Disclaimer/Homage: Rowling is the Queen, I am only the aspiring Princess. Long live the Queen! (At least until the seventh book comes out; then she can die. But not before then.)
A/N: Sorry guys; this little story came from a plot bunny that interfered with the writing of Vendetta so much that I had to kill it before I could do anything else. There are only a few chapters left to post and I've already written them; so it's finished business. Please review! (You don't even have to read it, you could just review. I'm that desperate.)
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How is she?"
"Well...There are still a few scrapes from her fall, and stiffness from the coma. But nothing serious."
Pause.
"Brain damage?"
Violently: "No."
"Are you sure?"
"She's fine."
"But did you get it checked?"
"Extra strain right now could cause another breakdown; it would be insane to risk it. I'm taking care of her; she'll be fine. Just let it be."
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Hermione saw his blond head approaching from a ways off. A moment before he passed, she threw out her wand arm.
All his taunts, the names, the "you're a piece of shit" glances, rose to the front of her mind. He met her gaze and read her small smile correctly.
"Where do you think you're going, Malfoy?" A little taunting in return, now that she was in power.
"Out."
"Who says?" Still the smile. Her wand stirred the air in front of his chest in lazy circles.
"It's finished. I'm leaving." He used boredom to cover his disgust. The hypocrisy made him sick; yet another Gryffindor with the traits Slytherins were supposed to have.
"So you say."
"Finished," he repeated. "They acquitted me, Granger."
"I know." Her eyes narrowed a little. "I watched them do it."
He had seen her at the back of the room, by the door, watching as he gave his testimony.
"Then you know I'm innocent, and you're going to let me pass."
"They didn't know what they were talking about. You're not innocent."
He allowed himself a disbelieving laugh. "You think the decision made by the entire Wizengamot, after months of trial, is wrong?"
His case had been very high profile; covered by the media in meticulous detail, presided over by some of the brightest people in the wizarding world. The prosecutors called in surprise witness after surprise witness, and his case had remained airtight. He had not been a true Death Eater, the Wizengamot finally decided. He had been fighting for the Light. Hermione didn't really care either way, but she wasn't finished settling old scores. She didn't move her wand.
"Yes, I do think that."
"My god." He looked disgusted. "Let me past."
"You don't deserve it." She liked delaying him, liked how he kept his anger in check because of her wand, liked how she was in control after all these years. He looked back at her blankly, and her enjoyment lessened some.
"I've spent enough time in this building, Granger, I want to leave."
"No."
Pause.
"What do you want?" There was no fight, just boredom and disgust. The fun gone, she decided on one last torment before she let him go.
"You have to do something."
What would he rather die than do? A touch of girlish glee added venom to her following words.
"You have to kiss me."
His eyes widened. "No."
"Huh. No getting past then." Her wand didn't waver.
He turned away from her, stared at the grey wall for a moment. She grinned; she had known he wouldn't do it. Other plans for taunting sprung to mind, she tried to pick which next to use, still caught up with sweet revenge. She underestimated his need to get out of the building. He turned around.
"Fine."
"What?"
"Come here."
She hadn't expected this; didn't even want it. She shied back a little, trying to think.
"You're agreeing?"
He said nothing, gaze as blank as sheet metal.
"Ok, then; fine." She had no choice but to go along with it; to back down now was to lose control of the situation. She tried to make the best of it; simpering at him as she approached, laughing at the way he stiffened. When she got closer, though, she couldn't suppress her own defensive stiffening. His dislike was almost palatable, it created a poisonous cloud that surrounded her. His face was impassive, and when he kissed her, his kiss was full of disgust. It made a chill run through her; the pure distaste was not tempered even a little with lust.
He withdrew, and when she looked up, all boldness gone, his face was not impassive enough to cover the revulsion. She had let her wand fall when he came close, and now she brought it up again instinctively. His eyes flicked to her movement, but she didn't try to stop him.
After a moment he stepped past her, and left through the glass doors without another word.
She stood in the empty foyer, contemplating. The chill from his kiss. She had never gotten a feeling like that from Ron when he kissed her, or Harry. Draco and his disgust were the only things that produced it. The brief press of his mouth; not a kiss but a due paid to her; she had made him do it against his wishes. A recognition of her power.
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Later in their flat, Harry asked her what was wrong. She moved out of his arms, passing a weary hand over her face.
"Oh, 'Mione, I'm sorry. You covered his trial today, didn't you?" She nodded, letting him mistake the reason for her dismay.
"God, I'm sorry. Of course you couldn't...of course you won't be feeling up to anything tonight. He'd put anyone off."
He followed her out to the kitchen. She flicked on the light and dispersed the blue shadows, dispelling any lingering romantic mood.
"Did you talk to him? You talked to him, didn't you." Harry's face creased with worry as he watched her fill a glass with milk. "Did he say something? He said something, didn't he?" She couldn't help a laugh at that, finally turning to him.
"No, almost nothing, in fact. I'm just tired Harry." She touched his cheek. "Please, don't worry."
He turned his head and kissed her palm. "Okay, I'm going back to bed then."
She watched him go, taking a sip of milk. She was tired enough, but that wasn't why she had stopped Harry, nor was it because seeing Draco had put her off. Harry's kisses were suddenly not the same. She couldn't respond to him; she had been turned off by their sweetness. They didn't give her a chill.
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Neither, it turned out, did Ron's.
"Whoa, Herm, are you sure?" Ron glanced around furtively. "I mean, won't Harry mind?"
"Harry...Oh, Harry knows already."
"WHAT?"
"I...It's just an experiment. It's for my next article. I'll tell him about it – actually, just wait until it's published. Then I'll tell him."
"I thought you just said he-"
"It's going to be for our seven-month anniversary." He looked at her like she was crazy, but she had a plan now. "The article is about kisses, and I'm going to finish with how his are the best. It's my anniversary present."
"That's kind of a wierd-"
"But he'll like it." She said firmly, pulling his head down.
He kissed her, but there were no fireworks. And there was no chill. She was so disappointed she barely remembered to mutter, "and don't tell Harry; it's a surprise" before scurrying off.
She tried once more, because she was an orderly person and needed more evidence before she drew her conclusion. A floo address on the wall of a restroom lead her to a dirty alleyway, where various shady forms reclined against faded brick walls. She picked the best looking of them – she was not without self-respect – a stocky blond boy with sky-blue eyes.
"Kiss me."
He shrugged, leaned forwards, and performed his bidden duty with a greater amount of skill than she would have expected given the situation. However: no chill.
There was no doubt in her mind after that. Only one person could give it to her, and that was Draco Malfoy and his disgusted kiss. And he would never kiss her unless he was forced to.
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