All characters belong to JK Rowling

Chapter 7: Nonchalant – as portrayed (badly) by Draco Malfoy

ONCE UPON A TIME, AT A SCHOOL, far, far away, I spied 'Her' as she sat alone at a long table in a library. She was in her natural habitat, with books, pieces of parchments, and quills all around her. She had a smudge of ink on her cheek and some on her fingers. She was oblivious to all those around her, immersed in her work as she was. Her wanker best friends were nowhere to be seen, so I decided to have some fun.

I walked by her table, nonchalantly, acting as if I was about to get a rather large tome down from a shelf. I gave another Slytherin a nod of my head and a smirk of acknowledgment. I picked up my 'fake' procurement, (I didn't really need to read a book on dragons of the low lying lochs of Scotland) and I sashayed by her table. I purposely knocked my hip against a chair on the opposite side of her, causing everything on her table to move slightly. She looked up, smiled, and then quickly frowned when she noticed it was me.

I frowned back at her, said, "Watch it Mudblood. Your table ran right into me." And then I sat at the table directly in front of her.

She opened her mouth to respond. No doubt to give me one of her clever barbs, or a glib response back. I expected something razor sharp and full of scorn and hate. It was what I craved back then. I wanted her attention, anyway I could get it. But instead of being rude in return to me, she sighed and said, "I'm sorry that my table bumped into your hip, Malfoy." She didn't say it sarcastically. She said it as if she was acquiescent and resigned.

I didn't like that. It wasn't a 'Hermione Granger' response, and I was worthy of the best she could give me, and all she gave me that day was a feeble, half-arsed apology.

I worked hard to act nonchalant in those days. The least she could have done was to rise to my bait and act harried and harassed and throw a cutting remark or two my way. But that one time, back when we were in school, she sighed and let it go.

She did the same thing today, and I didn't like it anymore today than I did when we were kids.

She seemed distracted all day. I decided to feign distraction as well. We kissed two days ago and so far she hadn't mentioned it, and in fact, she rather seemed as if she wanted to act as if it hadn't happened at all. She was acting rather, dare I think it, NONCHALANT about the whole effing episode. It was a bloody fantastic kiss, though I know I could do better if she would give me half a chance, still she acted as if it never occurred.

The day after 'it' happened she didn't even have the manners to come into work. I went to Marcus, complained that she was missing too much work lately, and he told me – get this – that I should mind my own business. I don't mind telling you that I felt like telling the bastard that she was my business, always had been, and always would be. When I asked Saint Potter where she was he had the gall to glare at me and instead of answering he gave me a rude hand gesture and walked away.

Then today she walked into the office we shared with two others, said hello to no one in particular, and since then she'd been sitting at her desk, working, acting all distracted and ambivalent and I don't like it at all.

I wanted to scream, "ACKNOWLEDGE ME, DAMN YOU!" but that would have been slightly rude, and a bit bent. Also, it would do nothing to nurture the 'nonchalant' exterior that I'd been cultivating since age twelve.

Therefore, when our two co-workers finally had the grace to scamper off to lunch I decided to catch her attention. I stood up, walked toward her, with a large file in my hand, and I bumped into her desk, soundly, actually hurting my hip.

She looked up, frowned, and then smiled. I smiled in return. "Your desk jumped right out and hit my hip, Granger," I teased, nonchalantly.

"Right, well, sorry 'bout that, Malfoy," she said, reminiscent of her apology that day at school so long ago. Her smile faded and she looked back down at her desk. She picked up a Muggle pen and casually, dispassionately, almost indifferently, went right back to her work.

No bloody way. She wasn't acting nonchalant so much as she was blatantly ignoring my arse and I wasn't going to stand for it one second longer! I stood in front of her desk, my hands on my hips, and waited. She was smart. I knew she'd notice me in a minute or two. Sure enough she looked up in no time. "Was there something you needed, Draco?"

My anger was about to boil over, but seemingly without a care in the world, I said, "No, no, not really." I started back to my desk, when I forced a laugh to bubble up from my chest. It sounded like I was gargling or something. Feeling slightly embarrassed, but deciding that it was too late to turn back now, I continued my charade and said, "It's only, well, remember two days ago, when we kissed? Good times, good times indeed." God, I was so pathetic. I was the farthest from being nonchalant that I had ever been.

The only thing that saved me from committing 'Hermionicide' (Definition: Death by embarrassment after having said awkward things to Hermione) was the fact that she didn't seem to hear me. She was THAT distracted.

She looked confused and said, "I'm sorry, what did you say? I didn't hear you, Draco. I apologize. Could you repeat what you said?"

No bloody way, I thought. "How rude," I said as a cover.

She looked a bit taken aback. She stood up and apologetically she said, "I'm sorry, it's just that I'm a bit distracted today. Please, repeat what you said."

Ah…so she was distracted, not acting nonchalant. I thought I could tell the difference. "Why are you distracted?"

She gave me a guarded look, looked at the closed door of our office and then asked, "Do you really want to know?"

"Didn't I really ask the question?" I asked back, mockingly. Seriously, I was dying to know.

"Lock the door," she urged.

Acting as casual as I could, I walked over to the door and locked it, almost leisurely, though in my mind I was skipping over there like a little girl as quickly as my little girl feet would take me! Perhaps she was distracted because she was still thinking about our amazing kiss and she wanted to lock the door so we could repeat it!

I sashayed back over to her desk, sat on the top, my hip by her arm, looked down at her pretty little face, stared for a moment at my favorite freckle (the one on her chin, don't you know) and said, "Now, it's just us. Tell me, why are you so distracted, Granger?" I reached over and pushed a long curl off her shoulder, leaving my hand on her back for a moment. My fingers tingled from where they touched her, and I hadn't even touched skin on skin. I was so pathetic. At least I was alarmingly handsome.

I waited for her to answer. She seemed to mull things over in her head for a moment. Finally, she asked, "I don't know what to make of something. I'm confused."

"About?" I motioned with my hand for her to continue. If she was confused about kissing, I was her man. If she was confused about sexual positions, being the little virgin that she claimed to be, I was still her man, or I would be with no prodding at all, (well…maybe some 'prodding', wink-wink, nudge-nudge.)

She looked down. She wringed her hands together and made a moaning sound. I was a bit peeved and slightly concerned. I slipped my hand on her cheek, urged her face to look up at mine and said, "Spill it, princess. Does this have to do with our kiss?" Holy Hades, was she regretting it? Something, call it intuition, told me she was regretting it. I wish I hadn't bothered locking the door now.

She shrugged with one shoulder and said, "It sort of has something to do with our kiss, indirectly."

I felt like groaning, but hell, I was the king of nonchalance, so I had to act as if I didn't have a care in the world. I stood up, went back to the door, unlocked it, and said, "Don't let it worry you, Granger. It didn't mean a thing to me, so there's no reason for you to worry your bushy little head over it." There. I refused to let her give me a set down. If anyone was going to be set down, it would be her by me, thank you very much.

I went back over and sat in my chair, placed my polished, black boots on the edge of my desk, put my hands behind my head, and raised one eyebrow. I gave her a glare that stated: "I'M STILL THE KING NONCHALANCE!"

She looked hurt beyond description. She looked as if I had called her the "M" word or something. She looked as if I had killed her best friend. (A man can dream.) She looked the same as she had looked most of our lives when I had said mean and cruel things to her. She looked…she looked…oh, God, she looked the way she looked the other day when Marcus was an arse to her. I hated myself sometimes.

She stood up, nodded twice, and said, "I see, well, that makes things I bit easier perhaps for me. I was feeling confused, and a bit conflicted, because I was having feelings for you, but now that I know they aren't reciprocated, and that what I considered a really nice, wonderful kiss wasn't anything at all to you, then at least…at least…oh, hell." She sat back at her desk. All pretenses gone. Nonchalance never was her forte. Poor little Granger. She was in over her head. She was a nice person.

And I was a bastard who was mean to a nice person.

I watched her for a moment as she placed her little brunette head on the top of her desk, on her arms. She sighed, loud and long. I went back over to the door and locked it again with my wand. No one was getting in here until I said they could.

Then I went back to her desk and stood behind her. I placed my right hand on her right shoulder. I placed my left hand on her left one. I leaned down, close to her. Her hair tickled my nose. I smelled her scent. It was everything fresh and clean and right in the world. It was what I wanted and needed and craved. I said, "I'm a right bastard, Granger. I was trying to act all nonchalant, because I thought you were about to tell me that our kiss meant nothing to you. I'm sorry. I lied. You know how much I love lying. I love it almost as much as I love mirrors and money."

She looked over her shoulder and smiled at me. I winked at her, gave her shoulders a squeeze, and sat back on her desk beside her arm, just as I did before. "Let's start anew. I locked the door. You're confused. I'm listening."

She turned in her chair and looked up at me, her bottom lip in her teeth. Oh to be that bottom lip. To be those teeth. Whatever. I was a being a bit lascivious because I wanted to kiss her again. Finally, she said, "What if you started to see someone differently than you normally saw them. I mean, what if someone started to see you different. I mean…"

To silence her ramblings, I placed a single finger on her lips. "What are you trying to say? Are you trying to tell me that you see me differently than you used to, because that's a good thing. I would hate to think that you would kiss me feeling for me the way you used to…you know, full of hate and loathing and all." I smiled.

"I never hated you," she protested. I gave her a 'yeah right' look and she laughed and said, "I only strongly disliked you before."

"Hate," I leveled. "Say it with me. Hate."

"I didn't, and I'm not talking about you and me," she continued, "since I haven't hated you in eons."

"Good," I smiled. I brushed the back of my knuckles down her arm. Then I realized that I didn't know what she was trying to say to me. "What are we talking about, Granger. Help a bloke out here. You don't regret kissing me. I don't regret kissing you. You no longer hate me. I find myself tolerating you more than I should. So, why the question? Is it rhetorical? Are you asking for a reason that I kissed you?"

She let out a little moan. I felt my erection tighten behind my zipper at that moan. I imagined making her moan while she was underneath me, on top of me, beside me, around me, outside me. I know my eyes glassed over for a moment. I reached for her again and forced her to stand between my legs. I scooted back on the desk so that no part of her body was touching my legs, and I placed my hands lightly on her arms.

And I waited.

"Why did you kiss me?" she asked.

"I thought this had nothing to do with us," I replied.

"It didn't at first, but I find that I need to know now. Please, why?"

Should I tell her or not? This woman had the capacity to break my sodding heart right down the bloomin' middle and she would probably walk away unscathed, and while I could feign indifference, the mere thought of her stomping all over my heart and feelings caused me to tremble a bit in my boots. I felt like a scared little boy again. She held all the power. I liked having the power. I didn't usually give that right to someone else.

Still, I decided to be honest. Nonchalance was never really my true friend, anyway. It was more of an acquaintance that I could do without. I responded, "I kissed you because you needed kissed. I kissed you because I wanted to kiss you. Hell, Granger, I kissed you because I've dreamt of kissing you so many times that it's pitiful."

She let out another little moan. That answer seemed to distress her. She actually leaned against me, her head ducked down so that her forehead touched my shoulder. Her arms slipped around my waist. Now I was confused. Was she giving me the brush off or not? Not to be out on the proverbial limb by my little lonesome, I finally asked, "Tell me why you kissed me? Was it because I was convenient? Was it to get back at Marcus? Are you having regrets, Hermione?"

She looked up at me suddenly. "You just called me Hermione."

"It's your name," I answered.

"You're making this difficult," she answered cryptically.

Her head went back to my chest. I hugged her tighter. I felt strange. I felt protective of her. I felt possessive of her. I wanted to ease her discomfort, even if it was at the cost of my vanity and reputation. With a muffled reply, she answered my question. "I kissed you because I wanted to kiss you. I kissed you because I've always wanted to kiss you. Gee, Malfoy, I guess I kissed you because I've dreamt of kissing you so many times that it's shameful."

Her response almost mirrored mine. I felt my heart leap with a small feeling of joy, which she promptly squashed into literal pain when she said, "And that's the same reason why I kissed Harry the other day."

I pushed her away from me. I felt shocked. I felt angry. I even felt a bit disgusted, and dare I think it, dirty. After that I felt ashamed, because I felt that last emotion.

"You kissed Potter?" I jumped from her desk and began to pace around the room. "Why, I mean, seriously, why? Are you ill? WHY?" I let out a strangled noise and threw my hands up in disgust. "Please, tell me, did you kiss him before you kissed me, or after?"

"Why does that matter?" she asked, apparently perturbed.

"I want to know if I'm going to get 'boy wonder germs'!" I shouted.

"He asked almost the same damn thing about you and pureblood germs, or whatever!" she bellowed.

I decided to ignore her outburst and I asked, "How low can you sink to kiss Potter? He's your best friend, supposedly. That's like kissing your brother. That's like kissing your...your...your best friend or something! It's mean, yuck! It's so, so, disgusting! It's Potter!"

I headed toward the door. I unlocked it with my wand, turned back to her, and said, "Are you sure you're a virgin? It sounds more like you're a slag! Seriously, I need to know how desperate are you to kiss the king of the prats, Saint Potter?"

The Hermione Granger I knew from childhood returned, full of spit and vinegar, with a biting remark at her fingertips. She put on her best look of indignation, stood toe-to-toe with me, and said, "I don't know how to answer that, but why don't you answer me this. How desperate were you, Malfoy, to kiss the queen of the Mudbloods?"

She crossed her arms, jutted her chin out as far as it would go, and still standing toe-to-toe, waited for my response.

All sorts of things went through my brain. I had all kinds of evil things to say in return. I had stinging comments, mean responses, nasty remarks, all floating around my brain, but I didn't say a single one. It wasn't because I decided to put back my 'nonchalant' face. It was because for the very first time in my pitiful life I didn't want to respond.

I grabbed her, pulled her into my arms, and held her tight. I wasn't sure I could have let go if she had hexed me. She stood ridged and firm at first. Finally, she began to relax, and I let my hold relax slightly. I stroked her hair. I said, "It will be alright. We'll figure out what to do."

Lucky me, I picked the right thing to say. She began to cry. She clutched my shirt, her hands on my arms, and she said, "I really am confused. I didn't know he liked me like that. He says he loves me. I just don't know what to do. It's Harry. I couldn't hurt Harry anymore than I could cut off my own arm." She looked up at me. I brushed a tear from her cheek with the tip of one finger. She repeated, "Its Harry, and Draco, I love him, too, but I feel so confused. I don't know how I love him, and the thing is, I feel things for you, as well. Is something wrong with me?"

"No, not you, never you," I stated. I, on the other hand, had rotten timing. I had a feeling Potter did as well. If I had been more judicious, and hadn't kissed Granger in the stairwell for everyone and Potter to see, I had a feeling that Potter wouldn't have made his feelings known to Granger. Yep, Potter and I both had rotten timing.

Granger on the other hand, was akin to perfect. So, as casually as I could, I said, "Let's go to lunch, Granger. We don't need to talk about it anymore today. Let's just brush it under the rug for right now, alright?" Inside I was shaking. I was a bundle of nerves and raw energy. I wanted to settle everything immediately. I wanted to call Potter out, dual him, as barbaric as that sounded, take Granger away, and make her mine forever.

But she needed me right now. She needed me to act nonchalantly. I could do that for her. I would. I could. Because I loved her that much. I wondered how much Potter loved her.