all characters belong to JKR
Chapter 8: Storytelling:
Hermione woke up with a start. She had been having the most pleasant dream, when she woke up. She was dreaming that she was kissing Draco Malfoy, and then she realized that she really did kiss him last night! She looked at the clock. It was seven-thirty. She sighed a sigh of contentment, and then threw her covers off her body, turned on her stomach, and screamed into her pillow. "DRACO MALFOY KISSED ME!" She turned back around, sat up, and she could hardly contain the smile that swept across her face. He really kissed her last night, and it was a bloody fantastic kiss at that.
'He kissed me,' she thought again.
She lay back down and stared at the ceiling, reliving the events as if they had just happened seconds before.
He had her backed against the edge of a bench. The slats were pressing into her bum. He was dangerously close. She felt a tingling and a teasing sensation throughout her entire body. She bit down on her bottom lip, and then asked, almost out of breath, "When did you kiss me?"
And that was when he said, "Now."
Then he kissed her.
His hand was on the back of her neck, he loomed slightly over her, and his other hand went to cup her cheek. He smiled, what Hermione would classify as a devious smile, and then he kissed her cheek. She was almost disappointed, thinking the kiss on the cheek was the most she could expect, but then she realized that he wasn't done, not by a long shot.
He leaned away, stared at her intently, and then kissed the other cheek. She felt liquid heat go from her neck to her lower belly. She had no place to put her hands, so she grasped his lapels. He leaned away again, smiled once more, only this smile was a bit more endearing, then he said, "This is nice isn't it, my Granger."
She thought it was.
He leaned forward again, pressing the warmth of his body close to hers, and the hand that was on the back of her neck pressed onto her lower back, causing her to stand upright away from the bench, and close to his strong, masculine frame.
Then it was time to get serious, apparently, because he pressed his lips to hers, urged hers to open slightly, and he nibbled, licked, and kissed and she was temporarily driven to the point of insanity. The kiss ebbed and flowed, with a passion that Hermione Granger had always assumed was merely fable, but now knew was as real as anything she had ever experienced.
His mouth was rough and demanding. She thought it would be an innocent, sweet kiss, but she was wrong on so many accounts. It was hot, steamy, edgy, and it awoke things in her that she didn't even know were dormant.
Perhaps he felt the same as she, because once he awoke her fire and passion, and she moved her hands from his chest to the back of his neck, and pulled on his hair, and moved her mouth harder against his, he wound one hand in her hair, and let out a moan and he kissed her even harder.
He moved his mouth down her jaw, to her neck, and back up. She felt as if she could no longer stand, but he was doing such a good job of holding her up, that it didn't matter. In reality, it wasn't a long kiss. Hermione looked back on it and realized it took less time than it would take someone to tie their shoes, or eat a biscuit, not that it could be compared to those boring, mundane things.
No, this was the best kiss of her life. Draco Malfoy kissed her.
When he finally moved his mouth from hers, he had a shocked expression on his face, and she knew that her expression matched his. Then he said something surprising. He said, "Don't you dare say that this was wrong. Don't you dare tell me that I'm your boss. Don't you dare regret this, because I don't, and I'm never wrong about these things."
She blinked hard, twice, and shook her rattled head once. Her hands went from his neck back down to his chest. He relaxed his hold as well, but kept his arms around her. She rested her head on his chest, and he did something that she thought was the most tender, sweet thing, a man had ever done to her. He kissed the top of her head. His right hand was rubbing circles on her back, with his fingernails. Then he said, "I think we should get back to the hotel. We have a big day tomorrow."
Without looking up at him, her head still on his chest, feeling his heartbeat, and the rise and fall of his irregular breathing, she asked softly, "What do we have planned for tomorrow?"
"The rest of our date," he said. Then she thought he whispered, "And the rest of our lives," but she was sure that part was in her imagination. He put his hands on her face, forcing her to look at him, and then he leaned forward once more, and kissed her forehead.
They walked back to the hotel in complete and utter quiet, and it was bliss…pure bliss. The tingling she felt during the kiss continued to surface. He would squeeze her hand, smile at her, or brush her cheek. Even when he held the front door of the hotel open for her, and she walked in before him, he placed his hand intimately on her back, and the tingling continued. He walked her to her room, and she turned toward the door to open it, and then turned back. She reached for the rose on his lapel, and said, "This is my memento."
"Fine, I have what I want," he said. She wasn't sure what he meant by that, but she had an idea.
He placed his left hand on her face, rubbed her cheek with his thumb, and said, "Goodnight, my Granger." He leaned forward and kissed her forehead again.
"Goodnight."
She walked inside, danced throughout the room, (literally – she danced for a good ten seconds) and then she got ready for bed.
She slept for six hours.
Then she woke up, and now here she was, reliving the whole thing, and wondering for the briefest of moments if it was a dream, or if it was real.
She knew it was real. She sat up and began to worry, which she was predisposed to do. What would happen today? What would happen tomorrow? And the next day, and the day after that, and when they were back in the real world. Would he want to keep seeing her? Would she have to get another job? Could she get another job? What would her friends say? What would his employees think?
She hated that she was ruining a perfectly nice little afterglow, from a perfectly wonderful evening, by worrying herself to the point of having an ulcer, but that was who she was. She could pronounce to the whole world that she was a different woman, but inside, she would always really be the same.
And even that worried her a bit.
She showered and dressed quickly. She put on a light blue blouse, sleeveless, and a pair of white walking shorts. She got her purse together, and walked to her door. She opened it and found a white rose on the ground in front of her door. She smiled again.
She shook her head back and forth, while bending down to pick up the flower. She thought, 'Draco Malfoy kissed me,' once more and then she looked at the note that was attached to the rose with a piece of ribbon.
"Meet me for breakfast on the veranda. I have a great day planned. I hope you slept well."
She said, "I did," to herself. She broke the rose off at the stem, put the stem on a table in the hallway, and put the rosebud and the note in her purse. She started down the stairs. She walked out to the veranda, searched for Draco, and when she saw him, she wasn't sure if she should join him or not. He was sitting at a table with the older couple whom they had run into at the little souvenir stand last night.
She turned to leave, but he stood up and called for her.
Well, she assumed he was calling for her, but then again, her name wasn't…
"Heather, darling, over here, dear one." Draco stood up and motioned for her to join them. She looked over her shoulder. Heather? He walked up to her, took her hand and said, "Play along." He showed her to a seat and then sat down beside her. "Heather, I'd like you to meet Mr. and Mrs. Johnson, although they insist that we call them Louis and Martha."
"What?" she asked.
Mrs. Johnson said, "Derek here was nice enough to join us for breakfast, although I told Louis that since you were on your honeymoon, he shouldn't have asked. You probably want to be alone, but Derek said that you wouldn't mind joining us, so here we are."
Hermione looked as if someone had switched her brain to 'off', because she had a blank expression on her face. She looked at Draco and said, "Who's Derek?"
Draco laughed and said, "Mind-blowing sex last night, literally has her all befuddled this morning."
"Oh, Derek," the older woman said, slapping his arm.
The older man laughed and said, "I remember those days."
Hermione felt like she was the butt of a practical joke. She knew Muggle television often played such jokes on people, but they were at a magical resort. Still, she looked around for the cameras.
Draco leaned over and said, "Heather, what's wrong, dear one?"
"Who in the world…oh. Heather and Derek. From last night. Our names. Right." She turned to the older couple, flipped her hand in the air and said, "Poof, my mind just went right out the door for a moment. I apologize."
She picked up a menu, to hide her smile, and Martha said, "Your husband already ordered for you."
Just then, a waiter set a plate in front of Hermione. She frowned. Louis said, "Not many young women like coddled eggs and kippers."
"No, they don't," Hermione said, as she openly blanched. She thought that the eggs were staring at her. She in turn, stared at Draco. She kicked him under the table.
"Ouch," he said. The older couple looked at him and he said, "Oh, I burnt my tongue on my tea." Hermione switched plates with him, and took his omelet and bacon. Derek said, "Dear one, I know we've only been married for a day, but I'm not sure how you could forget that I'm allergic to fish." He set the kippers and coddled eggs back in front of her. Then he looked at the other couple and said, "She's always been a bit mentally challenged, that one."
Hermione took a piece of his bacon back.
Louis said, "How did you two meet?"
Draco was stuffing his omelet in his mouth as quickly as he could and said, "Tell them, wife."
"We went to school together," she said, seeing no reason to lie.
"Yes, she was two years ahead of me." Draco smiled at her sweetly.
"I'm five months older than Louis," Martha stated.
Hermione sighed.
Louis said, with a twinkle in his eye, "You married an older woman, old boy, good for you, good show I say. Men die first, you know."
Draco nodded and said, "Right you are, chap, this way we'll die about the same time."
Hermione pointed her fork at Draco and said, "Don't count on that. I have a feeling you'll die much sooner than I."
Draco almost laughed. He slipped his hand under the table and squeezed her knee, and she actually stabbed his hand with her fork, which made him grimace.
Martha asked, "If you went to school together, does that mean you were childhood sweethearts?"
Again, not wanting to lie too much, Hermione said, "We hated each other in school."
"Really?" the woman asked.
Draco was quick to add, "Yes, she was a pureblooded bigot, with a Death Eater father, don't you know, and I was measly little Muggle-born. She used to call me Mudblood all the time. Once she even slapped me in the face." That last part was the only truth in that whole statment.
"Draco!" Hermione shouted, throwing her fork down on the table.
"Quite right, Heather," he said, then he turned to the others and said, "She's reminding me that once in a while she did call me Draco as well. I didn't even know what that meant for the longest time, but I found out later it was Latin for Dragon, which is still her nickname for me to this day." He smiled and then looked down at his plate. Her coddled eggs had replaced the rest of his omelet. He looked back at Hermione, gave her a daring glare and continued his façade. He told the older couple, "Yes, she was rich and pureblood, I was poor and Muggle-born, but here we are."
Louis looked confused and said, "Yesterday you told us she grew up in a hovel."
Hermione laughed at that, leaned toward the older man, and said, "With an outhouse, remember?"
"Yes, I recall you said that, too, dear," Martha said. All three looked at Draco.
He would not be deterred. Lying was his forte, so to speak. It was almost as easy for him to do as breathing. It came to him as easy as being rich and good-looking. It just WAS. He said, "No, alas, I was the one that grew up poor. I'm the one that grew up in the hovel with the outhouse. I'm so proud though. I fought my way to the top, tooth and nail, and every Knut and galleon I've earned I've earned them the hard way, through hard work, sweat, tears, and a bit of luck."
Hermione said under her breath, "Or stole from your daddy's purse."
Draco reached under the table again and grabbed her hand. He brought it to his mouth, kissed it, and said, "She just doesn't like me to spend my money on her, sweet thing. She knows how hard I work. In fact, I work harder than anyone of my employees. They're all a bunch of layabouts, right dear one?"
Hermione felt like throwing up. She said, "Purebloods are usually snobs, who think they're better than everyone else because of the happenstance of their birth, and most of them did turn out to be Death Eaters, but I don't want you to think unkindly of me." She looked at Draco the whole time she said it, though she pretended she was talking to the older couple. She felt like sticking her kippers up his nose.
Draco glared and said, "Now, dear, not all purebloods are snobs, and there were plenty who didn't turn into Death Eaters."
"The ones that didn't were too inbred to care," she said back. She looked at the older couple and said, "No offense, of course."
"You're offending yourself, if anything, young lady," the older man laughed. "We're both half bloods, but your husband's right, we're sure your family isn't bigots and Death Eaters, although I concur with you, most of them really did turn out to be no good in the end. Most of the problems we've had in our world have been caused by them and their prejudices, and most of them rest on the laurels of others, expecting everything to be handed to them, merely because they have history of inbreeding and more money than they need."
Draco didn't like the way this breakfast was heading. He was slowing becoming offended, and it took a lot to offend him.
Hermione looked over at Draco, and noticed that the traces of good humor and fun times were gone. His mouth was set in a firm line, and his jaw clenched tight. She felt badly for the things she said. She could tell that he wanted to either leave, or say something back, but he could hardly do either, since he started the lies in the first place. She decided to intervene. She said, "I'm not offended, but really, you shouldn't generalize an entire group of people, Louis, and then claim that group of people are guilty of the very thing that you yourself are perpetuating. Your view that purebloods are to blame for everything wrong in our world, and that they don't work hard, or don't care, is as prejudiced as when a pureblood blames Muggle-borns for the very same thing."
Draco looked over at her proudly. He was about to leave, with or without his wife, 'Heather', but now that he knew that she was defending him, even if it was unknown to the other two, he decided to stay. He scooted the kippers into his napkin, and handed her the last slice of his bacon. It was the least he could do.
The older woman asked, "What house were you in, in school?"
At the same time, Hermione said, "Slytherin," Draco said, "Gryffindor," and then they looked at each other and laughed.