Authors Note:
You guys are all fantastic for reviewing this story. I'm glad you stuck with it, even though I didn't update for such a long time. I promise I'll try to improve on everything I missed out on last chapter, especially writing out Draco's feelings of the kiss, as someone pointed out. And I'll try not to swear as much as I was before, as several people pointed put. Also, in reply to someone's query, I spell 'bastard' different out of habit, and 'arse' is how they say it and spell it in England and Australia, so I'm just spelling different to my faithful American readers. Thanks again for reviewing, and I hope you enjoy the next chapter.
Disclaimer:
I promise I will never forgive FF.Net for making me do these – I do not own Harry Potter, all that and associated with it belongs to J.K. Rowling.
Chapter Eight:
The KissDraco lay across his bed, brushing a stray hair out of his eyes.
He was beyond furious.
Surprisingly, his anger had managed to be contained, as he was publicly humiliated in front of the entire school. Currently, the perpetrator remained unharmed, because the perpetrator, herself, had been on his mind since their previous night together.
It was a kiss that was not to be forgotten. Not only because the kiss was initiated by the person who may have hated Draco more than he hated and despised her. But because the kiss was one that was filled with passion of hate, lust, and possibly love. It was fuelled by the hate the two had shared since their first year, and now, being older and more mature, the two managed to deal with their hate for each other in the most unimaginable way possible.
To do the complete opposite.
To perform a minor act of love.
To make their heads even more muddled than before.
And now Draco Malfoy was draped across his bed, contemplating his feelings for … a Mudblood.
He allowed himself a shudder, as the thought became clear in his mind. The thought of her. The thought of being with her, and touching her, and experiencing extraordinary feelings for her.
Hermione Granger.
The one so innocent and so pure, and the one his father warned him not to associate with.
Ah, said a tiny voice in his head, but your father's not here now. In fact, your father is the farthest away he could possibly be. In Azkaban.
Draco winced at the last word. It was the last word he heard his father say before he was dragged away by prison guards. Dementors.
Of course, Draco felt now that he was ready and able to make his own decisions. The decision at the moment was how to deal with Hermione. First, he had to be able to conceal the incredibly confusing and incredibly annoying feelings he had for her. Then, he would have to get her back. No one hands him A Lesbian's Guide To Good Health and gets away with it.
Looking back on it now, he saw it as child's play. She had a mind, but he had a deceitful mind. She came up with the ideas, and he came up with the goods. They were a team, yet they did not know it.
Now, Draco's mind was working. Whirring, filled with ideas, it wouldn't take long for his mind to come up with something. Something devious, and something Hermione wouldn't be expecting. But his mind only knew one thing at the present moment.
Revenge is sweeter.
~*~*~*~*
Now that Hermione had well and truly recovered from the incredible laughing fit she had experienced earlier, she had time to think. She relaxed on her bed, enjoying the comforts of her luxurious bedroom. Her mind constantly re-played the morning's events. Luckily for her, it was a Saturday, and she had the whole day to come up with part three of her plan, or just the enjoy the end of part two.
Which she thoroughly was.
One thing she did know, and was ready for, it was Draco's pay back. She could not say he wasn't in his room at this present moment happy with his own little thoughts plotting the day away, because that's exactly what she supposed he was doing.
And then her mind went back to something else entirely.
That stupid little kiss.
That stupid little-pleasurable-I'd-do-it-again-any-day-kiss.
And, yes, the problem was – she'd do it again any day.
Of course, she knew it was her fault. She initiated the kiss. The problem also was she secretly wished for a similar opportunity to arise. She wanted to kiss him again. Of course, she couldn't tell him that. It would be like telling him she fantasised about him for days on end—because sometimes she did. Sometimes she wanted him so bad she couldn't explain what was racing through her mind and other times she wanted to wipe the stupid little smirk off of his face.
It was an understatement that she was confused.
It was also an understatement to say that she was drunk.
She'd conquered up a bottle of tequila—from a spell book in the restricted section of the library—and drunk herself silly until she felt a little woozy. Hermione had always dealt with her problems by drinking when she could easily dealt with them mentally. She was happy that was for sure, perhaps that was a result of the drink, but she knew she would have to see someone just to make her happier.
And that someone just happened to be Draco Malfoy.
~*~*~*~*
Draco, quite content with his thoughts, woke up from a daze when he heard someone knocking on his bedroom. Of course, that someone would have to be Hermione, since she's the only one who knows the password to their dormitories.
At first, he felt like ignoring her completely. Shrugging her off like a piece of lint on his shoulder. It turned out Hermione wasn't going anywhere soon.
"Let me in!" she whined.
He continued to ignore her pleading.
"Draco … I'll sing."
That thought scared him more than the mere thought of running stark naked down the corridors. He slowly got up and opened the door, shocked to see a beaming face staring back at him.
"Hello," she greeted.
"Hi," he said cautiously.
She waltzed over to his bed, flopping down it. She sat up, resting on her elbows. "How've you been, Draco?"
"Er – great. You?"
"Absolutely fantastic!"
Draco wandered over to where she sat. "Are you drunk?" he asked.
"No!" Hermione stretched out across his bed.
"You're just happy?" he quirked an eyebrow.
"Well, after this morning, who wouldn't be?" she asked.
Draco grimaced. "Right … yeah … this morning."
"Oh, don't bother yourself about it, Draco. People will only be talking about it for -,"
"Ten years," Draco finished.
Hermione looked at him. "Yes I suppose you're right."
"You're still happy?"
"Well, it's a tad depressing, isn't it?"
"I suppose I deserved it," said Draco.
"You did."
"I did?"
"Yes, you did."
"Oh."
He sat down then, and she shuffled closer to him. "Draco, can I ask you something?"
"Yes. Anything."
"Why did you kiss me back?"
A simple question. The six words didn't cause such a distress unless put together, and it scared Draco because he knew he'd eventually have to answer it. He looked at Hermione, pleadingly.
"You said 'anything'," Hermione pointed out.
"I did." He sighed.
"You – you don't have to answer," Hermione said quietly.
"I should."
"I guess you should."
"Heat of the moment, I suppose. It's not that big of a deal."
"It is." Hermione cautiously put her hand on his. "Because I think we both want to do it again." She slowly brought her lips up to his; placing feather light kisses on his mouth. Draco moved, stopping her. He looked at her carefully. "How do I know this isn't a joke?"
Hermione allowed herself a small smile. "You don't … you just feel." Again, she kissed him, with more force and passion this time. He moved his lips rhythmically against hers, sliding his tongue in and darting it across her bottom lip. She breathed in sharply, not allowing herself a moan. She wasn't going to give him that satisfaction.
Not yet anyway.
Drunk as she may be, her head seemed less fuzzy than it was before. She ran a hand through his hair, and the pair fell back onto the bed. Caught up in the heat of the moment again it seems.
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