Chapter 14
Hermione was convoluted in her thinking. How the hell would she pull off pretending to be in love with Malfoy? She wasn't good at pretending to do anything. She was by no means an actor and had little experience deceiving someone, least of all a Slytherin who was used to watching for that kind of thing.
She didn't know what she was going to do? How do you pretend to love someone? First of all, she decided, you like being with them. That was going to be a stretch, because she didn't. At least she was supposed to bring it on slowly which gave her a bit of time to get used to the idea. Second, you have to like being with them, which Hermione was not sure she could pull off in a million years.
But what was the alternative, hang around doing this for two years. No, she had to pull herself together, get over her squeamishness and just do it. It was worth it. So she had to act like she liked it when he touched her. Maybe she could get some of the Igneus Potion. No she decided, he would be able to tell and having to use a potion to tolerate someone's touch was not a great indication of love.
She got her chance to practice the next day. It was Sunday afternoon and Malfoy called her over around three in the afternoon. He was dressed and had just returned from lunch with his family. He didn't specify which ones, but his mood was depressed. She still couldn't quite understand why he wanted to spend time with her. Obviously spending time with someone who loathes him makes him feel better or improves his disposition in some way.
"Are you hungry?" He asked and she shook her head.
"It feels like spring." He said and he was right. It was the first real sunny day that indicated that winter was coming to an end. Hermione kind of liked winter, it suited her disposition and her predicament.
Hermione tried to smile, but it came out more like a grimace. Trying out her acting skills. Not too much, she chided herself, bring it on slowly. So she dropped her grimace to aim for a more neutral face. This was so frustrating, she thought with a sting of annoyance.
"What is the matter with you?" He asked. He had obviously been watching her face.
"Nothing." She said, "Just thinking of something."
"Always thinking." He said and pulled her close. "You really need to stop or you will do yourself an injury."
"That sounds so patronising." She said. She wanted to push him away, but restrained the urge.
"You think so?" He said teasingly. "How about, don't worry your pretty little head about it. Let me take care of the thinking, you do what you should and look pretty."
He was teasing her, but underneath it rang true. She was supposed to be pretty in her position, accommodating and welcoming. She was neither, so what was he doing with her when there were so many others prettier than her, nicer than her, more welcoming. Worse was that he made them sound like a team, like he would take care of her. And that was a lie.
"And if I don't?" She asked.
"You will worry yourself into an early grave. That constant scowl on your face will give you wrinkles." He continued still in a light manner.
Wrinkles on a girl like her was not a good thing, was the implication. Girls like her were only viable as long as they were desirable. She hated him for being so blasé about her position. But that isn't what this was about, it was about distracting him from his position, not about hers. What fun would that be? Her position was awful. The jewellery, the money and the taking care of her current needs were all for the privilege of not caring for her position when he was done with her.
"Can't have that." She said and tried another smile. He noticed it, but didn't say anything. She decided that maybe she should try chatting as a first step to her supposed love.
"Would you like a drink?" She asked. "I can pour you one. I am assuming since its Sunday, you don't need to be anywhere particularly demanding this evening."
"Only what you demand." He said slyly.
Which was a bit of a joke as she did not demand anything of him. Not yet anyway, she said to herself with a little smile. Things were going to change for him.
Hermione went to pour him a drink. The sun was streaming into windows, seeming to shock the room's gloomy contents.
"I don't want a drink." He said in the low tone that told her he was thinking about her, about her anatomy more like. "Come here."
Ok, time for some acting. She gave him a tiny playfully chiding look, which got a small pleased look of surprise from him.
"What to do on a lazy afternoon like this?" He said in a quiet deep voice that seemed to play with each of the words. He was in the mood to play. "With all the time in the world."
He stepped towards her and Hermione's heart was beating quickly, not so much for the sickening resignation, but more from the fact that the game was on. The pretence was on and she didn't know if she could pull it off.
"I think I am going to have to fuck you slowly." He said with a look that wanted to pin her to the wall.
Last time, it hadn't been so much like sickening resignation, Hermione recalled. She had been fighting to not getting turned on after spending time with Marcus letting it all flow. Maybe that is what she needed, to let it flow. Her body ached for it. But its him, she hated him. Hated what he had done to her. Made her dependent, made her have to accept him, well accept his touch, she never accepted him.
Maybe she could just forget the fact that it was him, just some nameless, faceless male. Maybe pretend it was Dean. Let it flow. She closed her eyes and tried to breath out the tension.
I can't do this, her brain screamed. She felt him and the kiss at the same time. So easy with Marcus, but impossible with him. Her body reacted, but her brain still wouldn't give up its objection.
The kiss was slow and deep. He had never kissed her so before. Teasing, playful, soft. Even her brain had to admit that the kiss was rather spectacular. She had never considered that he was capable of being a good kisser. How could someone so selfish be a good kisser?
Focus on the kiss, she told herself, ignore the man behind it. A few more second of the treatment and she was completely lost in the kiss.
When it finally broke apart, she made a surprise, "Oh."
Her look pleased him. He pulled her in again, but the kiss was a little more urgent this time, but still ... Again it seemed to wipe her mind of all thought. When it broke again and she came to she realised that she had melted into it, into him, which would have been embarrassing if it wasn't for the fact that this was working towards her plan.
She couldn't believe he had done it, found a way in past her defences and her brain's disregard for him. Those kisses where the key, she realised. She supposed he had probably had more practice at kissing in school than anyone and now he was pulling out all the stops on her. And she was going to let it flow.
Her mind was screaming at her that this was an atrocious idea, but she had to. It was the light at the end of the tunnel. This was the way forward, the way to fulfil the plan. If his kisses melted her, he would believe. On top of the melting kisses, maybe her awful acting would have some chance.
He was tugging her hand. Hermione wasn't sure what it meant, but it didn't take her long to click that he was leading her upstairs.
No, her mind was yelling inside her brain. She had just done her bit for her plan, but his plan was still unfulfilled. Hermione didn't want to sleep with him. The sickening resignation was back, although her body seemed perfectly willing to take the leeway it had gotten with the kiss and push forwards.
Draco wasn't stupid, he knew exactly what he had achieve with the kisses, so once they reached their destination, he wasted no time in dealing to her brain and its objections.
He had her on her back with her dress buttons undone before a chiming noise broke through her trance.
Draco collapsed on top of her with a groan. The dead weight of his body was pressing down on her and restricting her breathing.
"Of all the times." He whined.
"What..?" Hermione started. "What is that?" Suddenly aware that she had kind of lost herself and was feeling very self conscious about it now.
"Its the hunt." He said. "There is a hunt on."
"The hunt?" Hermione said before realisation hit. A muggleborn was on the run and there was a call for the hunt. And Draco was one of the hunting party.
Nausea and humiliation washed over her. Not that she had ever expected that he wouldn't be, she hadn't even thought about it. And she had just been indulging in a bit of ... She was so disgusted with herself she didn't know what to do with herself.
"I have to go." He said and got off her. Hermione pushed herself back to the head board and pulled her knees up to her chin.
She sat there and watched him as he went to his wardrobe and started to change. His muscles were straining under the pale skin as he put on the clothes. The clothes reminded her a little of Quidditch robes. He was dressing for sport, she realised with another wave of nausea.
As he pulled on the leather boots that came up just below his knees, she wondered if he would go through the same meticulous routine of dressing if she ran. What would he do to her if she was the focus of the hunt?
"I have to go." He said coldly as he stopped in front of the bed. "I might be some time. Usually not too long, but you never know."
He looked like he wanted to say something else, but just ended up standing there for what must have been a minute, before he turned and walked out.
Hermione wanted to cry as the silence confronted her. She desperately tried to button up her dress with fingers that weren't really fit for such detailed movement at the moment. She got of the bed as if it was burning her. The enemy's bed.