Dinner drew to a close and Draco gathered himself for the usual trek back to his common room, where he planned to ensconce himself every evening for the rest of the holidays. He shuddered, pondering the list of woes that could befall him if anyone knew the feelings he harbored for Granger. His father would disown him (and Draco was thoroughly uncomfortable with idea of having to earn his own way in the world like some common citizen) , hell would freeze over and Voldemort would storm the halls of Hogwarts dressed in a fluffy bunny suit and whistling "Rule Brittania."
With an inaudible sigh he took one last look at Granger, resplendent in her usual school uniform and yet elegant as ever. He shook himself out of his reverie with a snort. He sounded like a ponce.
These thoughts carried him out of the Great Hall and up the main staircase. Unfortunately for his master escape plan, he was so wrapped up in himself that he failed to see Hermione slip away just before him and head towards the library. Head down, brow furrowed in concentration, Draco was so focused on getting to the Slytherin common room that he plowed directly into her.
Draco took Ancient Runes, not English Literature, so the significance of the fact that he had slammed face first into exactly what he was trying to avoid was lost on him. Any Muggle student of Draco's age would immediately have filed the situation away for an essay on Irony.
"Malfoy!" Her voice jarred his name into the echoing corridor and brought him up sharp. "What're you doing?" She hissed.
He snapped back. "What do you mean, what am I doing? I was trying to get back to the common room before you so clumsily blocked the way."
He moved to push past her but she stood firm, her eyes filled with rage. Hermione Granger was a studious witch, and a Muggleborn as well. Having been placed in a primary school for gifted youngsters, the irony of the situation was fully present for her, but had long ago grown too boring even for someone of her analytical tendencies. Hermione was in no mood to ruminate; now was the time to act.
"That's not what I meant," she said coolly. "You were staring at me."
Straight communication occurred to Draco as a foreign language. Slytherin Rule #415 stated explicitly that there should always be at least three discernible meanings to every statement uttered by a Slytherin. Slytherin Rule #416 was careful to allow that this was true in every case except for Slytherin Rule #415 (and Slytherin Rule #812, which made clear that under no circumstances should a Slytherin ever, EVER travel economy class). He opened his mouth to snarl at her but her face softened abruptly. "You're bleeding," she said, reaching a hand out to touch his bottom lip, which he had bitten during the collision. She withdrew her hand quickly before it reached his face as though he were a hot stove. Through the surge of pain in his swelling lip, Draco felt a brief flash of disappointment.
Hermione didn't miss a beat. A devious idea had occurred to her as soon as she saw Draco's faced as her hand pulled away. She was terrified, of course, but this could be her only chance to confront him about his strange behavior. Their strange behavior, she amended. It took two to tango. But where to go? If she and Malfoy were to hash this out, they would need absolute privacy. Hermione knew that any position she was caught in with Draco would be considered compromising in Gryffindor's eyes.
"Is there something you want?" she asked quietly. Still, somewhere in her logical thinking brain, Hermione was valiantly trying to convince herself that Draco's staring had something to do with his work for the Order. Perhaps there was something he wanted her to know that Harry and Ron couldn't be privy to right now, for whatever reason. And the mere chance that such a thing was so made it her duty to confront Draco about these episodes and get to the bottom of them. With the prim authority that had made her Head Girl, Hermione raised her eyebrows in an expression that meant "this way," and Draco found himself following her lithe figure through the corridor as though spellbound. A voice in his head, immediately recognizable as his father's, piped up, asking him insistently what he was thinking, taking orders from a Mudblood. This, however, only spurred him on more determinedly. All this Gryffindor straight talk was making him dizzy, however. Draco needed deception, needed complications.
"If you're going to fix this, make it quick," he snarled.
"I don't have to help you, you know," she snapped back.
"You're not, if you hadn't noticed. And what do you know about healing anyway?" Suddenly he was genuinely curious.
Her eyes flashed with anger. "More than you'll ever – " she began, and suddenly the wall on which he had been leaning easily, glowering at her for all he was worth, disappeared and Draco found himself sitting down hard on the stone floor of a room that hadn't been there a split second ago.
At first Hermione thought she had blacked out and hexed Draco into oblivion, which had happened once before when Ron sat on Crookshanks. Gathering her wits, she looked down to see him sprawled on the floor and fought back a giggle. The Room of Requirement – of course it would show up just now, right when she was a half second short of zapping Draco into the next century. It occurred to her that the longer she lingered in the doorway gawking at the fallen ferret, the higher the likelihood that someone would come along and see them together and then Hell would bloody freeze over. And Hogwarts didn't need that. Not right now.
"Come on then," she said, stepping into the room and hauling a bemused Draco up by the arm. After scanning the hallway to make sure no one had seen their messy exodus, she shut the door and secured it with every locking charm and silencing spell she could remember. And the girl was good.
The room was prepared for them, but as usual, it had its own ideas of what constituted "Requirement." An ornate canopy bed draped in red and green velvet was the only piece of furniture. Merry Christmas from the Room of Requirement, thought Hermione dryly. What the bloody hell was she supposed to do with a bed? She blushed to the roots of her hair at the image her rebellious mind helpfully provided.
Her rosy countenance wasn't lost on Draco, who hadn't lost a moment wondering why the Room of Requirement had seen fit to provide them with such sumptuous décor. Thank the gods for the Room of Requirement! Someone up there was clearly on his side. Smirking insolently, he gracefully draped himself across the velvet coverlet and beckoned to her with a pale finger.
"Well, Granger, are you going to be my nurse or not?"
Cursing herself, cursing the RoR and cursing the highly amused Draco above all, she forced herself to approach him and examine the swelling edge of his smirk. Hating herself for blushing, Hermione crossed the floor to him with her head down, muttering under her breath that she wasn't Florence Nightingale. This earned her only a confused stare from Draco, who was tentatively pressing the pads of his fingers to his bleeding lip.
Despite the stinging, Draco was thrilled. He was alone with Granger, far from prying eyes. She was his to do what he would with, and he was quite sure he would, thank you very much. The tremors in her hands and the nervous blush on her face convinced him that, whether she knew it or not, she was quite as susceptible to his charms as any quivering first year.
Her brown eyes peered down at him, full of concern and something more and Draco's stomach dropped. Fuck. He had it just as bad as she did – whatever it was. "Stop staring, Granger," he made himself snap. Unfortunately, the snap didn't quite register and the sentence came out as a low, sensual growl.
"I'm not staring," she retorted, abashed.
"Of course not. Hermione Granger would never stare at Draco Malfoy. That's never happened." A sly grin spread over Draco's face as she flushed even more.
"For your information…" she trailed off, seemingly unable to think of something to say. "For your information, it's always you who starts it."
"Pointing fingers now, are we? Look Granger, we can play the blame game all night. And I've noticed you never seem that eager to look away."
Before she could retort, he took hold of the slim wrists that were hovering anxiously around his face and pinned them to her sides. It honestly didn't occur to him that she would try and fight him on this, they'd both been waiting far too long to see what would happen when the stars and the Room of Requirement aligned to bring them alone together. Startled, Hermione tensed and then shivered as his hands ran up her arms, over the fabric of her cloak and then gently clasped her shoulders, pulling her down towards him. She caught her breath and tensed, seeming ready to pull away, but then her eyes met Draco's – those eyes she had been staring into for so long, from such a distance. Now they were inches from hers and they were unfathomably beautiful. Captivated, she let him draw her down onto the bed beside him and draw his arms around her fully. They stayed there for a moment, indulging in the sweet pause that comes before the inevitable, before everything changes forever.
It was Draco who could bear it no more. Catching her chin with the tips of his fingers, her gently drew her lips through the mere inches it took to get to his. Such a short trip, he mused before capturing her rosy mouth completely with his, but he knew they could never go back.
It happened as naturally and easily as dawn follows night. What Draco was unprepared for was the intensity of his own reaction. The kiss was a vivid dream come true. Her lips were soft and sweet and pink and he growled at the shock of them on his own. He lost himself for a moment in the deep drink of her before he had the good sense to begin moving his lips against hers – and to notice that she was kissing him back.
She tasted like nothing he'd ever experienced – a combination of warm, sweet honey and Strawberry Chapstick. He stirred against her and took her deeper into his arms, aware that she must be able to feel his hardness pressing against her. Moaning, she twisted further into his embrace, daring her tongue to dart out and play with his. He breathed in her deeply and the kiss became fully passionate. They were nothing but heat and hands, tongues and moans. The initial gingerness between them melted into something strong and wild and Draco tipped her back on the bed and nestled against her, his tongue teasing her jaw line, her ear lobe, her collarbone and nuzzling even lower. Gasping, Hermione felt her nipples harden at the hint of his breath above them. Reality surged into focus once more and she pulled away from him, panting. She had no idea what she was feeling right now, but one thing was certain: nothing in her life had ever been this strong, this sure.