An Honest Face – Chapter Eight
Disclaimer: Surprise double update! I don't own anything you recognise. Let's move on...
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It takes a lot to make a Malfoy admit that he has met his match, but privately, Draco felt that this was damn near the mark. Not that he would have admitted that out loud, of course.
Still, not being able to feel most of your skin for an entire week did wonders for your survival instinct. Being a Malfoy, Draco had a healthy sense of self-preservation to begin with (in addition to pride and hauteur) so he deemed it wise to lie low for a while.
Watching Granger from a distance, Draco permitted himself brief glances only when he was sure it was safe to do so. He didn't want to be caught staring any more, lest she direct another tentacle-hex at him. Once or twice he thought she might have caught him looking, forcing him to stare determinedly at the display of pickled rats' livers on the wall behind her and feign a sudden fascination with the preservation of rodent viscera.
Draco was not used to feeling afraid anymore, certainly not of a fellow student, and yet there he was. But of course this was different. If the fear his father inspired was an ice bath, then this was a constant prickling sensation on the back of his neck. Perhaps "fear" was too strong a word for it. It was a kind of awe, the realisation, however subconscious, that he had indeed met his match and that Hermione Granger was no ordinary witch ready to fall into his bed at the slightest suggestion. And again, Draco was unwilling to admit it even to himself, but he found it intriguing. Intriguing enough, even, to make him re-evaluate his original plans.
So he waited, scheming quietly, snatching glances from a distance, biding his time.
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Hermione, in the meantime, had done pretty well as far as keeping her resolution went. She had managed to put the whole affair out of her mind for a solid couple of months, and if you had asked her, she would have said that things were going very well, thank you very much.
Without the strange uncertainty of Malfoy's advances weighing on her mind, Hermione had been able to focus on spending more quality time with her friends (just like old times, she kept thinking to herself) as well as her relationship with Ron. And there was something that was not quite like old times anymore, but in a good way – to Hermione's delight, she and Ron had moved beyond breathless snogging and illicit handjobs in empty dormitories, and into the realm of Proper Sex, as she privately thought of it.
Ron, just as inexperienced as she was, had been a hesitant and caring lover, unwilling to do anything that might hurt her or make her uncomfortable, and since that first late night in the Room of Requirement they had found many more opportunities to escape their friends and their responsibilities for an hour or two. Her curiosity on the topic was powerful and it was a delight to be discovering this new side of herself with Ron.
All was well. And yet...
Towards the beginning of December, the niggling doubts that had reared their ugly heads during the Malfoy Incident began to reappear. Hermione found herself making excuses to get some time away from Ron and his good-hearted buffoonery, even when she didn't need to be studying. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy his company, she told herself, it was just that he began to grate on her a little after a while.
One night she found herself in the girls' dormitory alone, having again just excused herself from the common room where Ron, Seamus, Dean, Harry and Ginny were playing Exploding Snap and telling lewd jokes. It was a profound relief to be out from under Ron's sweaty arm, a place she found herself pinned more often than not, especially now that they were physically closer than ever. Truth of the matter was, she felt stifled.
She sighed and rested her forehead against the icy window, looking pensively down over the dark grounds. What do we have in common, really?
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It was with a heavy heart that Hermione faced the Christmas break. Classes had finished with the end of the term, yet after dinner she found herself back in the library. Nestled amongst the thousands of dusty tomes of the Wizarding History section, she replayed the conversation in her head.
She had asked Ron for a moment alone after their last Charms class, knowing that he would be leaving in the morning to go home to the Burrow for Christmas. The poor boy had acquiesced with a smile, thinking perhaps that Hermione was going to treat him to a last-minute snogging session in an alcove before the holidays, something that had been happening noticeably less of late. He clearly hadn't been expecting a metaphorical sucker-punch in the guts.
Hermione had struggled to get the words out in the right order, knowing that she was causing him pain, knowing that it was necessary, and hating every second.
"It's not that I don't like spending time with you," she had said desperately, watching his face fall with each second that passed. "It's just that I think we need to take a break, that's all, you know, take the holidays to spend some time apart."
Stricken, he had asked her why. "I thought we were fine," he had said, uncharacteristically quiet.
"We are fine, Ron," she said apologetically, "it's just... fine doesn't – it's not always... I mean, it's—" She stopped herself, frustrated. Why was this so hard to do? "We're so different, and I just feel like we've lost the spark, like the magic is gone." She silently pleaded with him to understand.
"The magic is gone," he repeated slowly, disbelievingly. And he had walked away, leaving her unable to do anything but watch his retreat.
She had not wanted to go back to the common room after that.
Hermione sighed and reached for Discovering the Depths: Sources of Sea Sorcery, a history volume bound in what looked like blue sealskin. She felt a dull sort of sadness, and regret at having to hurt Ron, but the tears she had expected did not come. She, too, was leaving on the train in the morning, though she suspected she'd have to find a different carriage than usual to travel in. But while she was still here she thought she might as well find some good books to borrow out over the break. Especially considering that she was likely to have plenty of spare time on her hands during the break.
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Several hours later, she had her nose stuck in Travels Through Transylvania: Terror and Titillation, mid-way through a gripping scene in which the protagonist, a powerful witch called Ferona the Fierce, had to defeat a minotaur in order to deliver the Wolfsbane potion to her werewolf lover before the full moon emerged. She was just at the part where Ferona and Wolfgang, reunited, were clinging to each other lustily in the last hour before moonrise, when Hermione heard footsteps coming towards her. She tore her eyes away from the page and snapped the book shut guiltily, as though whoever it was would see the reflection of the smut in her eyes or something.
You can imagine her shock when it was none other than Draco Malfoy who strode into view, carrying several bottles in one hand and his illuminated wand in the other. He stopped a short distance away from the table at which she was sitting.
"Fancy a drink, Granger?" he asked casually, smirking a little at Hermione's bemused expression. He held up the Butterbeers he'd brought. "Unless you want to watch me drink all this by myself?"
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A/N: Quick, click "next chapter"! Chapter nine is where the smut is at, so GO GO GO! Enjoy the double update and have a happy holidays, everyone!