Hermione sped down the darkened corridors of the ancient school. She was
breathing so quickly she barely noticed the building's musty odor, the kind
of whiff that comes with centuries of age. Racing down the stairs toward
the Great Hall, she lost her footing and began to tumble, landing bottom
down at the base of the stairs.
Slightly embarrassed, Hermione quickly checked the surrounding area. It was clear; no one had seen her. She raised herself up, rubbing the spot on her bum she was sure would be bruised tomorrow. Ugh, why was she doing this!? She couldn't comprehend what would compel her to behave the way she was. She couldn't be attracted to Malfoy. Not a chance in the world. . .or at least she tried to tell herself for the ninth time that evening.
Smoothing her robes and straightening her hair, she slowly and deliberately made her way toward the first floor corridor. She may not be sure of her actions, but she would at least be sure she was not perceived as overly enthusiastic. This was her biggest enemy, she and her friends'. She was certain that this unwelcome emotion was just frustration over Ron. . .perhaps a little sexual frustration as well. Hermione shook her head. But it was probably true. Everyone had their needs, and she couldn't deny her own, or deny the fact that they weren't and had never been met. Yes, any interest Hermione had in Malfoy was simply the result of overactive hormones.
She walked into the first floor corridor, repeating the mantra of 'overactive hormones'.
Then she saw him.
In the torch light by the second coat of armor was a tall blond boy-- no, man. Hermione's formerly overactive hormones took a whole new speed, and her heart began to race. Stopping dead in her tracks, her mouth went dry and she felt the heat rush to her cheeks. She hated this feeling, a mixture of excitement and embarrassment. Oh, how she wish she had stayed in her room!
He turned at the sound of her footsteps, letting his eyes wander over her flame lit frame. She was blushing; he loved it. It somehow brightened her eyes, and she was nervously chewing on her bottom lip. It was something feminine, something fascinating. He was almost drawn to it. Draco shut his eyes tightly to clear his head. He had work to do. Opening his eyes, he straightened himself. He repeated to himself that he had work to do.
"You. . .umm, you're in Quidditch robes." Hermione said feebly. She regretted saying it the moment it came out of her mouth. It was so stupid to state the obvious. But the silence, it made her nervous, and she was willing to say anything to make it stop.
Draco suddenly remembered his robes and the broom his still held in his hand. He ran his free hand through his tousled blond hair, the perspiration having ruined the perfect gel job he had done that morning. "Yeah, we had practice tonight. It was hard. Just got off."
"You're still sweating." Hermione said seriously, then suddenly burst into a slight smile. "If this isn't a double entendre. . ." She didn't even finish-- both let out a small laugh.
The silence that followed made her nervous. He noticed it and smirked. He was making an effect. She grew so fidgety that she rushed through her next words. "Umm, I saw in your book that you wanted me here. Unless that wasn't meant for me. If it wasn't, let me know. I could just leave. It's no big deal. I just thought. . ."
Draco raised a hand to quiet her. "It was meant for you." He replied simply.
That didn't ease her nerves. Stomach still swirling, she spoke up quietly. "Oh. Well, then what is it that you want me here for?" Hermione stared on as Draco scratched his chin casually. "This isn't some joke on me, is it? Pansy isn't waiting in a corner to bludgeon me to death?" *Typical,* she thought. *I always think suspiciously.*
Draco smirked. *Granger, if you only knew.* "No. No, I just wanted to talk to you."
Her face screwed up in confusion. "Talk to me about what?"
"About how I feel about you."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Her-Hermione," Draco stumbled on the words, having nearly never spoken her given name to her face before. "I think you know what I'm talking about. You don't think all that happened in detention for any other reason." He saw her eyes glaze over, and the blood drain from her face. Oh, she had been thinking about it. He could tell.
"Well. . .I. . .but. . ." Hermione stammered.
"I've always felt strangely attracted to you, Hermione. Always. Surely you must have known that?" He waited to see her reaction.
"But-- but you're dating Pansy Parkinson. That's what everyone's been saying."
Draco dramatically rolled his eyes. Another Malfoy benefit, besides good looks, was the glorious gift of acting/lying remarkably. "Yes, yes, that." He said with faux frustration. "She's always been interested in me. I helped her with some homework a week ago and suddenly she's stating we're going out. She's been all over me since the beginning of the term, her and Millicent Bulstrode, and now it's got the whole school talking. It couldn't be further from the truth. After all, look at her." He smirked.
Hermione's eyes narrowed and she bristled at him. Why was she suddenly going on defense? She was thinking the same thing just hours ago! Hermione prayed that she could eventually get a hold on these conflicting emotions. "I always figured you'd be shallow, Malfoy. This just proves it."
"Then you understand why I feel the way I do about you."
"Actually, no. I don't."
"You don't!?" He said in mock surprise. "Hasn't Ron ever told you how gorgeous you are?"
Hermione looked suddenly sullen. "No." Draco had definitely hit a sore spot in their relationship, or lack thereof.
"Don't you think you're attractive?"
"Well, I'm not all that good looking. . ." Hermione, all at once feeling very self conscious about herself, started picking at the thread on the sleeve of her robes.
"Oh but you are!" Draco exclaimed, causing Hermione to look up into his face with surprise. She was playing perfectly into the trap.
He started to step closer to her.
"Look at yourself. Look at those eyes. They sparkle. And that smile-- you certainly fixed that up quite nicely, remember a few years back?" She giggled. She was able to laugh about that commotion now.
He took another step nearer and reached to brush away a strand of hair. Hermione felt his finger tips brush against her cheek delicately. She almost gasped.
"And look at that blush. You glow. That neck, the curve of your collarbone, the very skin." He let his hand wander down her neck. She sighed softly.
Draco took yet another stride forward.
"And those legs, that stomach, they're just made to be touched and enjoyed." His hand ran from her neck down to quickly encircle her waist.
Again, another step.
He was now mere centimeters from her face. His hand reached up again and grasped her chin. His voice was just above a whisper, his thumb just barely grazing her lower lip.
"And those lips were the sweetest I had ever tasted."
He leaned in and kissed her. But this time it wasn't the tame kind they had shared the day before. What began as a fanciful feat quickly became something fierce, something passionate. Hermione wasn't what Draco had expected. He expected her to be timid, like the other girls he had been with, almost too scared to move. But Hermione had lost all common sense; now she was relying on animalistic instinct. She kissed him savagely, and her hands went to his sides, fingers hooking in his belt loops and pressing him closer to her. For a moment, Draco lost himself in the event, his left hand dropping his broomstick and reaching for her bottom. Hermione cringed as he grasped the area that was injured from her fall, but she did not falter in her feelings. She quickly undid the clasp on his outer Quidditch robe, and it fell to the floor. Only spurred on, he hurriedly lifted her up and pressed her against the stone wall, still furiously kissing her as her legs hooked behind his back. She pulled herself away and began trailing her lips down the side of his neck, causing Draco to shiver. Hermione's skirt had slid up in the process, and he. . .he. . .
He couldn't do it. Draco Malfoy pulled away from Hermione, who looked at him with bewilderment. He stared back at her blankly, not knowing how to proceed, or what went wrong. She was near physical perfection. But he couldn't. He didn't know why. It annoyed the shit out of him.
Hermione moved to kiss him again, but this time he pulled away completely. Setting herself back on the ground, he took a step backward and slowly began walking away in a daze.
"Draco?" Hermione worriedly called after him. He merely motioned his hand for her to stop. He wouldn't even turn around.
Hermione was beyond puzzled. She didn't think she had done anything wrong. Maybe she had. Maybe he was lying. Maybe he didn't find her attractive, and that was the reason why he left. Maybe he remembered about Ron, or Pansy, and he felt guilty too. Lord knows she felt guilty. She had acted like a brazen harlot, and she suddenly felt very disgusted with herself.
Staring at the floor contritely, she noticed the green Quidditch robe lying in a heap on the cold gray stones. Draco had forgotten it.
The chimes in the school began sounding off their notice of ten o'clock, all the bells mixing together in a great cacophony of sound. Hermione knew that in a few minutes Mrs. Norris and Filch would begin wandering the halls looking for disobedient students out after their curfew. Knowing that not even her status as prefect would save her from the curmudgeonly ways of that man, Hermione gathered up the green robe, and folding it neatly, headed back to Gryffindor Tower.
That night, in the darkness of the dormitories, lay two unsatisfied students. Hermione Granger was lost in her dreams, wrapped in a green Quidditch robe and savoring the scent of a man she thought uninterested but interesting. Draco Malfoy, on the other hand, was silently screaming.
Slightly embarrassed, Hermione quickly checked the surrounding area. It was clear; no one had seen her. She raised herself up, rubbing the spot on her bum she was sure would be bruised tomorrow. Ugh, why was she doing this!? She couldn't comprehend what would compel her to behave the way she was. She couldn't be attracted to Malfoy. Not a chance in the world. . .or at least she tried to tell herself for the ninth time that evening.
Smoothing her robes and straightening her hair, she slowly and deliberately made her way toward the first floor corridor. She may not be sure of her actions, but she would at least be sure she was not perceived as overly enthusiastic. This was her biggest enemy, she and her friends'. She was certain that this unwelcome emotion was just frustration over Ron. . .perhaps a little sexual frustration as well. Hermione shook her head. But it was probably true. Everyone had their needs, and she couldn't deny her own, or deny the fact that they weren't and had never been met. Yes, any interest Hermione had in Malfoy was simply the result of overactive hormones.
She walked into the first floor corridor, repeating the mantra of 'overactive hormones'.
Then she saw him.
In the torch light by the second coat of armor was a tall blond boy-- no, man. Hermione's formerly overactive hormones took a whole new speed, and her heart began to race. Stopping dead in her tracks, her mouth went dry and she felt the heat rush to her cheeks. She hated this feeling, a mixture of excitement and embarrassment. Oh, how she wish she had stayed in her room!
He turned at the sound of her footsteps, letting his eyes wander over her flame lit frame. She was blushing; he loved it. It somehow brightened her eyes, and she was nervously chewing on her bottom lip. It was something feminine, something fascinating. He was almost drawn to it. Draco shut his eyes tightly to clear his head. He had work to do. Opening his eyes, he straightened himself. He repeated to himself that he had work to do.
"You. . .umm, you're in Quidditch robes." Hermione said feebly. She regretted saying it the moment it came out of her mouth. It was so stupid to state the obvious. But the silence, it made her nervous, and she was willing to say anything to make it stop.
Draco suddenly remembered his robes and the broom his still held in his hand. He ran his free hand through his tousled blond hair, the perspiration having ruined the perfect gel job he had done that morning. "Yeah, we had practice tonight. It was hard. Just got off."
"You're still sweating." Hermione said seriously, then suddenly burst into a slight smile. "If this isn't a double entendre. . ." She didn't even finish-- both let out a small laugh.
The silence that followed made her nervous. He noticed it and smirked. He was making an effect. She grew so fidgety that she rushed through her next words. "Umm, I saw in your book that you wanted me here. Unless that wasn't meant for me. If it wasn't, let me know. I could just leave. It's no big deal. I just thought. . ."
Draco raised a hand to quiet her. "It was meant for you." He replied simply.
That didn't ease her nerves. Stomach still swirling, she spoke up quietly. "Oh. Well, then what is it that you want me here for?" Hermione stared on as Draco scratched his chin casually. "This isn't some joke on me, is it? Pansy isn't waiting in a corner to bludgeon me to death?" *Typical,* she thought. *I always think suspiciously.*
Draco smirked. *Granger, if you only knew.* "No. No, I just wanted to talk to you."
Her face screwed up in confusion. "Talk to me about what?"
"About how I feel about you."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Her-Hermione," Draco stumbled on the words, having nearly never spoken her given name to her face before. "I think you know what I'm talking about. You don't think all that happened in detention for any other reason." He saw her eyes glaze over, and the blood drain from her face. Oh, she had been thinking about it. He could tell.
"Well. . .I. . .but. . ." Hermione stammered.
"I've always felt strangely attracted to you, Hermione. Always. Surely you must have known that?" He waited to see her reaction.
"But-- but you're dating Pansy Parkinson. That's what everyone's been saying."
Draco dramatically rolled his eyes. Another Malfoy benefit, besides good looks, was the glorious gift of acting/lying remarkably. "Yes, yes, that." He said with faux frustration. "She's always been interested in me. I helped her with some homework a week ago and suddenly she's stating we're going out. She's been all over me since the beginning of the term, her and Millicent Bulstrode, and now it's got the whole school talking. It couldn't be further from the truth. After all, look at her." He smirked.
Hermione's eyes narrowed and she bristled at him. Why was she suddenly going on defense? She was thinking the same thing just hours ago! Hermione prayed that she could eventually get a hold on these conflicting emotions. "I always figured you'd be shallow, Malfoy. This just proves it."
"Then you understand why I feel the way I do about you."
"Actually, no. I don't."
"You don't!?" He said in mock surprise. "Hasn't Ron ever told you how gorgeous you are?"
Hermione looked suddenly sullen. "No." Draco had definitely hit a sore spot in their relationship, or lack thereof.
"Don't you think you're attractive?"
"Well, I'm not all that good looking. . ." Hermione, all at once feeling very self conscious about herself, started picking at the thread on the sleeve of her robes.
"Oh but you are!" Draco exclaimed, causing Hermione to look up into his face with surprise. She was playing perfectly into the trap.
He started to step closer to her.
"Look at yourself. Look at those eyes. They sparkle. And that smile-- you certainly fixed that up quite nicely, remember a few years back?" She giggled. She was able to laugh about that commotion now.
He took another step nearer and reached to brush away a strand of hair. Hermione felt his finger tips brush against her cheek delicately. She almost gasped.
"And look at that blush. You glow. That neck, the curve of your collarbone, the very skin." He let his hand wander down her neck. She sighed softly.
Draco took yet another stride forward.
"And those legs, that stomach, they're just made to be touched and enjoyed." His hand ran from her neck down to quickly encircle her waist.
Again, another step.
He was now mere centimeters from her face. His hand reached up again and grasped her chin. His voice was just above a whisper, his thumb just barely grazing her lower lip.
"And those lips were the sweetest I had ever tasted."
He leaned in and kissed her. But this time it wasn't the tame kind they had shared the day before. What began as a fanciful feat quickly became something fierce, something passionate. Hermione wasn't what Draco had expected. He expected her to be timid, like the other girls he had been with, almost too scared to move. But Hermione had lost all common sense; now she was relying on animalistic instinct. She kissed him savagely, and her hands went to his sides, fingers hooking in his belt loops and pressing him closer to her. For a moment, Draco lost himself in the event, his left hand dropping his broomstick and reaching for her bottom. Hermione cringed as he grasped the area that was injured from her fall, but she did not falter in her feelings. She quickly undid the clasp on his outer Quidditch robe, and it fell to the floor. Only spurred on, he hurriedly lifted her up and pressed her against the stone wall, still furiously kissing her as her legs hooked behind his back. She pulled herself away and began trailing her lips down the side of his neck, causing Draco to shiver. Hermione's skirt had slid up in the process, and he. . .he. . .
He couldn't do it. Draco Malfoy pulled away from Hermione, who looked at him with bewilderment. He stared back at her blankly, not knowing how to proceed, or what went wrong. She was near physical perfection. But he couldn't. He didn't know why. It annoyed the shit out of him.
Hermione moved to kiss him again, but this time he pulled away completely. Setting herself back on the ground, he took a step backward and slowly began walking away in a daze.
"Draco?" Hermione worriedly called after him. He merely motioned his hand for her to stop. He wouldn't even turn around.
Hermione was beyond puzzled. She didn't think she had done anything wrong. Maybe she had. Maybe he was lying. Maybe he didn't find her attractive, and that was the reason why he left. Maybe he remembered about Ron, or Pansy, and he felt guilty too. Lord knows she felt guilty. She had acted like a brazen harlot, and she suddenly felt very disgusted with herself.
Staring at the floor contritely, she noticed the green Quidditch robe lying in a heap on the cold gray stones. Draco had forgotten it.
The chimes in the school began sounding off their notice of ten o'clock, all the bells mixing together in a great cacophony of sound. Hermione knew that in a few minutes Mrs. Norris and Filch would begin wandering the halls looking for disobedient students out after their curfew. Knowing that not even her status as prefect would save her from the curmudgeonly ways of that man, Hermione gathered up the green robe, and folding it neatly, headed back to Gryffindor Tower.
That night, in the darkness of the dormitories, lay two unsatisfied students. Hermione Granger was lost in her dreams, wrapped in a green Quidditch robe and savoring the scent of a man she thought uninterested but interesting. Draco Malfoy, on the other hand, was silently screaming.