The Passion of a Dragon
By: xKatx
Author's Notes: Dummm dee dummm… again, not much to say… :-D
Disclaimer: I don't own HP stuff—I'd be in the mountains right now if I did—I own everything you don't recognize.
Characters You Will Meet In This Chapter:
no new characters
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Hermione walked back up to the castle with Xander, smiling at his charming demeanor. He knew how to smile and wink and look at a girl in ways that would make her head swim with happiness.
"So are you into Quidditch at all?" She asked, smiling up at his six-foot frame.
His green eyes sparkled with his smile, "Well, I was at the Quidditch World Cup, if that qualifies as being 'into Quidditch.'"
"Oh, it definitely does! Who were you hoping would win?"
He grinned and raised an eyebrow, "Ireland, of course!"
Hermione smiled, "Good. I was hoping for Ireland too."
"Who wouldn't?"
She shrugged, "I have no idea."
They reached the Great Hall, and Xander touched her shoulder, "I'll talk to you later," he told her.
She nodded, "All right. Have a good afternoon."
"And you, lass," he told her with a smile as he moved to join the Ravenclaw table.
Hermione was beaming as she sat down at the Gryffindor table between Harry and Parvati.
"What are you so happy about?" Parvati asked, noticing the look on Hermione's face.
"Well," Hermione began, "For one, we won the Quidditch match.."
"We most certainly did!" Seamus said, pounding the table and throwing a napkin in the air.
Hermione smiled, but didn't comment on anything else that was making her so happy.
They ate lunch in a rather quick fashion, considering one of the Prefects had wanted to meet with her over the Halloween Ball plans that were beginning to take shape.
"I'll drop by the common room later, you guys," she told them as she stood up and left the Great Hall, heading toward the library where the meeting was supposed to take place. She straightened her black halter top, and ran her hands down the sides of her faded, boot cut, low-slung, hip-hugging jeans. Her hair was pulled into a ponytail and she'd applied smokey eye makeup and a nude lipstick on her lips. She didn't know why she was so worried about her appearance—there was no one to impress.
Ah ha! She caught herself, That's a down and out lie! There is someone to impress.
She closed her eyes for a moment. She was right, of course. There was someone to impress. Not that the logical part of her would agree that he was worth impressing, but her conscience told her he was.
All right, she admitted to herself, all right, so maybe I am interested in impressing Malfoy… or maybe making him jealous?
She shook the thoughts out of her head as she entered the library to find all four Prefects there.
"I thought it was only Lanora who wanted to talk to me," Hermione asked as she sat down across from the fifth year she mentioned.
"Well, when Owen, Riva, and Keith found out, the wanted to come too," Lanora explained for the others. Hermione smiled at Owen, the Hufflepuff prefect, Riva, the Gryffindor prefect, and Keith, the Slytherin prefect.
"All right," Hermione said, "Let's talk, then."
The four Prefects and the Head Girl spent the rest of the afternoon talking and scribbling notes on parchment. They managed to plan out the Halloween ball and Hermione promised to drop off the plans to Professor Dumbledore before dinner.
The group left the library and headed to the Great Hall. Hermione overheard Lanora and Riva as they entered the Great Hall, "She is seriously the nicest person ever!"
Hearing that made another smile come to Hermione's face.
Malfoy sat at the Slytherin table with his friends, staring at nothing in particular until Hermione entered the Great Hall.
Why the hell do you get so excited whenever she shows up? He asked himself. The answer was obvious, however—he liked her.
Like, he asked himself, or love?
No! He didn't love her! Who could? She was a dirty, filthy, know-it-all Mudblood. Plus, he was a Malfoy—was he even capable of love? He didn't know—he'd never loved anyone before.
"Hey, D, what did your dad say about that Tuft chick?"
"Marcella?"
Blaise nodded.
"He still wants me to marry her."
"Why?" Ivan asked, looking up from his dinner, "I grew up with Marcella Tuft and she's not the prettiest thing in the world."
"Nor is she the most interesting either," Blaise added with a grin.
Malfoy nodded, putting his fork down, "No kidding."
They were about to continue the conversation when someone called out, "Look!"
Every person in the Great Hall looked skyward, and noticed the swirling cloudiness of the ceiling. Then black scratchy writing appeared.
The heavens smile down upon,
The two whose hidden desire
Is brighter than the dawn
Needless to say, the topics of every conversation quickly changed.
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Hermione bid her best friends goodnight as she moved to the painting that guarded her common room. Elvira yawned and smiled at Hermione.
"Alone, dear?" The painting asked, leaning casually on the frame.
Hermione nodded, "Why?" She asked, a puzzled look on her face.
Elvira the Elusive just grinned sneakily, "Nothing."
"Is Malfoy in there?" Hermione asked, pointing to the painting.
Elvira shook her head, "No, but I'm sure he'll be around."
Hermione shrugged, "Infinigus," she said, and the portrait slid forward, and Hermione entered the common room, seeing the fire crackling merrily in the fireplace. She moved to her bedroom and changed into a pair of white shorts and a black tank top, each color displaying her brilliant golden tan. She pulled her hair into a ponytail and took off her jewelry.
She moved back out to the couch, thinking about Malfoy. They'd managed to flirt incoherently in their arguments, and she was beginning to realize that perhaps what was between them now wasn't malicious anger and hate… perhaps something more… angelic.
Ha, she thought to herself, angelic is not a word that describes Draco Malfoy.
She sat on the couch, ironically wrapped in a Slytherin blanket, staring into the fire. Why was she thinking about him so much? Who cares if they were flirting… they were teenagers! It was perfectly understandable.
Wasn't it?
At that moment, Draco walked into the common room and saw her, staring into the fire wrapped in a Slytherin blanket.
"Nice blanket," he commented silkily, his voice low but not condescending.
Hermione looked down on her lap and saw the black and emerald green and silver blanket. She shrugged, and he smirked at her. He was sure weeks ago she would have thrown the blanket aside in disgust, but she hadn't yet, and didn't look like she was planning on it.
Hermione thought he looked gorgeous tonite. He was wearing black slacks and a black long-sleeved dress shirt that buttoned up the front. The top three buttons were undone and she could see the white of his wifebeater underneath it. The outfit definitely flattered his fair complexion and light hair and eyes.
Little did she know he was looking at her thinking along those same lines. Her bronzed skin, her dark, silky hair, her smooth complexion… not to mention the extensive amount of skin her tank top exposed. She was like a beautiful golden goddess, and he felt powerless against her beauty.
"The message on the Great Hall ceiling changed," he informed her, "Thought you'd be interested."
"What makes you think I would be interested in something as trivial as a stupid prophecy?" She asked, looking at him for a moment before her gaze returned to the fire.
He smirked at her, "Because you are hoping the prophecy includes you."
"What makes you say that?" She asked, standing up and glaring at him.
"Because you've never been the center of attention and now there's the slightest chance that you will be."
Hermione stood defensively, "What the hell makes you think you understand me?"
He moved closer, brushing a stray lock of brown and gold colored hair behind her ear, "Because, like I said, your eyes give you away every time."
Hermione, despite her initial thought to push his hand away, found herself unconsciously liking the feel of his hand on her face.
"You see? Your beautiful little mouth can talk all day long, but everything else contradicts you."
She glared at him, but didn't move.
"And you don't let anyone see anything of you except cruel, heartless anger. It's a wonder you know what to look for."
She turned around to fold her blanket, when suddenly he grabbed her arm and pulled her around to face him again, her arms in his firm but gentle grip.
"Oh, dear Hermione, I know what to look for. I've seen it since we returned here. I won't lie to you; compared to what you looked like before, you are beautiful now. It seems to me your Gryffindor conquests no longer satisfy you."
"You son of a bitch," she spat, "You know I have never done anything like that."
He smirked, "Waiting for a real man?"
She narrowed her eyes, with a cunning smile, "Of course I am; why waste it on anyone else?"
"If I were you, I'd be careful just what kind of men you go after," he whispered, his lips dangerously close to hers, "That Xander character—"
"Is the big, bad, dark Draco Malfoy jealous because I'm interested in another man?" She questioned, her voice a dangerous whisper, the hidden charm and passion coming through little by little, "Why would one so regal and privileged as you worry about what a dirty little Mudblood did?"
He ran his hands down her arms, and smirked at her, his attraction to her becoming more and more evident, "Why let anyone else enjoy such a beautiful thing?"
"Now I'm a possession? You go from bad to worse, don't you, Malfoy?"
"Come now, Hermione, can't manage my name?"
Hermione at that moment, felt the burn of his fingertips on her bare arms, and the gravitational pull that appeared to be pulling them together became stronger.
"Of course I can, Draco," she said, putting a hand on the back of his neck, running a finger down the center of it, outlining his spine.
He got tingles from her gentle touch, and he gave her a good-natured smirk, "I knew you couldn't resist me."
She raised an eyebrow, "If memory serves me correctly, you were the one who told me you could give me 'power,' and 'pleasure-'"
"Care for me to make good on that promise?" He asked her, his lips meeting with the skin on her neck. She nearly screamed at the intense wave of electricity flooding from that spot, but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction.
"You're despicable," she whispered.
"You're filthy," he told her, moving away from her neck and looked into her amber eyes.
In one smooth movement, his lips were on hers. Sparks of electricity seemed to explode from every inch of her skin as his lips danced with hers. They were amazingly soft and moist; more pleasant than she would have thought. He was gentle too—which was amazingly unpredicatable. His arms went around her waist and her arms went around his neck. Their bodies pressed together as his tongue ran along the seam of her lips. Despite everything the logical side of her was screaming, she allowed him entrance; almost begged him for it. His tongue tasted every sweet crevice of her mouth, and she returned the favor. She couldn't believe she was kissing Malfoy; pureblooded, spoiled, conceited prat Malfoy. At that moment, however, he wasn't those things anymore.
He was sexy, gorgeous, intense, sensual Malfoy.
Malfoy couldn't believe he was kissing the Mudblood; the know-it-all, prissy, goody-two-shoes Mudblood. But to him, she was no longer these things; she was the sexy, beautiful, passionate, sensitive Hermione. He felt her arms go around his neck and her hands ran through his hair.
He pulled back and looked at her, "Maybe that'll give you something to think about."
And with that he left her standing, rather flustered, in the center of the common room, her lips tingling and the intense electricity from him still running through her body.
"Damnit!" She said, angry that he'd been able to fluster her like that. She grinned, however.
"Revenge is sweet, dear Malfoy," she said as she left the common room and shut her door, already planning her counter attack on him.