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Chapter 5: Listening – (as listened by Draco Malfoy)

I DON'T HAVE MANY ADMIRABLE TRAITS. I'm selfish and egotistical. I'm spoiled and self-centered and rotten to the very core. I'm vain, conceited, and I truly believe in my little black heart that the world revolves around me. I'm good looking, intelligent, and have a rapier wit. One other thing that I am is a very good listener.

I listen and observe. It's something that my old man taught me. "Listen, Son, even when others think that you're not paying them any mind, be sure to listen and observe," he used to say.

I've always had the ability to observe things though others assume I'm in my own realm. I appear aloof or unaware, when in actuality, I'm taking everything around me into account.

Such was the scene that played out after the staff meeting on Monday morning. Granger finally decided to appear back to work. She looked worse for wear. She was haggard, drawn, gaunt, and frankly, sad looking. It drawled on something deep inside me – an emotion long dormant or perhaps never used. I believe the emotion might be called sympathy. Yes, I felt sorry for her. I wanted to pull her into my arms and tell her it would be okay. I wanted to sooth away her sorrows, unruffled her feathers, chase away her demons, and fight all her foes.

However, this was Hermione Granger. And I was Draco Malfoy. Therefore, such things couldn't happen, at least not yet. Instead, I watched her, and I listened and observed.

The first thing I observed was that she sat next to me again. Not in front of me, as usual, but next to me, as she did last time. She offered me a small smile. I leaned over and said, "Bloody well time you came back to work. I had to take over your case load."

She smiled again and nodded. What? She should give me a good tongue lashing for being such a prick. (Ah…the mental image I conjured with that double entendre was shocking even to me.) Seriously though, when I spoke to her that way, she would usually have a handy barb to offer me, but instead she smiled and nodded. Then she pulled off her glasses and placed them on the desk in front of her.

I took them from her again and stuffed them in my pocket. The meeting was a quick one, thankfully. Afterwards, 'Wanker Supreme', also known as Marcus Flint, our supervisor and all around arsehole, asked Granger to say behind. She walked up to the front of the meeting room, where he stood in all his feigned glory at a podium of all things.

I pretended to straighten my notes so that I could lag behind unnoticed. After my papers were straightened, I dropped my pen. I tied my shoe. In other words, I stalled for time, while I listened and observed.

"How are you doing?" Marcus asked her.

"Fine, Marcus, I'm fine," she said, obviously agitated.

He leaned closer to her and said, "You had me worried."

"Really?" she offered, somewhat off handed. "That's odd."

"Hermione, please, don't be that way," he said. His voice lowered, but I could still hear him. I bent down at the waist to tie my other shoe. "It's not that I don't care for you, because I do. I would be a fool not to care. Any man would be a fool not to want you, Hermione. I'm doing this for you, and someday you'll thank me. Please, try to understand."

She backed away and her voice rose slightly. "Understand? What is there to understand? You couldn't make me understand something so insane! I told you I loved you and you told me you loved me, so I don't see what there is to understand. I'm confused. Usually when people love each other they show it with intimacy, but yet, you don't want me that way. What is there for me to understand?"

At that moment I really wanted to sink into the floor. What had I just heard? I popped my head up and both Granger and Flint looked over at me, shocked that I was still in the room. Hell, I was a bit stunned, too.

"Why are you still here, Malfoy?" Flint asked.

"I was tying my shoes," I said. Not a lie, so there.

"Get out," he ordered.

"Fuck you," I said back. Okay, I only said that in my mind. He was my boss, after all. I stood up and said, "Fine, I'm leaving."

I got as far as the door when Hermione called out my name. "Draco?"

I turned around.

"Please don't tell anyone what you just heard," she requested.

Now, here was the thing. I'm a good listener, right? But I'm even a better talker. I love to tell people everything that I hear. I'm a gossip. So what? I find enjoyment spreading tittle-tattle, even lies sometimes. It makes me somewhat happy. And this was a nice, juicy little piece of gossip and she just asked me not to tell anyone.

I looked into her big brown eyes and for once in my miserable existence I said, "I promise I won't say a thing."

"Will you wait for me?" she asked. "I'll walk back with you." I watched as she walked up to the podium. She whispered something else to Marcus. Of course I tried to hear, but she spoke too softly. Marcus nodded, cupped her cheek, and smiled at her. Then he leaned over and kissed her other cheek. It made me blanch.

She walked slowly toward the door, head down. When she reached the doorway she looked up at me and said, "I'm ready to go."

We walked for a while down the long corridors of the Ministry, toward the lifts to go back to our floor. She asked, "Do you want to take the stairs?"

Did I want to take the stairs? Did I want to prolong my time alone with her? "Sure, why not. I could use the exercise," I lied. I was in perfect health.

I pushed the stairwell door open and she walked in before me. I slithered in after and without permission my hand went to her arm and I slipped her heavy bag off her shoulder and hoisted it onto my own. We started walking up the stairs, side by side. I had to go slower than usual, to match her gait. When we reached the first landing she turned to me.

"I was dating Marcus, did you know?"

"I didn't know until now." I leaned against the wall with my shoulder. I dropped her bag and crossed my arms. "You could do so much better."

"Apparently," she said with a slight laugh.

"Did the bugger break up with you?" I asked. I couldn't believe such drivel.

She leaned on the wall with her shoulder. We stood face to face, except she was looking at my chest, not my face. In an act of lunacy (daring?) I reached for her chin and pointed her face toward mine so that our gazes locked. "He did. He broke up with me. He loved me, or said he did, but he doesn't want the same things I want. He's a good man, and he was being honest with me, but it still hurts."

"Of course it does," I said. My hand left her chin reluctantly. I let it drift to her shoulder. I kept it there. I started to massage her shoulder slightly. Mostly just my thumb moved. The hand that was next to the wall moved to seek out her hand against the wall. I clasped that hand in mine, while my other hand remained on her shoulder, my thumb still moving back and forth.

She looked so weary. I wanted to absorb some of that weariness. She must have sensed that because before I knew what was happening, her head dropped, she closed the gap between us, and her cheek was on my chest. She started to cry. Her arms went around my waist. I left my arms hanging for a moment. I didn't know what to do.

Finally, my arms went around her, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to do. I patted her back. I tried my best to comfort her. I said little words and phrases that I can't even repeat because they sounded so foreign the first time I said them to her, that I don't even think I could say them again.

I found one hand stroking her hair. I asked, "What things did you want that he didn't?" Sex was apparently one of them, as I knew from my little eavesdropping expedition after the staff meeting. Was the man mad? Was he a nutter? Was he gay? Who wouldn't want this woman?

She sniffled and looked up at me. Gads, her breasts were pressed against my chest. Her mouth was glistening wet and swollen from crying. I wanted to kiss her. I wanted to lick the tears off her cheeks. I wanted her so badly. She said, "I wanted marriage, children, everything most woman want, but sometimes won't admit. I want my career, too."

"He didn't want to marry you?" I asked with a frown. I still didn't quite understand. Where did the sex part play in? I held her tightly still. Her hands were now on my chest. She was leaning back against the embrace of my arms.

"He didn't want marriage, or children. He didn't even want to…" she faltered.

"Go on," I urged. In my mind I finished the sentence for her. In my mind I said, 'He didn't want to have sex with me because he's a eunuch.'

When she finally finished the sentence on her own, I questioned my world renown listening ability, because I was certain that I heard wrong. Because she said, "He said he didn't want to take my virginity if he had no intentions of marrying me."

HER WHAT?

I know I stared blankly at her for a good solid ten seconds. Even worse, Harry Potter, the git of the century, took that moment to eavesdrop on his own. He stood on the stairs above us. He also heard her admission. I looked up at him and he looked as shocked as me. Of course, some of his shock might have been because I was holding his best friend in an intimate embrace.

I saw Potter slink off, like the brave little Gryffindor that he was…not. I looked back at Hermione. She didn't see him. Her head was on my chest and she was crying new tears. This was a new and strange development. She was twenty-six years old. How in the hell was someone like her, at her age, still a virgin?

I decided right then and there that I was going to do something about ALL of her problems. I reached for her face with both hands, and dried her tears with my thumbs. I looked down at her with a grin and said, "He's a bloody fool. You're the sweetest, smartest, bravest, prettiest woman I've ever known, and if he didn't appreciate what was in front of him, then as I said, he's a fool."

She tried to smile, she really did. I realized at that moment that I was going to kiss her. Call it a prelude of things to come, if you will. My hands were still on her cheeks and something kindled inside me. A flame, a spark, something intense and I couldn't stop it. The mere feel of her skin on my skin made me want my lips on her lips.

She was all light and goodness and more than I could imagine. Her chest pressing against mine made it impossible to distinguish her heartbeat from my heartbeat. I lifted one finger to her lips, and touched it lightly, when she said, "Draco, are you going to kiss me?"

I heard her question. I'm a wonderful listener. I couldn't remember the last time I heard something so deafening and joyous in my brain. The sound of her words clanged loudly, wistfully, making me wish that I was something more than I was...something good instead of bad.

My lips went to hers. She tasted like her salty tears at first. I didn't care. I loved the taste of her, and the smell of her. She clenched the front of my shirt as my arms went tighter around her. I drew her against me as my tongue brushed the outer rim of her bottom lip. She opened her mouth slightly and my tongue swiped at the inside contour of her upper lip as well.

As stated, I was so many things. One that I omitted earlier was this: I was a fabulous kisser. Everyone told me so. And I enjoyed kissing. Sometimes I enjoyed it as much as having sex. But still, this was different. I wasn't enjoying this. I was enraptured by this. This was different. Everything was different: the friction of our tongues rubbing against each other, her soft moans, her hands coming around to the back of my neck, my hands coming to her face.

It was gentle, soft, kind, sweet, and full of desire, and unfortunately, it only lasted less than a minute. I didn't let it get too far. I didn't get carried away. Because, as I said, this was different. I knew it was, and I wouldn't spoil things.

I pulled my head from hers. I listened to the ragged sound of her breathing. I compared it to the sound of mine. I listened for her heartbeat. I listened for an apology from her, or regret, or a reprimand.

None of those things came.

Instead, she cupped one of my cheeks and rose up on tiptoes to kiss the opposite cheek, just as Flint had done to her earlier. Without another word she bent at the waist and grabbed her bag and scampered up the stairs quickly with only one backward glance. Then she looked back at me and smiled.

She smiled. I didn't need ears to listen for that. I only had to see.