The Distance to Here
Chapter 8
A/N: Hey you guys! Glad to see you joined us again. We updated pretty soon. There is a discussion in this chapter that I ironically thought of while in church. Ha. Thank you for all your support. It makes us feel so loved. You are all wonderful and enlarge our heads on a regular basis. Thank you, and here is a very important chapter, if ya know what I mean…
"Well, there you are," The plump, jovial woman beamed at Draco and Hermione. The tall, too-skinny, pubescent boy put down their suitcases and stalked off. "Oh, it's so wonderful tae have a nice young couple like you two in here. It almost makes me feel young again!" she sighed wistfully and her wide frame disappeared into the hallway.
They were standing in a disgustingly flowery room. Wanting to keep a low profile, they had checked into a small, family-owned Bed and Breakfast, and were already regretting it. Exchanging a look, they both took in their surroundings. The room was decorated entirely in varying shades of pink and purple, covered with flower patterns of varying shades of pink. Hermione didn't think she'd seen more white lace doilies at once in her life before. It was almost surreal. The solitary bed was a very beautiful four-poster, enormous, with a canopy. The frame was made of a finished cherry-wood, the sheets and quilt, of course, pink and flowery.
"Wow," Draco said simply, expressing everything Hermione was feeling. He smiled at her wide eyes and slightly open mouth.
"What?" Hermione asked, looking at him. "You know, that's the first time I've ever seen you really smile since I first saw you at the bar."
"Too bad I don't remember anything about that particular night. Actually, a lot of nights from that time are kind of blurred. They almost seem to melt into one another."
"Well, that's what happens when you're completely and utterly pissed."
"And how would you know, Miss Granger? I bet you've never touched a drink in your life!" He almost refused himself to believe that she had, knowing that it would throw off the 'Saint Granger' picture of her that had been repelling him. He knew that she was unattainable, without the faults of normal people. Changing that fact would alter their relationship forever. Knowing she could sympathize, relate to his lowly problems. He was afraid of her next words.
"Well, I don't think I can remember being completely drunk, but there were a couple of parties in seventh year at Hogsmeade when I had had a few too many Butterbeers."
He relaxed. So she was an innocent. She held her lofty perch in his mind, and the barriers of her perfection held firm. "You mean to tell me that a Butterbeer is the hardest liquor you've ever tasted?" He slightly chuckled, half-grimacing at her naiveté. And then he made his fatal mistake. "Well, we're going to have to go and change that. Change into something nice." And not even waiting for a response, he grabbed his bag and went to the washroom, presumably to freshen up.
Hermione sighed. What was she getting herself into? She was a bit apprehensive about going out into the town, mainly because she would be with the highly unpredictable Draco Malfoy, who was confusing her to no end. Right now he seemed warm, friendly even, but with that same forceful edge that he had always had. His whole aura exuded power, even when he was putting a noticeable effort into being amiable. He was giving her no option to question or deny him. She looked into her bag, and rolled her eyes at the contents. It appeared that Ginny was playing matchmaker, or at least was trying to take advantage of their obvious attraction for one another. She slipped on the short, black, spaghetti-strap dress Ginny had so subtly placed on top of the pile of clothes.
Draco walked out of the bathroom, and as he looked at her, she saw his eyes betray a ray of surprise before his traditional mask that she was becoming to know so well appeared. She had started to figure him out. Her Auror's instinct was always observing, calculating, and judging. Whenever his emotions were not either cold anger or power-hungry satisfaction, he had an instinctive mask of indifference that was more often than not indecipherable. But she had learned to look for that split second before the mask to figure out that feeling. Now all she had to do to extract the person beneath and she would have him in her palm. Draco could be the key to Voldemort's demise, and plus, spending all this time with an empty shell was infuriating.
"I'm going to just freshen up," she said, pushing past him into the bathroom, their arms brushing. She washed her face, and put on her make-up, choosing to leave her hair down in loose ringlets. Coming out of the bathroom, she paused dramatically against the doorway, laughing. He was standing, looking dashingly handsome in a dark gray shirt, which made his eyes look lighter, and silver. Wow, she thought. At her laugh he had looked up, and now he gave a half-smile of approval.
"You look nice," he said, which was as much of a compliment as she was like to get out of him this early in the game. It hadn't slipped either of their minds that they would have to play-act tonight, that they were going to have to pretend to be a happy couple, and do it passably. It seemed that they would be forced to behave affectionately, whether the feelings were there or not.
And so they went to dinner. They sat across from each other, eyes shifting slightly, imperceptibly and identically, only one was trained to catch Dark Wizards and one had been trained as one. Noticing their awkward behaviour around one another, and knowing that a Death Eater would be able to pick them out of a crowd, they needed to establish some comfort.
Draco took the first step, knowing that Hermione was too inexperienced to take charge. He smiled at her, a genuine smile, taking care to force a sparkle into his eyes, as he knew a smitten young man would do (it was not as hard as he thought it would be) and reached over to grasp her hand. She looked startled, though only for a split second. Her lips broke into a genuine smile, if a little relieved-looking. A tentative conversation began, and soon was developed into a full-fledged, opinionated discussion.
"I had always had suspicion, but I had never been able to find physical proof!" Hermione exclaimed. "That's fascinating! I was raised as a Catholic, but as soon as I became a witch, I sort of informally renounced it. I had always thought that there had to be some logical explanation for the miracles. Logic is always present."
"Of course you would say that," Draco said with a wry smile. " But honestly, I thought everyone knew that "Jesus Christ" was really a wizard. The reason they don't advertise it in the Wizarding World is because so many Muggles have died for his cause. A whole faith and belief has been founded on his actions, which were simple enough to perform with a wand, if you think about it. All the miracles of healing, and his death was really a fake. Why do you think he was able to 'rise from the dead' in three days? But all of the Catholics who died after him, all of the Muggle Catholics who were butchered for believing, you could say that he himself was responsible for Muggle genocide. And even today, half of the world is Catholic, it is quite possible that he could be considered the greatest wizard of all time."
"How could you say that? He killed thousands, millions, through his actions. That's like comparing him to-" she faltered, breaking off. She had almost mentioned Voldemort, a serious mistake when there could be some of his supporters watching. She mentally reproached herself, for letting her natural curiosity take precedence over her job. Malfoy shrugged non-chalantly, dismissing the slip-up.
"I'm sick of this place. And we still have a score to settle. Come on."
Again with the undeniable authority, she thought. But it was nice, for a change, to have someone with as much passion as her to discuss things with. She had gone on one or two dates, and had found all of them quite boring. Hermione found that too many men let up with her, preferring to give in to her opinions, rather than risk her disagreeing with her and ruining their chances to score. But now she had finally found her match in stubbornness and knowledge. Despite his reputation at school, Malfoy was one of the most intelligent people that she had ever met, including herself. And with his forceful attitude, he had no qualms about spitting out all of his knowledge to prove a point. Not that she would accept his point anyway, even when she knew that she was beaten, which had happened once or twice that night. No, apart from his past and his unpleasantness, she had thoroughly enjoyed his company that evening, and they were on much more amiable terms.
He guided her out of the restaurant, and he gathered her to him, arm securely around her waist, whispering instructions in her ear. She laughed, giggled and batted him playfully on his commands, all the while keeping a joyous smile plastered across her face. They hadn't taught her this in training. But there was something they had taught her that she could undoubtedly apply here; keeping her emotions in check. She was getting progressively more nervous and excited, obvious symptoms of attraction. And from where they were going, and his stubbornness, she wasn't at all sure that she would be able to control her inhibitions.
They went to a place called "The Dancing Leprechaun" a happy, noisy pub full of middle-aged men watching football on tiny screens. They got a table in the corner, and went up together to order.
"Two Sex on the Beach," Draco said. When the bartender turned around, Draco gave Hermione a roguish wink, in response to which she neither rolled her eyes nor looked away, but winked back, giggled and linked her arm through his. This was so unlike Hermione that he was momentarily reminded of a shimmery purple halter top and a certain cheap perfume, although he couldn't place these sights or sounds.
"Just playing along," she murmured, in response to his shocked look. Shit. He must have been showing it. They grabbed their drinks and sat down at the table, resuming their previous discussion.
Hermione had never felt so relaxed in her life. Everything was great, just talking and laughing with a gorgeous guy. God, she was drunk. Even in her inebriated state she was coherent enough to dimly acknowledge that fact. And she was currently laughing like an idiot. Wow. Sex on the Beach was great. She laughed at that last thought, and its intended double entendre.
Draco watched with amusement at the sprawling young woman before him. In the back of his mind, he felt guilty. He should have left her to her innocence, ignorant as it was. He was enlightening her to the many dark things that existed in the world, were actually a part of many people's every-day lives, but had never penetrated the halo that surrounded her. He was breaking apart her shield, and he could feel his shield crumbling too. Long had the making of the shield been, and it had strengthened over time, becoming all-encompassing. It was strange that through one night of intense debates and dimming halos, she should have such a large influence over him already.
"Alright, 'Mione, let's get you back to the B&B." He didn't even notice the sudden use of her nickname, although she did.
"Why did you call me that? You called me 'Mione," she slurred. She looked up at him. "Your voice sounded different when you said it…"
He smiled at her, slinging her arm around his shoulder. "Looks like our positions have been a little reversed, Missy."
They made their way back to the Bed and Breakfast, during which Draco heard more curses from Hermione than he had heard from most of the Death Eaters he had known. They knocked on the door, Hermione giggling insanely, and when Mrs. O'Connor, the landlady, opened the door, and tutted at them all the way up to their room, where she put fresh (flowery) towels on the armchair and left them. Hermione managed to change into her fluffy pajamas. Her hair floated around her face. Draco was washing up in the bathroom, she could hear the musical tinkling of the water and the splash of it on face. He gave a little gasp at the temperature that was audible to her.
What was she doing? In the past few hours she had completely let down her barriers. And he had as well. She was feeling guilty, and lost. In just one night, he had accepted and gotten to know all that she was, and then had taken her personality to the next level. Found out just what she was lacking within herself, where she felt vulnerable, and had turned it around.
Out he came, wearing a white wife-beater and gray flannel pants. She could see from her seat on the bed that he was fit, his shoulder muscles were taut and streamlined, and they were more than a little visible. She smiled at him as he came out, but it was a little half-hearted. All of a sudden she felt fake, all of the play-acting of the evening had left her with a sour taste in her mouth. She felt betrayed. But maybe it was the alcohol talking.
He looked at her, shaking her head, clearing her thoughts. He was a little tipsy too, and he knew it, although his cold, calculated attitude would not allow him to show it. He went and sat down on the bed beside her.
"Is something wrong?" he asked. He looked at her, and without knowing it, the wall, the solid barrier came down, and his concern shone free.
"No," she said, looking up into his eyes. They were such a pretty silver, she thought. Even her thoughts were slurred now. "Everything's perfect." And without warning to him, she leaned over and kissed him.
His eyes widened in shock, but soon his body became independent from his clouded head. He leaned into her, pressing her softness against his taut muscles. He turned around, pressing her against the mattress. The kiss became deeper, and she more urgent. They were responding to each other. This was not joy, this was not love. It was a stretch for them to even say that they liked each other. This was pure need, sheer wanting. And now, he knew that if they went any further, she would regret it the next day, and he did not want to face the wrath of Hermione Granger, especially not when they were supposed to stay together all of the time. So he, gently as he could, broke away.
"We'd better sleep," he whispered.
She sat up, and wrapped her arms around her body. She was hurt, and drunk, and knew that she would have a huge hangover in the morning. And he had rejected her. She had cut herself loose, taken the first step, and had humiliated herself. She climbed into bed, burrowing herself under the quilt.
Draco knew better than to join her, and so he curled up on the pink carpet, hoping that she wouldn't remember tomorrow morning, or it would be a long day.