A/N: Hi all! Sorry for no update yesterday; things were hectic! I hope you enjoy this chapter, I've tried to incorporate a song in to this one - trying out new styles! Enjoy!
Hermione leaves Ron, Harry, and Ginny and returns to the Gryffindor sixth year girls dormitory at half past 5. She hums a tune to herself as she organises her things to begin getting ready (it sounds suspiciously like Kiss the Girl from The Little Mermaid). After treating herself to a nice long shower (and horrendously singing Wouldn't It Be Nice at the top of her lungs), she painfully rips a brush through her frizzy hair, before eying the bottle of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion that sits unused on her dresser. She weighs her options, leaning over the bed and snatching the bottle, generously applying it all over her untameable hair. It soon becomes shiny and manageable, and she is able to braid it, twisting it into a cute bun at the bottom of her head.
She opens her dresser, her heart sinking when she looks at all of her clothes. None of them really scream anything too exciting – but does she really want them to? Testing multiple outfits together, she finally decides upon a pleated checked skirt (which came to just above her knee – scandalous for Hermione) and a pink short sleeved blouse. She pulls a pair of black tights on underneath the skirt and slips her feet back into her ballerina flats as she lifts a black jacket from the chair by her bed, tucking her wand into the pocket, and leaving the dorm. She floats down the stairs in an almost-trance, thinking about her…friend, Malfoy. She almost doesn't see Harry and Ron stood in front of the portrait hole until she almost walks into them.
"We've been waiting for you," Ron mumbles, hands in his pockets. Hermione can see Lavender on one of the sofas in the common room, nearly twitching as she watches Ron not by her side.
"Why?" Hermione's pulse quickens; did they know? They can't know, can they? She scans the room for Ginny, and doesn't see her.
"Well, you see, we've thought about what you were saying-"
"About Malfoy just being an annoyance," Harry cuts in.
"Yeah… and we've come to the conclusion that you're right. These conspiracies are so stupid and… I don't know what we were thinking really. We just have something out for him I guess."
"It's all speculation, you're right – but you have to admit, he does seem off," Harry adds quickly. "Like he really is up to something."
Ron rolls his eyes. "Seriously, Harry? The entire reason we were talking to her was to say that she was right that he wasn't up to something and you're still going on about it?"
Hermione is hardly paying attention. She's watching a clock on the mantle over Harry's shoulder, watching as it slowly ticks past five to 7. "Yeah, Harry, you're right. Maybe you should look into it more – got to run!" She sidesteps them, slipping out of the portrait hole just as the portrait was closing. Harry stares after her in shock.
"Did she just say that we should be looking into Malfoy?"
Ron shrugs, moving to the sofa to flop next to Lavender. "Dunno, it sounded like it, which is odd after all the telling off she's been doing. But if Hermione says it, maybe that's the thing to do."
In the corridor, Hermione is trying to keep herself from running to the Room of Requirement, settling into a half skip, half jog sort of movement. She doesn't want to be late – well, late enough that he's decided to sack it and slink back to the dungeon. She gets to the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy at precisely 8 minutes past 7; she curses the staircases and how they always manage to take you to the complete opposite of the place you want to go. Standing before the wall, she wonders if Malfoy is even there, if he's already been and gone, or if he just hasn't shown up at all. Trying to keep her hopes up, she paces the corridor three times, thinking about what she wants.
A room which would be a good place to spend time with…a friend. And not be found by anyone but the friend. Please.
A door appears and, looking quickly down the corridor first, Hermione enters the room as quietly as possible. A smile stretches across her face as she takes in her surroundings: cream wooden floors with matching wallpaper covering the walls; a cosy already lit fireplace crackling away to itself in one corner; two plush duck-egg blue sofas and a baby pink chair arranged around a chestnut coffee table; an entire wall of bookshelves. And the thing that makes her smile the hardest – a small stereo, with a pile of CD's and tapes next to it. The one thing she missed most about home was the music, something that was a constant in her house; one of her parents was always singing along to something on the radio, or she was in her room listening to her own music. She doesn't know how the room knows that this is what she misses the most, but she's glad it does.
She makes her way around the softly lit room, trailing her fingers along the spines of the books as she passes by the shelves. She pulls out a beautiful copy of Pride and Prejudice, settling into the pink armchair with her legs tucked under her. Just as she turns to the first page and is getting ready to settle down, the door opens, and Malfoy enters. Hermione can't help but stare at how – for lack of a better word – gorgeous he looks. A black shirt paired with black trousers and a black jacket – she hopes he can't hear her heartbeat from where he's stood by the door, but she's almost certain he can; her heart feels as though it's about to bruise her ribcage as she stares at him with wide eyes and an open mouth.
He doesn't notice her for about a minute, he's too busy admiring the cosy little room Hermione had managed to conjure up. By the time he spots her sat there, she has managed to snap her mouth – and the book in her lap – closed. He smiles, and Hermione feels her blood grow warmer. "Are you really so bored that you've already resorted to reading?"
She can't stop her lips from turning upwards. "Well, if you had actually been here on time, Malfoy, then maybe I wouldn't need to turn to a book for company."
He clutches his chest, feigning hurt as he collapses onto the sofa opposite her, one leg draped over one of the arms. "Oh, Granger, I'm so terribly hurt. I do sincerely apologise that you couldn't wait an extra ten minutes for me to arrive before your crippling boredom set in." She pulls the cushion out from behind her and throws it at him, but he catches it easily in one hand. "It's not like you only got here two minutes before I did, anyway…" An evil smirk crosses his face as she turns red.
"I didn't- I got here- I've been-"
He chuckles, tossing the pillow back at her. It lands at her feet. "Don't try and lie, Granger. I was down the corridor from you; I decided to hide around a corner while you settled in, and I didn't think you would get this settled."
She leans forward, placing the book on the coffee table and kicking the pillow in front of her lightly. "Is it such a crime to enjoy reading?"
"It is when you're supposed to be meeting someone."
She laughs, and he can't help but think about how beautiful she is when she laughs. He slides the book of the coffee table, snatching it away from her as she grabs for it. "No, Granger. It's polite to share."
"I doubt you've even heard of Jane Austen anyway; give it back." She stands and rounds the table, but he's faster, jumping out of the way and holding the book high over his head. She makes an angry noise, reaching for it, but he's just too tall. "It's mine, Malfoy, give it back!"
"I think you'll find, Granger, this book is actually property of the Room, not you." She glowers at him and he laughs, still holding the book in the air. She reaches for it again and he turns his body to the side, laughing harder at her efforts. "You can try all you want, Granger, you're not getting this bo-"
She suddenly yanks on his left sleeve, her arm slipping between his arm and his torso. The suddenness of the yank brings him down slightly, and he finds himself nose-to-nose with Hermione as she goes for the book. Her cheeks flare as they stare at each other, grey eyes locked with brown, her mission for the book seemingly forgotten.
His eyes flicker down to her lips, red from her constant nibbling, then back to her eyes. He notices the flush of red on the apples of her cheeks, feels the rush of red on his own, but he can't pry his gaze away from her. Her eyes are wide in shock, and he can tell she wants to move, to get out of the awkwardness. A small part of him wants to move away to, but a bigger part is telling him to stay. The arm holding the book drops lower, and her fingertips brush his wrist, sending heat coursing down his arm to his spine, and still he doesn't move.
He could do it, if he wanted to. He could lean down and kiss her, right here, right now. He could pull her into his arms and hold her as tightly as he could and never let go, not for anything. He could let her know how much she owns his heart, his soul, his entire being, without her even knowing it. He could.
But he won't.
He pulls away abruptly, coughing and pulling at his collar. He hands her the book back, smirking as she snatches it from him and turns away. She coughs slightly, fanning her face with her free hand as she tries to dispel the ever-increasing redness building up there. She can't do this; she can't let him see how much she wants him – how much she wants to be with him. She won't let herself ruin everything.
She spins around again, smiling at him with pink cheeks (an improvement from the tomato red). "So, Muggle music?" She moves to the stereo, her smile spreading as her eyes flicker over the covers of the CD cases and the cassette boxes.
He flings his head backwards with an exaggerated groan, his hair falling in front of his eyes when he brings it back down. "I thought you would've gone off this by now?"
"Nope, you said you'd listen to four songs." He moves so he's behind her, staring over her shoulder as she moves through the two piles. She can feel his warm breath on her neck, and it makes her hair stand on end. He smells of peppermint toothpaste and coconut shampoo, of green apples and expensive French cologne, of new parchment and honey. They're all unique scents that mix together to create him – unique in and of himself, and this unique only Draco Malfoy smell is a smell she knows she will love forever. She is brought out of her thoughts when she can almost feel the sneer on his face as she flicks to the next album in the pile, bringing a smile to her face.
"What is that?" He asks, pointing to the album cover.
"It's The Little Mermaid!" Hermione strokes the cover with the tip of her index finger, thinking back to when she went to see the movie with her dad in the cinema when it came out.
"You and I both know that's not what a mermaid looks like; these Muggles just like to downright lie."
"It's a movie – it's brilliant!" She takes the CD out and places it into the stereo, clicking the skip button until she gets to one of her favourites. He frowns at the word 'movie', unsure as to what that is, and when she turns towards him, she laughs. "Oh, sorry. I forgot you're uneducated. We can watch it when you come for Christmas… if that's alright with you."
He had forgotten all about their little discussion earlier, about her horrendous lie that her parents had invited him to stay with them for Christmas, and her bringing it up makes him smile. Despite having only accepted the invitation to torment her, he was actually really looking forward to spending the holidays with the Grangers, and not Him. He did, however, feel bad that he would be leaving his mother alone with only his loony Aunt Bellatrix and Him for company, but he felt he deserved this tiny piece of normalcy in exchange for the chaos that was to come.
A nice calypso ballad begins to flow from the speakers, something like bongos in the background as a deep Jamaican accent fills the air. Hermione's eyes drift close as she starts swaying in front of him, reaching forward and taking his hands in hers. He finds himself swaying softly with her, a smile on his face as he hears the words.
Sha-la-la-la-la-la my oh my, looks like the boy's too shy, ain't gonna kiss the girl.
He takes his hands from her grip and places them on a safe area of her waist, watching her with awe and love and a tenderness that he has never felt for anyone – not even Pansy. She takes a step towards him, her arms drifting around his neck and draping there as they slowly sway in front of the stereo, her head resting against him.
Sha-la-la-la-la-la don't be scared, you better be prepared, go on and kiss the girl.
Hermione opens her eyes and looks up at him, a massive grin spreading across her face as the song continues in the background. Malfoy barely notices the music; all he can see is her.
Sha-la-la-la-la-la don't stop now, don't try to hide it, how you wanna kiss the girl.
They stop swaying, stood there suspended in time as Hermione's Muggle movie-music swirls around them. Their eyes are locked, but he notices Hermione start to chew on her lip. That stupid little nervous tick made his heart beat so much faster.
Damn his parents. Damn Him. Damn the mission. All that he cares about is right in front of him. He hopes that she feels the same way; he's certain this is his only chance to do something about the warmth that always surges in his stomach when he sees her or makes her laugh, the pain expanding in his chest when he upsets her, the jealousy and frustration building up in his head when she's with Potter.
He doesn't want to miss his chance but he doesn't know if he should take it either. He doesn't want to ruin everything.
La-la-la-la la-la-la-la, go on and kiss the girl.
The voice in his head is screaming at him: Fuck it, just do it!
Go on and kiss the girl, go on and kiss the girl.
He takes the chance, and leans towards her.