Disclaimer: Harry Potter is in no way shape or form or form or shape mine
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She Bites Her Lip
Late the next evening, Draco sat in the Head Quarters Common Room clutching his hair in a tight fist angrily as his eyes scanned his Arithmacy homework. Recently, evenings had been the only times Draco could set aside for work, as every other waking (and often sleeping) hour was spent on Quidditch. The numbers he was staring at were blurs, the charts and graphs were a jumbled ocean of lines and symbols that seemed to do an irritating dance across the page as he tried to decipher them. His knuckles had begun to turn bright white as he locked his grip on his silver locks, so tightly that the hairs began to pinch his skull.
"Argh!" Draco grunted in frustration and threw his quill down. Looking up at the large calendar Hermione had put on the wall, he could see the date of the NEWTs looming ever closer, written in shimmering ink in Hermione's petit handwriting. Well, not close…but close enough to make Draco's intestines feel like snakes, ready to burst out of his troubled gut.
But there was always the potion…however recently he had been feeling more and more doubtful about using it…What if something went wrong? What if someone found out?
However, in his mind's eye he could see the consequences of inevitable failure if he didn't use the potion. He could see his fellow Slytherins jeering at him, mocking him, the whole school knowing that all his intellectual bravado was just a show. He could see his father's cold stare boring into him, renouncing him for bringing such shame to the Malfoy name. The he saw Granger, staring at him her big hazel eyes dulled with disappointment, biting her lip the way she does when she looks at him sometimes, and shaking her head slightly.
Suddenly he became very aware of the pain his fist was causing on his scalp and released his hair from his grip. He couldn't seem to get the image of Granger out of his head, and suddenly he was sure, he had no alternative.
Just then, as Draco had begun to pack up his books, Hermione walked in, dark circles looming in a slightly ghostly manner around her eyes, the product of an unsuccessful night's sleep. As she saw Malfoy studying at the table, she glared at the back of his head, recounting the previous night's meeting with distaste. Briskly, she marched towards the portrait, eager not to have to speak to Malfoy, or even look him in the eye, but still expected him to call after her all the same. He didn't.
Hermione arrived in the Great Hall for dinner and sat between Harry and Ron at the end of the Gryffindor table. She was greeted by Ron with an enthusiastic kiss on the cheek, which left a small wet patch on her cheek. Surreptitiously she tried to wipe it off with her robe sleeve, knowing inwardly that the wet patch wasn't the problem here, and that soon she would have to bring this charade to a close. But it was too early in the morning for such dynamic thoughts, therefore instead of saying a word, Hermione settled for a vacant smile.
"Sorry I haven't been around much recently, it's just with Quidditch practices for the game tomorrow and all…" Said Ron apologetically, turning his two big dopey eyes to Hermione.
"Oh, that's alright Ron; I know how important Quidditch is to you." Hermione replied serenely, secretly singing joyful praises to the inventor of Quidditch who had provided her with many days of solace away from Ron.
"But you're important to me too Hermione, look, I'll make up for everything after the match." Ron reassured in what he thought was a very tactful way.
"No, really, it's ok." Hermione replied, slightly irritated, wishing Ron would continue is discussion on tactics with Harry.
"It's not though! I want to spend time with you, you know that don't you?" Said Ron animatedly, interpreting Hermione's apathy as anger and reproach.
"Yes, I know that, look, it's alright!" Said Hermione sharply, her temper roused slightly as a result of a bad night's sleep.
"You…you do want to spend time with me, don't you?" Ron asked unsurely, reaching out to touch Hermione's shoulder.
"Of course she does, don't you Hermione?" Harry interrupted quickly, worried that if he didn't, Hermione might have said something she would regret.
"Yes…yes of course I do." Hermione lied through her teeth softly, while slowly opening up a steaming roast potato and shovelling a scorching hot piece into her deceitful mouth.
The day passed uneventfully, everyone seemed to be either very excited about the Quidditch match the following day, or extremely nervous. Uncommonly quickly, the day of the match came along, and it was about 2 hours before the match when the dread of the impending challenge began to hit Ron. Every time Ron passed a Slytherin in the corridors, they would hum the tune to 'Weasley is our King' under their breath, which always produced the results they wanted, and Ron was constantly a sickly shade of green.
"You'll be fine, Ron." Hermione comforted briskly, gently patting Ron's tense arm.
"Yeah, just remember what we discussed after Quidditch practice." Reminded Harry patting Ron on the back in a brotherly way.
"Catch the ball. I remember." Ron croaked turning greener still when he saw Malfoy's smirking form pass in the corridor. Hermione noticed that he looked completely relaxed, and was irritated the he could be so casual after their discussion the night before. Primly, she ignored his stupid smirking face, wishing it would disappear from her thoughts.
"AND THEY'RE OFF!" The commentator yelled into his microphone at the start of the game causing both side of the crowd to erupt with resounding cheers, all dressed in their house colours. Immediately, fourteen green and red blurs shot into the sky, and, after a couple of loops and twirls, swerved into position.
"The balls have been released and the players are ready to go! Aaaaand…Gryffindor intercepts the ball – Ginny Weasley is doing some spectacular flying there…" And so it went on. Slytherin eventually intercepted the Quaffle after Goyle bolted a Bludger towards Ginny almost knocking her off her broom, and then, as he was laughing moronically, he almost got knocked out by his own bat. The Chasers on either team seemed to be of equal ability and the scores kept levelling out. Every so often one would score a point and be 10 points up, and then the other team would score again and equalise. There seemed to be very little movement from the Seekers, who never seemed to catch any sight of the snitch at all. The only bit of excitement seemed to be when Kirke sent a Bludger the wrong way (how he managed this, no one could quite work out) and managed to hit Ron square between the eyes.
Ron had managed quite well, despite the raging chorus of mocking tune from the Slytherin side. He managed to make a couple of good saves, and the green tinge seemed to be slowly turning back to his normal colour.
Malfoy looked pretty unruffled below, and every now and again would join in singing with the other Slytherins, smirking round at the Gryffindor team. He didn't, however, seem to be doing much out of the pitch, as the snitch was nowhere to be seen.
Slowly, the crowd began to bore of this all, and the sun seemed to be setting very quickly.
Hermione, however, remained deeply engrossed in the game, desperate that Gryffindor would win. That would show Malfoy, she thought to herself, smirking at the thought of Harry beating him yet again.
As the sky darkened and it was far past the first years' bed time, McGonagall's voice boomed out onto the pitch.
"As it is late, and I'm sure you're all ready for you're bed, I think we should continue this game tomorrow at 3. Please exit the pitch in an orderly fashion."
After everyone had left, Hermione stood by the Quidditch changing rooms outside in the dark. This chilled wind was laced with a scent she couldn't quite place, and she hugged her body tightly as it whipped her face.
It had been about half an hour since the end of the game, and Harry and Ron hadn't yet come out of the building, and Hermione was beginning to get impatient. Inside she convinced herself she was waiting to see how Ron was recuperating after his blow to the head, he was, after all, her boyfriend, who she certainly did care about a lot…but there was definitely an ulterior motive for her whereabouts that night.
Just as she gave up waiting and turned to leave, a familiar voice which sent tingles down her spine echoed in her ears.
"Granger, you're loitering." He growled casually, leaning against the wall beside her, one eyebrow raised in amusement at her slightly surprised expression.
Hermione struggled to contort her face into an irritated expression. "Actually, I was going back to my bedroom." She retorted primly.
"Oh, I see. So why are still here then?" Malfoy replied slyly, smirking at her in an infuriatingly satisfied way.
"Good question. Goodnight Malfoy." She answered, coolly, blushing a little bit as she noticed Malfoy's eyes giving her the 'once-over'. To save her last shred of dignity, she turned away from him and began striding towards the castle, her head held as high as she could manage.
But Malfoy couldn't resist following after her. He loved making her blush, and didn't intend to stop anytime soon, as it elevated his bad mood incredibly. He quickly jogged up to her side and kept stride with her, glancing at her big hazel eyes for a moment, which he saw, to his amusement, avoided looking at him at all costs.
"So…how's Weasel-extraordinaire? Getting his face rearranged by Madame Pomfrey? Merlin knows he needed it…" Malfoy drawled, smirking when he saw Hermione fuming, but she made no retort.
"Oh I get it. Ignore the nasty boy, Granger." Malfoy teased nudging her playfully, his smirk widening as he heard her make a 'huffing' sound.
There was a long silence and slowly Malfoy's mind swam with memories of their last meeting. No wonder Hermione wasn't talking back to him as she usually would, he must have really offended her.
"Look, Granger, if the reason for your painful silence is what I said last night, I meant no offence." Malfoy explained grudgingly, irritated that he had to be accountable for his actions. All he got in reply, however, was a louder 'huff', which irked him greatly. Why should he be making such an effort to talk to a mere mudblood?
"Fine. Be like that then. I'm not wasting my time with you anymore, I'm off." He snapped shortly, speeding up.
"You can't just DO that, Malfoy!" Hermione called to him exasperatedly, stopping him in his tracks.
"Well, you didn't want to talk to me so…" Malfoy tailed off
"That's not what I meant, and you know it Malfoy." She spat like an angry cat, "You can't be perfectly horrid one minute and then be all normal – nice almost and then…and then…"
"And then what?"
"I think I know." Hermione evaded, blushing, noticing that Malfoy was moving closer to her, his blonde hair turning a ghostly silver colour in the moonlight, his smirk fading from his face. Hermione shivered again as he looked down on her with an unreadable expression, and suddenly she felt a patch of warm on her waist. His hand.
"Something like this?" He whispered softly, his voice deep, husky almost.
Hermione sighed, it felt nice, it really did. But all too soon her head snapped back to reality, she remembered herself – she had a boyfriend after all - and slapped Malfoy's hand away.
"Stop it!"
"Ok, suit yourself then." Malfoy sneered flippantly, his voice still slightly husky, and he started to walk back towards the castle.
Hermione watched his retreating back confusedly, why wasn't he arguing? Did he really see her as another Pansy Parkinson? "No wait." She called to him quickly.
"Look, mudblood, I'm not here at your personal disposal!" He barked impatiently, digging his hands deep into his pockets.
At the word 'mudblood', Hermione felt her blood boil again. "For goodness' sake, Malfoy! Why does it always come down to that…that degrading name? Don't you care at all?" She shouted, her fists curled into little balls, her knuckles white and raw.
"Well, it suits you." He retorted immaturely, feeling almost immediately that he shouldn't have said so.
"You are the most disgusting – cowardly -" Hermione struggled to find the words for Malfoy's crime, but as she did so, Malfoy did something she really wasn't expecting.
He grabbed her waist again, this time with both hands, ignoring her pathetic protests, and held on tightly. She looked up at him as he pulled her close with an expression of fright mixed with anxiety mixed with…something else. He didn't know what that something else was, but it drove him crazy. It was that something which drove him to hook one arm around her waist and pull her up so her face was level with his and his lips crashed down on hers…again.
Hermione felt completely powerless in his grip and her arms slowly and automatically began to snake themselves around his neck for support. Her heart was beating a frantic tune against her ribcage as she frantically kissed him back, not quite knowing why.
Eventually the kiss ended and Malfoy's mouth crept round the side of her head and growled in her ear.
"What were you saying?"
Hermione's head was still spinning, knowing that what she had just done was wrong on so many levels that it was completely out of character. Full of guilt she bit her lip tentatively, the way she does when she looks at him sometimes, not knowing how to reply, as she really couldn't remember what she had been saying.
"I – I -" Was all that seemed to be able to come out of her mouth at that point. Malfoy looked at her, annoyed at her lack of response and let go of her waist, but before he could turn away from her, Hermione threw caution into the wind and did something she never saw herself doing. She flung her arms back around his neck.