Hello my lovelies!
This chapter fought me a little bit, but after some lovely encouragement from my darling Lisa, I found my groove and finished it up. Here's to hoping that you all like this chappie x
ALSO, HOW HAS THIS STORY REACHED 1500 REVIEWS, HONESTLY, HOW?! I am baffled, utterly baffled. THANK YOU ALL SO, SO MUCH.
My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.
Monday, 29th Nov, 1976
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Dungeons
Hermione hummed whimsically as she kept a keen eye on the beginnings of the Volubilis potion in the cauldron in front of her—she bent her knees until she was eye level with the burner, so she could check that it was on low heat; brewing this potion was always a bit of a dance with quiet patience as one toyed with the temperature at various points to suit.
She glanced to her right, and noticed Draco clinically scrutinising the ingredients neatly laid across the worktop before him—his arms were folded over his chest and he was tapping his upper arm with his index finger. It took him a moment of contemplation, but realisation dawned across his features and he figured out what was missing, "mint sprigs," she heard him mutter and a ghost of a smile passed over her face.
(Draco had enchantedly charmed Lily into switching places with him a couple weeks ago, and now the redhead was closer to the front working with Mary. The auburn haired girl was sad to part with Draco—as she was quite fond of him, despite the fact that he was no longer dating her best friend, but, simultaneously she was beyond ecstatic to be partnered with Lily.)
Hermione snapped her attention back to the potion—it had just shifted from red to green, and Hermione leant over to grab ahold of the phial of Honeywater.
Hermione unstoppered the phial, and stepped forward: her elbow almost perpendicular to her body as she carefully tipped it over the potion, and allowed a couple drops to hit the simmering surface.
She began to keep time in her head—and she kept the Honeywater handy, in preparation to add more in a few moments.
Hermione had been so caught up in her task that she didn't realise Draco was right behind her: his scent enveloped her and she felt the heat radiating off of his skin—she was about to turn around and ask him if he needed anything when she felt something brush the back of her thigh.
Hermione held her breath, eyes widening as Draco's hand slid upwards until it was on her arse, quickly giving it a firm squeeze before he easily slipped past her and headed towards the ingredients cupboard on their far left.
Hermione's teeth sank into her bottom lip as she swallowed the surprised yip she was going to make, whilst hastily yanking her hand back from its hovering position over the potion—she wished to avoid accidentally pouring in too much Honeywater.
Hermione steadied herself, and ignored the delightful fact that in Draco's absence, a coldness invaded, prickling its way across her skin.
"Git," Hermione muttered, clenching her jaw as she focused on the potion once more, carefully adding a couple more drops of Honeywater.
A jovial tune smoothly soared out of Draco's mouth—he was whistling, and the sound jumped and skipped right over to her.
Hermione dutifully tuned him out, smiling in satisfaction as the liquid turned pink, bending slightly to turn up the heat again—she heard footsteps heading in her direction and she abruptly straightened out, snapping her head sharply in his direction whilst concurrently shooting him a dark glower.
Draco however, looked well chuffed with himself, a hubristic grin across his face as he stopped right beside her, delicately placing the mint sprigs on the workbench countertop.
"Behave yourself," Hermione hissed lowly, avoiding Sirius's gaze when he glanced back at them with a cocked eyebrow—James and Sirius were occupying the workbench directly in front of them (the former was swearing at his cauldron as the steam billowing from it curled into his hair, morphing it into a frazzled mess).
Sirius shrugged and returned to his own potion, a hand on his hip as he directed James's next move.
Hermione plucked her wand from her skirt pocket, and threw up a Muffliato—before anyone overheard something they really weren't supposed to. Hermione pocketed her wand once more, humming as she re-commenced attending to her potion.
Mere moments later, Draco leaned over—his mouth by her ear—as he plopped the mint sprigs into the now bright orange liquid, and whispered lowly, "trust me, I am behaving myself."
"I highly doubt that," Hermione said, more to herself than anything, but Draco heard and he snorted softly in amusement.
Hermione narrowed her eyes, refusing to look at him as she once again turned the heat up a notch. She folded her arms over her chest, tapping her foot as she patiently waited for the brew to turn blue.
Draco was standing inordinately close, also awaiting for the change in hue so that he could add the few sprigs of mint loosely grasped in his hand.
Draco pressed up against the side of her as he stepped forward and added the remainder of the mint sprigs—the resultant shade of pink that their potion turned was beyond gratifying, and she forgot that she was mildly irritated with Draco and swivelled towards him with a triumphant smile.
She had underestimated their proximity, and found her front brushing against Draco's: Hermione's lips parted, and her mouth went dry when her eyes met his—which were of course brimming with mischief, and he was biting his lip.
Hermione cleared her throat, and swiftly stepped backwards, "may you please pass me the Stewed Mandrake?"
Hermione finished the potion by rote, switching her mind off and blocking Draco out entirely save to ask him to pass her the Syrup of Hellebore.
Despite that, she could still feel his intense gaze scorching its way across her face, and her hand trembled slightly as she turned up the heat one final time.
Hermione clapped her hands together and span in a tiny circle when the potion melted into a pleasant yellow colour, like thick honey straight off of the comb.
"Good job, Princess," Draco wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her into his side for a brief moment, and instantly her entire side was on fire.
Hermione glanced up at Draco, and in that moment she wanted nothing more than to kiss him; Draco on the other hand seemed entirely unaffected, and bend down just enough so that he could switch off the heat.
"Marvellous!" A voice praised, and Hermione practically jumped out of her skin before realising that Slughorn was standing in front of their bench, peering at their potion just as it began to spit sparks.
Slughorn stepped back to steer clear of said sparks, whilst patting his vast belly, causing it to jiggle. The Potions Master paused, then vociferously, so that his jolly voice echoed throughout the classroom he said, "marvellous work, Potters!"
A few heads turned here and there, but for the most part the rest of the class was still struggling with their own potions—attempting to salvage their brews before something went dreadfully wrong.
Save of course, for Lily and Snape: both of whom twirled and danced whilst working, gracefully adding ingredients here and there—it was almost like watching living art, as they so effortlessly moved back and forth.
(Hermione was envious of that sometimes, she'd had to work so hard just to get anywhere near as good at brewing as they had, whilst they possessed pure, raw talent—as did Draco, but she would never tell him that.)
Hermione smiled awkwardly, "thank you, Professor."
"I know I've asked in the past, but would the two of you reconsider, and think about coming to one of the little gatherings I host on Fridays?"
"Thank you again for your invitation, Professor—" Hermione inclined her head politely, and instead of declining the invitation as she expected, Draco, rather amiably said, "perhaps we'll stop by this Friday."
"We will—" Hermione began, her head snapping in the direction of her boyfriend—who was currently tucking his hands into his trouser pockets, charm oozing from him as he smirked at Slughorn.
"What time on Friday, Professor?" Draco smoothly interjected.
"Around seven-thirty, my boy," Slughorn exclaimed merrily, clearly thrilled that he had just 'collected' the Potter twins.
"Splendid, seven-thirty it is then," Draco smiled warmly, turning on his heel and heading for the glass phials at the other end of their workbench—one to hand in to Slughorn at the conclusion of their lesson, and the rest for their own personal use.
Slughorn moseyed away, a spring in his step as he made his way back to the front of the class.
Hermione checked to ensure that the Muffliato was still in place before asking bluntly, "why in Circe's name would you agree to go?" The witch placed her hands on her hips, her expression one of thick disbelief.
Draco thought Slughorn was a twittering, jolly fool—he relented and had once said that the man did have his redeeming qualities, but not nearly enough as to spend anymore time with him than was absolutely necessary. Which was why Hermione was staring up at him, baffled beyond comprehension.
"Why not?" Draco shrugged, stoppering the nearly full phial and placing it carefully on the workbench.
"You're not particularly fond of the man for starter's," Hermione snorted.
"I never got to go to any—well, you know, then, so I thought, maybe we could go to at least one so that I could see what I was missing," Draco answered simply, delicately ladling some of their Volubilis potion into a second phial. "Could you label these as I'm finished with them, please."
Hermione pursed her lips at that, "well I've had the delight of attending several of those gatherings, and I really don't want to go to another."
Hermione shook her head as she swung past him, fingers deftly moving to label the first phial with their initials, and with the Potion's name.
"It could be fun, Hermione," Draco replied, a lock of hair falling forward across his face as he tilted his head to look at her.
"Bollocks," Hermione swore, moving down to label another phial. "I don't want to hear a peep out of you when you're utterly miserable."
Draco scoffed at the insinuation, shaking his head as he handed her another phial, "it can't be that bad."
Draco would eat his words that coming Friday, almost choking as they roughly slid back down his throat; the raven haired boy refused to speak to Hermione as they headed back to the Common Room (everyone else had cleared out almost half hour ago, but Slughorn wanted to have a one on one chat with the two of them—only releasing them because it was almost curfew).
"Not that bad, hm?" Hermione taunted, and Draco clamped his lips together—he would consume a pile of Hippogriff dung before he complained, especially because his girlfriend had a smug grin on her face, and she was practically skipped down the corridor—she'd removed her black heels, and was now carrying them in her right hand.
"Never again," Draco muttered as he unfastened his black bowtie—tucking the affronting material into his pocket—just as Hermione made a jubilant squeal, shoving him playfully as she glided down the corridor, body swaying as she did a victory dance.
"I told you so," Hermione spun around, sticking her tongue out at him before turning around once more and jogging away from him.
Draco paused, shoving his hands into his navy blue trouser pockets, watching her go and unwittingly an expansive grin grew across his face.
Hermione halted at the end of the corridor, throwing her arms out to the side, "well, are you coming or not?" Chest rising and falling as she lightly panted, lowering her arms slowly—Draco's eyes roved over the short black velvet dress she was wearing that had hiked up slightly, and his gaze lingered on the thin strap that had slipped off of her shoulder.
Draco smirked before he broke out into a run, and Hermione's eyes widened before she turned and hurriedly sprinted to her left, disappearing from sight around the corner.
His dress shoes slapped against the ground as he chased after her—the shoes were a bit stiff since they were still relatively new and not yet pliant.
However, when Draco rounded the corner, Hermione was nowhere to be found. That's strange, he frowned as he gradually slowed his pace to a languid stroll, reaching up to push his hair backwards off of his forehead.
"Hermione?" Draco said, his voice bounding and echoing along the empty corridor, the portraits lining the walls roused slightly, grumbling at him before attempting to go back to sleep. The dim light of the still lit lanterns flickered and shone across the boy—it glistened across the top of his hair, and his eyes automatically shifted and adjusted so that he could see properly.
"Her—"
A hand shot out from his right and yanked him into a dark alcove—into a private bubble of existence. Draco barely managed to right himself before he felt a soft, supple body press intimately against him.
Hermione's hands slid upwards and into his hair, tugging his face down until it was inches away from hers.
"Hi," Hermione breathed, looking up at him through dark, thick lashes.
"Hi," Draco said, hands roughly skimming across the smooth material of Hermione's dress until they were securely resting on her backside.
"So can we agree that we're not going to be attending any more Slug Club gatherings?" Hermione asked with a cheery lilt, her lips brushing against his as she spoke.
"Yes, we can definitely agree on that."
"So, I was right?"
"Don't push it, witch," Draco laughed faintly, tightening his grip on her and digging his fingers into her arse.
"It was worth a try," Hermione said cavalierly, keeping her eyes on his before she tiptoed and claimed his lips, Draco watched her eyes flutter closed, and he followed suit.
Hermione's lips parted, her hot breath puffing into his mouth as her nails scraped against his scalp.
Draco growled in response, lips gruffly moving against hers and in one swift, deft motion he picked her up, and her legs wrapped around his waist.
The lion whirled around, walking forward until Hermione's back hit the stone wall, albeit a tad harder than he intended.
The witch wasted no time in letting him know how she felt about that by sinking her teeth into his bottom lip with a low snarl—not hard enough to break the skin, but enough to drive her point home.
Draco hissed in response when she released his lip, "bloody hell, woman."
Hermione ignored him, her lips hungrily on his again, effectively shutting him up; her tongue smoothly slid into his mouth when he granted her access, and one of his hands skated upwards along the length of her body, until it encircled her clothed breast.
Hermione broke the kiss, hazel eyes flecked with copper, and heady with desire, "Draco," she moaned softly as her head fell back against the wall, her hands falling down to his chest and gruffly gripping fistfuls of his white button down.
Bang!
They both froze.
Silent, they turned to peer outside the alcove—no one could see or hear them because of the silencing and Notice-Me-Not Charms Hermione had thrown up, but nonetheless, they dared not make an utterance of sound.
The corridors were now pitch black—but with their keen eyesight they saw everything clear as day. It was eerily silent, as if the darkness itself was holding its breath as well.
They waited, and waited, but not a soul passed by.
"What was that?"
"No idea," Draco responded, hands moving to grasp Hermione's hips as she lowered her feet to the ground, her fingers absently toying with one of his shirt's middle buttons.
"Do you think that means we should be heading back?" Hermione sighed heavily.
"Probably," Draco said reluctantly, gently pulling her into him so that they were loosely hugging.
"Okay," Hermione mumbled, melancholy threaded through her voice, nudging his chest with her nose.
"Or do you want to stay here a little longer?" Draco asked quietly, bowing slightly and resting his chin on top of her head.
Hermione nodded in the affirmative, her fingers curling into his abdomen, trapped between them.
They dallied a touch longer than they should have, and they assisted each other in fixing their clothes and mussed hair—Hermione recalled at the last moment to stoop down to retrieve her previously discarded heels—before they exited their temporary sanctuary.
The witch and wizard dawdled on their way back: arms brushing against each other's, lips firmly clamped shut—unable to speak without drawing unwelcome attention to themselves—and both wondering that if that noise hadn't so rudely interrupted them, just how far would they have gone.