Just for This Moment
And if it turns out it's over too fast
I'll make every last moment last
--Wicked--
It was Valentine's Day. Hermione only knew this because as she entered the Great Hall for breakfast that morning, small dwarfs dressed as Cupids and decorations of pink, red, and white were entirely unavoidable. That, and the fact that everything was heart-shaped and there were banners all over that said "HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY!" in huge, glittering letters.
Hermione was not pleased. Valentine's Day was a holiday that she despised, because it made everyone giddy and stupid. Perhaps she would not hate it so much if she had a boyfriend to share it with. After all, only singles moan about what a pointless, awful holiday Valentine's Day is.
Hermione had never had a boyfriend. Viktor Krum back in fourth year didn't count; they never did anything worth speaking about. Some of the time, she liked being single, as it gave her ample time to concentrate on her schoolwork, which, as a seventh-year with N.E.W.T.S. approaching ever faster, was very important.
However, when she'd passed Ginny and Harry, who had been seeing each other for a little under a month, in the Gryffindor common room going at it like their lives depended on kissing, she had to admit that she didn't always enjoy being single. No, on days like today she borderline hated it.
At least it was almost over.
After dinner (the Valentine's Day Feast), which was a fiasco only in that Hermione couldn't take much more loving joy, she headed straight back to the dormitory that she, as Head Girl, now shared with the Head Boy. The Head Boy was nowhere to be seen. He's probably off with Ginny, she thought wryly.
It was ironic that Harry Potter was Head Boy of their year, considering that his marks weren't excellent and that in fifth year or sixth year he hadn't even been a prefect. After the defeat of Lord Voldemort last spring, however, Dumbledore saw fit to make Harry both prefect and Head Boy for reasons unknown to everyone except, of course, Dumbledore and Harry. That was always the way with them.
Hermione's thoughts turned back to Harry and Ginny, and that made her slightly bitter. She wished she were the one Harry went off with, and she had since the first day she met him. Some crushes never die.
Resigning herself to another night of nothing but homework, she situated herself at her desk with her Potions book and a roll of parchment, prepared to begin the essay not due for another four days.
Twenty minutes later, Hermione realized that the only words she'd written were, "The properties of different variations of the nightshade family can have profound effects on". She couldn't even finish her sentence. There wasn't even anything in particular on her mind; she simply just could not concentrate.
Deciding that a walk was in order, she left her dormitory and let her feet do the thinking.
The castle seemed so much scarier at night, especially when one was alone. Hermione was somewhat uncomfortable at the sounds of some of the portraits snoring. There were the odd few, also, that slept with their eyes open, seemingly staring down at her and scaring her half to death. Hermione was acutely aware every time the wood creaked underneath her feet, or the gentle whooshing sound of a ghost was nearby, or something fell over somewhere. Her wary ears and tired mind took all these noises and turned them into monsters.
Close to the North Tower, Hermione heard definite footsteps. Judging by the footstep alone, which was light, but crisp and deliberate, it was a student. An extremely self-confident student. Curiosity got the better of her and she followed the footsteps.
As she neared the top of the tower, she was sorry she'd done so. The person standing out there, gazing out across the grounds, silver-blonde hair and expensive black cloak blowing in the slightly harsh breeze, was the last person she ever wanted to see.
She quickly turned around and made to go back down to the main part of the castle, but he had already heard her and was too quick. "What are you doing up here, Granger?" he asked coldly.
"Hating Valentine's Day," she replied in a tone just as icy from the top of the stairs.
"Me too," he said. "What were you coming up here to do?"
"Why do you care?" she asked in disbelief, now approaching him at the turreted stone balcony wall. Malfoy had never shown any sign that he would care whether she dropped off the planet before.
"Care is too strong a word," he said, raising an eyebrow at her. "I wouldn't use it or any of its synonyms to describe anything in my life."
"I'm sorry to hear that," Hermione said cautiously.
"No you're not," Draco said bluntly. "And frankly, it makes no difference whether you're sorry for me or not."
"Well then I apologize for bringing it up," she said somewhat hotly. He had no right to lead her in circles like this within thirty seconds of initiating a conversation! This was why, she reminded herself, she never, ever spoke to Draco Malfoy if she could help it.
They stood in silence for several long minutes. The cold air, which usually cleared Hermione's head within seconds, did nothing for her. The boy standing next to her was far too distracting simply by being there.
"Why are you still here?" Draco asked curtly, breaking the silence.
"Why shouldn't I still be here?" Hermione retorted. "It's a free tower."
He chuckled. "Funny place, this tower."
"How do you figure?" she asked warily, not sure of where the conversation was going and astounded yet again at Malfoy's ability to turn a situation and, apparently, his mood, 180 degrees in the opposite direction without warning.
"It's second only to the Astronomy Tower, as a matter of fact," he went on. He was looking at her directly, and his steely gaze sent involuntary shivers all along her body. She hugged her arms around herself, trying to play it off as only the cold.
"Second?" she prompted, although she was pretty sure she knew.
So was Malfoy. "Come on, Granger," he said. "You're not that much of a prude."
She shrugged, not wanting to answer. What an odd conversation to be having with Draco Malfoy, of all people. She knew things—her best friends were boys, after all—but she'd never experienced any of them firsthand. She was unsure of whether that qualified her as a prude, and she didn't exactly want to find out.
"Are you?" he demanded when she remained silent.
She bit her lip, deliberately averting his eyes. She was perfectly well aware of the fact that Draco was looking at her…that he had been looking at her…and that he was probably not going to stop looking at her. She didn't want to think about what was going through his mind.
"Well, let's find out," he murmured.
The last thing Hermione remembered thinking was that maybe Harry wasn't all that wonderful, and that maybe Draco wasn't so bad after all.
While thinking about it later, Draco would say to himself that he didn't know what made him do it, except for maybe the sight of teeth on those wet cherry lips, or the aura of mystery that surrounded her and made him want to sink his curious claws into and uncover, or maybe he just wanted to prove that he could be the one to unravel Granger, who was always so perfect and put-together, because if there was one thing Draco knew about her, it was that she hated the element of surprise (in most cases).
The next thing that happened, though, their lips were attached. While Draco, as the one who'd started it all in the first place, had sexy, passionate lips that were warmer and more inviting than Hermione had ever seen him be as a person, she was more hesitant, partly because she was still in a state of shock, and partly because she didn't have much experience, and she didn't want anyone, especially not Draco Malfoy, to know.
Draco slipped his hand behind her head, massaging her neck as he tried to deepen the kiss, and Hermione couldn't hold him back any longer. She welcomed him into her mouth, caressing and exploring in ways that were exciting to her because they were so new. She felt him smile against her mouth, enjoying it as much as she was.
She knew it was Draco Malfoy, she knew he hated her; she knew she hated him, and she knew she shouldn't have been doing any of this. She knew it all; she just didn't care anymore.
Slowly, gently, he made his way to the floor with her beneath him, still kissing her all the while. She let him unbutton her blouse and untie the ribbon containing her thick masses of wavy, shoulder-length hair. Suddenly she wasn't Granger anymore; she was simply Hermione, a girl who kissed unbelievably well and who, even if only in the here and now, Draco really wanted to be with. Maybe he always had.
As for Hermione, who was only vaguely aware of the facts that Draco was currently unhooking her bra and that she was pulling his shirt off his body at the same time, and that she was going farther with a boy she had learned to hate in twenty minutes than she had ever gone with anyone in her life, she could have stayed there with him all night.
Some time later, Draco and Hermione were cuddling, semi-tangled, on the floor of the North Tower, clothed only in what would conceal the bits they didn't normally present to everyone they met, with Draco's large cloak covering them like a blanket.
"I'm sorry I said no," Hermione murmured uncomfortably.
"Why are you sorry?" Draco asked, letting out a sardonic laugh. "You have absolutely nothing to be sorry about."
"Oh," she said. "That's good. I wasn't sure, because after I refused, you didn't really talk much more…" She stopped when she realized he was grinning. "What's so funny?"
He kissed her nose. "This is the first time I've ever seen you unsure of anything," he explained. "I'm sorry, but it's something quite new to me and it's more amusing than you would think."
"It's new to me, too," she admitted. "I mean, aside from the fact that, um, this isn't quite my area of expertise."
"I would never have guessed," he said truthfully. "Dammit, Granger, you're unfairly talented even where you thought you had a severe blind spot."
She bit her lip. "Please, don't say anything. I don't want anything…I don't want to…"
Draco propped himself up on his elbow and looked her straight in the eye. "Come off it, Granger. Who would I tell? Who would believe me, too, even if I did tell anyone?"
"This is true," she said slowly. She smiled, snuggling closer into him. He smelled good, kind of like combination of cinnamon, expensive cologne, and new leather, mixed with his own personal Draco smell that was all blond hair, sarcasm, snobbery, and insane lust. She wanted to bottle his scent and keep it forever.
"What time do you think it is?" Draco asked.
"Judging by the moon's position in the sky, I would say close to one in the morning," Hermione replied sleepily, yawning.
"I should be getting back," he said, yawning as well and choosing to say nothing about Hermione's seemingly unbounded knowledge. "This was fun. Maybe we can do it again sometime."
Slightly put out by his careless tone, she wondered, "But nothing's changed between us? There's no potential for us to, I don't know, stop despising each other?"
He looked at her curiously, almost sadly. "I don't despise you," he said. "If you must know, especially after tonight it's quite the contrary."
"I don't understand," she whispered.
Fully clothed now, Draco buttoned his cloak and pressed his lips to hers, hard. "Neither do I," he confessed. "But that's the beauty of it, Hermione, don't you see? We don't have to understand. Who knows what will happen in the future, but just for this moment, we belong to each other."