A/N: Sorry for the delay in updating. There has been a lot of health issues and personal tragedies going on the past few weeks. Thank you for your patience.
Chapter 6: Getting Better Acquainted
Hermione left Malfoy to his own devices and met up with Ginny in the Great Hall, trying hard not to stare at the Slytherin table until she figured out who had attacked the blonde. She piled her plate high with food, ignoring the raised eyebrows of her housemates at such an uncharacteristic action, and kept up conversation with her friends easily enough, occasionally banishing a helping of this or a bit of that to be recalled later. Nobody seemed to notice her sleight of hand and for that she was grateful. She didn't want to explain to anybody why she was making a plate for Draco Malfoy.
At the conclusion of the meal, Hermione waved her friends off, promising to stop by later to visit their common room and making vague allusions to needing something from somewhere. She knew they would all assume she was going to the library, seemingly unable to make it a full day in the castle without at least visiting her favorite revision spot. She didn't correct them, instead reiterating her promise to visit the tower that evening and heading towards the stairs that led to her dorm.
As she entered the hallway leading to her new accommodations, she summoned the food that she had squirreled away and conjured a plate for it all, warming it with a thought. She was not surprised to see Malfoy asleep on the couch, he did need a good healing rest after all. She was a bit put off that he had not covered up or redressed. The sight of his toned alabaster skin and the striking contrast of the black slash of his underwear had her normally golden skin reddening like a Weasley's. She refused to identify her blush as one of prudish embarrassment or misplaced attraction and, in fact, resolved to ignore it completely.
Casting a stasis on his meal, she placed it on the table in front of him and, for her own peace of mind, transfigured a sock into a throw blanket, tossing it over his chest and legs and sighing in relief as all that pale, muscular skin with its light dusting of golden hair was once again hidden from her view. She didn't understand how 24 hours could so completely change the way she thought of the git and couldn't wait to go visit her housemates and put some distance between herself and this odd situation. Maybe that was all she needed to regain her equilibrium and her perspective.
Gathering up a change of clothes, muggle jeans and one of Ron's soft, old t-shirts that was too big for her but ridiculously comfortable and allowed her to go without a bra, and her bath kit, she headed into the tiny room to wash away the stresses of the day, silencing the room so as not to awaken the beaten boy on the couch. The hot water felt amazing on her tensed muscles and she stood for a long time just letting it beat down on her neck and shoulders, sluicing over her collarbones and between the valley of her breasts, dripping steadily off the points of her nipples and running in a steady stream over the hills and valleys of her torso and down between her thighs.
She moaned at the sensation, thankful for silencing charms, and let her fingers follow the trek the water had taken. She didn't normally indulge but it had been a stressful couple of days and she had gotten used to regular orgasms over the summer and that, coupled with her somewhat flirtatious interactions with Malfoy and the memory of his ridiculously tight body, had her feeling a little itchy under her skin. Her right hand found her quim, fingers dipping into silky wetness, while her left squeezed one breast, rolling and pinching the stiffened nipple.
Hermione circled her distended clit with the tips of her fingers, feeling the slight calluses from a year living off the land, and wondering what Malfoy had thought of them when she ran her hands over his bare skin. A picture of said skin was enough to shake her out of her aroused state.
What the hell, Hermione? Yesterday morning you didn't think twice about the git unless you were cursing his existence and now you think about him while…no, absolutely not.
Shaking her head to clear it, she angrily grabbed her bottle of shampoo and made quick work of showering and dressing, throwing her hair up on top of her head and just barely restraining herself from flinging open the bathroom door in her frustration. She needn't have bothered trying to be stealthy, as the cause of her frustration was not only awake, but standing at her bedroom door.
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Draco watched Hermione leave before his eyes became too heavy to keep open and he succumbed to a healing sleep, noticing before he lost consciousness that the couch was warm and smelled like vanilla and coffee and her.
When he awoke again it was to the delicious smell of roast chicken, fluffy mash nigh smothered in brown gravy, honeyed carrots, peas, a yeasty dinner roll, a chilled goblet of pumpkin juice, and a slice of blackberry pie all held under a stasis charm. He slowly sat up, assessing his body for residual aches and pains. They were there, of course. Even with potions, nothing healed perfectly in only a few hours. But he made it upright and reached gingerly for the roll, just barely containing his sneer when he didn't find any butter on his tray.
He polished off his meal in record time and debated knocking on her door to thank her. He didn't really do gratitude, being a spoiled brat and more than a bit of an arsehole. But he was trying to turn over a new leaf, or whatever, and he did owe her for not ratting him out, and she didn't have to heal him, keep his secrets, or feed him. And she was the only person currently speaking to him and he kind of wanted to keep it that way so…
Swallowing his pride, he gingerly got to his feet, groaning just a bit at the stabbing pain in his side, and schooled his features to the haughtiest, snobbiest, purebloodiest he could manage. And, yes, he was aware that wasn't a word but by Merlin it damned well should be! Moments later he was dressed again in shirt and trousers and rapping smartly on her door. And waiting. And waiting. And getting very annoyed at being kept waiting.
"Granger?" he called, listening for movement on the other side of the door but hearing none. "Granger, I have something to say to you; come out." When his superior Malfoy command went unheeded he employed his silkiest Lucius-like purr. "Granger, don't you want to hear what I have to say? It might be important." And when that yielded no results he took a deep breath, put some gravel in his voice and growled, "Kitten, if you don't open this door right now I'm going to break it down. You are being very rude right now and I. Do. Not. Appreciate. It." Nothing. "Hermione…please open the door."
"How long do you think you might've stood there before figuring out I wasn't in the room."
Draco spun towards the bathroom door, spotting the girl he had been trying to reach standing in a cloud of steam, hair pulled up in a messy knot, damp curls falling around her face, and dressed in a loose top thin as tissue paper and muggle jeans so tight he was tempted to see if they were actually painted on. Her feet were bare and he could just make out a flash of red on their tips.
"How long have you been standing there? Why didn't I hear the shower running? How long have you been standing there? Why are you dressed like that? How long have…"
"Since you tried to sound like your father. Close, but not quite, by the way. I placed a silencing charm on the room so the sound wouldn't wake you. And how I'm dressed is none of your concern but if you must know, I'm going to the Gryffindor common room."
She stepped out of the bathroom completely and headed towards him… towards her room…on her red-tipped bare feet and waves of fragrant vanilla. He was momentarily distracted by the gentle sway of her breasts under the too large, too thin shirt and wondered if she was also bare and red-tipped underneath it. He didn't like the idea of her sitting around a bunch of muscle-bound Gryffindors practically naked, though he certainly didn't want to analyze why it made him uncomfortable.
"And you have to dress like a slag for that?" he asked, realizing just a smidgeon too late what was coming out of his mouth. He regretted it almost instantly. First, because he didn't mean it, not really. Secondly because within moments he was dangling upside down while couch cushions pummeled him repeatedly. "Stop! Granger, damn it, stop! I'm sorry!"
"For what?" came her reply through gritted teeth.
"For pointing out the inappropriateness of your attire-AAAGH!"
"Try that again, Malfoy," the harridan hollered as the cushions picked up speed.
"For trying to protect your reputation….DAMN IT!"
"Last chance, ferret," the shrew snarled at him.
"For being a misogynistic and patronizing arsehole who dared to criticize your dress and somehow link the way a woman dresses to her sexual history and worth as a person. Now let me down; I'm injured!"
Draco was very grateful she didn't just drop him on his head. The cushions dropped first and then he lowered to them, like a leaf from a tree in the fall. He lay there, panting, holding his side and swearing to every god he could think of that he would get her back, as soon as he could breathe again. His view of the ceiling was suddenly blocked by a very red-faced woman, arms on her hips, unaware of how her shirt gaped forward, giving him a clear view up it and to the sweet curve of the underside of her definitely bare breasts. He closed his eyes to the sight and groaned.
She must have taken pity on him because the vanilla and coffee scent of her suddenly became much closer and he felt his shirt tugged gently up, cool air brushing across his abdomen and making his muscles clench. Her fingers, oddly calloused, brushed against his bruised side and he hissed in pain.
"Oh, don't be such a baby," Granger huffed. "It is just a bruise left from your broken rib. A bit of paste and it will be fine."
An accio later and her fingers were back, spreading the healing paste across his ribs in sure strokes that had him imagining how her hands would feel just a bit lower. He put a stopper on his errant thoughts, refusing to think about Granger like that and confused as to how what was essentially 24 hours in her company had erased 7 years of loathing. He clearly needed to get some friends to talk to…or lackeys to order around…or a willing witch to sneak off into a broom closet with!
He was lost in thought to the point that he didn't really notice when her hands stopped and she capped the jar once more. He definitely noticed when she stepped over him, affording him with another clear shot right up her shirt, to get to her bedroom door. A mumbled password later, and she was in her room, her bath kit summoned from the loo and floating along behind her. She slipped on a pair of flat shoes, grabbed a book from her bedside and was standing in her open doorway once more mere moments later.
Granger looked down at him on the floor and shook her head before lifting her leg, as if to step over his prone form again. He didn't know why he did it. Even when he thought back on it later, he couldn't even make up a reason to justify his actions. He had just finished telling himself not to think about her in that way and here he was. He grabbed her slender calf in its painted on jeans and pulled, throwing up his hands in time to catch her as gravity took over and pulled the witch down to sprawl on top of him.
"If you were a Slytherin I would swear you knew what you were doing every time you stood over me like that," he drawled, watching as her pupils dilated, nearly drowning out their color, and her cheeks flushed. It was easy to see, since her face was only about 6 inches from his own, her hands on either side of his head, supporting her weight. "Since you are not, however, I feel it is my duty to educate you, lest you find yourself in a compromising position. Like. This. One."
His hands, which had been resting on her hips, tugged up the hem of her shirt until they could slip underneath and dance feather light across the warm skin of her lower back, tickling up her spine, across her shoulder blades, and around the front of her until they rested just under the slight weight of her breasts, not quite touching the gentle swells.
Granger was panting, gasping in air like each breath might be her last, her chest rising and falling rapidly. With each exhale his fingertips just barely grazed the dip where her breasts met her ribcage and he felt silky skin for the minutest of seconds. When she didn't immediately hex him, he took a chance and ran his knuckles along the underside of each breast, side to side, once…twice…three times before brushing the pads of his thumbs over her pebbled nipples.
That apparently broke the spell on both of them as Draco grabbed her under her arms and lifted her up and to the side at the same time that she tried to crawl forward, over his head. This resulted in her knee connecting rather solidly with his nose. Through the tears of pain he saw her running through the portrait hole and into the hall, forgetting about her book and the need to lock and ward her bedroom door. Or even close it at all.
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Hermione slowed her pace, needing a few more minutes to calm her racing heart and cool her heated cheeks. Draco Malfoy had just fondled her breasts. She had just let Draco Malfoy grope her while she lay on top of him on a bed of couch cushions after having almost wanked to thoughts of him in the shower. Well, not to thoughts of him in the shower. But…Great! Now she was picturing him in the shower!
"Aargh! I need a decent shag. That's all this is. I'm sexually frustrated and he's just everywhere I go today so naturally my mind latched onto him. There's nothing more to it. I do not fancy him. I don't even want to shag him. He's just…convenient…and around…all the damn time. And yes, I can admit that he is pretty delicious looking under those clothes and I would really like to lick his… but he is a complete and utter arse and has the personality of a mountain troll. So, no, I don't actually want to shag Malfoy. I just need to relieve some tension, that's all."
Satisfied that her brain had solved the puzzle, somewhat, of her attraction to the pureblood prat, Hermione nodded her head and hastened her pace to Gryffindor tower, oblivious to the presence of Neville Longbottom, who had stepped out of his new dorm just as she had passed it and heard her entire monologue.
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Draco resisted the temptation for about 5 seconds before rolling to his feet and striding confidently into Granger's room. He sneered at her homey décor while thinking about what mischief he could get up to, what secrets he could uncover.
"Accio diary," he intoned, looking forward to reading about all the most embarrassing moments of her life. He frowned when nothing happened. He tried it again with 'journal' to no avail. He decided the room was small enough that he could just search it the Muggle way and he proceeded to very carefully search every nook and cranny, looking for anything he could hold over the girl's bushy head. He wardrobe was fairly drab and schoolmarmish. She didn't have a box of love notes or pictures under her bed like Pansy. Her underwear drawer was an interesting dichotomy of plain cotton briefs with printed flowers or hearts and silky scraps of black, crimson, periwinkle, violet, and blush. He definitely did not fail to notice that while she had quite the collection of panties, the same couldn't be said for brassieres. Apparently the swot preferred to go without a bra and who would have ever thought that? He restrained himself from snatching a pair of Slytherin green knickers and stuffing them in his pocket.
He was just about to give up when he spotted it, the corner of a box tucked behind her wardrobe. Draco wasted no time tearing it open and upon seeing its contents he began to grin. "Kitten, you are a naughty girl. Pretty panties are one thing but this…this is interesting."
Draco decided to put the box back where he found it, but leave it opened. He smirked imagining the brunette witch trying to remember if she had left it open or not, panicking at the idea of someone having found it, seen its contents. It would provide him with days of entertainment if he played it right. And he would definitely play it right. After all, he was a Slytherin, and mind games were his bread and butter.
He righted the couch with a wave of his wand, closed her door so she wouldn't realize she had left it open, and practically skipped to his room, pictures of Granger's face when she finally realized he knew her dirty little secret putting a giant grin on his face. Beating aside, his final year at Hogwarts was already turning out quite a bit better than he dared hope. This was going to be fun.
