He watched her experiment with kissing Harry- he watched her experiment with kissing Ron. This made him want to punch them both in the face, for reasons unknown to him- he was absurdly relieved when neither kiss appeared to lead to anything more serious. Victor Krum was a different story, however. He watched her maintain her pen-friendship with him all throughout her time at Hogwarts, culminating in a short romance during the latter half of her seventh year. He watched the end of this romance as well, though it inspired in him not so much relief as absolute, seething, red rage. It happened during spring holidays, just weeks before graduation. Hermione had stayed at Hogwarts, and Krum had come to visit her; he was staying at an inn down in Hogsmeade village. Draco watched Hermione walk down to the village for the third day in a row- the third in a series of "dates" with Krum during which the two of them would walk hand-in-hand, browse village shops, sip Butterbeer at a secluded table way in the back of the Three Broomsticks, occasionally indulge in quick, chaste kisses- all Hermione seemed willing, as of yet, to give. On this day Harry and Ron walked down from the castle with her, before separating and heading toward the Quidditch supply shop which had opened in the village some months before. They'd been speaking earnestly to Hermione all the way, both wearing expressions of concern and misgiving- it appeared to Draco as if they were trying to warn her off of Krum. He didn't know what their reasons were, but he found himself wishing that Hermione would take their advice. He didn't like that skulking, duck-footed bastard one bit, he decided- never mind that he'd idolized him all throughout his teenage years.
His dislike increased exponentially when on this day, just moments after meeting Hermione at the pub, Krum attempted to talk her into going up to his room, taking her by the elbow and steering her toward the stairs, ducking his head in order to speak directly, persuasively, into her ear. Hermione, however, wasn't having it. She pulled out of his grasp and gently laughed off his advances, shaking her head and wagging a finger at him, then attempted to placate him by going up on her tiptoes and offering him yet another of those sweet little kisses of hers- this one just a hint more lingering, but nothing like what Krum apparently had in mind. Taking him by the hand, she then drew him away from the stairs to the inn's sleeping quarters- the stairs that made Draco's mind flash the word DANGER-DANGER-DANGER over and over again like a signal beacon- and out into the street. The two of them passed a pleasant enough day around the town, and if Krum was a bit more sullen and churlish than usual Hermione failed to notice- or at least failed to let on if she did. Draco knew something bad was coming, though- he just knew it. The whole memory was tinged, somehow, with a sense of foreboding. It didn't happen until nearly dusk. Krum seemed anxious to return to the inn. Draco- his fists clenched, both in the pensieve and in reality- thought he could bloody well guess why. Hermione thwarted him once again, however, although this time it seemed wholly uncontrived- they were passing the small village bookstore, which was on the verge of closing, when she appeared to remember something she needed inside. Draco watched as she attempted to cajole Krum into the store, smiling and tugging on his arm, pointing out the hours posted in the window, reassuring him that her errand wouldn't- couldn't- take long, as the store would be closed in ten minutes. Krum, however, declined to accompany her in. They spoke for a moment, apparently designating a meeting spot, and then parted; Hermione into the store, Krum slouching off around the corner.
Draco lingered in the shop with Hermione watching as she made her way over to the Quidditch section- the only section in the store in which she didn't appear to feel at home. She poked about for several minutes, in increasing agitation as closing time came upon her and she still hadn't found what she was looking for. The shopkeeper approached her, presumably to tell her it was time to leave, but she asked a question, gesturing toward the shelves of books with mingled frustration and appeal that he couldn't help smiling. He led her over to the counter and unlocked a glass case behind it; a case that Draco knew from his own experience with the shop contained the rarest and most expensive books it had to offer. Plucking one out, the man handed it across the counter to Hermione, who gave it a cursory glance, making sure it was the one she was after, opened the front cover to find the price, stifled a gasp, swallowed hard, and handed it back, saying something as she pulled a galleon bag out of her pocket. The shopkeeper nodded, smiled again, and with a flourish of his wand gift-wrapped the book. Draco just managed to see that it was something about the history of Quidditch in Bulgaria before it was completely covered in blue and gold paper. She was buying a gift for Krum! As if that skulking bastard didn't have enough disposable income of his own- here this innocent teenaged schoolgirl was just about breaking herself to feed his goddamn ego- Draco wanted to throttle him.
And then they were off, out the door, Hermione and he, she tucking the brightly wrapped under book under her arm as a secretive smile tugged at her lips- and tucking her galleon bag, which now contained no more than a couple of knuts (to Draco's continuing indignation), back into her pocket. He was with her as she reached the Three Broomsticks, which apparently had been the chosen meeting place, stepped inside, glanced around, frowned in puzzlement at Krum's absence, completely failed to notice Ron and Harry at the bar, stepped back out again, looked up and down the empty, darkening street- then cocked her head abruptly to the side, as if hearing some small but surprising sound. Draco felt his gut clench as she followed that sound he couldn't hear- followed around the corner of the building and into the mouth of a narrow brick alley which separated it from the shop next door. There, several feet further in, was Krum- and he wasn't alone. He was locked in a passionate embrace with- Draco felt the bottom of his stomach drop out entirely- Pansy. Hermione's hand flew to cover her mouth and Krum, catching the movement from the corner of his eye, looked up; shoved Pansy roughly away; said something to her that caused her to scream back at him, burst into angry tears, and flee the alleyway, knocking a shell-shocked Hermione aside with rather more force than was necessary.
Draco had to make a conscious effort to keep his attention focused on Hermione rather than (that cheating little slut) Pansy- it had never even occurred to him before that Zacharius Smith might not have been the first person she'd been unfaithful with- it was a blow to realize that Pansy had been making a fool of him since well before graduation had rolled around. Thank Merlin he'd gotten himself shut of that bitch. But this wasn't the time to dwell on it- there was Hermione to consider, and the scene that was playing out now between her and Krum, who was apparently trying to smooth things over- (how stupid did he think Hermione was? Draco thought furiously- she'd never allow herself to be placated that way- she'd damn well better not-) and she didn't. Shock was being replaced by mounting anger in her expression, and abruptly, as Krum was, apparently, explaining what had happened with a sheepish expression and many gestures toward the direction in which Pansy had vanished, no doubt trying to convince Hermione that the other girl had been entirely to blame- he just an innocent victim caught by surprise or some such bollocks- she cut him off by slicing her hand through the air, shouting a few well-chosen words, and hurling the gift-wrapped book directly at his face.
The change that came over Krum then was sudden and complete. In two steps he crossed the alley to Hermione, grabbed her by the shoulders, and slammed her backward into the wall of the pub. Holding her wedged between himself and the building, he shouted something directly into her face, gesturing again toward where Pansy had made her exit, then toward Hermione herself, and finally, pointedly, toward the second story of his inn, which was directly across the street. His message was clear- I wouldn't have to look elsewhere if I were getting what I wanted from you. Hermione, unable to move her arms, spat directly into his face and kneed him simultaneously in the groin. Krum doubled over, but grabbed her by the hair as he did so, dragging her down to her knees along with him- then slammed her head against the building's wall with as much force as he could muster, and backhanded her at the same time, hard enough to split her lip. Snarling, he pinned her- she was now completely dazed- face down on the ground, wedged a knee between her thighs and gripped the waistline of the Muggle blue jeans she was wearing with both hands, obviously with the intent of yanking them down. Pensieve-Draco lost it completely and launched himself at Krum, knowing it was hopeless, not really caring- he couldn't just stand idly by and watch this happen- and then Harry and Ron were there, out of nowhere at all, and with fists flying- a pair of avenging angels with absolute murder in their eyes. And just like that, Draco found years of hatred for "Potty and the Weasel" melting away, to be replaced by a newfound respect, and even gratitude- (thank you for saving her, thank you, thank you, I couldn't have watched that, I'd have gone mad.)
He lingered just long enough to see the two-against-one carnage really get underway, then tore himself out of the pensieve for the second time, with such violence that he actually fell backward to sprawl on the floor of their little cavern sanctuary, panting, his head spinning, but his mind clear again. He remembered who he was (and even why he had these god-awful freckles all over him); he remembered who Hermione was. He remembered that he had strongly disliked her for a very long time, and by all rights, still should. He actually tried to reclaim those feelings for a moment- it was no good. All he felt now was a burning desire to find Victor Krum- track him down to the end of the earth if necessary- and bash his head into a wall, again- and again- and again. A second later Hermione was leaning over him, her face white as wax and faintly ill-looking- if seeing that memory had been hard on Draco, what must it have been like for her?- her lips forming his name, worriedly, over and over again. He reached up, feeling as if he were pushing his hand through water instead of air, and cupped her cheek, his thumb going to her lips, tracing the spot where Krum's hand had impacted them, splitting them open, making them bleed. Where is he? He tried to ask, forgetting again that he couldn't speak. I'm gonna kill him. I'm gonna kill him.
Hermione seemed to take his meaning, smiled and shook her head. She mouthed the words Harry and Ron, then slammed her right fist into the palm of her left hand, as if to say that her two best friends and longtime defenders had done a good enough job of making Krum pay. Still, Draco couldn't help but wish there were just a little payback left over for him… and just like that he realized, lying flat on his back on the cold rock floor of a tiny secluded cavern that could very well become a tiny secluded death trap, that there was a reason for the twists and turns his life had taken up to now- for his breakup with Pansy, for the fact that none of the girls he'd dated since, no matter how beautiful or well bred or rich they had been, had ever amounted to much more than a weekend fling- a reason for listening to his mentor Severus Snape over his own family, for turning his back on Voldemort's cause and taking up life as a spy for the Army of the Phoenix- a larger reason for his having been sent on this assignment in Snape's absence, much as he'd protested at the time. A reason for the surge of protectiveness he'd felt when Hermione'd been hurt, there on the broomstick behind him- and for his own injuries, for the lapse in his memory that had allowed him to enter her pensieve with a clean slate and see and understand things from her point of view- it had all been leading up to this moment of revelation in which, stunned, he realized that over the course of the past few hours (for it had been hours, now- over eleven hours, in fact, had slipped away into the mists of the pensieve and the story of Hermione's life-) he had fallen for Hermione Granger.
He could hardly come to grips with the fact that this had happened- what had the catalyst been? Probably a combination of the Polyjuice, which might have tempered his outlook on this longtime enemy with some of the affection Ron held for her, and the concussion, which had addled his brains and swept away all his preconceived notions about the insufferable know-it-all, allowing him to see her for the intelligent, courageous, outspoken and beautiful- yes, beautiful, bushy hair and all- witch that she was- (all qualities he valued in a woman)- and the experience of being shown her life in every minute detail… all these circumstances had combined to bring his guard crumbling down; his heretofore impenetrable defenses against love, erected when he'd discovered the woman he'd planned to marry in the arms of another man (a Hufflepuff, all right? A Hufflepuff!), now so much useless rubble. Whatever the reason, though, whatever the catalyst had ultimately been, the result was undeniable-
Merlin help him, he had fallen hard.
The room was spinning for him- both figuratively and literally. Her hair was hanging down in a rich, dark curtain as she leaned over him, and the smell of it sent his senses reeling. He felt out of control- delirious. He knew he was probably dying of blood loss. He would probably never see the sky again.
Looking up at her, though, he felt as if he'd come home.
Bloody hell. If someone had tried to convince him just one day ago that he'd be feeling like this now… well, he wouldn't have bought it, and they would have run a very good chance of finding themselves on the wrong side of a hex or two.
It was the bloody unlikeliest thing… and he had absolutely no reason to suppose that she had fallen prey to the circumstances as he had, or felt even remotely the same. So what the flying fuck was he supposed to do about it?
Well, he supposed he could begin by ascertaining whether or not Hermione had, in fact, experienced a similar epiphany. And there was one very pleasant method of doing so, that presented itself to him immediately. He pushed his hand up through the strange, liquefied air again, pushed it right through the curtain of Hermione's hair, caught her gently at the nape of her neck (she was so warm there, her hair so soft), and, as her dark eyes widened with understanding at what he was doing, pulled her down, sealing her lips to his.
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Hermione's mind was going a mile a minute, which wasn't unusual for her. What was unusual for her was that the thoughts cycling through it so rapidly were mostly gibberish. Half-crazed, skittering thoughts about inappropriate kisses and even more inappropriate responses, about years and years of enmity, about what in Merlin's name would Harry and Ron say?
What was even more unusual for her was that she wasn't actually paying the least bit of attention to the things her mind was screaming at her. She was far too busy getting swept up in the moment- in the sudden, powerful and complete rightness of it. No other kiss she'd ever had had provoked a response like this from her- the desire to simply lose herself in the experience, let it wash up and over and around her, let it carry her away.
Something deeper and more primal than her conscious mind was urging her to keep going, don't stop- and that's what she did. Being the one "on top", as it were, she found that she had almost complete control over the length and the depth of the kiss- and she liked that. Relaxing, she allowed herself to melt down into Draco, her chest pressing into his (he winced and sucked in a sharp breath at this, but didn't stop kissing her), one of her hands slipping under his head to cushion and raise it a tiny bit- anything to pull him closer, closer.
It was the most bizarre thing to be kissing Draco Malfoy, and to know that she was kissing Draco Malfoy, but to be looking down into Ron's cobalt eyes, to be tangling her fingers in Ron's coppery hair- surreal, somehow, and it was probably that very surrealism that enabled her to keep on with it; the fact that it didn't feel real to her. Right, but not real. It felt like a dream, like a lovely delirium. Still, it was faintly disturbing, this odd feeling of kissing two men at once- but that was a problem that was easily rectified; she simply allowed her eyes to slip shut, and she was with Draco; she knew it because he held her differently than Ron ever had- there was far more passion here; more certainty and confidence- Draco's innate self-assurance-bordering-on-arrogance, rather than Ron's endearing, but not very arousing, fumblage. Draco even smelled different- faintly but distinctly- the Polyjuice had superimposed Ron's scent on top of his, but somehow Draco's lingered underneath; subdued- but not banished.
It was a "darker" scent, somehow, than Ron's, who mostly smelled like outdoors and clean sweat and Quidditch leathers. Draco's scent, on the other hand, was… well, if she had to pin it down, she supposed she'd say brandy and smoke. Smoke from a fire that burned in a grate at the foot of a bed- a magnificent ebony four-poster with black satin sheets.
It was an entirely erotic scent.
It was driving her senses wild- and driving her inhibitions far, far away.
Giving a tiny moan against his lips- a moan which he felt, even though he couldn't hear it; which sent shivers down his spine- she opened her mouth to his… at the same time throwing a leg over him so that instead of simply kneeling over him, as she had been, she was now straddling him quite firmly. It was intoxicating to her to be taking the initiative like this- it was something she had never done before. Sure, she had initiated those little kisses with Krum that Draco'd witnessed in the pensieve, but those had been more… more of a defensive tactic than anything else- designed to placate him, and avoid ending up in a situation… well, a situation just like this one, for instance. She knew now that she had been star-struck with Krum- it had been a weakness of hers in her teenage years, dating all the way back to Professor Lockhart- but on some deep level she had always understood that he had been inherently dangerous and wrong. So she'd gone on the defensive, but this…
This was anything but defensive.
She was taking charge and it felt good.
Breaking the kiss for a moment, she pulled back long enough to peel the remains of her shirt off- backless since Draco had sliced through it hours ago, she figured it left little to the imagination anyway, and it no longer seemed worth the effort to keep up with holding it on. Wadding it up, she shoved it under his head to cushion it, opening her eyes, by necessity, in the process, and catching his own- something electric (not that Draco would have understood the analogy, of course) passed between them.
Tilting her head slightly to the side to allow for better access (less bumpage of noses), she attacked his lips again- only to be brought up short when he caught her face in both his hands and pushed it back, gently yet firmly, to a distance of several inches. He then mouthed something to her- slowly, distinctly. When she failed to cotton on the first time, he mouthed it again, all the while holding her with both his hands, fingers tangled in the hair at her temples. It was obviously important to him that she understand what he was trying to tell her at this moment.
She furrowed her brow in concentration, attempting to puzzle out the silent words.
He mouthed it again. And again.
And finally she understood.
It was simple; three words, over and over.
I'm not Ron.
I'm not Ron- Merlin, the dear- he reckoned she was only doing this because she thought she was kissing Ron? Nothing could be further from the truth! She'd been there, done that- and it was nothing to this.
One side of her mouth quirked down in an impatient sort of half-frown. Then she accio'd his wand from where it lay nearby and promptly spelled out a message in flaming letters in the air;
I know who you are, Draco Malfoy. And one way or another, I am GOING to keep you awake.
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(A/N: Next chapter will have adult content!)