The following Friday, Snape accepted Hermione's potions assignment- as Draco had secretly suspected he would. Granger was clever, after all, and truth be told, he had fully expected her to discover and rectify her mistake- though the dark circles under her eyes attested to the fact that it had not been easy for her. Even so, she managed to shoot him a look of triumph when Snape, with his customary dour expression firmly in place, gave it the highest mark he ever bestowed upon Gryffindor work; satisfactory.
He smirked right back at her, then touched his left forefinger to his brow in the merest hint of a salute. It was only after she looked away again that he turned to glare meaningfully at Crabbe and Goyle; they both met his gaze for an instant, then looked down meekly. He had had a little discussion with them a few days ago, and was reasonably confident that they no longer posed Granger any threat. Still, it didn't hurt to remind them every now and then.
It was that very evening, upon returning to his room around ten o'clock, following a relatively engaging chess game with Zabini in the common room, that he was greeted by an incessant tapping on his window. Unlatching it, he admitted a small tawny owl that he didn't recognize. Jupiter immediately went berserk in his cage, attempting to lunge at the owl through the bars, and it was this reaction on the part of his own animal that led him to believe, even before unrolling the note the tawny had brought him, that the owl belonged to Granger. Jupiter had been taught to recognize and attack not only mudbloods, but their owls as well. Draco wasn't responsible for this- Jupiter had already been trained when Draco had received him as a gift from his parents- but he had never had cause to mind it... until now.
Granger's owl made a quick departure, and Draco dispensed of the scarlet ribbon that had bound the small parchment, opened it, and read;
Malfoy, I will be in the library tonight until at least midnight. I would not object to your company, if you would still like to study together. HG
Slowly, Draco smiled; a real smile.
He had his opening. Now to make the most of it.
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He bided his time. He played it safe. More weeks passed and their late night library study-sessions had become a fixture in their lives that he believed she looked forward to as much as he did. The N.E.W.T. exams were less than a month away the first time he kissed her.
When it happened, it was less a matter of choosing the right time and more a matter of the fact that he simply couldn't control himself any longer. It was sheer proximity, he later reflected, that did him in. They had been studying side by side, rather than sitting across from each other as was their custom; so close, this night, that he could feel the heat radiating off of her and smell her hair; so close that their shoulders would brush occasionally, sending jolts like minor electrical shocks (not that he had any concept of electricity, of course- but one need not understand electricity to experience it's effects) through his body each time it happened. The reason was simple enough; they were both reading from a single rare text that the library possessed only one copy of.
It was her hair that ultimately did him in, as ironic as that was; that wild hair that he had sneered at so often in the past, that he had used to comment on to his friends- loudly, as she passed, to a veritable concert of snickers- "Muggles must not know what a hairbrush is; someone ought to do the little mudblood a favor and hex her bald"- but that had been growing on him just lately, until other girls' sleek, straight hair just looked, well, boring to him. Boring and all the same.
On this night, she had piled it into a bun, as was usual for her during these study sessions, and had stuck one of her quills through it, chopstick style, to hold it in place. Nevertheless, the same stubborn curl kept coming loose and falling into her eyes time and time again, causing her to push it back impatiently. It had happened a dozen times over the course of the past hour; Draco had been keeping count because it positively entranced him. Not that he ever would have admitted it.
The thirteenth time it happened was too much for him. Hermione, by now clearly irritated, stuck out her lower lip, which she had previously been chewing on in concentration, and huffed impatiently at the renegade curl, but just as she was raising her hand to brush it away once more, Draco leaned over and caught it in his hand. It was as soft as he had imagined it would be; lustrous and slippery as fine silk.
She turned toward him, her dark eyes widening, and he gently tucked the curl behind her ear... then leaned in and kissed her.
Her lips had been slightly parted, and they parted more at the touch of his on them... in surprise, he thought. He ran his tongue over those lips he'd been wanting to taste for weeks, and sucked gently on the lower one, which was already slightly swollen from all the chewing she'd been doing on it as she'd read. And then she raised one of her hands and he felt her feather- light touch on the side of his face and she was kissing him back; tentative, clearly inexperienced, and it drove him wild. He hadn't thought a simple kiss like this could cause such a depth of desire, but God, he was hurting for her, he'd never experienced a kiss like this before, it was mind-blowing....
And then it was over.
Hermione pulled back- not far back, but far enough to break the two of them apart, and they sat for a long moment staring at each other, breathing hard, and she was so close that her sweet breath burst warm upon his face, and it was too much to take, and he was just reaching for her again- when she moved suddenly and with a speed he had never suspected she possessed; she was on her feet in an instant, so fast she nearly toppled her chair and, her eyes still locked on his, took first one step backward, then another... and then she turned and fled, bolting from the library without a single word, and without taking a single one of her belongings with her.
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Draco sat stock still for several long moments while his breathing, heart rate, and- a certain other part of his anatomy- returned to their normal state. Only then did his eyes come completely back into focus, and he found himself staring at Hermione's parchments spread out on the table, and her school bag on the floor beside her chair, the silvery fabric of the invisibility cloak that she had long since given up attempting to conceal from him clearly visible inside.
"Oh, bugger all," he muttered.
What this meant, obviously, was that even now Hermione was fleeing back toward Gryffindor Tower without the protection of the cloak, and if her exit had been anything to judge by, without the slightest thought for stealth; probably running flat-out as fast as her legs could carry her. There was nothing Draco could do about that, except hope fervently that luck would be on her side and she would manage to avoid Filch.
But what this also meant was that as soon as she realized that she had forgotten her things, she would have to make yet another trip down to the library, still unprotected, still vulnerable, to retrieve them... he knew her well enough by now to be certain of the fact that she would not leave her school things- or the precious invisibility cloak- in the library all night.
But there was something Draco could do about that; he could prevent her from undertaking that second dangerous journey through the halls by returning her things to her.
He stood and packed up first his own things, then hers; debated for a moment, then pulled out the invisibility cloak, slung both bags over his shoulder, and threw the cloak over himself, bags and all, vanishing from sight. It wasn't that he needed to use it to reach Gryffindor Tower undetected... but when given a golden opportunity to wear it, he wasn't one to pass it up.
Now if only he should happen to come across Potter skulking about the school... his life really would be complete.
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He appeared with a flourish from beneath the cloak, right in front of the portrait of the fat lady, who thankfully had been snoozing in her frame, just on the verge of reclaiming the lovely, deep sleep she'd been enjoying before the Head Girl- (high maintenance one, that was; always had been... ruddy brilliant and a credit to her House, but well given to fits of hysterics)- had come barging through, half shouting, half sobbing the password.
And now this- this, she thought, as she came awake with a jerk and a snort, just in time to watch a pale boy she'd never seen before stuffing something that might have been a cloak back into one of the two school bags he carried- this was really too much.
Feeling put out already, she surveyed the boy with patent dislike as he straightened up and faced her, her eyes lingering on his rumpled green and silver tie with open hostility.
Draco, seeing the expression on the portrait lady's face, allowed his own face to settle into the most impudent smirk in his repertoire.
This went on for a few solid minutes; portrait glaring, boy smirking, neither willing to speak first and thereby lose the upper hand in their staring contest.
Eventually, it was the fat lady who spoke; the boy looked as if he could have stood there all night, insolent little whelp that he was, and she wanted to get back to sleep, for crying out loud.
"If you think for one minute I'm going to allow you through, young man, you had just better think again. You look an unsavory sort, even for a Slytherin, so you had best not bother asking, and be on your way."
Very slowly and deliberately, Draco straightened his tie. He then reached into a pocket and withdrew a small, shiny object that he studied for a moment as if he'd never seen it before- unhurried, indolent, flicking a particle of dust off the object's surface with an impeccably manicured fingernail- then, dipping his head, he affixed it to the front of his shirt and looked up, only marginally, surveying the portrait lady through the fringe of silver hair that now fell forward, over his brow.
His eyes glinted maliciously at the look of dawning horror on her face as she recognized the object for what it was; a Head Boy badge. She knew full well that as Head Boy, he could force his way in if he so desired. It took her a long moment to school her face back into an expression of unconcerned disdain... and it was obviously a thin mask over her outrage at having been trumped thus.
Slowly, Draco arched a silver brow. "If you think," he replied coolly, "for one minute that I would deign to enter, then you are seriously mistaken, madam. All I want to know is whether Granger came through here a moment ago."
The fat lady simply stared at him for a moment, her disdainful expression vanishing, to be replaced by uncertainty.
"Hermione Granger," Draco prompted; "the Head Girl. Has she been through here recently?"
Now the fat lady was regaining her composure, and the look on her face quickly turned more hostile than ever. "So it's you who is responsible for the state she was in," she exclaimed. "I might have known... wretched boy!"
But Draco, having deposited Hermione's bag on the floor directly beneath the portrait, was already turning away. Hermione was indeed within Gryffindor Tower, safe and sound; that was all he had wanted to know. He suppressed the rush of relief that threatened to swamp him; natural to look out for one's property. Only natural to look out for one's property.
That's all it was.
"Thank you madam," he called mockingly over his shoulder as he departed, "you told me everything I needed to know." And he left the fat lady spluttering with indignation and turned his feet toward his own territory, immensely grateful that the Slytherin common room was guarded merely by a password-activated stretch of blank wall. Portraits were bloody infuriating!
Then again, so were Gryffindors, so he supposed it made sense that some sort of sick symbiotic relationship would exist between the two.
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What followed for Draco was by far the most torturous twenty-four hours he had ever experienced. The reason was quite simple, really; Draco Malfoy was not accustomed to being ignored by girls. Especially not girls he had displayed an overt interest in. And most especially not girls he had kissed the night before- and who had, moreover, kissed him back, clearly indicating that the interest was mutual.
At this point, according to all his past experience- which consisted, admittedly, mainly of Pansy, and a couple of the other Slytherin girls- she ought to have been stealing glances at him, blushing and looking away when he caught her eye, whispering to her friends, and perhaps becoming bold enough toward the end of the day to blow him a kiss in class, then hide her face in her hands and giggle madly. By dinner time she ought to have sidled up to him- he conceded that, given the fact they were in rival Houses, she would have had to be quite a bit more discreet than Pansy about this, but had no doubt she was clever enough to have managed it if she had wanted to- and indicated a wish to see him again that night. She should have been, in other words, acting like- well, like a girl. A normal whispery, giggly, flirty girl.
It was the only kind of behavior he knew to expect, and it was the kind of behavior that ultimately drove him mad, actually... but not until well after he had gotten what he wanted- and he wasn't even close to getting all that he wanted from Granger.
So he was at a loss as to how to react to what appeared to be complete indifference on her part. She never met his eyes once that day, though they shared two classes- one of which was a double period- and he gave her no lack of opportunities. Nor did she, as far as he could tell, interact differently with her friends or anyone else, for that matter.
Though come to think of it, considering that her two best friends were male, and Draco's worst enemies at Hogwarts, he supposed it would have been more than a little disturbing had the three of them been whispering and giggling together while shooting him furtive looks. Perhaps he ought to be grateful, after all, that Granger was apparently capable of doing something he had previously thought beyond the capability of any person of the female persuasion; keeping her mouth shut about her first kiss- for he was almost positive that last night had been her first real kiss.
But damn it all to hell, she ought to be giving him some indication that it had affected her! She had certainly reacted strongly enough last night... and now was playing it off as though nothing had ever happened. And not only the kiss, either; she was acting as if none of it had happened- the weeks of study and banter in the library at night that had led to a gradual defrosting of their relationship during the day until they had begun sharing meaningful glances when something was discussed in class that they had studied together by night. Their relationship, indeed, though silent by day, had become almost... friendly.
Now all that had been wiped away in the course of a single day. It was terribly disconcerting. Draco found himself almost wishing she would, at the very least, shoot him a good, solid glare as she had used to... at least that would be something... and anything would be better than this... this nothingness, this total void of emotion.
Thus passed the slowest day in the life of a boy who had previously been spoilt in all things- not least of all, attention. Whether positive or negative, Draco was accustomed to receiving attention from virtually everyone at Hogwarts. Hermione's refusal to grant him any kind of attention whatsoever was driving him to distraction.
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Little did he guess just how strongly Hermione had, in fact, been affected. She had scraped barely an hour or two of sleep the night before, having spent most of the night (after remembering that she had left her bag in the library and then finding it directly beneath the portrait hole, nearly tripping over it, in fact, as she'd climbed hastily out into the corridor) taking it by turns to first pace her room madly, and then lie fully dressed in bed, on top of her covers, staring at the ceiling with wide, glassy, slightly panicked eyes, whispering a mantra of "we can't do this, this is wrong," the entire time.
She had only managed to make it through class that day by first casting a concealment charm on her puffy, red eyes, then visiting Madam Pomfrey before breakfast, requesting a massive dose of PepperUp Potion, citing too much late night studying. It wasn't the first time the Head Girl had approached the mediwitch with such a request, and she had complied, though grumbling and lecturing all the while she had been preparing and administering the potion.
But even with the help of the PepperUp, Hermione had quickly begun to fade, and her seeming indifference to Draco had been, in large part, due to the fact that she could barely stay alert enough to focus on her professors, and had no extra energy whatsoever to devote to anything or anyone else- even the cause of her present state, Draco.
Which is not to say that she wasn't trying to ignore him; she was. It's just that she wouldn't have been half so successful at it had she not been completely and utterly, dead exhausted.
And yet, back in her room at the end of the day, she found that tired as she was, sleep was a lost cause. Her conscience was niggling at her, insisting that she was treating him poorly; that, especially in light of the fact that he had returned her bag to Gryffindor Tower, she owed it to Draco to talk to him- to thank him, at least, for having done that. And as long as the two of them were talking, she figured, it really would be for the best to discuss just exactly what the hell had happened last night- and what it meant for them.
If she were going to be thoroughly honest with herself, she would have to admit that she had liked it.
Quite a lot.
But that was neither here nor there. What mattered was that this- whatever this was- couldn't be allowed to happen. It was completely illogical to continue with it. It was one thing to have their little study sessions- which had turned out, as Draco had predicted, to be quite mutually beneficial- they had each learned valuable things from the other that she was sure would be of use when the N.E.W.T.s finally arrived, and then there was the side effect that their relationship as Head Boy and Girl had become considerably less strained since the study sessions had begun; they were having a far easier and more pleasant time working together in that capacity.
But to complicate things with... with... romance... (is that what this is? Romance?) was just plain foolish. Romance took time and energy away from schoolwork, and with N.E.W.T.s fast approaching, she couldn't afford that.
No, it would be best to clear the air, set things straight, and then get back to business as usual. Head duties and studying. Studying and more studying. There would be time for romance after Hogwarts, she reminded herself. And when it came- when romance truly came for her and swept her away- she severely doubted that it would be with Draco Malfoy.
Okay, yes, so there was something immensely appealing about this new side he'd been showing her lately, but... what could they possibly offer each other in the long run? They were from completely different backgrounds, had completely different philosophies, and were standing on opposite sides of a brewing conflict that was already rocking the wizarding world- that had been doing so for years, since before either of them had been born, in fact- and that promised only to get more violent, more explosive, more deadly, before it ended one way or the other.
So her mind was quite made up. There would be no romance; not here at Hogwarts, not now when she needed to be concentrating solely on her upcoming exit exams, and most certainly not with Draco Malfoy, no matter how dangerously, roguishly appealing he may be.
Uh-uh. No way. Forget about it.
Her decision was made, and it was final. All that remained was to lay down the law to him.
00000
As if we can choose when and where true romance will strike us. As if we can seek to control a force that powerful, that primal.
Half an hour later, they were kissing again.
00000
She had slipped under the invisibility cloak and made her way down to the library, rightly guessing that though they had made no prior arrangement for tonight, she would find Draco there.
But though she had expected to find him in the library, she was caught completely off guard by just how she found him; sitting at the table that had become "their" study table over the course of the past several weeks- the table she had first invited him to join her at, the only table they had used since- his arms folded across the open pages of a book and his silvery head laid down upon them, fast asleep.
He didn't even stir as she approached, and it was so unlike him to leave himself this unguarded, this vulnerable, that she wondered, frowning, if something was wrong, if he was sick- and when she drew nearer still she saw that he did, in fact, look slightly ill- or at the very least, somewhere well beyond exhausted; his hair was uncharacteristically messy, and his face was turned sideways on his criss-crossed arms so that she could see there were dark smudges under his eyes.
I don't believe he slept last night, either, she thought, and the thought surprised her; she had convinced herself, and with very little difficulty, really, that Draco had just been toying with her last night... she couldn't possibly mean anything to him, not really- and that conviction was what had been going to make what she planned to say to him tonight so easy.
But if he had spent as sleepless a night as she had, well then that suggested otherwise, now didn't it?
And THAT complicated things immensely.
Nevertheless, her heart was still her own at that point.
It was her own as she walked softly around the table and settled herself in her usual chair on the other side; it was her own as she placed her wand next to his, which was glowing only faintly, putting out a mere fraction of its usual amount of light, then leaned forward, cupping her chin in her left palm and, with a flick of the fingers of her right hand, sent a gentle breeze across the table to ruffle Draco's hair.
"Malfoy," she whispered.
"Mmh." A tiny furrow appeared between his near colorless eyebrows and he raised his head a fraction of an inch and shook it, just once, as if to clear it. Then those startling, pale eyes of his opened; blinked; focused on her, and her heart was still her own then too, though it was a very close thing.
It was in the next instant, as a slow, sleepy, and entirely genuine smile spread across his face- the first genuine smile he had ever allowed Hermione to see, rarer than that precious metal, platinum, that his hair so resembled- that her traitorous heart began to flee her....
And when he spoke, in a voice she'd never heard before, a low and husky sleep-voice; when he said simply, "Hey... you're here. I didn't think you'd come," and stifled- barely- a humungous yawn- it was a done deal, then. Her heart no longer belonged to herself; it was the property of the fair- haired, sleep-tousled boy sitting across the table from her, whose smile was fading and who was now regarding her solemnly with those mist-gray eyes, waiting for her to speak.
"I-" she stammered, "um... came because we... we needed to talk. About- er- last night?"
She hated the way it came out sounding like a question instead of a statement. She had never before felt so thrown off-guard by a boy. And she knew boys- she spent most of her time with them. She had for seven years. Her best friends were boys, and in all her years at Hogwarts, she had never been left dateless when a dance came around; first there had been Victor Krum in her fourth year, then Terry Boot of Ravenclaw in sixth and just earlier this year, Ron. (There had been no dances, of course, under Umbridge's reign of terror in her fifth year.) But none of these boys had had an effect on her like this.
This was something different....
Something dangerous....
Something scary, because she no longer felt herself completely in control of her emotions, of her choices, of her life....
And it was entirely irresistible.
A slightly wicked gleam had come into Draco's eyes. "Yes, Granger?" he prompted, in a deceptively mild tone. "What about last night would you care to discuss?"
"I..."
A voice inside her head, the voice of her last shred of reason, of logic, of sanity, cried out, TELL him! Tell him what you came to say! That this is wrong, all wrong, that it will never work, that it can't go on- for God's sake, tell him now! This is your last chance to save yourself!
Though there would come a time later when she would curse herself often and heartily for disregarding that voice, she was perceptive enough now to realize the truth of the matter; and the truth of the matter was, she belonged to him. She couldn't even begin to fathom when the process had begun, but it had just been completed, and there it was.
She was his.
So what she said, in a queer, cracked little voice, was, "I just wanted to... thank you... for returning my bag."
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She was his.
Draco saw and recognized the fundamental shift deep inside her; he saw it in her eyes, recognized it in the way her body went suddenly very, very still, heard it in the unsteady quality of her voice when she spoke.
She was his. Holy shit. It was what he had wanted for weeks. So what the hell did he do now?
"Granger," he whispered, his voice more gentle than he had ever allowed her- or anyone, for that matter- to hear it, "come here."
And she did so; she obeyed him unquestioningly, and with only a minimum of hesitation, standing and walking slowly around the table as he pushed his own chair back from it, stopping, uncertainly, in front of him, her hair a dark waterfall of curls, flowing over her shoulders and down her back, and rather than standing as well, he turned in his chair so that he faced her, and reached out both arms, catching her around the waist and pulling her down on top of him so that she sat facing him, straddling his lap. She didn't resist- and a good, long look into her wide eyes, nearly black in the dim light, told him that she had also recognized the shift within herself and that it had shocked her on a very deep level; and that her shock was the reason for her compliance.
"Granger," he said- almost groaned- "Christ, but I want you so damn much," and he plunged both his hands into that thick, dark, luxurious hair as he'd been aching to do for a long, long time, as he'd already done countless times over the past few weeks in his dreams, and began to pull her head slowly yet inexorably down toward his-
Just before their lips met she resisted the pressure he was exerting on her; resisted it just long enough to whisper four short words- a request both simple and profound.
"Draco," she whispered (the first time she had ever used his given name, and God, how it thrilled him, the sound of it on her lips), "don't hurt me."
And he felt those words resonate right down to his soul, but he made no reply- just brought his mouth to hers, and the kiss exploded upon both of them with a fiery passion that put their previous one to shame.
He smirked right back at her, then touched his left forefinger to his brow in the merest hint of a salute. It was only after she looked away again that he turned to glare meaningfully at Crabbe and Goyle; they both met his gaze for an instant, then looked down meekly. He had had a little discussion with them a few days ago, and was reasonably confident that they no longer posed Granger any threat. Still, it didn't hurt to remind them every now and then.
It was that very evening, upon returning to his room around ten o'clock, following a relatively engaging chess game with Zabini in the common room, that he was greeted by an incessant tapping on his window. Unlatching it, he admitted a small tawny owl that he didn't recognize. Jupiter immediately went berserk in his cage, attempting to lunge at the owl through the bars, and it was this reaction on the part of his own animal that led him to believe, even before unrolling the note the tawny had brought him, that the owl belonged to Granger. Jupiter had been taught to recognize and attack not only mudbloods, but their owls as well. Draco wasn't responsible for this- Jupiter had already been trained when Draco had received him as a gift from his parents- but he had never had cause to mind it... until now.
Granger's owl made a quick departure, and Draco dispensed of the scarlet ribbon that had bound the small parchment, opened it, and read;
Malfoy, I will be in the library tonight until at least midnight. I would not object to your company, if you would still like to study together. HG
Slowly, Draco smiled; a real smile.
He had his opening. Now to make the most of it.
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He bided his time. He played it safe. More weeks passed and their late night library study-sessions had become a fixture in their lives that he believed she looked forward to as much as he did. The N.E.W.T. exams were less than a month away the first time he kissed her.
When it happened, it was less a matter of choosing the right time and more a matter of the fact that he simply couldn't control himself any longer. It was sheer proximity, he later reflected, that did him in. They had been studying side by side, rather than sitting across from each other as was their custom; so close, this night, that he could feel the heat radiating off of her and smell her hair; so close that their shoulders would brush occasionally, sending jolts like minor electrical shocks (not that he had any concept of electricity, of course- but one need not understand electricity to experience it's effects) through his body each time it happened. The reason was simple enough; they were both reading from a single rare text that the library possessed only one copy of.
It was her hair that ultimately did him in, as ironic as that was; that wild hair that he had sneered at so often in the past, that he had used to comment on to his friends- loudly, as she passed, to a veritable concert of snickers- "Muggles must not know what a hairbrush is; someone ought to do the little mudblood a favor and hex her bald"- but that had been growing on him just lately, until other girls' sleek, straight hair just looked, well, boring to him. Boring and all the same.
On this night, she had piled it into a bun, as was usual for her during these study sessions, and had stuck one of her quills through it, chopstick style, to hold it in place. Nevertheless, the same stubborn curl kept coming loose and falling into her eyes time and time again, causing her to push it back impatiently. It had happened a dozen times over the course of the past hour; Draco had been keeping count because it positively entranced him. Not that he ever would have admitted it.
The thirteenth time it happened was too much for him. Hermione, by now clearly irritated, stuck out her lower lip, which she had previously been chewing on in concentration, and huffed impatiently at the renegade curl, but just as she was raising her hand to brush it away once more, Draco leaned over and caught it in his hand. It was as soft as he had imagined it would be; lustrous and slippery as fine silk.
She turned toward him, her dark eyes widening, and he gently tucked the curl behind her ear... then leaned in and kissed her.
Her lips had been slightly parted, and they parted more at the touch of his on them... in surprise, he thought. He ran his tongue over those lips he'd been wanting to taste for weeks, and sucked gently on the lower one, which was already slightly swollen from all the chewing she'd been doing on it as she'd read. And then she raised one of her hands and he felt her feather- light touch on the side of his face and she was kissing him back; tentative, clearly inexperienced, and it drove him wild. He hadn't thought a simple kiss like this could cause such a depth of desire, but God, he was hurting for her, he'd never experienced a kiss like this before, it was mind-blowing....
And then it was over.
Hermione pulled back- not far back, but far enough to break the two of them apart, and they sat for a long moment staring at each other, breathing hard, and she was so close that her sweet breath burst warm upon his face, and it was too much to take, and he was just reaching for her again- when she moved suddenly and with a speed he had never suspected she possessed; she was on her feet in an instant, so fast she nearly toppled her chair and, her eyes still locked on his, took first one step backward, then another... and then she turned and fled, bolting from the library without a single word, and without taking a single one of her belongings with her.
00000
Draco sat stock still for several long moments while his breathing, heart rate, and- a certain other part of his anatomy- returned to their normal state. Only then did his eyes come completely back into focus, and he found himself staring at Hermione's parchments spread out on the table, and her school bag on the floor beside her chair, the silvery fabric of the invisibility cloak that she had long since given up attempting to conceal from him clearly visible inside.
"Oh, bugger all," he muttered.
What this meant, obviously, was that even now Hermione was fleeing back toward Gryffindor Tower without the protection of the cloak, and if her exit had been anything to judge by, without the slightest thought for stealth; probably running flat-out as fast as her legs could carry her. There was nothing Draco could do about that, except hope fervently that luck would be on her side and she would manage to avoid Filch.
But what this also meant was that as soon as she realized that she had forgotten her things, she would have to make yet another trip down to the library, still unprotected, still vulnerable, to retrieve them... he knew her well enough by now to be certain of the fact that she would not leave her school things- or the precious invisibility cloak- in the library all night.
But there was something Draco could do about that; he could prevent her from undertaking that second dangerous journey through the halls by returning her things to her.
He stood and packed up first his own things, then hers; debated for a moment, then pulled out the invisibility cloak, slung both bags over his shoulder, and threw the cloak over himself, bags and all, vanishing from sight. It wasn't that he needed to use it to reach Gryffindor Tower undetected... but when given a golden opportunity to wear it, he wasn't one to pass it up.
Now if only he should happen to come across Potter skulking about the school... his life really would be complete.
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He appeared with a flourish from beneath the cloak, right in front of the portrait of the fat lady, who thankfully had been snoozing in her frame, just on the verge of reclaiming the lovely, deep sleep she'd been enjoying before the Head Girl- (high maintenance one, that was; always had been... ruddy brilliant and a credit to her House, but well given to fits of hysterics)- had come barging through, half shouting, half sobbing the password.
And now this- this, she thought, as she came awake with a jerk and a snort, just in time to watch a pale boy she'd never seen before stuffing something that might have been a cloak back into one of the two school bags he carried- this was really too much.
Feeling put out already, she surveyed the boy with patent dislike as he straightened up and faced her, her eyes lingering on his rumpled green and silver tie with open hostility.
Draco, seeing the expression on the portrait lady's face, allowed his own face to settle into the most impudent smirk in his repertoire.
This went on for a few solid minutes; portrait glaring, boy smirking, neither willing to speak first and thereby lose the upper hand in their staring contest.
Eventually, it was the fat lady who spoke; the boy looked as if he could have stood there all night, insolent little whelp that he was, and she wanted to get back to sleep, for crying out loud.
"If you think for one minute I'm going to allow you through, young man, you had just better think again. You look an unsavory sort, even for a Slytherin, so you had best not bother asking, and be on your way."
Very slowly and deliberately, Draco straightened his tie. He then reached into a pocket and withdrew a small, shiny object that he studied for a moment as if he'd never seen it before- unhurried, indolent, flicking a particle of dust off the object's surface with an impeccably manicured fingernail- then, dipping his head, he affixed it to the front of his shirt and looked up, only marginally, surveying the portrait lady through the fringe of silver hair that now fell forward, over his brow.
His eyes glinted maliciously at the look of dawning horror on her face as she recognized the object for what it was; a Head Boy badge. She knew full well that as Head Boy, he could force his way in if he so desired. It took her a long moment to school her face back into an expression of unconcerned disdain... and it was obviously a thin mask over her outrage at having been trumped thus.
Slowly, Draco arched a silver brow. "If you think," he replied coolly, "for one minute that I would deign to enter, then you are seriously mistaken, madam. All I want to know is whether Granger came through here a moment ago."
The fat lady simply stared at him for a moment, her disdainful expression vanishing, to be replaced by uncertainty.
"Hermione Granger," Draco prompted; "the Head Girl. Has she been through here recently?"
Now the fat lady was regaining her composure, and the look on her face quickly turned more hostile than ever. "So it's you who is responsible for the state she was in," she exclaimed. "I might have known... wretched boy!"
But Draco, having deposited Hermione's bag on the floor directly beneath the portrait, was already turning away. Hermione was indeed within Gryffindor Tower, safe and sound; that was all he had wanted to know. He suppressed the rush of relief that threatened to swamp him; natural to look out for one's property. Only natural to look out for one's property.
That's all it was.
"Thank you madam," he called mockingly over his shoulder as he departed, "you told me everything I needed to know." And he left the fat lady spluttering with indignation and turned his feet toward his own territory, immensely grateful that the Slytherin common room was guarded merely by a password-activated stretch of blank wall. Portraits were bloody infuriating!
Then again, so were Gryffindors, so he supposed it made sense that some sort of sick symbiotic relationship would exist between the two.
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What followed for Draco was by far the most torturous twenty-four hours he had ever experienced. The reason was quite simple, really; Draco Malfoy was not accustomed to being ignored by girls. Especially not girls he had displayed an overt interest in. And most especially not girls he had kissed the night before- and who had, moreover, kissed him back, clearly indicating that the interest was mutual.
At this point, according to all his past experience- which consisted, admittedly, mainly of Pansy, and a couple of the other Slytherin girls- she ought to have been stealing glances at him, blushing and looking away when he caught her eye, whispering to her friends, and perhaps becoming bold enough toward the end of the day to blow him a kiss in class, then hide her face in her hands and giggle madly. By dinner time she ought to have sidled up to him- he conceded that, given the fact they were in rival Houses, she would have had to be quite a bit more discreet than Pansy about this, but had no doubt she was clever enough to have managed it if she had wanted to- and indicated a wish to see him again that night. She should have been, in other words, acting like- well, like a girl. A normal whispery, giggly, flirty girl.
It was the only kind of behavior he knew to expect, and it was the kind of behavior that ultimately drove him mad, actually... but not until well after he had gotten what he wanted- and he wasn't even close to getting all that he wanted from Granger.
So he was at a loss as to how to react to what appeared to be complete indifference on her part. She never met his eyes once that day, though they shared two classes- one of which was a double period- and he gave her no lack of opportunities. Nor did she, as far as he could tell, interact differently with her friends or anyone else, for that matter.
Though come to think of it, considering that her two best friends were male, and Draco's worst enemies at Hogwarts, he supposed it would have been more than a little disturbing had the three of them been whispering and giggling together while shooting him furtive looks. Perhaps he ought to be grateful, after all, that Granger was apparently capable of doing something he had previously thought beyond the capability of any person of the female persuasion; keeping her mouth shut about her first kiss- for he was almost positive that last night had been her first real kiss.
But damn it all to hell, she ought to be giving him some indication that it had affected her! She had certainly reacted strongly enough last night... and now was playing it off as though nothing had ever happened. And not only the kiss, either; she was acting as if none of it had happened- the weeks of study and banter in the library at night that had led to a gradual defrosting of their relationship during the day until they had begun sharing meaningful glances when something was discussed in class that they had studied together by night. Their relationship, indeed, though silent by day, had become almost... friendly.
Now all that had been wiped away in the course of a single day. It was terribly disconcerting. Draco found himself almost wishing she would, at the very least, shoot him a good, solid glare as she had used to... at least that would be something... and anything would be better than this... this nothingness, this total void of emotion.
Thus passed the slowest day in the life of a boy who had previously been spoilt in all things- not least of all, attention. Whether positive or negative, Draco was accustomed to receiving attention from virtually everyone at Hogwarts. Hermione's refusal to grant him any kind of attention whatsoever was driving him to distraction.
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Little did he guess just how strongly Hermione had, in fact, been affected. She had scraped barely an hour or two of sleep the night before, having spent most of the night (after remembering that she had left her bag in the library and then finding it directly beneath the portrait hole, nearly tripping over it, in fact, as she'd climbed hastily out into the corridor) taking it by turns to first pace her room madly, and then lie fully dressed in bed, on top of her covers, staring at the ceiling with wide, glassy, slightly panicked eyes, whispering a mantra of "we can't do this, this is wrong," the entire time.
She had only managed to make it through class that day by first casting a concealment charm on her puffy, red eyes, then visiting Madam Pomfrey before breakfast, requesting a massive dose of PepperUp Potion, citing too much late night studying. It wasn't the first time the Head Girl had approached the mediwitch with such a request, and she had complied, though grumbling and lecturing all the while she had been preparing and administering the potion.
But even with the help of the PepperUp, Hermione had quickly begun to fade, and her seeming indifference to Draco had been, in large part, due to the fact that she could barely stay alert enough to focus on her professors, and had no extra energy whatsoever to devote to anything or anyone else- even the cause of her present state, Draco.
Which is not to say that she wasn't trying to ignore him; she was. It's just that she wouldn't have been half so successful at it had she not been completely and utterly, dead exhausted.
And yet, back in her room at the end of the day, she found that tired as she was, sleep was a lost cause. Her conscience was niggling at her, insisting that she was treating him poorly; that, especially in light of the fact that he had returned her bag to Gryffindor Tower, she owed it to Draco to talk to him- to thank him, at least, for having done that. And as long as the two of them were talking, she figured, it really would be for the best to discuss just exactly what the hell had happened last night- and what it meant for them.
If she were going to be thoroughly honest with herself, she would have to admit that she had liked it.
Quite a lot.
But that was neither here nor there. What mattered was that this- whatever this was- couldn't be allowed to happen. It was completely illogical to continue with it. It was one thing to have their little study sessions- which had turned out, as Draco had predicted, to be quite mutually beneficial- they had each learned valuable things from the other that she was sure would be of use when the N.E.W.T.s finally arrived, and then there was the side effect that their relationship as Head Boy and Girl had become considerably less strained since the study sessions had begun; they were having a far easier and more pleasant time working together in that capacity.
But to complicate things with... with... romance... (is that what this is? Romance?) was just plain foolish. Romance took time and energy away from schoolwork, and with N.E.W.T.s fast approaching, she couldn't afford that.
No, it would be best to clear the air, set things straight, and then get back to business as usual. Head duties and studying. Studying and more studying. There would be time for romance after Hogwarts, she reminded herself. And when it came- when romance truly came for her and swept her away- she severely doubted that it would be with Draco Malfoy.
Okay, yes, so there was something immensely appealing about this new side he'd been showing her lately, but... what could they possibly offer each other in the long run? They were from completely different backgrounds, had completely different philosophies, and were standing on opposite sides of a brewing conflict that was already rocking the wizarding world- that had been doing so for years, since before either of them had been born, in fact- and that promised only to get more violent, more explosive, more deadly, before it ended one way or the other.
So her mind was quite made up. There would be no romance; not here at Hogwarts, not now when she needed to be concentrating solely on her upcoming exit exams, and most certainly not with Draco Malfoy, no matter how dangerously, roguishly appealing he may be.
Uh-uh. No way. Forget about it.
Her decision was made, and it was final. All that remained was to lay down the law to him.
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As if we can choose when and where true romance will strike us. As if we can seek to control a force that powerful, that primal.
Half an hour later, they were kissing again.
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She had slipped under the invisibility cloak and made her way down to the library, rightly guessing that though they had made no prior arrangement for tonight, she would find Draco there.
But though she had expected to find him in the library, she was caught completely off guard by just how she found him; sitting at the table that had become "their" study table over the course of the past several weeks- the table she had first invited him to join her at, the only table they had used since- his arms folded across the open pages of a book and his silvery head laid down upon them, fast asleep.
He didn't even stir as she approached, and it was so unlike him to leave himself this unguarded, this vulnerable, that she wondered, frowning, if something was wrong, if he was sick- and when she drew nearer still she saw that he did, in fact, look slightly ill- or at the very least, somewhere well beyond exhausted; his hair was uncharacteristically messy, and his face was turned sideways on his criss-crossed arms so that she could see there were dark smudges under his eyes.
I don't believe he slept last night, either, she thought, and the thought surprised her; she had convinced herself, and with very little difficulty, really, that Draco had just been toying with her last night... she couldn't possibly mean anything to him, not really- and that conviction was what had been going to make what she planned to say to him tonight so easy.
But if he had spent as sleepless a night as she had, well then that suggested otherwise, now didn't it?
And THAT complicated things immensely.
Nevertheless, her heart was still her own at that point.
It was her own as she walked softly around the table and settled herself in her usual chair on the other side; it was her own as she placed her wand next to his, which was glowing only faintly, putting out a mere fraction of its usual amount of light, then leaned forward, cupping her chin in her left palm and, with a flick of the fingers of her right hand, sent a gentle breeze across the table to ruffle Draco's hair.
"Malfoy," she whispered.
"Mmh." A tiny furrow appeared between his near colorless eyebrows and he raised his head a fraction of an inch and shook it, just once, as if to clear it. Then those startling, pale eyes of his opened; blinked; focused on her, and her heart was still her own then too, though it was a very close thing.
It was in the next instant, as a slow, sleepy, and entirely genuine smile spread across his face- the first genuine smile he had ever allowed Hermione to see, rarer than that precious metal, platinum, that his hair so resembled- that her traitorous heart began to flee her....
And when he spoke, in a voice she'd never heard before, a low and husky sleep-voice; when he said simply, "Hey... you're here. I didn't think you'd come," and stifled- barely- a humungous yawn- it was a done deal, then. Her heart no longer belonged to herself; it was the property of the fair- haired, sleep-tousled boy sitting across the table from her, whose smile was fading and who was now regarding her solemnly with those mist-gray eyes, waiting for her to speak.
"I-" she stammered, "um... came because we... we needed to talk. About- er- last night?"
She hated the way it came out sounding like a question instead of a statement. She had never before felt so thrown off-guard by a boy. And she knew boys- she spent most of her time with them. She had for seven years. Her best friends were boys, and in all her years at Hogwarts, she had never been left dateless when a dance came around; first there had been Victor Krum in her fourth year, then Terry Boot of Ravenclaw in sixth and just earlier this year, Ron. (There had been no dances, of course, under Umbridge's reign of terror in her fifth year.) But none of these boys had had an effect on her like this.
This was something different....
Something dangerous....
Something scary, because she no longer felt herself completely in control of her emotions, of her choices, of her life....
And it was entirely irresistible.
A slightly wicked gleam had come into Draco's eyes. "Yes, Granger?" he prompted, in a deceptively mild tone. "What about last night would you care to discuss?"
"I..."
A voice inside her head, the voice of her last shred of reason, of logic, of sanity, cried out, TELL him! Tell him what you came to say! That this is wrong, all wrong, that it will never work, that it can't go on- for God's sake, tell him now! This is your last chance to save yourself!
Though there would come a time later when she would curse herself often and heartily for disregarding that voice, she was perceptive enough now to realize the truth of the matter; and the truth of the matter was, she belonged to him. She couldn't even begin to fathom when the process had begun, but it had just been completed, and there it was.
She was his.
So what she said, in a queer, cracked little voice, was, "I just wanted to... thank you... for returning my bag."
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She was his.
Draco saw and recognized the fundamental shift deep inside her; he saw it in her eyes, recognized it in the way her body went suddenly very, very still, heard it in the unsteady quality of her voice when she spoke.
She was his. Holy shit. It was what he had wanted for weeks. So what the hell did he do now?
"Granger," he whispered, his voice more gentle than he had ever allowed her- or anyone, for that matter- to hear it, "come here."
And she did so; she obeyed him unquestioningly, and with only a minimum of hesitation, standing and walking slowly around the table as he pushed his own chair back from it, stopping, uncertainly, in front of him, her hair a dark waterfall of curls, flowing over her shoulders and down her back, and rather than standing as well, he turned in his chair so that he faced her, and reached out both arms, catching her around the waist and pulling her down on top of him so that she sat facing him, straddling his lap. She didn't resist- and a good, long look into her wide eyes, nearly black in the dim light, told him that she had also recognized the shift within herself and that it had shocked her on a very deep level; and that her shock was the reason for her compliance.
"Granger," he said- almost groaned- "Christ, but I want you so damn much," and he plunged both his hands into that thick, dark, luxurious hair as he'd been aching to do for a long, long time, as he'd already done countless times over the past few weeks in his dreams, and began to pull her head slowly yet inexorably down toward his-
Just before their lips met she resisted the pressure he was exerting on her; resisted it just long enough to whisper four short words- a request both simple and profound.
"Draco," she whispered (the first time she had ever used his given name, and God, how it thrilled him, the sound of it on her lips), "don't hurt me."
And he felt those words resonate right down to his soul, but he made no reply- just brought his mouth to hers, and the kiss exploded upon both of them with a fiery passion that put their previous one to shame.