Hello my lovelies!
I don't really know what to say about this chapter? Maybe that's because I'm a smidge nervous. Anyway, I've been planning this for a long time and hopefully it pays off and you all like it!
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Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.
Building, building, building and bubbling up inside her: her emotions reared their ferocious heads every time she caught a whiff of mint, not to mention that she'd almost lost it completely when his hand brushed hers in Potions the other day—brushed hers—she'd had to grip the edge of the workbench just to maintain a sense of calm.
It was getting borderline ridiculous, and she was akin to that of a pot of boiling water that was whistling loudly in stringent warning—if Hermione didn't let off some steam soon she was going to burst.
She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't hear Lily the first four times the redhead spoke to her—the only reason she snapped out of her daze is because Lily stepped in front of her, causing Hermione to stop just before she crashed into her friend.
"What's wrong with you?"
"There's nothing wrong with me," Hermione said, the other robes clenched in her hand flapping about as she gestured errantly, as if the movement somehow cemented her statement.
"Are you sure you're okay? It's me you're talking too, Hermione—" Lily stepped forward and placed her hands on Hermione's shoulders, "—I know you put on a brave face for the others, but you can tell me if you're still upset about your breakup with Remus."
If Lily Evans only knew what was really going on Hermione's head, if only.
"I swear, I'm grand, Lils," Hermione assured her friend, using her free hand to stroke Lily's cheek affectionately.
Lily rolled her eyes, "liar."
The redhead released Hermione, and instead looped her arm through the Potter girl's, and they found themselves chatting about their Transfiguration class that morning, and also how the Slytherin Quidditch captain looked spectacular without his shirt off.
It was almost curfew, and the two girls had been in the library finishing up the majority of their assignments so that they would have the weekend free. They'd also decided to take a different route than they normally would back to the Gryffindor Tower.
Despite it being shorter, it was through one of the less occupied parts of the castle, which also happened to not be too far from the Ravenclaw Tower—which is why Hermione should not have been as shocked at who she saw when they rounded the bend; Lysander Smith.
For some reason she found herself stopping, only for Lily to turn a curious yet sharp eye on her.
Smith had been more brazen with his flirting since term resumed, he went out of his way now to bump into her when he could, he frequently engaged her in conversation, and whenever she was on the pitch at the same time as him, he would always lose his shirt.
The Ravenclaw Chaser was leaning languidly against the wall not thirty feet in front of them, the light from the lanterns that lined the walls above them flickered across him as the flames curled in and around themselves.
From his attire—a long sleeved white shirt that was tucked into a pair of light blue jeans, a dark blue belt through the loops, and white trainers—Hermione correctly assumed that he'd been to his common room since classes concluded several hours ago.
The boy seemed to be daydreaming, absently running a hand backwards through his dirty blond hair.
An obscene thought occurred to Hermione in that moment as she took in his sinewy muscles and broad shoulders, but she hastily dismissed it, it was a ludicrous idea.
Pressing her lips together, she pulled Lily along with her, and they had just passed by the blond when he'd snapped back to reality only to shout, "oi, Potter!"
Hermione stopped abruptly in her tracks, catching her bottom lip between her teeth. Don't do it, Hermione. Bad idea. Bad, bad idea.
It was utterly ludicrous, but, but, not completely unfathomable—she did need to let off steam after all.
"Hermione?" Lily hissed at her friend, tugging on one of Hermione's curls—she had her hair down today, free to fly about wildly as much as it desired.
Bad idea, she thought, but outwardly she replied, "go ahead of me, Lils. I'll be there soon."
Lily's jaw dropped, light from the lanterns across from them caught in her bright green eyes, setting them ablaze, and the faint dusting of freckles across her nose was made apparent in the warm lighting—as was her disapproving, stern expression.
The redhead gripped Hermione a smidge tighter, "Smith? Remus hates him."
"Remus doesn't hate him, he just severely dislikes him," Hermione said cavalierly, shrugging her shoulders.
"He growled when Smith talked to you once," Lily said, rolling her eyes at her raven haired friend once more.
"That's besides the point, Lily. Remus and I are broken up, and—" Hermione paused, silently adding, and I need to work off some steam before I can't control myself and I jump Draco's bones.
She twisted her mouth to the side as she contemplated her next bit of speech.
Finally choosing to say, "I'll be fine. I'm a big girl, I can handle Smith."
Hot breath tickled the side of her neck before a deep voice said, "I'm sure you can." Both girls had been so engaged in their own conversation, they hadn't noticed the Ravenclaw had walked right up to them.
Hermione side-stepped so that she was in front of Lysander, and so that Lily had to look at her directly—the redhead's eyes flicked up to silently regard Smith, pursing her lips as she lowered her gaze to look at Hermione once more.
Lily nodded curtly, "you want me to take your things?"
Hermione was a bit taken aback by that question, "you don't—"
"Bag," Lily said, holding out her hand, making it perfectly clear that it wasn't a suggestion.
"Thank you," Hermione smiled, handing over her bag and outer robes.
Lily glanced at Hermione once more, as if asking if she was sure about what she was about to do, and Hermione merely nodded, tucking some loose curls behind her ears.
Lily tentatively strolled away, and soon Hermione was left alone with Lysander Smith—who she looked at in curiosity as he didn't move, he was just staring at her quietly.
"Smith," Hermione said.
"How are you, Potter?" Smith asked, like a panther creeping towards its prey as he slowly approaching her—as if afraid that by making any sudden movements she would hastily flee.
"Frustrated," Hermione replied, deciding that sometimes honesty really was the best policy—
"About what?" Smith inquired.
"Wouldn't you like to know?" Hermione murmured as her nail tapped against his chest, her head falling to the side as she looked at him mischievously.
"I would," Smith gulped.
Hermione grinned wickedly, "yea, on second thought. I really don't think that you can handle me, Lysander."
Hermione turned to walk away when a thump and jangle on the ground echoed behind her as Lysander dropped his bag and slipped his hand around her wrist, tugging her up against him so they were pressed together.
"Oh yea, Hermione?" Lysander said as his arms wrapped around her and he hesitated, as if waiting for permission.
Hermione smirked, why not?
She grasped Lysander's face, hard, as she leaned up to claim his lips.
Lysander let go of all his reservations in that moment, roughly kissing her as she clung to him tightly, giving just as much as she received. She poured all of her frustration into the kiss, hands diving into his short hair before she tugged violently at it.
Smith hiked Hermione's leg up onto his waist, and his hand slid down her body to grip her arse.
Then, everything changed, everything.
"It would appear that I didn't need to come looking for you after all. You seem perfectly fine to me," A voice said coolly, but there was an underlying venom that was abundantly clear because of how well she knew its owner.
Hermione couldn't breathe, the blood ran cold in her veins, her spine went rigid and then she slowly pulled away from Lysander—part of her hoping that it wasn't who she thought it was.
Draco stood there, a dark glower across his face, clenched fists—his knuckles were pure white, surrounded by an angry flush of pink—and his eyes were flashing with something untamed.
"Ah, Potter," Lysander said with a smile, hands sliding up onto Hermione's lower back, and Hermione's eyes widened as she saw Draco's expression grow even darker, and knew instantly that Lysander was crossing into perilous territory.
"Piss off, Smith. I have to talk to my sister about something—"
Hermione flinched at the way Draco spat out to word sister, full of bitter acid that hissed and melted away everything it touched in seconds.
"Mate, can't you just—"
"Don't try my patience, Smith. Fuck off, now," Draco snarled.
Lysander reluctantly relinquished his hold on Hermione, gaze lingering on her as he bit his lower lip, shoving his hands into his pockets as he ambled away.
Hermione watched Lysander's form retreat, until he disappeared round the bend at the end of long corridor.
With an irritated sigh, she turned to look at Draco, primed and ready to ask him what the hell is his problem, but alas, the lion was already stalking away from her.
"DRACO!" Hermione called after him, taking in his still clenched fists, his stiff posture, and the anger bubbling from his very being.
He didn't even acknowledge that she'd spoken, still marching away, blinded by his all encompassing rage.
"Oi! You can't just walk away from me!" Hermione yelled after Draco, her legs moving of their own accord as she made to follow him.
Draco showed no indication of slowing down, and only through her heightened hearing did she hear him sneer nastily, "watch me."