Hello my lovelies!
I'm not entirely sure what to say about this chapter. I really, really hope you like it though. It was way too much fun to write, and I guess the only other thing to add is they collided.
Please leave a review and let me know what you think ;)
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Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.
Draco scratched the side of his face as he read through the complex chapter that McGonagall had assigned for them to peruse before her next class, human transfiguration had always been a bit tricky for him—he could easily make small alterations, but as soon as it was on a larger scale he had a bit of difficulty.
Sirius was breezing through all of their assignments, much to the chagrin of Snape—who had avoided them thus far this year, but Draco felt like the hatred him was building to a boiling point, and eventually it was going to burst, moreover it seemed as if he was biding his time, waiting for the right moment to strike. Hermione and Draco had both been exceptionally wary of the Slytherin, and tried to keep an eye on him when they could.
A flash of crimson caught Draco's eye, and he turned to see Lily swiftly making her way to the stairs that led to the Girl's dormitories—a whiff of chamomile and vanilla clung to her, and he spotted Hermione's black book bag and her outer robes.
Where is Hermione? Draco wondered, and he would have asked Lilypad, but the girl disappeared before he could even get up.
Draco glanced at the Grandfather Clock across the way and saw that it was moments away from curfew, what is that witch thinking? With a heavy sigh he stood up abruptly, his study companion—Remus—who had been sharing the loveseat with him, peered up at him in curiosity, and Draco shrugged before asking, "can you take this upstairs for me, Moony? I'm going to go and find Hermione."
Remus cocked his head to the side, a slight frown gracing his features, "is she alright? Do you want me to come with you?"
"Nah, I'm sure she's probably just smoking a fag out by the Quidditch Pitch again," Draco smirked as he handed his thick book over to his Alpha—who placed it right beside him, and it instantly sank into the plush rusty red coloured cushion.
"You sure?"
"Positive, I might join her actually," Draco said pensively, he could really go for a fag right now—he hadn't smoked a cigarette in almost three days, and he'd been itching for one.
"As long as you're sure," Remus smirked, patting the side of Draco's thigh before going back to his own book, something to do with Ancient Runes as far as Draco could tell.
Draco swore as soon as he was five steps out of the Portrait Hole—dutifully ignoring the muffled whinging and complaints the Fat Lady was throwing at him, before she settled down and tried to go back to sleep.
The Cloak, Draco groaned internally, it would certainly be harder to navigate through the Castle without James's Cloak—his brother hastily departed the Tower a little over an hour ago, stopping to grasp Draco's face and excitedly exclaim about the adventure he was about to go on. (Draco barely got a word in edgewise before James had bounded away, joy bubbling out of him.)
I guess I'll just have to be careful, Draco shrugged as he waited for the staircase to swing back around this way; plus, he had enough experience getting around the Castle without garnering the attention of any of the Prefects, Filch or Mrs. Norris—it just would have been nice to have the Cloak.
For some reason instead of heading directly down to the Quidditch Pitch he decided to take an alternative route, not that many people came this way—not to mention it was faster.
Draco froze when he picked up Hermione's scent, placing his hand on the cold stone wall beside him, splaying his fingers out across the surface as he inhaled deeply, trying to determine who was with her—her scent was tainted by something else, muddled by another muskier and heavier scent.
Draco's teeth ground together, and magic sparked across his fingertips, and he closed his eyes tightly, letting his arms fall to his side, but he clenched his fists, wanting nothing more than to smash one of them into the wall beside him. He knew that smell.
Fucking Smith? Out of all the people, Smith?
Draco's head was an absolute mess when he moved off, rounding the corner only to see Smith's hand slide up and grip Hermione's arse—Draco thought he should be commended for not hexing his hand clean off in that moment. This was nothing like when Hermione was dating Remus, Remus he understood, Remus he liked; he was family, pack, theirs.
Smith? Smith was trouble, he bred it, it followed him wherever he went and it latched onto him like a babe on its Mother's breast.
"It would appear that I didn't need to come looking for you after all. You seem perfectly fine to me," Draco said coolly, his entire body was vibrating with anger, but he managed to keep his tone somewhat even, though if he was being honest there was enough venom laced through his words to kill a grown man.
Eventually Smith fucked off, and Draco stared at the back of Hermione's head as she watched him go, but black was encroaching on his vision and suddenly he couldn't be here anymore, his magic was flying around wildly—he needed to get as far away from here as possible before he had a bout of accidental magic.
Of course Hermione followed him, her scent—still muddied by Lysander's—trailed after him and was a constant reminder of her presence, a constant reminder of the unworthy idiot who had kissed her, and a constant reminder that Draco couldn't do the same.
Hermione swore under her breath as they travelled further and further into a section of the Castle that was never used, except by randy teenagers drugged on lust and trying to find somewhere to expend some of their pent up frustration.
"Draco!" Hermione hissed, and she flinched harshly when he abruptly whirled around, still wearing the same irate expression as before.
"Fucking really, Hermione? Piss off. I do not want to talk to you right now, much less look at you," Draco spat, and Hermione recoiled at his tone.
Just as Draco twisted to leave and walk away from her again, she viciously grabbed him by his elbow and dragged him to the closest classroom her eyes landed on—it was small, abandoned and perfect for her to scream and yell obscenities at him.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Hermione growled, releasing him as soon as they both entered the dusty room.
The room was entirely bare, and after appraising it distractedly she wasn't even sure if this had ever been used as a classroom: there were no windows, there were scratch marks on the ground that looked scarily similar to claw marks, and the ones on the wall were deeper, having dug into the stone and chunks of rubble littered the corners of the room.
Her attention was stolen away before she could draw any conclusions because Draco was backing away from her, and she narrowed her eyes at him because his eyes flicked to the door for a brief moment.
He wouldn't dare, Hermione thought, hands on her hips as she jutted out her chin in a challenging manner. He wouldn't dare.
The magic energy spitting, crashing and tumbling from both of them was frightening—it furled around them, sizzling across their skin, and the temperature in the room had risen several degrees in seconds. The tension was insurmountable, threatening to snap and tumble onto them any moment now.
Draco halted once he'd put quite a bit of distance between them, and with a clenched jaw, and a look of unbridled fury, he said, "Smith? Really Hermione? I thought better of you."
It was a pity there was no furniture in here, otherwise she definitely would have hurled a chair at him.
"You—You thought better of me? Why the hell do you care who I snog?" Hermione asked, her eye twitching as she glowered darkly at him.
Draco ignored her question, backing her so that he could focus as he slammed locking and silencing charms in place—he hesitated as a familiar scent tickled his nostrils, but the scathing snarl that ripped from Hermione's mouth as she marched up to him, captured his attention.
Draco peered over his shoulder just in time for her to dig her fingers unkindly into his arm as she spun him around to look at her properly—he barely managed to catch himself otherwise the force she'd exerted would've knocked him on his arse.
When Draco righted himself, he found that they were now particularly close—so close that their chests almost brushed with every heavy pant that escaped their mouths.
Hermione almost took a step back because of the intense look he was giving her under hooded eyes.
"Maybe I don't want to see you shoving your tongue down Smith's throat, since I know for a fact, that you can do better," Draco said gruffly, shoving his hands in his pockets.
Hermione tried to ignore the heat in her lower abdomen that purred to life once her eyes followed the motion and noticed how deliciously tight his pants were.
"You didn't answer my question. Why do you care? Is it because you feel some obligation to protect me like a brother wou—"
"Fuck. You think this is cause I'm pretending to be your brother?" Draco closed the remaining distance between them, his hands coming out of his pockets and hanging limply by his sides as if he wasn't quite sure what to do with them.
"What else could it be?" Hermione asked in provocation, nibbling on her bottom lip as she drowned in his intense gaze.
Something was building.
"Fucking hell, again, you're one of the most brilliant people I know, but you still can't fucking read people. I didn't take you for the obtuse type—" Draco hissed, "—why the fuck do you think?"
Building.
"I don't know Draco, I don't fucking know! You don't talk to me like you used to anymore. I can't tell what's going on in that pretty little head of yours. You just keep it all to yourself and I'm just supposed to guess at what you're thinking— " Hermione began to scream at him, swiping away an angry tear.
Building.
Draco appeared to be at war with himself for a brief moment before he kissed his teeth together, and yelled back, "I'm in love with you, you idiot!"
Hermione couldn't breathe. She never thought she'd ever hear those words. Never. Never. She swallowed thickly, she didn't know what to do, she couldn't formulate a proper vowel, much less say anything coherent.
Then it burst: violently surging forth, breaking down the towering walls they'd built, rushing forward until it swallowed them whole.
Then, they collided. Much like they had many a time in the past, except this time it was neither with cruel words nor heated arguments, but with eager hands, bruising lips and rough tongues.
Everything that had been slowly building up to this moment simply exploded, neither of them thinking about anything, just feeling.
They told each other everything that they had been bottling up through their heated kisses and their rough but tender touches.
Hermione jumped up and Draco caught her easily, his large hands spreading to grip her arse as her legs wrapped around his waist. Her hands delved into his unruly raven locks and she tugged on them harshly as she gained full access to his mouth.
Then as quickly as it started, it began to slow down. Gentle and languid kisses as their tongues smoothly rolled over each other's. Soft and almost cautious touches as Hermione's hands slid onto his cheeks.
Hermione broke the kiss first, and a single tear rolled down her cheek, "I love you too, you wanker."
The child-like grin that lit up Draco's face set her heart rate galloping, and she couldn't help but return it, a tiny giggle falling from her lips as she pressed her forehead against his.
"I love you," Draco said, as if he couldn't say it enough, as if he couldn't believe that he could say it.
Hermione pressed a quick peck to his lips once more before wrapping her arms around his neck and resting her chin on his shoulder—hugging him as if her life depended on it.
For one single, shiny and silver moment, everything was good and right. Of course, nothing lasts forever.
Their moment imploded when a disembodied voice said, "what the actual fuck."