Chapter 4
hogsmeade, honestly.
Draco scowled. "They should never have used my middle name."
Hermione looked at him inquiringly, forgetting the circumstances for the moment. "You don't like it, then?"
"Would you?" Draco suddenly gave a half smile. "But the meaning describes me perfectly.. Ingram means Angel."
"Talk about unsuitable meanings... And I haven't even begun on what your initials spell. D-I-M! Malfoy, that's appropriate."
He had been walking towards a door when he turned to gift her with his signature smirk. "It still beats H.A.G. any day, right?"
"At least my middle name is better," she shot back, striding towards the door as he was obviously dawdling. "Why can't I open it?"
"The ring, Granger. Here, I'll show you how-"
"No, that's oka-" Draco grabbed Hermione's hand forcefully, completely enveloping it, and pressed the emerald into a slot Hermione had assumed was for keys. He was crushing her against the door, with both hands clamped over hers as he twisted the ring, slowly, deliberately. "I can't breathe, Malfoy! Get off me before I get violent!" His entire body was pressed up against her, she could feel all the crevices and taut muscles that was Malfoy. Then one leg snaked around hers lazily, his foot rubbing up her calf. She froze.
The door swung open.
Hermione staggered out. "Maybe I should have taken longer," he said, throwing her a smirk as he brushed past her.
She didn't know how to arrange her features. "Uh, thanks, Malfoy."
Hermione Granger picked at her food uncomfortably. The blonde in front of her, across a long, long table, was staring at her. Relentlessly.
After every five minutes or so, he would pick his pencil up, and sketch for another five minutes.
Surprisingly, it was actually getting to her.
She had once tried to ask what in Merlin's name was he doing, but Malfoy had simply told her to shut her muddy mouth and enjoy the food that he was paying good Galleons for, and he would thank her for it. No more questions taken, Mudblood.
She had given up.
As she laid down her fork (pure silver, judging from its weight) to dab at her mouth with the silken napkin, she once again admired her luxuriant surroundings. An enormous fire was roaring behind Malfoy, exquisite crystal chandeliers hung from the ceilings where miniscule fairies danced and giggled cheekily, and the food itself was a thing not to be scoffed at. Merlin, they even had caviar. Not that she had cared much for it, however. Steak was fine as it was.
She had to make it a point to visit up market restaurants like this more often. Still, Malfoy had informed her in no uncertain terms that this place was solely for those with background. Not for filthy, grubbing Mudbloods. Hermione had bristled at him indignantly at his casual, constant use of the vulgar term, but he had just stared at her impassively. Again his slate grey eyes had silenced her. One day she would attempt to charm the blue, or something. Just a colour more.. expressive.
Furthermore, the place, an exclusive motel, apparently, appeared to be hidden. There was no light at all streaming in, it appeared to be midnight with a large, luminous moon.
She sighed, and cupped her chin in her hands. "Malferret, are you ever going to let me out of my prison?"
He muttered something, assumedly some dastardly curse, and flung the sketchpad across the table onto the spot where her empty plate had been a moment ago.
Hermione had gaped.
On the first page was a girl. One with wild, bushy brown hair that flared out freely behind her as she appeared to be laughing at something, one hand clutched at her side and another grasping a small book bag. And her eyes, big and sparkling and brimming with life. She was wearing Muggle jeans and a long-sleeved blouse. It was.. her. Her wearing the exact same outfit and in the exact same position as she had been the last Hogsmeade visit last year. She knew, she had caught sight of a large mirror in a shop window and thought, for a moment, that perhaps she could actually be called pretty.
Hermione looked up uncertainly.
"Turn the page." A lock of his white-blond had fallen down to veil his eyes, which were in themselves mirrors. They just reflected herself, a stark, clear vision, as if it were a mirror that stripped everything of its beauty.
She lifted the first sheet and gawked.
It was a nude study of herself. Embarrassingly accurate. Oddly enough, it was a view from above of her lying in a bathtub, her bushy hair tamed and limped, fanning out in the water. Her face itself was beneath the surface, and her eyes were shut. Closed, her face looked softer, and the manner in which Malfoy had captured the water in a way that it distorted her face ever so slightly, made her beautiful. Like a mermaid that had climbed out of the sea, to become human, and who had missed the water so that she had climbed into the tub to saturate.
And her hands- oh gods. One was strewn across her chest, the other on her.. below her midsection, in a clawlike position, clasping between her legs.
Next to the bathtub appeared to be a birds-eye view of a man with light-coloured hair, bent over a sketchpad, looking directly at the woman.
She felt herself getting angry, immensely angry, as if the pictures had both violated the most private part of herself. They were exquisite and he had drawn her like nobody else had seen her, or so she thought. She did not even know how he had been able to draw the nude study, she had never even taken photos of herself, she...
Hermione's thoughts were winding around in a vortex as she slowly lifted her head to glare at the boy sitting across her. Except... he was gone.
Her anger ebbed away to shock. "Draco?"
Two arms suddenly lifted her clean out of her seat. Hermione screamed, finding herself face-to-face with Draco Malfoy as he carried her unceremoniously out or two grand double doors into the village of Hogsmeade.
Granger was unnerved, that he was certain of. Draco wanted to keep the girl off-balance for as long as she was with him. It was the way it had to be, though she didn't know it. The diminutive Mudblood was used to being in charge, knowing exactly what to do, doing exactly as she wanted. But with him, Draco knew Hermione always lost her bearings, even in Year Three when she had slapped him.
It was an act she would never had done when she was in control. So even if Draco hadn't appreciated the blow, he sought solace in the thought that Hermione herself was unable to understand why she had done that.
In the restaurant, Draco knew that she was not able to make head or tail of his sketches. He smirked at the back of the brunette who was keeping a couple of steps ahead of him. They would have to write a report together at the end of the trip, detailing the experience, some pathetic reflection. He would like to see her struggle with the idea. Draco bet that Granger's idea of married life was the direct opposite of the convoluted reality he was keeping her in. And now, she could throw him father than she trusted him, neither of which was very much.
And then there was the problem with his hormones. Hormonal Granger, that was the name the Mudblood should had been dubbed. Her body was flawless, as he had seen when he had once snuck a look at the pictures Colin Creevy had somehow managed to take of her in the bathtub, for a collection of his Hogwarts' Beauties. On personal order only.
So he had, of course, wangled every moment to be able to feel her up. He had not been disappointed.
He heard an excited squeal up ahead and saw, to his distaste, Granger bounding up to her two bedmates, Scarhead and Ragbag. Millicent and Pansy were mooching some few feet behind them. Millicent's body-altering charms (iA/N: the wizarding equivalent to our cosmetic plastic surgery/i) had certainly worked. Her one beauty before, long black hair, had given way to her now other assets.
Draco snorted. Which she was flaunting in a ridiculous Slytherinny-green leather catsuit. Nevertheless, Potter appeared to appreciate her attire and was sneaking looks every once in a while. The Boy Who Lived; future shagaholic.
Urgh, bad mental picture.
"Come on, Granger. No time to have some grope session with your bodyguards, I think they're quite ibusy/i at the moment. Let 's go, idarling/i," he said, wrapping his hand around her waist and smiling easily at Potter and Weasley, who were staring at him in disgust. "Shoo, shoo, move along with your brides there."
Granger was protesting. "But I was just-"
"No, we have a busy day ahead of us, Mudblood."
She stared blankly at him. "We do?"
He smiled, wickedly. "Yes, we do."
Draco smirked at the witch next to him. It was a Sunday, and many witches and wizards were out shopping, including several of his father' s pureblooded friends. They stared at the odd couple (though Draco prided himself that they did look good together, Granger having bloomed this year), in undisguised appall. A pureblood and a Mudblood together would give them gossip fodder for the next two weeks.
Still, Draco was enjoying himself. Trips to Hosmeade were, for him, usually extremely unpleasant. Either with his parents, during which his father would lecture nonstop on either some Dark Lord topic or on the topic of Draco himself.
Herm- Granger was totally different. While she was silent most of the time, obviously unsure of what to say, The conversation they had from time to time while walking were impassioned debates on the pet subject of bloodlines, or the subjects that were taught at Hogwarts. Arithmancy, especially.
Granger, now, wore an expression of extreme discomfort and loathing. He had kept his arm wrapped around her, occasionally slipping a finger or two below the hem of her jeans. Once, she was so distracted by a large display of new books in Flourish and Blotts' that his entire hand had slid under her sweater and rubbed, but she hadn't noticed. Either that or she had chosen to ignore him, as she was not even talking now.
But the Mudblood had never been able to shut up, sadly.
"Malferret, are you ever going to stop feeling me up and let me go?" she asked petulantly, pushing his wandering hand away from her for the fifth time.
He smirked. "No, not unless you can tell me that you ihonestly/i don't want me to."
"I-I- Malfoy!"
"Sorry. My hand slipped- Ow! That was below the belt, Granger!"
She blinked up innocently. "Sorry, knee slipped."
"Why you little- come back, Mudblood!"
She was running away from him, laughing evilly as she pointed her wand at him. "Wingardium Leviosa!"
He floated up, and up, controlled by the bit of wood and slip of the girl, both of which were becoming decidedly smaller by the second. "
Shit. "Put me down, Granger!"
"Not until you say the magic word," she sang out, obviously relishing the feeling of being on top of him again. In a manner of speaking.
"Put me down!"
"Beep. Wrong.." The idiot girl somehow knew about his addiction to Muggle game shows.
"If you put me down I'll shag you!"
"Is it that hard, Draco?"
"Interesting choice of words."
"Merlin, just say it orI shall keep you up there. Nice jeans, by the way."
"Please! Please put me down or I shall assemble an army of house-elves to murder and rape you!"
She shrieked, but finally broke the connection. He fell downwards with a Thump, landing directly on her.
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