(A/N: Okay... this chapter has Draco acting in a rather unethical manner... and yes, I'm aware of that, I wrote it. Hellooo, he's DRACO! I never promised to make him an angel in this fic... I'm trying to keep him somewhat in character here, for the time being at least, and as despicable as his actions may seem, I truly do think that there is a possibility he could and would act this way. So: what way, you ask? Well, read on and you'll see, chickadee...)
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And life was good, for a while.
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By unspoken mutual agreement, they stepped up their study sessions-cum- snogging sessions from every other night to every night except for Saturday and Sunday, when they were both expected by their friends to be elsewhere... truthfully, they would have preferred to have spent these nights in one another's company as well.
They justified this to themselves by rationalizing that as their exams loomed ever nearer they needed ever more study time... but really, they were hardly getting in any more study time than they had been previous to that first kiss; all the extra time went to their physical exploration of each other.
Not that it went all that far- not nearly as far as Draco would have liked to take it, anyway. Hermione drew the line firmly at deep kissing and some petting- but nothing below the waist- and complained that she was distracted enough from her schoolwork as it was.
Though her determined slapping away of his hands kept him in a state of nearly constant high arousal over the next few weeks, and he simply would not have tolerated such treatment from anyone else, he found that he actually didn't mind terribly much giving her some time and space... he justified it repeatedly to himself by reminding himself how much sweeter the reward would be in the end.
As a matter of fact, he was in an uncommonly good mood these days- so much so that it was even noted by his fellow Slytherins. Ironically enough, it was actually Pansy who benefited most from Draco's newfound good humor, for he was inclined to be far more patient with her than usual during the day, and, due to his perpetual sexual frustration at Hermione's hands, was quite a bit more receptive to her advances at night, as well.
He even went so far as to make an advance of his own on one particular Friday night, when he returned from the library around one in the morning to find Pansy alone in the common room, sitting cross-legged in front of the fire, deep in conversation with a friend who attended Durmstrang, via the floo network.
His latest snog session with Hermione fresh in his mind, he approached Pansy from behind, wrapped his arms about her and pulled her effortlessly to her feet- then, ignoring her cry of surprise, took her firmly by the arm and led her, without a word, away from the fireplace and her shocked friend, and straight into his room, from whence she did not emerge until well past breakfast time the next morning, a bounce in her step and a triumphant gleam in her eye- a virgin no more.
Following that incident, Draco often found Pansy waiting up for him in the common room at night, and he never failed to take her up on such unspoken invitations.
It never even occurred to him that Hermione, had she known about this, would have looked upon his new habit of first snogging her, and then shagging Pansy senseless, with rather extreme disfavor- as far as he was concerned, Hermione and Pansy were two entirely different aspects of his life, having nothing to do with one another at all (well... except for the fact he now regularly worked up "an appetite" with the one, and then satisfied his "hunger" with the other). Pansy was the girl he still intended to marry, and Hermione was...
Hermione was an addiction.
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Draco was getting impatient.
"Damn it all, Granger," he muttered under his breath, checking his watch for the umpteenth time and wondering whether he could possibly be in the right place... of all the locations for her to have requested he meet her on this lovely Hogsmeade Saturday, he had never expected her to come up with this particular rendezvous spot- granted, the two of them would need to be discreet if they intended to spend an afternoon together in the little wizarding village, but really- the basement of Honeydukes sweet shop? This was nothing short of ridiculous.
He'd been down here twenty minutes already. There was a damp chill in the air, the stone walls were moist, and if he had to crouch beneath the rickety staircase one more time while the shop owner's fat husband came trundling down it in search of a flat of fizzing whizbies or a crate of cockroach clusters...
He swore violently and resumed his pacing, which he had only ceased long enough to check the time. What he wouldn't give to be sitting comfortably in the Three Broomsticks, drinking a Butterbeer right now...
He stopped abruptly and whirled about, his heart skipping a beat at the sound of something heavy scraping against the floor behind him. What he saw then rendered him motionless with astonishment- a heavy trapdoor in the cellar floor, which was so well disguised he had not previously noticed it, was being pushed open from beneath.
And a second later a hooded head emerged, followed quickly by a slim body clad in jeans and an oversized sweatshirt- did she borrow that from Potter or Weasley? Draco wondered, with a sudden and bitter twinge of what could only be jealousy- (only looking out for my property, and no-one had damn well better be moving in on it- especially fucking Weasley after the way he treated her that night, he thought furiously) as she hoisted herself out of the underground passage with a lithe, easy grace.
His expression was dark as she pulled the trapdoor shut, dusted herself off and straightened up to face him- but unlike Pansy, who would probably have reacted to the look on his face by taking a step backward and stammering an apology for her tardiness, Hermione did not seem abashed in the least.
"Where did you get that sweatshirt?" was the first thing out of his mouth.
She appeared surprised by the question. "This old thing?" she asked, looking down. "It belonged to Victor Krum. He gave it to me the summer between fourth and fifth year."
On closer inspection, Draco could make out the words BULGARIA QUIDDITCH in badly faded gold lettering against an equally timeworn burgundy background. He felt a rush of relief. Krum was old news. No worries there.
The next thing that caught his attention was her hair. "What's this?" he asked, reaching out to finger a single long, thick, smooth plait that hung forward over her shoulder, emerging from the hood of the sweatshirt, which was still pulled up. He pushed the hood back and saw that her hair was French-braided, pulled severely back from her face.
"I've never seen you wear a braid before," he commented, unaware of the small frown which had settled over his features.
"Oh. Well-" and now Hermione did sound a bit self-conscious- "my hair, you know, can... attract attention. People recognize it. I though it would be best today if I... tamed it down a bit. Do... you like it?"
This question threw Draco entirely off-guard. Hermione had never done anything so innately "girly" as ask his opinion of her appearance before. And truth be told, he didn't like it. Not one little bit. Hermione's unruly hair had grown on him to the point where it was the very first thing he scanned for in any room he entered at Hogwarts. He had even caught himself, much to his chagrin, unconsciously scanning the Slytherin common room for it on more than one occasion.
But she was right; it made sense for her to wear it "tamed down", as she put it, today. Besides which, he knew enough about girls to understand that he should never give a negative answer to an appearance-related query. Ever. Not unless he wished the girl in question to cease speaking to him permanently. And that was the farthest thing to what he wanted from Granger. Speaking with Granger, he had come to find, was almost as pleasant as kissing her.
"I... it's-" Think fast, Malfoy, damn it to hell- "it's just different," he said, managing a rather convincing smile, and then, seeing from her expression that this wasn't good enough, elaborated- "it's very sophisticated. Just... great!"
This seemed to satisfy her.
"Shall we go, then?" she asked. "I'd like to start the afternoon with a Butterbeer, I think."
"No," Draco said, a bit waspishly, "I was rather hoping we could spend the whole time here in this cellar, with an occasional fat man for company-"
As if on cue, the door above banged open. Draco grabbed Hermione by the arm and yanked her bodily under the stairs as the shop proprietor's husband tromped down the steps, grabbed up the nearest case of Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans, and huffed back up them again.
Draco, crouched beside Hermione, graced her with a pointed glare... but only for a second. She looked so inviting, kneeling there on the stone floor in her faded old sweatshirt and jeans dusty from whatever secret passage she had traversed to meet him here, her dark eyes large in her face as she tried to keep her breathing silent, that before he quite knew what he was doing, and even before the cellar door slammed shut once more above them, he had pulled her into a fierce, possessive kiss.
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"Where'd that passage come from, anyway?" he asked her as they sipped Butterbeer at the farthest back table in the Three Broomsticks. She was facing away from the door so that all anyone walking into the pub would see of her was her thick, dark braid... but no one was paying them any mind, in any case. Draco had intentionally been short tempered with his Housemates in the days leading up to this outing (which hadn't been difficult, as the days leading up to this outing had been full of N.E.W.T.s, which were, praise the Lord, over now- the reason for this celebratory Hogsmeade weekend) and so was reasonably sure that no Slytherins would approach him today.
As for the Gryffindors, Hermione had told him that she didn't expect many of them to pay any amount of attention to "Draco Malfoy's Date" (she had blushed prettily, looking down while speaking those particular words); it was Harry and Ron who gave her the most cause for concern, and they had come into Hogsmeade at ten in the morning because they had Quidditch practice in the afternoon- it being about one o' clock at the moment, she thought that they should be heading back to school right about now, if they hadn't already. The whole reason she had taken the passage into town was to avoid passing them as she was coming and they were going, for she had told them that morning that she had a massive headache brought on by the exams, and would be resting in her room all day. She had wished them a nice time in town and a successful practice, and had asked not to be disturbed, claiming that she would likely spend most of the day sleeping, due to the fact that during N.E.W.T. week she had managed to scrape together perhaps twelve hours of sleep total.
This last, at least, was absolutely true, and she was currently operating in a state of massive sleep deprivation... but nevertheless, Draco's invitation had seemed too good for her to pass up.
So here they both were.
"The passage originates behind a statue in one of the corridors at school," Hermione said. "I can take you back that way, if you want to see for yourself." She arched an eyebrow; an expression that came almost as naturally to her as it did to him. "Now you tell me- how did you manage to give your entourage the slip, hm?"
Draco gave her that trademark smirk. "That excuse you gave to Potter and Weasley- being bedridden as a result of exams? Well, it just so happens that for Crabbe and Goyle it's true. A straight week of tests took a hell of a toll on those boys. Who knows though, maybe they even passed one or two." He looked thoughtful for a moment, then repeated, "maybe."
Hermione forced a smile, but was unable to conjure up any genuine feelings of amusement in regard to the brutish boys in question, even at their own expense. She had felt nothing toward them since Valentine's night save deepest, purest loathing.
"As for Pansy," Draco continued, "I set her up at the beauty shop for a full day of pampering. She's not going to set foot outside of it until five o' clock at the earliest- I saw to that. So she's of no concern, and... I fully expect the rest of my Housemates to give me a wide berth today."
"Yes, I noticed you had stepped up the charm this past week... so that was for my benefit, was it?"
Draco's eyes narrowed. No good could possibly come of Granger reaching the conclusion that he would go so far out of his way on her account as to deliberately alienate his own people... even if such a conclusion would just so happen to be correct. It could give a girl swelled head, and that wouldn't do... Granger was not, after all, even a romantic interest of his, strictly speaking; she was merely a physical conquest in the making.
Physical conquest. That was all.
"Don't flatter yourself," he growled.
Hermione sat back in her chair and folded her arms across her chest. "Wouldn't dream of it," she said, but Draco caught a glimmer in her eye that he didn't know quite how to react to- whether to be disturbed, or amused.
Because she wasn't buying it.
He had underestimated her once again; she had seen straight through him.
Damn, but the girl was smart.
And perceptive.
And beautiful.
And fearless.
And independent.
And witty.
And proud.
Your perfect mate, in other words, whispered that traitorous corner of his mind that seemed to have awakened as a result of his fever and most trusted professor's insidious words.
No! Treason! Heresy! Shame to his family! Granger was a dalliance, and that was all, damnit, that was all.
He shook his head to clear it, and when he met Hermione's eyes again, was unnerved by the keenness with which she was regarding him. Finishing his Butterbeer in a single great gulp, he slammed the empty tankard down on the table and got to his feet.
"Let's take a stroll through town, Granger," he drawled, in an attempt at his usual nonchalance. "It's a beautiful day."
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No other students approached them all that long and sun-drenched afternoon. The two of them were entirely free to wander the town hand-in-hand, pausing in front of shop windows, and, when either of their fancies were caught, entering to browse the shops themselves. They spent half an hour in the quaint Hogsmeade library, which was on a tree-lined street just outside the center of the village; a quiet little lane that turned residential just past the library itself. The day's crowning glory was the last thing they did; Draco rented a rowboat from the small village dock which was situated on the opposite end of the Hogwarts lake from the school itself, and rowed them far out into the water to watch the sun go down... and snog each other senseless, of course.
The sky was dark crimson fading to violet as they tied the boat back up to the dock. It was nearly seven o' clock; dinner was being served even now up at Hogwarts, and by the time they would reach the school, it would be over. It was also a good two hours past the time Draco had estimated that Pansy would have been released from the beauty shop, and he had the distinct feeling that she would be looking for him, excited to show him the results of her day at the salon. For this reason- and because he was undeniably curious- he and Hermione decided to take the Honeydukes passage back to school.
Hermione led the way, of course, holding her illuminated wand aloft and leaving Draco to follow along behind. She was entirely unaware, of course, of the frank and admiring appraisal he was giving her as she walked along briskly, familiar, as she was, with every twist and dip and turn and climb of the tunnel.
Draco was thinking that he never would have believed, before this day, that any girl on earth could make a pair of faded, dusty Muggle jeans and a shapeless, oversized sweatshirt look sexy... and yet, by God, Granger had done it- the undeniable truth was right there, sauntering confidently along in front of him. The way those jeans hugged the curves of her hips, and the way those hips swayed as she walked, her long braid, now hanging straight down her back, swaying in time to them... it was completely artless, completely genuine, she didn't even know she was doing it, and that was what drove him crazy with desire; the fact that she was sexy without meaning to be, that her sexiness came in large part from her very wholesomeness- from the fact that she was so unaffected, so pure.
So very different from Pansy, whose hips swayed too, oh yes, but with a much practiced precision- a gait that was intended to catch the eye of the opposite sex, and Draco in particular. And it did; in fact, at times he even enjoyed it, but it could never measure up to this- he had to admit that to himself if he were going to be completely honest. There was no question, really, that he much preferred Hermione's straightforward and unintentionally sexy stride to Pansy's seductive strut.
Granger was just so very different from his intended... different and... superior? Whispered that traitorous corner of his mind.
NO. He shook his head furiously. No matter how intelligent or sexually appealing, a Gryffindor mudblood could never be considered superior to his pureblooded, pedigreed, Slytherin betrothed. Never.
These thoughts were getting dangerous. It was time to complete the conquest, he decided, and have done with her. Get her out of his system; out from under his skin. He couldn't take this much longer and still hold on to his priorities in life!
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And so it was that the moment they both emerged from the hump of the one- eyed witch, before Hermione had a chance to say anything as maddeningly wholesome as "goodnight and thank you for a lovely day", he pushed her, a bit more roughly than he had intended, against the stone wall of the corridor (though he took great care to place one hand between the wall and the back of her head, cushioning it from what could potentially have been a painful smack) and was kissing her deeply, almost desperately, before he really even knew what he was doing. It was dangerous to be doing this at school, out in the open in a corridor- dangerous and forbidden and thrilling. It was long moments before they pulled apart, as if by mutual agreement, and yet with very apparent mutual reluctance. They were both breathing hard, and Draco leaned his forehead against hers, his arms still wrapped possessively about her body.
"Come to my room tonight," he panted. "Stay the night with me. Say you will."
Her eyes widened. "Draco-"
"N.E.W.T.s are over," he cut her off. "We have time now. Say you'll come. Please. Hermione."
It was the first time he had used her given name, and it had the effect he had hoped for. She gave a tiny, barely audible sigh- someone who hadn't been specifically watching for it would have missed it entirely- and let her head fall forward onto his shoulder.
He tightened his left arm around her waist, raised his right hand and began stroking slowly the length of her thick, dark braid; a gentle, soothing gesture, reassuring her that this was right, this was good, and that she should say yes.
Say yes, say yes, damn it Granger, I want you so much I'm going out of my mind, just say yes...
"Yes," she whispered finally, her voice muffled by the fabric of his shirt. "Yes, I'll come. I want to come. Draco."
"Thank God," he said without thinking, and then was horrified for an instant that he had allowed his relief to show so clearly- but only for an instant, because she raised her head then, and her eyes were luminous, and he realized that he could have said nothing better to further his cause had he tried. He drew her away from the wall, until they were standing in the middle of the corridor, then lowered his head and spoke urgently into her ear.
"Meet me in the library at midnight. Wear your cloak. We'll-"
He cut off suddenly, stiffening, sucking in a sharp breath, his eyes arrested by something behind Hermione, at the end of the corridor.
Pansy. To be exact.
She had just come around the corner, and stopped stock still, staring at him.
"Draco?" she asked uncertainly. Even at a distance of several yards, he could see her eyes widen as comprehension struck; could see her face flush. She started toward them without another word, her expression grim, hurt and angry. This was a disaster.
Draco thought fast.
Hermione, watching the emotions play on his face, started to turn to see for herself what had thrown him so badly. Instantly his hands came up and caught her by the arms, close up to her shoulders, stopping her. His grip was so hard it was nearly painful. Holding her steady with one hand, he removed the other and held it up to Pansy, an authoritative gesture, halting her in her tracks. But he could tell she wouldn't stay still for long.
Barely moving his lips, he murmured to Hermione, "slap me."
"What?" she whispered incredulously.
"Pansy is right behind you. She looks mad enough to spit nails."
Now it was Hermione's eyes that widened.
"She doesn't know who you are; she can't," Draco continued, speaking low and fast. "You need to slap me, then run past me with your hands over your face as if you were crying. Do not turn around, whatever you do. I'll see you at midnight. Now for God's sake, slap me!"
Hermione swallowed, working up her nerve. Then, just as Pansy started forward again, she wrenched herself back a step from Draco, hauled off and slapped him as hard as she could across the face, then, without turning, took off running in the opposite direction from whence Pansy was advancing, shouldering Draco out of her way as she did so, roughly enough to nearly knock him over. A second later she was gone around the corner at the far end of the hall.
It was a marvelously convincing performance, Draco thought with some pride, even as he raised a hand gingerly to his stinging cheek. That's my girl!
But no... that wasn't true. This was his girl, standing before him, looking confused and angry and wounded to the core. This was the girl he was going to build a future with- regardless of whether he would have chosen her for himself. (Which he would not.) Didn't matter; the choice had been made, and he intended to abide by it just as much as he ever had; his family was counting on him to do right by them; he was the only child, the only heir, and he would not let them down, he thought fiercely. Granger changed nothing.
Nothing.
And so he needed to fix this, pronto.
"Pansy," he said, and crossed the distance between himself and her in three swift strides, engulfing her in a tight hug and planting a kiss squarely on the top of her head, regardless of how she stiffened in his arms. "I missed you today."
She pulled away and looked up at him, and he saw hurt battling with hope on her unpretty face.
"Draco," she said, uncertainly, "who- what was-"
"It was nothing," he said smoothly. "I'm sorry you had to see it. It was just some ridiculous Hufflepuff sixth-year, throwing herself at me." He sighed theatrically. "I suppose you might as well know, it happens a fair amount. But-" his face creased into a slight frown- "I should hope you know me better, Pans, than to think for even one moment that I'd consider-"
"Well, I didn't know she was a Hufflepuff," Pansy sniffed forlornly. "I didn't know what to think!"
"I know," he replied, "which is why I'm sorry you saw it. I hate the thought of you in distress."
Pansy snuffled again, but looked slightly mollified. "What did you say to her, anyway?" she asked. "You know, to make her slap you like that?"
"Just that I wouldn't sully myself with a filthy Hufflepuff- a mudblood too, by the look of those dirty Muggle jeans- if she paid me. Really, Pans, I'd rather spare you the gory details. And- hey- don't do that to yourself," he chided gently then, cupping her cheek in one hand and wiping away a single tear that had over spilled her eye with his thumb. "You'll ruin a whole day's work if you cry. Come on, let me see what you've had done today. Show me how gorgeous you look!"
Stepping back from her, he eyed her appreciatively from head to toe. "Exquisite," he pronounced, "though really, everything you've had done amounts to no more than gilding the lily. You were beautiful to begin with."
He breathed a sigh of relief as she finally graced him with a smile- small, but real.
He held out his arms, and this time she came into them unhesitatingly. Clasping her to him, he murmured in her ear, "I want to know if every inch of you looks as good as what I can see right now." He surreptitiously checked his watch- seven-forty-five. Plenty of time for a romp and a shower before he was due to meet Granger in the library. And if he satiated himself with Pansy first, he'd be better able to draw out his experience with Hermione later- be patient, go slow, savor every second. Of course, he'd need to think of some excuse to get Pansy out of his room before midnight when she was accustomed to spending the night with him after making love... but he didn't think that would be too difficult. Whatever story he came up with, she wouldn't question him too closely. She never did. She couldn't see through his facades.
Unlike Granger.
"What do you say," he whispered suggestively, "we go back to my room and I finish my... inspection there? Must be sure, after all, that those salon girls pampered every- inch- of you, as I instructed them to do."
Pansy giggled and nodded against his chest, then gave a seductive little shimmy against him before straightening back up. Grinning, he slung an arm about her shoulder, and they headed off in the opposite direction to the one Hermione had taken; the Slytherin prince and princess, intended for each other almost since birth.
"What was that Hufflepuff's name, anyway?" Pansy purred as they walked, no longer sounding even remotely upset. "I might like to have a... little chat with her tomorrow."
Draco snorted. "You think I could be bothered to learn a little twat like that's name?"
"Oh." Pansy sounded disappointed, but then brightened up again almost instantly. "Well, never mind," she said, "I'll recognize that braid if I see it again-" her voice and eyes hardened- "and if I do, I'll yank the damn thing right off. Hufflepuff mess about with my man..."
In spite of himself, Draco threw a quick, worried glance over his shoulder in the direction Hermione had gone. He now had yet one more reason to hope she would never wear her hair that way again.
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And life was good, for a while.
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By unspoken mutual agreement, they stepped up their study sessions-cum- snogging sessions from every other night to every night except for Saturday and Sunday, when they were both expected by their friends to be elsewhere... truthfully, they would have preferred to have spent these nights in one another's company as well.
They justified this to themselves by rationalizing that as their exams loomed ever nearer they needed ever more study time... but really, they were hardly getting in any more study time than they had been previous to that first kiss; all the extra time went to their physical exploration of each other.
Not that it went all that far- not nearly as far as Draco would have liked to take it, anyway. Hermione drew the line firmly at deep kissing and some petting- but nothing below the waist- and complained that she was distracted enough from her schoolwork as it was.
Though her determined slapping away of his hands kept him in a state of nearly constant high arousal over the next few weeks, and he simply would not have tolerated such treatment from anyone else, he found that he actually didn't mind terribly much giving her some time and space... he justified it repeatedly to himself by reminding himself how much sweeter the reward would be in the end.
As a matter of fact, he was in an uncommonly good mood these days- so much so that it was even noted by his fellow Slytherins. Ironically enough, it was actually Pansy who benefited most from Draco's newfound good humor, for he was inclined to be far more patient with her than usual during the day, and, due to his perpetual sexual frustration at Hermione's hands, was quite a bit more receptive to her advances at night, as well.
He even went so far as to make an advance of his own on one particular Friday night, when he returned from the library around one in the morning to find Pansy alone in the common room, sitting cross-legged in front of the fire, deep in conversation with a friend who attended Durmstrang, via the floo network.
His latest snog session with Hermione fresh in his mind, he approached Pansy from behind, wrapped his arms about her and pulled her effortlessly to her feet- then, ignoring her cry of surprise, took her firmly by the arm and led her, without a word, away from the fireplace and her shocked friend, and straight into his room, from whence she did not emerge until well past breakfast time the next morning, a bounce in her step and a triumphant gleam in her eye- a virgin no more.
Following that incident, Draco often found Pansy waiting up for him in the common room at night, and he never failed to take her up on such unspoken invitations.
It never even occurred to him that Hermione, had she known about this, would have looked upon his new habit of first snogging her, and then shagging Pansy senseless, with rather extreme disfavor- as far as he was concerned, Hermione and Pansy were two entirely different aspects of his life, having nothing to do with one another at all (well... except for the fact he now regularly worked up "an appetite" with the one, and then satisfied his "hunger" with the other). Pansy was the girl he still intended to marry, and Hermione was...
Hermione was an addiction.
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Draco was getting impatient.
"Damn it all, Granger," he muttered under his breath, checking his watch for the umpteenth time and wondering whether he could possibly be in the right place... of all the locations for her to have requested he meet her on this lovely Hogsmeade Saturday, he had never expected her to come up with this particular rendezvous spot- granted, the two of them would need to be discreet if they intended to spend an afternoon together in the little wizarding village, but really- the basement of Honeydukes sweet shop? This was nothing short of ridiculous.
He'd been down here twenty minutes already. There was a damp chill in the air, the stone walls were moist, and if he had to crouch beneath the rickety staircase one more time while the shop owner's fat husband came trundling down it in search of a flat of fizzing whizbies or a crate of cockroach clusters...
He swore violently and resumed his pacing, which he had only ceased long enough to check the time. What he wouldn't give to be sitting comfortably in the Three Broomsticks, drinking a Butterbeer right now...
He stopped abruptly and whirled about, his heart skipping a beat at the sound of something heavy scraping against the floor behind him. What he saw then rendered him motionless with astonishment- a heavy trapdoor in the cellar floor, which was so well disguised he had not previously noticed it, was being pushed open from beneath.
And a second later a hooded head emerged, followed quickly by a slim body clad in jeans and an oversized sweatshirt- did she borrow that from Potter or Weasley? Draco wondered, with a sudden and bitter twinge of what could only be jealousy- (only looking out for my property, and no-one had damn well better be moving in on it- especially fucking Weasley after the way he treated her that night, he thought furiously) as she hoisted herself out of the underground passage with a lithe, easy grace.
His expression was dark as she pulled the trapdoor shut, dusted herself off and straightened up to face him- but unlike Pansy, who would probably have reacted to the look on his face by taking a step backward and stammering an apology for her tardiness, Hermione did not seem abashed in the least.
"Where did you get that sweatshirt?" was the first thing out of his mouth.
She appeared surprised by the question. "This old thing?" she asked, looking down. "It belonged to Victor Krum. He gave it to me the summer between fourth and fifth year."
On closer inspection, Draco could make out the words BULGARIA QUIDDITCH in badly faded gold lettering against an equally timeworn burgundy background. He felt a rush of relief. Krum was old news. No worries there.
The next thing that caught his attention was her hair. "What's this?" he asked, reaching out to finger a single long, thick, smooth plait that hung forward over her shoulder, emerging from the hood of the sweatshirt, which was still pulled up. He pushed the hood back and saw that her hair was French-braided, pulled severely back from her face.
"I've never seen you wear a braid before," he commented, unaware of the small frown which had settled over his features.
"Oh. Well-" and now Hermione did sound a bit self-conscious- "my hair, you know, can... attract attention. People recognize it. I though it would be best today if I... tamed it down a bit. Do... you like it?"
This question threw Draco entirely off-guard. Hermione had never done anything so innately "girly" as ask his opinion of her appearance before. And truth be told, he didn't like it. Not one little bit. Hermione's unruly hair had grown on him to the point where it was the very first thing he scanned for in any room he entered at Hogwarts. He had even caught himself, much to his chagrin, unconsciously scanning the Slytherin common room for it on more than one occasion.
But she was right; it made sense for her to wear it "tamed down", as she put it, today. Besides which, he knew enough about girls to understand that he should never give a negative answer to an appearance-related query. Ever. Not unless he wished the girl in question to cease speaking to him permanently. And that was the farthest thing to what he wanted from Granger. Speaking with Granger, he had come to find, was almost as pleasant as kissing her.
"I... it's-" Think fast, Malfoy, damn it to hell- "it's just different," he said, managing a rather convincing smile, and then, seeing from her expression that this wasn't good enough, elaborated- "it's very sophisticated. Just... great!"
This seemed to satisfy her.
"Shall we go, then?" she asked. "I'd like to start the afternoon with a Butterbeer, I think."
"No," Draco said, a bit waspishly, "I was rather hoping we could spend the whole time here in this cellar, with an occasional fat man for company-"
As if on cue, the door above banged open. Draco grabbed Hermione by the arm and yanked her bodily under the stairs as the shop proprietor's husband tromped down the steps, grabbed up the nearest case of Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans, and huffed back up them again.
Draco, crouched beside Hermione, graced her with a pointed glare... but only for a second. She looked so inviting, kneeling there on the stone floor in her faded old sweatshirt and jeans dusty from whatever secret passage she had traversed to meet him here, her dark eyes large in her face as she tried to keep her breathing silent, that before he quite knew what he was doing, and even before the cellar door slammed shut once more above them, he had pulled her into a fierce, possessive kiss.
00000
"Where'd that passage come from, anyway?" he asked her as they sipped Butterbeer at the farthest back table in the Three Broomsticks. She was facing away from the door so that all anyone walking into the pub would see of her was her thick, dark braid... but no one was paying them any mind, in any case. Draco had intentionally been short tempered with his Housemates in the days leading up to this outing (which hadn't been difficult, as the days leading up to this outing had been full of N.E.W.T.s, which were, praise the Lord, over now- the reason for this celebratory Hogsmeade weekend) and so was reasonably sure that no Slytherins would approach him today.
As for the Gryffindors, Hermione had told him that she didn't expect many of them to pay any amount of attention to "Draco Malfoy's Date" (she had blushed prettily, looking down while speaking those particular words); it was Harry and Ron who gave her the most cause for concern, and they had come into Hogsmeade at ten in the morning because they had Quidditch practice in the afternoon- it being about one o' clock at the moment, she thought that they should be heading back to school right about now, if they hadn't already. The whole reason she had taken the passage into town was to avoid passing them as she was coming and they were going, for she had told them that morning that she had a massive headache brought on by the exams, and would be resting in her room all day. She had wished them a nice time in town and a successful practice, and had asked not to be disturbed, claiming that she would likely spend most of the day sleeping, due to the fact that during N.E.W.T. week she had managed to scrape together perhaps twelve hours of sleep total.
This last, at least, was absolutely true, and she was currently operating in a state of massive sleep deprivation... but nevertheless, Draco's invitation had seemed too good for her to pass up.
So here they both were.
"The passage originates behind a statue in one of the corridors at school," Hermione said. "I can take you back that way, if you want to see for yourself." She arched an eyebrow; an expression that came almost as naturally to her as it did to him. "Now you tell me- how did you manage to give your entourage the slip, hm?"
Draco gave her that trademark smirk. "That excuse you gave to Potter and Weasley- being bedridden as a result of exams? Well, it just so happens that for Crabbe and Goyle it's true. A straight week of tests took a hell of a toll on those boys. Who knows though, maybe they even passed one or two." He looked thoughtful for a moment, then repeated, "maybe."
Hermione forced a smile, but was unable to conjure up any genuine feelings of amusement in regard to the brutish boys in question, even at their own expense. She had felt nothing toward them since Valentine's night save deepest, purest loathing.
"As for Pansy," Draco continued, "I set her up at the beauty shop for a full day of pampering. She's not going to set foot outside of it until five o' clock at the earliest- I saw to that. So she's of no concern, and... I fully expect the rest of my Housemates to give me a wide berth today."
"Yes, I noticed you had stepped up the charm this past week... so that was for my benefit, was it?"
Draco's eyes narrowed. No good could possibly come of Granger reaching the conclusion that he would go so far out of his way on her account as to deliberately alienate his own people... even if such a conclusion would just so happen to be correct. It could give a girl swelled head, and that wouldn't do... Granger was not, after all, even a romantic interest of his, strictly speaking; she was merely a physical conquest in the making.
Physical conquest. That was all.
"Don't flatter yourself," he growled.
Hermione sat back in her chair and folded her arms across her chest. "Wouldn't dream of it," she said, but Draco caught a glimmer in her eye that he didn't know quite how to react to- whether to be disturbed, or amused.
Because she wasn't buying it.
He had underestimated her once again; she had seen straight through him.
Damn, but the girl was smart.
And perceptive.
And beautiful.
And fearless.
And independent.
And witty.
And proud.
Your perfect mate, in other words, whispered that traitorous corner of his mind that seemed to have awakened as a result of his fever and most trusted professor's insidious words.
No! Treason! Heresy! Shame to his family! Granger was a dalliance, and that was all, damnit, that was all.
He shook his head to clear it, and when he met Hermione's eyes again, was unnerved by the keenness with which she was regarding him. Finishing his Butterbeer in a single great gulp, he slammed the empty tankard down on the table and got to his feet.
"Let's take a stroll through town, Granger," he drawled, in an attempt at his usual nonchalance. "It's a beautiful day."
00000
No other students approached them all that long and sun-drenched afternoon. The two of them were entirely free to wander the town hand-in-hand, pausing in front of shop windows, and, when either of their fancies were caught, entering to browse the shops themselves. They spent half an hour in the quaint Hogsmeade library, which was on a tree-lined street just outside the center of the village; a quiet little lane that turned residential just past the library itself. The day's crowning glory was the last thing they did; Draco rented a rowboat from the small village dock which was situated on the opposite end of the Hogwarts lake from the school itself, and rowed them far out into the water to watch the sun go down... and snog each other senseless, of course.
The sky was dark crimson fading to violet as they tied the boat back up to the dock. It was nearly seven o' clock; dinner was being served even now up at Hogwarts, and by the time they would reach the school, it would be over. It was also a good two hours past the time Draco had estimated that Pansy would have been released from the beauty shop, and he had the distinct feeling that she would be looking for him, excited to show him the results of her day at the salon. For this reason- and because he was undeniably curious- he and Hermione decided to take the Honeydukes passage back to school.
Hermione led the way, of course, holding her illuminated wand aloft and leaving Draco to follow along behind. She was entirely unaware, of course, of the frank and admiring appraisal he was giving her as she walked along briskly, familiar, as she was, with every twist and dip and turn and climb of the tunnel.
Draco was thinking that he never would have believed, before this day, that any girl on earth could make a pair of faded, dusty Muggle jeans and a shapeless, oversized sweatshirt look sexy... and yet, by God, Granger had done it- the undeniable truth was right there, sauntering confidently along in front of him. The way those jeans hugged the curves of her hips, and the way those hips swayed as she walked, her long braid, now hanging straight down her back, swaying in time to them... it was completely artless, completely genuine, she didn't even know she was doing it, and that was what drove him crazy with desire; the fact that she was sexy without meaning to be, that her sexiness came in large part from her very wholesomeness- from the fact that she was so unaffected, so pure.
So very different from Pansy, whose hips swayed too, oh yes, but with a much practiced precision- a gait that was intended to catch the eye of the opposite sex, and Draco in particular. And it did; in fact, at times he even enjoyed it, but it could never measure up to this- he had to admit that to himself if he were going to be completely honest. There was no question, really, that he much preferred Hermione's straightforward and unintentionally sexy stride to Pansy's seductive strut.
Granger was just so very different from his intended... different and... superior? Whispered that traitorous corner of his mind.
NO. He shook his head furiously. No matter how intelligent or sexually appealing, a Gryffindor mudblood could never be considered superior to his pureblooded, pedigreed, Slytherin betrothed. Never.
These thoughts were getting dangerous. It was time to complete the conquest, he decided, and have done with her. Get her out of his system; out from under his skin. He couldn't take this much longer and still hold on to his priorities in life!
00000
And so it was that the moment they both emerged from the hump of the one- eyed witch, before Hermione had a chance to say anything as maddeningly wholesome as "goodnight and thank you for a lovely day", he pushed her, a bit more roughly than he had intended, against the stone wall of the corridor (though he took great care to place one hand between the wall and the back of her head, cushioning it from what could potentially have been a painful smack) and was kissing her deeply, almost desperately, before he really even knew what he was doing. It was dangerous to be doing this at school, out in the open in a corridor- dangerous and forbidden and thrilling. It was long moments before they pulled apart, as if by mutual agreement, and yet with very apparent mutual reluctance. They were both breathing hard, and Draco leaned his forehead against hers, his arms still wrapped possessively about her body.
"Come to my room tonight," he panted. "Stay the night with me. Say you will."
Her eyes widened. "Draco-"
"N.E.W.T.s are over," he cut her off. "We have time now. Say you'll come. Please. Hermione."
It was the first time he had used her given name, and it had the effect he had hoped for. She gave a tiny, barely audible sigh- someone who hadn't been specifically watching for it would have missed it entirely- and let her head fall forward onto his shoulder.
He tightened his left arm around her waist, raised his right hand and began stroking slowly the length of her thick, dark braid; a gentle, soothing gesture, reassuring her that this was right, this was good, and that she should say yes.
Say yes, say yes, damn it Granger, I want you so much I'm going out of my mind, just say yes...
"Yes," she whispered finally, her voice muffled by the fabric of his shirt. "Yes, I'll come. I want to come. Draco."
"Thank God," he said without thinking, and then was horrified for an instant that he had allowed his relief to show so clearly- but only for an instant, because she raised her head then, and her eyes were luminous, and he realized that he could have said nothing better to further his cause had he tried. He drew her away from the wall, until they were standing in the middle of the corridor, then lowered his head and spoke urgently into her ear.
"Meet me in the library at midnight. Wear your cloak. We'll-"
He cut off suddenly, stiffening, sucking in a sharp breath, his eyes arrested by something behind Hermione, at the end of the corridor.
Pansy. To be exact.
She had just come around the corner, and stopped stock still, staring at him.
"Draco?" she asked uncertainly. Even at a distance of several yards, he could see her eyes widen as comprehension struck; could see her face flush. She started toward them without another word, her expression grim, hurt and angry. This was a disaster.
Draco thought fast.
Hermione, watching the emotions play on his face, started to turn to see for herself what had thrown him so badly. Instantly his hands came up and caught her by the arms, close up to her shoulders, stopping her. His grip was so hard it was nearly painful. Holding her steady with one hand, he removed the other and held it up to Pansy, an authoritative gesture, halting her in her tracks. But he could tell she wouldn't stay still for long.
Barely moving his lips, he murmured to Hermione, "slap me."
"What?" she whispered incredulously.
"Pansy is right behind you. She looks mad enough to spit nails."
Now it was Hermione's eyes that widened.
"She doesn't know who you are; she can't," Draco continued, speaking low and fast. "You need to slap me, then run past me with your hands over your face as if you were crying. Do not turn around, whatever you do. I'll see you at midnight. Now for God's sake, slap me!"
Hermione swallowed, working up her nerve. Then, just as Pansy started forward again, she wrenched herself back a step from Draco, hauled off and slapped him as hard as she could across the face, then, without turning, took off running in the opposite direction from whence Pansy was advancing, shouldering Draco out of her way as she did so, roughly enough to nearly knock him over. A second later she was gone around the corner at the far end of the hall.
It was a marvelously convincing performance, Draco thought with some pride, even as he raised a hand gingerly to his stinging cheek. That's my girl!
But no... that wasn't true. This was his girl, standing before him, looking confused and angry and wounded to the core. This was the girl he was going to build a future with- regardless of whether he would have chosen her for himself. (Which he would not.) Didn't matter; the choice had been made, and he intended to abide by it just as much as he ever had; his family was counting on him to do right by them; he was the only child, the only heir, and he would not let them down, he thought fiercely. Granger changed nothing.
Nothing.
And so he needed to fix this, pronto.
"Pansy," he said, and crossed the distance between himself and her in three swift strides, engulfing her in a tight hug and planting a kiss squarely on the top of her head, regardless of how she stiffened in his arms. "I missed you today."
She pulled away and looked up at him, and he saw hurt battling with hope on her unpretty face.
"Draco," she said, uncertainly, "who- what was-"
"It was nothing," he said smoothly. "I'm sorry you had to see it. It was just some ridiculous Hufflepuff sixth-year, throwing herself at me." He sighed theatrically. "I suppose you might as well know, it happens a fair amount. But-" his face creased into a slight frown- "I should hope you know me better, Pans, than to think for even one moment that I'd consider-"
"Well, I didn't know she was a Hufflepuff," Pansy sniffed forlornly. "I didn't know what to think!"
"I know," he replied, "which is why I'm sorry you saw it. I hate the thought of you in distress."
Pansy snuffled again, but looked slightly mollified. "What did you say to her, anyway?" she asked. "You know, to make her slap you like that?"
"Just that I wouldn't sully myself with a filthy Hufflepuff- a mudblood too, by the look of those dirty Muggle jeans- if she paid me. Really, Pans, I'd rather spare you the gory details. And- hey- don't do that to yourself," he chided gently then, cupping her cheek in one hand and wiping away a single tear that had over spilled her eye with his thumb. "You'll ruin a whole day's work if you cry. Come on, let me see what you've had done today. Show me how gorgeous you look!"
Stepping back from her, he eyed her appreciatively from head to toe. "Exquisite," he pronounced, "though really, everything you've had done amounts to no more than gilding the lily. You were beautiful to begin with."
He breathed a sigh of relief as she finally graced him with a smile- small, but real.
He held out his arms, and this time she came into them unhesitatingly. Clasping her to him, he murmured in her ear, "I want to know if every inch of you looks as good as what I can see right now." He surreptitiously checked his watch- seven-forty-five. Plenty of time for a romp and a shower before he was due to meet Granger in the library. And if he satiated himself with Pansy first, he'd be better able to draw out his experience with Hermione later- be patient, go slow, savor every second. Of course, he'd need to think of some excuse to get Pansy out of his room before midnight when she was accustomed to spending the night with him after making love... but he didn't think that would be too difficult. Whatever story he came up with, she wouldn't question him too closely. She never did. She couldn't see through his facades.
Unlike Granger.
"What do you say," he whispered suggestively, "we go back to my room and I finish my... inspection there? Must be sure, after all, that those salon girls pampered every- inch- of you, as I instructed them to do."
Pansy giggled and nodded against his chest, then gave a seductive little shimmy against him before straightening back up. Grinning, he slung an arm about her shoulder, and they headed off in the opposite direction to the one Hermione had taken; the Slytherin prince and princess, intended for each other almost since birth.
"What was that Hufflepuff's name, anyway?" Pansy purred as they walked, no longer sounding even remotely upset. "I might like to have a... little chat with her tomorrow."
Draco snorted. "You think I could be bothered to learn a little twat like that's name?"
"Oh." Pansy sounded disappointed, but then brightened up again almost instantly. "Well, never mind," she said, "I'll recognize that braid if I see it again-" her voice and eyes hardened- "and if I do, I'll yank the damn thing right off. Hufflepuff mess about with my man..."
In spite of himself, Draco threw a quick, worried glance over his shoulder in the direction Hermione had gone. He now had yet one more reason to hope she would never wear her hair that way again.