The Echo
The Hermione Granger in question was once again making her way to the bathroom, hoping this time that she did not need to find out something that would confuse her life even further but just to wash her face. She had been standing amidst the gleaming witches and wizards of the party and looking up watching the villainous Elder Malfoy give his "welcome-to-my-manor-now-let-me-drink-your-blood" speech when she suddenly thought -
God, he's good-looking.
Or rather, permanently scarred her inner mind with a vision of him naked when she realised she was slightly drunk.
Or at least hoped so.
I mean, she thought as she took hold of the ivory handle that lead into the guest bathroom, and pulled, revealing the magnificent blue and black tiled room, the clawed bath bigger than her own room, and the wrought iron sink and taps no doubt more expensive than seven years of tuition at Hogwarts. It would be okay if I was thinking about Draco and his chiselled chest-
Whoa, no. No!
Far too much alcohol. Shall never drink again.
Hermione dampened a embroidered towel (with the Malfoy Crest - those pompous gits) and traced her too-red cheeks with the cold cloth, heaving a sigh as she stood in front of the mirror. Looking up into her own dark eyes, trying to ignore the freckles that danced gleefully across the bridge of her nose - having escaped the coverings of makeup, she wondered aloud what on earth she was doing there.
Her answer was only the quietened echo of her question.
Bloody Brilliant.
The Hermione Granger in question was quickly loosing patience with this whole charade. No, it wasn't good enough that she suffer hours with her past housemates in order to learn how to behave (which was basically not to say anything too loudly, not attempt to hex anything, and smile while looking pretty - just another day at the office, really) but she also had to endure Malfoy in his far too sexy robe -
Which fell off his hips in straight, sleek lines -
More water Hermione!
This time she ran the cold tap, which hissed before realising water proving that while the Malfoy's house was far more exquisite and expensive than her own abode she shared with her two best friends they had the better plumber. She allowed herself a small smirk of the petty victory.
However, aside from checking out the Malfoy family - I mean, looking at them! - Hermione really hadn't gathered anything worth reporting to Dumbledore -
Unless the old badger wanted to know that Malfoy's muscles ripples when he dances -
Enough Hermione!
So, it wouldn't matter too much if she had a bit of a look around - upstairs in whatever direction Draco's room was. After all, everyone was in the ballroom and it wasn't like the Malfoy's were hiding Voldemort in they're study was it?
"Heh, heh," Hermione swallowed a small nervous laugh, before drying her hands, and patting her cooling cheeks. Reminding herself that had Harry and Ron been in her position they would have wasted no time in going through Malfoy's sock draw for information.
The door's lock swung open to reveal an empty entrance hall, the winding staircase, and the sound of polite clapping as her theme tune as she darted up the stairs, holding her dress aloft enabling her to run. She hoped no one would come out of the hall not just because she would be discovered but because whoever did would get a good look at her knickers.
- - -
Three flights of stairs, and several posh rooms later Hermione finally pushed open a door of a possible bedroom of the brooding git downstairs.
Which was weird, she thought, because it didn't look evil at all.
In fact had it not even be a plausible room for Draco Git Malfoy she would have gone in anyway, the lure of the bed of dark satin sheets and expansive bookshelves called to her. Besides the books and the bed it didn't appear to have very much in it, sort of like an upper-class hotel room, but a hotel room all the same. It wasn't like her room, where the books were scattered like an obstacle course, leading to the hand-me-down bed, which she had to de-monster before actually sleeping on (just a small part of the dangers in living in Grimmaldi Place, she mused) however, apart from the book shelves and herself, there was no other colours in the room. It was in a dark grey monotone, another stark difference to the bright red of her own.
Nothing personal of Malfoys, nothing he prized. Just a large open room, big enough for a gym, and a enormous bay window that took up nearly the whole his far wall - leading out into the dark blackness of the crisp night. There were no curtains, no stuffed teddy bear, no broomstick, no posters, so alien to her that it was like no one really lived in it.
That, nevertheless, deterred her from entering, and with a brave step forward into the unknown territory and quashing the urge to look through Malfoy's underwear she approached the bookshelves with a muffled gasp.
Books, in every shade of green leather, black spines and silver imprint adorned the shelves. She ran a practiced finger down the spine of the first book in the top row, though she was tall she could barely reach it.
Yet something caught her attention on the row just below her hand, a plain black volume. Drawn to it like the curiosity that killed the cat Hermione pulled it out of the case's tight clutch, and it flipped open across her palms.
It was beautiful. Quite possibly the most beautiful book she'd ever seen, and this being Hermione Granger she'd seen a lot. Each page was stained as black as Malfoy's sheets, and Harry's ebony hair, each word was blood red, the script loopy and hand written. The script seemed familiar to her, so with a flourish she turned to the very first page and upon the thick first parchment page was written:
The Complete Works of William Shakespeare
Hermione raised an eyebrow, and flicked back to the page it had opened on, frowning slightly at the curling serpent bookmark. It marked page 713 - chapter two of The Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet.
She shut the book quickly. This night was getting weirder and weirder. Hands still clutching the book, she relived the previous night she had been both baffled and mystified by a certain Malfoy.
It was cold on the front steps of the Hogwarts Castle, and Hermione drew her scarf tighter around her neck - Ginny had as usual picked out this certain outfit, since she was far too busy organising the unfortunate task of the Leaving Ball with a certain bafflingly mysterious Malfoy. They had barely spoken in the whole year they had reined as Heads. Hermione could not quite put her finger on the emotion that Malfoy had given off as they exchanged terse words as they crossed each other in the library and thinly veiled insults in the prefect meetings him trying to avoid her eyes, and her trying to avoid the entirety of his 'sort after' physique. Or as her room mates like to call 'fit body". The ball was as good as a success as her midnight robes (which where a little to fashionable for her taste having the bodice embroidered with different shaped and shaded blue stars) put had she been a little more honest with herself - and a little less naive for a seventeen year old - she would have admitted that being best friends with Harry Potter sort of put a downer on the whole both 'beginning and the end' celebrations. After all, most of her classmates (suspected Death Eaters not included) were taking jobs all over the world and she, whilst still having to field off Owl's from potential employers had had her name signed along with Ron and Harry for a lease at the Order. Or more to the point, she was going into hiding. Her parents were mad at her for not having the time to talk to them for the past two years and "Off Saving The World" apparently only works for the first five years. Then they start to think their only daughter is having a relationship with both of her best friends. Hermione could taste her mint-flavoured breath on the night air that was exceptionally cold for a spring evening. The stars were burning brightly, so much so they lit up the Hall on their own - no need for candles this year Dumbledore had said. She supposed the Hufflepuff's had looked at them as a sign - or omen - of hope. The Ravenclaw's had looked at them and saw the night was as clear as their futures. The Gryffindor's had seem them and saw twinkling lights, like bonfire's and fireworks, all excitement and adventure. And the Slytherin's - well, actually she didn't know what the Slytherin's really thought about anything.
So wrapped up in her own thoughts Hermione Granger did not notice a pair of expensive dragon hide boots leaving through the Great Hall's door and standing upon the step where she sat.
"Kind of eerie, isn't it? The night being so still like this." There was a soft echo of those quietly spoken words, ringing through the night, apparently startling both Hermione and a bat (or a creature of similar description) from the Forbidden Forest.
Well, apparently she didn't have to guess at a Slytherin perception of a night like this. Typical, she almost snorted, a Slytherin would have been suspicious and sceptical of a perfectly good peaceful night. She forgot to realise that out of all of the descriptions she had thought of that his seemed the one similar to her own conclusion.
"Malfoy," she had replied, addressing herself to the dark boots and legs of the formerly blond head of her fellow school leader. Instead, she cocked her head to one side, her eyes never leaving the tall shadowy figures of the forest. "Nice hair."
There was a rustling of robes and Hermione found herself closer to Draco Malfoy than she had been since third year - he was sitting next to her.
She squashed the urge to push him (in a playful way, of course) and claim the step as her own, as she would have done with Ron or Harry.
"Why don't you sod off, Granger, before I push you off my step." Then a historic moment happened.
Brown eyes slowly met grey.
Then the grey pulled away. "Which one of you did it anyway?" Had Hermione dared a look she would have seen the boy run a hand through black hair, far more stylishly messy than her best friend could have hoped to achieve as it's owner sat in an almost effortless sprawl. "I know it couldn't be Weasel - it still surprises me he knows which way round to hold a bloody wand let alone point it. Potter is most likely preoccupied. Which leaves one other suspect in the case of the baffling mystery of the appearing black hair."
"Sure Malfoy, I see right through you, you know - you did it yourself for attention."
Brown eyes again met grey.
And this time they stayed locked. "You see right through me do you Granger? Then what am I thinking right now?"
"You are thinking - you're really going to miss Hogwarts, and these momentous exchanges." She replied sarcastically, not daring to look away.
Draco paused, as if she had given an answer he had not expected. "Close, but no gold star this time, I'm thinking goodbye Hermione Jane Granger."
"Good evening Hermione Jane Granger."
The aforementioned exquisite book fell from the girls hands, and her startled gasp echoed it's soft thump on the floor.
"Oh, it's you - the very rabbits themselves do tremble in fear." Hermione muttered, covering her moment of fright with bravado.
Draco, almost entirely made out of black as he stood in his doorframe, the torch light in the background making him stand out and strands of blond hair make a halo upon his head.
"I see you found my bedroom."
"I was looking for the bathroom." Oh how lame her brilliant excuse seemed now.
"I see you found my bookshelf."
"I was... looking for loo roll."
She could see him smirk now, even in the dark. But the moment of humour was fleeting as he turned and closed the doors. His eyes taking on the appearance of wide saucers now, so out of character from their school days, so lacking in the control he normally excluded, the pride he usually carried, and the glaze of ice that reflects the onlookers emotions straight back.
"I don't blame you if you hate me, you know," Draco smiled into the darkness of the room, they're vision only aided by the light of stars that shone through his window. "Lots of people hate me."
Hermione snorted, yet took a wary step backwards towards his bed. "Oh please, Malfoy, you know you love the attention -"
"Do I?" He answered, one intense eye mocking her, and the other laughing.
"Yes," Hermione put her shaking hands behind her back and tried to stifle the urge to run, and run far. There was an atmosphere building between them, growing like a storm, she couldn't control it, and she didn't like it. Not one bit. "Why else would you dance with me, tell me in paraphrased words that there's something going on, why else would you follow me up here? Follow me to the Order - and I know you did - that spell was linked to me - when there's nothing between us. We're not friends. We're not even meant to be talking."
Hermione took another step backwards. "When your a Death Eater."
Draco gave a hollow laugh. "Believe me when I say I've paid for that misconception." But he didn't laugh when he said a little quieter, "believe me when I say I'm not my father."
"Your doing a good bloody impression, with your secretive little sayings, Malfoy, you are quite possibly the most infuriating person I have ever met. Are you going to chase me around forever? I don't care how you got into the Order Headquarters' anymore - just tell me what it is your always holding back from me. I mean it, no more lies, no more half truths, I'm sick of worrying what it could possibly be that you want with me!"
Draco, who had been looking at his shoes during Hermione's slowly loudening tirade, suddenly met her eyes and she knew. Eight years of tension, four of unrequited attraction, and one whole night of starring at each other wishing it wasn't so, suddenly were all gone.
Vanished, like a fading echo.
Draco was abruptly in front of her, those hands once again on her arms, taking up all of her vision, her eyes captured by his lips she had never really noticed before. That was until they descended upon hers in a brief feather touch.
Startled by this timid action of his soft mouth she was frozen in place for a moment, then Hermione kissed his bottom lip firmly and then his top, before the contact dissolved into a deep sensual kiss that caused her insides to melt. Caught between fear, passion and a strange sort of longing Draco and Hermione clung to each other.
"I don't want this..." Hermione whispered, as Draco held a finger to her lips and kissed her neck softly. Only when he had removed his had could she continue. "...To end."
- - -
Draco smoothed down an absent lock of Hermione's hair.
He revealed in that fact for a moment.
Hermione's hair.
Not Granger's hair.
Not that-Muggle-born's-hair. Or something far more offensive.
He sighed softly, and wondered how on earth he had gotten through eighteen long years of not being this close to her, how he had gotten through eighteen long years of never looking deeply into her warm russet eyes. It should have been illegal to call them just 'brown' he thought, 'brown' was far too colourless for anything describing Hermione.
"If you think for one minute that you lying on top of me on your evil black bed messing up my hair is romantic Malfoy, you have another thing coming." She muttered, a little out of breath.
"I wasn't really thinking romantic -" He replied, not bothering to hide his smirk or the fact he was reaching for another strand of hair.
"I have to go." Hermione began to sit up, which was no easy feat trapped beneath a rather taller counterpart, but some how the soft touches of her chest against his was far more sensual than all of his previous late-night fumbling.
But even as he adjusted his weight to stay on top of her, she had rolled out from under him. Golden dress wrinkled now, and hair - as she had assessed - was messier than before.
Draco lay on his bed for a second longer, face down, breathing in the distinct smell of Hermione - a mixture of cinnamon and warm nights - trying to quash the depth of the completely un-Malfoy feelings he was having, before joining her vertically again.
"I really do have to go." She said again, not moving an inch.
She was waiting for something, he realised, she was a little ruffled and awkward in his parents home, and slightly bruised lipped from all the kissing, but Hermione was no fool. They had been laying on his bed in their own little world for the better part of an hour, the soft secretive whispers of forbidden romance still warm on his neck but ice was curling through his stomach in a way he hadn't felt since he had been eight and had broken a vile of his mothers potion. A potion he wasn't supposed to play with.
"You want me to say I want to go with you, don't you?"
Hermione gave him a small smile as though she'd already anticipated that answer.
"You won't," she said, sounding her thirteen year old self with a right answer. "You're not quite ready to give this up." Had her thirteen year old self be filled with the wisdom that only comes with the hard crushing realisation of reality, warfare, and a tangled romance with someone she really shouldn't care for.
Draco knew she didn't have to specify what this was. He knew she meant this was side he had long chosen.
"I can't promise you forever... or even tomorrow, Hermione."
There was a brief pause.
"Then I'll see you later on," she smiled again, "Draco." And then in a blur of golden robes and unruly hair she had gone, leaving Draco standing alone in his room a wide real smile upon his lips, a fallen Romeo and Juliet book, and the soft echo of her footsteps that carried her away from him.
Dedicated to the many reviewers that yell: When are they going to get to-bloody-gether?
Dancing With Happiness Authors Note: That's it! They're finally together (its not the end, of course!) but yay! Hermione and Draco are together and that's all that matters. Well, apart from the actual end of the story. I do believe it is my very favourite chapter. And it took me an awful long time think of the title, but then some how it all fitted together nicely. The flashback scene was the result of one nights late inspiration and Sarah Mclachen songs. I had to stop there because I was steadily loosing grip on reality and had begun to warp Draco. Was it too angsty? Was it too OOC? Do I care? No! Because they're finally together!
Dancing With Happiness The Next Episode: We take a trip to Hermione's bedroom, Blaise is his helpful self, and Draco has a plan (though it's not what you think.)
Dancing With Happiness Reviewers:
Arafel2 - bloody hell that was quick, thanks for the newest review :D
Elizabeth Tears - Hehe, it wouldn't be so interesting if Draco admitted it right now!
foxer - yes there are. sorry. I need a beta. looks around anyone?
candygoddess - lol thanks. I write my one liners at random times and keep them in a notebook, so at random intervals characters can pop out with them.
Hermione Double - you've read it more than once? wow. thanks lol, I too find tension and darkness better than fluff! comparing me to JKR? woot
hyparly4suger - ah sorry about that!
BlackDraconis - your not mental! at random times I do pretend I am JKR and wield the mighty Harry Potter Pen! Thanks very much for the wonderful review!
NotYourAverageSchoolgirl - thanks very much! all those excellents? lol, surely not!
potts - but wheres the element of surprise?! lol thanks :D
Thallion - thanks for the review, and the uh... dancing! Oooh, Draco in shades and a tux faints
arbitrary - thanks very much! sorry everyone is despairing with the time in between chapters - you know what The Muse can be like. Tricky git. Wouldn't say no to that wine though :D
glacial - thanks very much, I'm not overly fond of that chapter name - I guess alliteration is good though.
PinkTribeChick - thanks :D I'll try.