IMPRESSIONS chapter sixteen
Disclaimer: Don't own anything, except for stuff you don't recognize.
Summary: An emotionally, physically, and mentally wounded Draco needs someone to help him, whether he wants to admit it or not, after his father lands in Azkaban, his mother is committed to St. Mungo's, and his entire world crumbles. Romance/Angst.
Author's Note: Please review!
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He smirked. "It's one of my charms. I happen to be extraordinarily modest as well," he said.
Hermione gaped at him for a minute and slowly began to laugh.
Draco looked up at her. "What?"
At this, the Gryffindor only laughed harder.
Draco snorted in disgust as he scrawled another 'twenty out of sixty' on the header of the parchment he was grading. "Surely we weren't such morons?" he muttered. "Well, perhaps Potter and Weasley…" he shot a glance at Hermione, who stopped laughing abruptly.
"Ron and Harry aren't morons," she said loyally.
Draco rolled his eyes. "Come on. I happen to know that Potter only passed his third-year potions exam because Dumbledore wouldn't let Snape fail him."
"Well, Snape is unfair!" said Hermione hotly.
"You might want to keep your voice down, you know, seeing as he's in the next room," said Draco lightly.
Hermione paled. "Do you think he heard me?" she hissed, clutching his arm.
"Calm down," said Draco. "He doesn't care what everyone thinks of him."
"How do you know?" said Hermione.
"Because he's like me. And I don't," Draco reminded her. "And you ended the conversation. Why exactly do you care what people think? What Potter and Weasley do, I mean," he questioned, dipping his quill into the red ink.
"Because they're my friends. And you changed the subject when we were talking!" Hermione accused him.
Draco shrugged at her charge. "So what if they're your friends? They've been idiots as far as I can tell," he asked her.
"Well, it's not like they keep me on a leash or anything," said Hermione slowly. "I just hate fighting."
"So, you don't care what they think, but you don't like it when they're mad?" he asked, raising an eyebrow quizzically.
She sighed. "Will you drop it if I say I don't care?" she asked finally.
"Maybe."
"Fine, I don't care what they think. All right?"
He smirked. "Prove it."
"What?" she was caught off guard.
He set down the quill and parchment and leaned towards her. "Prove that you don't care, and I will drop it," he said softly.
"How do you expect me to prove it?" she asked, bewildered.
"Kiss me," he whispered, his eyes dancing with mirth. "That'll prove it."
"What?" Hermione asked, shocked. "No!"
His smirk broadened. "Why not?"
"Because- because I can't kiss someone just for a point!" she protested. "And I don't like you that way," she added as an afterthought.
He shrugged. "So?"
She looked positively aghast. "But…" she growled. "I should have known you don't place much stock on kissing, either."
"Not really, no."
"So there you go! I haven't actually been kissed. It was all fake!" Hermione announced as though she were presenting an infallible argument.
"Well, your experience so far hasn't been that bad, now has it?" he asked mercilessly. "For it being fake, and all."
She blushed furiously. "Look, you kissed me, okay?"
"So? Like I said, you enjoyed it…"
"How do you know?" she fired back at him, her cheeks pink with embarrassment.
He waved a hand. "I know," he said arrogantly.
"You said that. How, precisely?"
He peered at her through one eye. "Well…" he began, dragging the word out. "I'm a fantastic kisser," he finished.
She gaped at him. "You are so unbelievable," she grated, turning back to her papers. "I refuse to speak about this topic anymore."
"As you wish…"
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Forty-five minutes later, they both stood and stretched simultaneously. "Done, finally," Draco complained. "Those bloody idiots were pathetic."
"They're just children," Hermione chided. "You can't expect them to know everything we do."
"So? It was ridiculous. I don't know how Snape stands it. Ten out of fifteen first-years hadn't a clue that Monkshood was the primary ingredient in the Wolfsbane series," Draco spat in disgust.
"Well, they probably haven't begun studying that yet," said Hermione.
"What are you defending them for?" asked Draco as he vanished their correcting utensils with a wave of his wand. "It was all bull"-
"Draco," said Hermione warningly once he completed his sentence.
He smirked. "Are you going to come and help with the translation?" he questioned as they walked out of the chamber.
"I suppose," said Hermione distantly.
"What are you thinking about?"
She was jerked back into the present. "What? Oh, nothing," she said quickly.
"Right," he responded, an amused leer on his face.
Hermione ignored him. "Do you want to meet in the Room of Requirement?" she questioned, changing the subject.
"Sure," Draco said lightly.
"Okay, I just have to go to Gryffindor Tower first," said Hermione as they neared a split of the hallway.
Draco said nothing and just turned left, she, right.
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"Tarantula," said Hermione once she neared the Fat Lady's portrait.
The Fat Lady shivered. "Nasty things. Do stay away from them, my dear," she advised Hermione as she swung open, revealing the way into the common room.
"I will," Hermione promised, her eyes wide with amusement. She climbed in and took a deep breath. Don't care what they think. Just don't care. If they're mad, it's not my fault. It doesn't matter what they think.
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"Took you long enough," Draco muttered once Hermione made it to the Room of Requirement.
She glared at him. "I was busy not caring," she said.
"About whom?" Draco prompted, setting down a book he was reading to look at her in interest.
"Everyone in Gryffindor," Hermione sighed. "I don't know how, but even the younger kids know who I am."
"You're famous. Congratulations," said Draco, his eyes returning to his book.
"What are you reading?" asked Hermione interestedly.
"La Missione di uno Sciocco," said Draco calmly. "By Giovanni Scoccari."
"What?" asked Hermione, completely baffled. "Is that in another language?"
"Obviously," said Draco, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "Does this mean you don't know Italian?"
Her jaw dropped. "You're reading a book in Italian?" she questioned in disbelief.
"Is it really so hard to believe, Granger?" Draco snapped. "I had a governess up until Hogwarts. She was an Italian witch, so I spoke Italian in lessons."
Hermione's jaw dropped further. "I had no idea!"
"Of course you didn't. Why would you?" Draco countered, reopening the book to his marked place.
"What's it about?" pressed on Hermione.
Draco groaned. "Look, I was just reading it to pass the time." He tossed the book on the couch. "Let's get to work. See if you're worth the trouble."
She glowered at him. "I am not trouble!"
"All right," he said placidly, infuriating her more.
"And my name is 'Hermione,'" she added. "Why did you call me by my surname?"
He shrugged. "You were annoying me."
"I am not annoying, Malfoy!"
"Why did you call me by my surname?" he asked innocently.
She ignored him and sat down at the table provided in the room and opened the large book of runes. "Let's get going," she said stiffly.
"As you wish," said Draco coolly. "Granger," he added under his breath.
Hermione's head snapped up. "I heard that," she said tightly.
Draco smirked. "Of course you did."
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"What does "mophiz" mean again?" asked Hermione absently.
Draco glanced up. "Mobility," he informed her.
"Oh. Okay, that makes sense then," said Hermione, biting her spare quill as she scratched out the word in black ink.
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"I have to go," said Hermione after an hour and a half of complete silence as they translated the index of the book.
Draco set down his quill. "You haven't proven yourself yet," he said lightly.
"What? I did just as much as you!" said Hermione indignantly as she stood and swung her bag over her shoulder. "I should have known that you would be completely unappreciative."
"I'm not talking about that," said Draco, standing as well and walking to her side of the table.
Hermione backed up. "If you're going to"-
She was too late. He closed the space between there bodies in a second and pressed her up against the wall, his mouth covering hers.
She gasped and reddened as she realized that this kiss, as all the others had been, was quite enjoyable.
He broke it off abruptly and stared at her. "You kissed back, finally," he said, a slow, evil grin spreading across his face.
She went a deeper shade of red. "Look, I"-
He pressed his lips to hers a second time, and accepting that she would not get away, Hermione closed off all her thoughts and let herself melt in Draco's arms, deciding to try and enjoy it. He had turned out to be quite persistent.
They finally broke apart for want of air, but Draco didn't let her move and kept his face close to hers. "Is this curing you of your disinterest in kissing, Hermione?" he asked softly, his breath tickling her neck.
She shuddered. "I"-
He cut off her words for a third time with his lips, and Hermione succumbed quickly and willingly, deciding that she would ride this wave until it ended. I don't care what they say.
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Author's Note: Thanks to my reviewers! Wow, 130!