tall, oak bar. Rustic-looking, its mirrored center was lined with rows of various liquors, whilst elaborate glasswares hung overhead. The men behind the bar all wore button-up white shirts and bow ties. They each donned flat caps, and had various degrees of facial hair. The entire image gave the pub a nostalgic? feel, much like a 1920s speakeasy.
But, liquor and costumed bartenders aside, what really stole her breath away were the shelves upon shelves that lined the walls. They were filled with tomes, leatherbound and ancient looking. Some spaces were empty and as Hermione's gaze traveled around the room, she noticed patrons reading as they drank; some huddled close together with a friend or lover, some on their own, seemingly perfectly content. It was unlike anything she'd ever seen before.
"I'll take your silence as confirmation of your approval." Draco's whisper, the breath of which landed just at the shell of her ear, sent tingles cascading down her spine. If she hadn't wanted to shag him before, she certainly did now.
Hermione lifted her chin, their lips only a hairsbreadth apart. "It's perfect, Draco."
The answering smile that she got in return was simply everything. "Let's have a drink and then choose a book."
"Any book?" Her eyes were back to the shelves; it was like Christmas, only better .
His fingers climbed up her back and over her shoulder, until they wrapped around a curl and tucked it behind her ear. "World is your oyster, love."
As she stepped toward the bar, Hermione couldn't help but try and convince herself that, perhaps, it would actually be fine to shag on fourth date.
"What'll it be, poppet?" the bartender asked with a charming smile.
Draco pressed himself against her back and leaned forward with his face at the side of her head. "What do you think, Granger? —Granger? —Granger?"
Hermione's eyes fluttered open. She twisted her face into her pillow and groaned. Ugh, Merlin, she wanted to murder whomever had woken her up from such a wonderful dream. She fisted her hands into the bedcovers and cursed softly as an amused laugh filled the room.
When her eyesight finally focused enough to take in her surroundings, her gaze landed on a bespectacled face surrounded by chaotic raven locks. The face, to her annoyance, was split in a ridiculous smile. To her right was the exact opposite: a strict expression, pale skin, and a shock of blond hair. They were night and day, she thought, as an unwitting smile crept up her face.
"There she is, Potter," Draco said, his voice proud for some reason. "Just needed the right incentive."
"I'd hardly call you the right incentive, Malfoy." Harry rolled his eyes and scooted his chair closer to her bedside. "How are you feeling, Hermione?"
She shrugged, though the movement was hardly useful when she was lying in bed. Hermione tried to lift her head and found that she had more energy than the last time she'd been awake, but she still felt an exhaustion deep in her bones. "Tired," she admitted, a heavy breath leaving her before she yawned. "How long have I been—"
"Unconscious?" Harry asked, brows high and a notch forming between them. "Two days. We thought — well, Theo and I thought — that maybe you were… turning." He glanced to Draco, and the worried look they shared didn't escape her. "Since someone found it necessary to feed you his blood instead of waiting for Tracey to get back with supplies from our apothecary."
"I gave him permission." She quickly defended Draco whilst attempting to lift herself into a sitting position again and nearly succeeding before falling back onto her pillows. "You didn't see… there was blood everywhere. The vampire, it tore into my wrist, Harry. I could have — I would have — died."
Harry crossed his arms over his chest and turned to glare at Draco again. "So I've been told."
Draco stood with his hands behind his back and chin lifted. "Saint Potter believed that you could have held out for another quarter of an hour, and that you therefore didn't have to be sullied with the likes of vampire blood."
"Possibly," Hermione whispered, and Harry's eyebrows jumped in response. Draco's gaze found her, dark and dangerous. "But, I don't think that it would have been smart to try. I trust Draco, Harry. And I think you need to learn to, as well."
Harry grumbled, shrugged his shoulders, and stood from her bedside. "You're still out of your mind, clearly. Get some rest. I'd like you well enough to attend the next Order meeting."
Harry strode to the door but just before he left the room, he glanced back to Hermione as Draco sat in the chair he'd vacated. Hermione smiled at him, and nodded her chin — it'll be fine , she tried to tell him silently. He seemed to get the message because he left them alone a moment later.
"How are you really feeling, Granger?" Draco asked as he took her hand in his, stroking his cold thumb over her warm knuckles.
"Better," she promised, the corners of her lips raising as her eyes drooped closed. "Tired."
Before she drifted off once more, Hermione swore she felt the featherlight touch of his lips against the back of her hand.
Le Morte d'Arthur was opened between them, resting across their laps and their heads were tilted towards each other as they read through a passage of the book together. Beside each of them sat a personalized drink from the bartenders, and two drained, empty glasses. Her face was cradled in the palm of her hand, and Draco's shoulder was pressed against hers. Their knees touched, and he had a hand on her thigh, rubbing small circles over the covered skin.
"You must be incredibly bored," Hermione said as she turned her chin towards him.
"Not even a little bit." His hand stopped moving on her thigh and he smiled as his gaze dipped to her lips and up again. "Could spend the whole night like this, actually."
"But to listen to me spend hours talking about King Arthur?" Hermione chuckled and bit the side of her lip, thinking to herself how utterly ridiculous it was that of all the places and of all the people, she was in a library-esque cocktail bar with Draco Malfoy discussing the works of Thomas Malory. "It must feel so very muggle to you."
His hand resumed its movement and traveled the length of her thigh. Draco grabbed his drink, a small tumbler of gin-and-something, and took a sip. "On the contrary, I find the muggle interpretation of Merlin quite fascinating. Each time the muggles have been presented with magic, they've very nearly discovered the biggest secret that's ever been kept from them, and they turn every close call for us into a famous story to tell through their generations."
She knew that Draco had repented his beliefs long ago, and publicly at that. Still, hearing him discuss muggles so casually, and his fascination with how they approach the wondrous idea of magic, lit a fire inside of her that she'd never quite felt before. Hermione couldn't draw her gaze away from him, and while she was deliciously warm from the drink and the body heat they shared, something of a chill ran through her, zipped through her veins, as his hand found the crux of her thighs, lingered for a moment, and began its descent to her knee once more.
A breath left her, and she licked her lips. "Tell me more about Merlin," she asked him, not bothering to hide the fact that she was staring at the perfect bow of his lips.
"Well, the story goes…" He took another drink. "Merlin was born as if from nothing, as if the great wizards of old had simply summoned him to existence." All the while, his hand kept its meandering pace along her leg, and her breath sped up as her stomach flipped and flopped. "He was a seer, able to know the past, present, and future, but unlike the sorcerers before him, Merlin was determined to see Britain through the darkest of times, and eventually build a great empire ruled by justice and goodwill to all — muggles and wizards alike."
Hermione reached forward and rested her hand on top of Draco's, next to his glass of gin. Her finger traced the thin flesh between his index finger and thumb, and enjoyed the way his eyes darkened as he looked in the direction of their hands.
"Keep going," she whispered, her eyes sparkling as she moved the book from between them and scooted herself even closer to him.
"Getting turned on, Granger?" Draco raised a single, pale brow, and smirked.
"If you don't know the answer to that," she chuckled softly, "then I'm doing a terrible job of flirting."
Voices dragged her from sleep, and if she'd had her wand to hand, Hermione would have hexed every single wizard in the room. She whimpered, lamenting the fact that the heat which had built inside her, was being doused by the sound of bickering.
"I'm not saying we have to send her back into Desdemona's coven!" Draco argued, his voice controlled to a frightening degree. "I'm saying that she knows the castle now, and we can't replicate that type of knowledge."
"It's irresponsible, not to mention that she's still recovering from the last time we sent her in there." Harry's shout echoed through the room, leaving silence in its wake.
Hermione pushed herself to a sitting position, noting with relief that her muscles didn't ache quite as much, nor did her entire body sag with exhaustion, the way it had the previous times she'd woken. "Will someone please tell me what the bloody hell is going on?"
It was Theo who answered, as Harry and Draco seemed too busy staring at one another with their arms crossed and eyes narrowed.
"This prat says that Desdemona is planning a blood draining event — not meant for turning, but as a sacrificial event for the coven. A bonding experience, per Dursley's intel." Theo gestured from Draco to Harry. "And this gorgeous prat says that there's absolutely no way that we're sending you back into that coven again."
"We can send Tracey!" Harry exploded, arms flailing wildly.
"She's Dudley's familiar." Draco rolled his eyes. "You don't think Desdemona has intel on her own children?"
"Children? Gross." Harry pulled a face as his arms dangled limply at his sides. "Okay, then. I'll go."
Three voices rang out in various states of exasperation: "No!"
Harry threw himself down in the chair next to Hermione's bed. Theo came up behind him and planted a hand on either of his shoulders, massaging his thumbs into his muscles. Draco moved to Hermione and took her hand, as he had each time she'd woken up before.
"I had a mask on the last time I went," Hermione said finally, not taking her eyes from Harry. "If she's planning on murdering more people, you have to let me try to get to her. If we send in The Order, we're not going to be able to save the other vampires, and then what will all this fighting over the Vampire Legislation be for?"
Draco's hand clenched around hers, and she squeezed back.
Harry's shoulder shrugged and he shook his head. "Maybe we should just take them out," he said quietly, dropping his gaze to his hands in his lap. "She's already doubled her coven, and she's turned half of them into sires. I don't know how to fight against that, do you?"
Hermione bit the inside of her cheek and glanced to the infirmary's ceiling. "We didn't know how to fight Voldemort—" Theo shuddered and she felt Draco's hand flinch on hers. "Either, but we beat him, didn't we? We can do this, too. We just need a plan, and we need more information."
Harry sighed, the dejection clear on his face, even though his frown lifted into a resigned line. "Fine, but not until you're ready." His eyes cut to Draco. "How long do we have before she sacrifices someone?"
"Dudley said the full moon," Draco said, barely moving his lips.
"Fine." Harry placed a hand on Theo's and nodded sharply. "That gives us a few days. Hermione, rest for the day and we'll call an Order meeting tonight."
"But—"
"We cannot send you back to Desdemona with those ghastly dark circles under your eyes," Theo said, a deep smirk on his face. "Sleep, and when you wake up, we'll come up with a plan to save all the vampires."
She didn't need telling twice. She slipped down onto her pillow once more, her hand still wrapped up in Draco's.
Hermione stumbled over her own feet and grabbed Draco's arm to keep herself from falling to the ground. She laughed as he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her tightly against his body in an effort to keep her upright. His raspy laugh in her ear did delicious things to her body, and when they finally reached the door of her flat, she played with her key as she tried to pluck up the courage to invite him inside.
"I, er…" she turned toward him with her key in the door, and a hand behind her back. "I really had an excellent time with you tonight."
He smirked. It was a ridiculously taunting thing that he'd worn so many times before, and yet somehow, this time, she didn't find it malicious or cruel. It was playful and wicked, and the heat between her legs reached a boiling point. Draco leaned in, an arm resting on the door frame, the heady scent of his spicy cologne making her dizzy. His nose touched her cheek, and he kissed the corner of her mouth sweetly.
"Me too," he whispered, bringing his other hand to her waist and lazily moving it up and down her side. "And if I haven't told you enough tonight, you look so fucking pretty, Granger."
His lips were on hers then, firm and searching. He wasted no time pressing her back into the door and dragging his hand to the loose curls at her neck. His tongue traced along the seam of her lips and when she opened her mouth to kiss him deeper, it swept inside. She didn't know that the taste of gin could turn her on and yet its sting on her tongue sent fire through her nerves. Hermione grabbed his jumper and pulled him closer still, moaning into the kiss as he led their tongues in a fierce dance.
The hand on her hip tightened, the one in her hair tugged at the roots, and Hermione was putty under his touch, arching her back and running her hands down his hard body.
She pulled away for only a second, but he didn't let his lips leave her for long. He kissed her throat, somehow knowing where to make her shiver, and ran his teeth over the sensitive skin.
"Do you — do you want to come inside?" she asked breathlessly, tilting her head back until it collided with the door and exposing the long expanse of her throat to his mouth.
Draco kissed his way up the column of her throat, nipping and licking along the way. When he reached her lips again, he planted a chaste kiss there, before taking a small step backwards. "You've made it very clear that you don't shag until the fifth date, Granger," he teased her and dropped his hands from her body, leaving her cold and wanting. "That would be cheating the process."
"To hell with the process." She moved forward for another kiss, but Draco took her hands in his with a low, rumbling chuckle.
"You say that now while you're pissed." He kissed the back of her hands, one after another. "But, I know you well enough to know that you'll regret it in the morning if we break your rules."
She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off with another chaste kiss.
"I'm not saying I like your rules." Draco reached behind her, opened the door to her flat, and dropped her keys into the palm of her hand. "But there's no way I'm going to fuck this up because I couldn't control myself for the both of us."
He kissed her again, pressing her back into the unforgiving hardness of the doorframe. Fingers trailed over her cheek and her jaw and then to the back of her neck; he manipulated the kiss until he was plunging deep into her mouth and drawing the most salacious moans from the back of her throat.
"Perhaps dinner tomorrow?" he asked when he finally pulled away.
She nodded breathlessly, which earned her a proud smile from him. He ducked his chin, said goodnight, and stole off into the night before she could chase him down and tell him she'd vehemently changed her mind about her own rules.
Something inside of her cracked open.
It was only the fourth date, but surely she shouldn't feel this deeply for him already? The 'L word' circled around her fuzzy and vodka-riddled brain, but Hermione laughed it off as she locked herself into her flat and — somewhat reluctantly — took care of the ache between her thighs by herself.
