soccerpixie3000 and Slytherin in Mind:
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Hermione blinked in the warm sunlight. She stretched out, enjoying the feel of her body rubbing against the silk sheets. She smiled and snuggled into the warm body next to her--
Wait. Silk? Warm body? Sunlight in her eyes? Hermione sat up abruptly and looked around. Rich mahogany armoir. Four poster, king sized bed with a black satin canopy. Lush green carpet. Expensive looking rich cream wallpaper. About three closets, and twice as many full length mirrors. This was most definitely not her room.
Cotton sheets. Alone, always. Window strategically placed by the asshole architect so she couldn't wake up to sunlight. Cheap fouton, cheap drawers, one closet. Hard, short carpet. Painted walls, done by her, Harry, Ron, and Ginny. Definitely not her room.
"My God, what are you doing up at this hour, woman? It's only...eight AM!" grumbled a voice next to her. She looked down and saw Draco Malfoy checking his watch. She was about to hit him over the head with a lamp, when it all came rushing back to her. The assignment. The date. The hands, the mouth, the chest, the legs. Oh, yeah. That's what happened.
She felt repulsed. Had she slept with him? And on the first date! And, I mean, this was Malfoy! She leaned back against the head rest, trying to remember.
No, no, they had definitely not had sex. But...almost. Awfully close. She felt him plant a kiss on her thigh before rolling out of bed.
"As long as I'm already awake..." he said. "I'm going to take a shower. Care to join me?" She smiled at him--well, she tried to--but shook her head.
"That's quite alright. I've got to be getting home." At this, Draco turned around and fell back on the bed. Propped up on his elbows, he stared into her eyes. Women usually like that. And, it worked. He could see her cheeks pinken, feel her try not to giggle.
"Why so soon? Have somewhere to be? Hot date? I feel like I've just been used for my spectacular body!" he joked, wiggling his eyebrows and sticking his tongue out at her. She laughed and pushed his head away. "C'mon, Hermione, at least stay for brekkie."
"Fine," she said. She waited for him to go into the room before getting out of bed. She was wearing a Tornados jersey and her panties. She pulled on a pair of sweats he had left on the floor and sat on the couch.
So, he was fun. Big deal. He still repulsed her. She would still rather be doing anything besides this. Even if he did make her laugh. But she hated him, and that was that. She would rather be laughing at him, than at something she said. She was doing this for the sake of wizard-kind, and would drop him the second she was allowed to. He was right, though. He did have a 'spectacular body'. She frowned. 'And I hate that spectacular body. He's an arrogant prat.' She nodded to herself, and left the room, trying to find her way to the kitchen.
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Draco pulled his cashmere sweats off and stepped into the shower. He breathed deeply. Fucking mudblood. Had to go and be a good time, didn't she? Had to go and make him have fun, while he was supposed to be hating her. No--he did hate her. He was doing this so he didn't get murdered. So what, he asked her to stay for breakfast? That didn't mean anything. It just meant he wanted to get the job done right. She was hot, and was someone he could talk to. Since when did that ever matter to anyone? Fucking mudblood. He stepped out of the shower and pulled his pants back on, not bothering with a shirt. He performed a quick drying spell on his hair and went into his room. She wasn't there. He decided to go find her.
He figured she'd gone to the kitchen, since that's where womenfolk usually liked to go, so he set off towards there. She had changed so much since Hogwarts. She didn't seem to hate him, for one. He walked silently into the kitchen. Hermione's back was to him. She was wearing the Tornado's shirt he had lent to her last night and his favorite pair of sweats. Funnily enough, he didn't really care. She looked hot.
"I see you found your way into my closet?" Draco said, patting her butt. He leaned against the counter across from her.
"Actaully, Mr. Slob, you left them lying on your floor," she said, smiling. He watched as she cracked an egg into a bowl and looked around for a whisk.
"Are you making me breakfast? I'm touched, but honestly, that's what I have house-elves for," he said, standing up and taking the bowl from her. He dropped it in the sink. "Sit down."
Hermione sat down on a counter stool. "Actually, I was making us breakfast. There's a difference. C'mon, sit down with me."
Draco took the stool next to hers, after telling the house-elves to make breakfast, not unkindly. Hermione couldn't complain. She had given up on S.P.E.W. a long time ago.
"So, Draco, you say that that's why 'you' have house-elves. Do you live alone?" she asked. She decided to start small.
"Yeah, I do. Father died in Azkaban, and mother killed herself shortly after," Draco said, no hint of remorse. His parents hadn't been his favorite people.
"What about girls? Don't have any little...mistresses? Or friends?" Hermione pressed on.
"Nope. All my friends can afford their own places. And mistresses? Nah. Don't need 'em, don't want 'em. If I'm going to invite a girl to share my residence, I have to actually care about her. I wouldn't let her otherwise, because then I would have to cater to, and share my possessions with, someone who didn't matter to me," he said.
"I see..." the girl said, looking around. That had been rather blunt. He didn't care about her?Wait--who cared if he cared about her?
"I don't even go on second dates with girls like that. You see, I have a test. If they shag me on the first date, they must be doing it for other guys, too, right? So why bother? It's a good time, but nothing to bother with in the future," the blonde continued, nodding at the house-elf who had just brought their breakfast.
"Oh," Hermione said, for want of anything better to say.
"What about you? Do you live alone?" he asked, looking interested.
"Me? Oh. Yeah, yeah I do. See, Ron moved in with Lavender Brown. And Harry and Ginny moved in at the headq--" Hermione stopped abruptly. "So, yeah, I live alone."
Draco, noticing her slip, and seeing her reaction to it, decided not to press the information issue any further at the moment. "Sometime you're going to have to show me your house."
Hermione blushed slightly and looked down. Show Draco her house? Nothing could be more humiliating. After spending the night at his house, she didn't ever want to go back to her lumpy futon and scratchy carpet.
"Um...I don't think that would be a good idea..." she said, still not looking up.
"Aww, c'mon, it could be fun. I mean, I showed you my house, it's the least you could do," he said, not noticing her discomfort.
"Well...your house is...it's just...well, a lot more...luxurious than mine..." Hermione said, not looking up. Draco laughed.
"Really, how many houses do you see that are? I promise not to laugh," he argued.
"Um...fine. I guess, if you're ever in the neighboorhood, you could come on up."
"No, how about I pick you up there on our next date?" he said, tilting her chin up with his index finger.
"I thought you said you didn't go on second dates--"
"With girls I don't care about. So, are you free this evening? I've heard there's a really great showplaying tonightat the Theatre. About the Salem Witch Trials. It's a comedy," Draco said casually.
Hermione blushed. "Oh, yeah, I'm free."
"Good. I'll pick you up at six, we'll eat dinner first."
The girl stood up. "Well, I better go start getting ready, then, no?" She started to clear her plate when Draco grabbed her wrist.
"What did I say about house-elves?" he asked. "Formal dress, tonight. We're going to an extremely nice restaurant, and the Theatre is a veryfancy place." Hermione nodded, and he pulled her down for a kiss.
"I'll have your clothes washed today. You can get them tonight, and you can go home in those. Consider them a gift, they are my favorite pants."
Hermione smiled and kissed him again, before Apparating home. He was an asshole, alright. Charming her into thinking she was having a good time. Flirting. Being nice. Sharing his stuff. Asking her out again. Pretty much saying he cared about her. Basically, being an asshole! She tried to hate him and think of all the mean things he had done. All she could come up with was having house-elves, and he was actually rather decent to them. The nerve of him, not being a pret! She walked into her room.
"Aaah!" she yelled, seeing three bodies on her bed.
"Hermione!" Ron said, jumping up. Harry and Ginny followed suit.
"Where were you last night?" Harry asked his friend.
"I know where she was!" Ginny said. "And I'll bet she was enjoying herself."
"Shut up, Ginny!" Ron yelled at his sister.
"Staying out all night--" Harry started.
"Horribly irresponsible--" Ron began.
"How was it?--" Ginny asked.
"Didn't tell us where you were--"
"He could've killed you--"
"Is his house nice?--"
"Weren't answering your phone--"
"Didn't know what to do--"
"How big is his--"
"SHUT UP!" Hermione yelled at her friends. "Don't you think it would have looked suspicious if I had up and called you three to tell you I was alright? I didn't shag him, not that it would have been any of your business! I am very serious about this task! It could save lives!"
Ron and Harry looked down, while Ginny looked let down. "You didn't?" she whined, but stopped at the looks she got from the three of them.
"Are you--are you wearing his clothes?" Harry asked. Hermione blushed and looked down at her Tornados shirt and cashmere sweats.
"Get out."
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After her friends had left, Hermione lie down on her horribly uncomfortable futon--something she was acutely aware of after last night--and thought. Thought of what her friends would say if they knew she had enjoyed his presence. Thought of what Malfoy would say of her apartment. Though of what they would do the following night, what he meant by saying he cared about her. And all this thinking put her to one horrible conclusion: she didn't care. She wanted to go to the Theatre that night more than anything else she could be doing.
And it scared her.
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Draco lie down on one of the couches in one of the living rooms in one of the wings of his favorite out of all of his manors. The one he lived in. The one he had broughten her to. What was he doing, inviting her on another date? He wanted to call it specacular playacting, but honestly, that wasn't it. Damn her. Damn her new hair, her intelligence, her fashion sense, the things she could do with her hands and her mouth. The way her skin was really smooth. Damn her to hell!
Too bad he was already looking forward to that evening.
Too bad he was already looking for an exvuse to not have to go see his 'master' that day. He couldn't befuddle his mood with crackpot old psychos who wanted to dominate the world--and probably would. He didn't have time for that. He had to go back and lie in his bed--in, what would soon be, their bed.
Too bad (for her) he already had a plan to get her to move in with him.
Too bad.