Chapter 21

"You've been really quiet these days," said Ginny one morning. "Everything okay with you?"

Hermione debated the consequences of ignoring one Ginevra Weasley. She'd gotten pretty good at ignoring half of Hogwarts, adding another person to mix couldn't hurt more than it already did.

She met Ginny's bright, questioning gaze, as she sliced her cinnamon toast into perfect halves.

"Just a bit tired," she answered.

"You don't even need to keep doing it, Hermione. You're smart, and you're a brilliant witch. You've been the voice of reason to those two boneheads for all these years. Surely you can hold your own in the battlefield."

She sighed.

"That's precisely why I have to do it. And I'm not smart, not like the way you guys are. I'll be completely useless without a wand. I'm not about to sit here waiting for the day when it finally comes to that."

"No, it won't. You'll be completely fine. And you know what? That girl really gives me the creeps." She said, nodding towards the Hufflepuffs.

"That girl's name is Ariana, and she's a perfectly nice person with a good head on her shoulders. And she's willing to help me, which is more than what I can say for my own friends."

She immediately launched into the defensive.

"I'm a minimalism convert, Hermione. I'm trying to live with less than two dozen things overwhelming my mind."

She knew that the she was only half-joking, which was why she bit down on her retort which had a lot to do with the redhead's first hellish year at Hogwarts, but very little to do with friendship.

"And what's the deal with that Ravenclaw hottie? Now there's an interesting extracurricular activity."

"He's just a friend."

"Funny. I got the feeling that you wanted him to be more than that."

Did she really?

Well, she honestly hadn't given much thought to it. She wasn't giving much thought to anything these days. Her brain had been functioning in a single lane, quite different from her previous multi-tasking approach. All her concentration, attention and time had been monopolized by a sneaky, blond headed git.

He seemed to appear everywhere at once, and if she didn't know any better, she'd have thought he was following her. So she tried to do everything humanly possible in order to fend him off and get him to stay far off her field of vision. Out of sight, out mind. She took the long way down to the Great Hall and her classes, hid behind filthy, moth-eaten tapestries every time he appeared, organized elaborate time-schedules which would've put her thirteen year old self to shame, and avoided the Heads' Office at all costs.

She finally understood why Slytherins had the whole manipulative thing down pat, and why they had snakes engraved on their stamp heads. And it took Draco Malfoy's ferret-brained scheming to get her to realize this. She had no idea what he wanted or how she was supposed to be responding to this game – it was unlike anything she'd ever played before, but she knew the entire thing was leaning in his favor and she wanted to put an end to it. It was not her. Hermione Granger didn't hide. Hermione Granger certainly didn't get sleepless nights over boys.

Especially that boy.

"When's the Prefect meeting, again?" Ginny asked.

"I'll let you know by owl."

She had taken to assigning someone else for the patrol duties with him, usually a girl, which was probably why he hadn't thrown a fit over changing their schedules yet. Surely they were all having a blast catching younger years snogging in broom closets. Or maybe they were making a use of those sodding closets themselves, getting real friendly with each other while she was ambling alone in the corridors.. doing all the real work by herself.

Here we go again. Why was she still thinking about him?

"He's checking you out."

Her head whipped up so fast, she got a crick in her neck. It was one thing to deal with his games on her own, but completely different to let her friends get a wind of it.

Ginny was staring ahead of her from under her eyelashes.

"Sitting at five o'clock. Dear lord, what would I give to have someone staring at me like that."

"You already have the Chosen One," she mumbled, fighting the blush creeping over her face.

For a few heartbeats she tried really hard not to look, but her curiosity finally got the better of her and she raised her head slightly to look at the Slytherin table.

"Not mine, silly!" she hissed, "Your five o'clock. Honestly, where's your head been lately?"

Feeling sufficiently embarrassed now, she turned her head to glance behind her.

It was Anthony, staring at her over his goblet of pumpkin juice through those piercing blue eyes.

He coloured when she caught him staring. How adorable.

Great. Her inner voice was beginning to sound eerily close to a Slytherin's.

She smiled reflexively at him, waving a small hello. He raised his eyebrows and lifted his goblet up at her in friendly greeting.

Suddenly her attention was drawn to the rim of the goblet in his hand.

It was bubbling over slowly, and the contents were about to spill from the container. Anthony brought it to his mouth without looking at it.

"No, don't!" she exclaimed. "Don't drink it!"

He finally glanced down at his hand, alarmed. Pushing the goblet away on the table, he looked up at her, before pulling out his wand and muttering "Evanesco."

"What in the Merlin's name was that?!" Ginny blurted.

"I think… that he was on the receiving end of a breakfast prank," sighed Hermione.

"Bloody hell. What kind of a prank is that?" Her eyes were wide. "Who would've done it?"

"I have no idea."

She looked up from her plate to stare at the culprit she knew she'd find at the far end of her sight, and surely enough, her eyes connected easily with a pair of amused grey ones.

She didn't look up from her plate for the rest of the breakfast.

Draco reluctantly got up from his very comfortable perch in the armchair to add more logs into the fire. Filthy elves just couldn't do anything right, he grumbled in his mind. Once he'd gotten a big, warm fire burning in the grate, he sighed and moved back to take his seat, settling deeper into the chair.

He supposed he shouldn't be feeling this melancholy, after all. He had no reason to. His plan had taken root and was nearing fruition; every thought Granger had these days was sure to be tainted by his face. Maybe she fancied herself half in love with him already – it wasn't all that far-fetched if you really thought about it.

For starters, she was ignoring him. It was fairly predictable of her to go down the trodden path, but he fully understood where she was coming from. He was long familiar with her ignorance; it was her chosen means of defence when she had no offence to speak of. "Ignore him." "Don't pay any attention to him." "Don't think about him." Wasn't that what she'd always tell her boyfriends to do when they'd wanted to retaliate?

This was different though, as now she was looking to protect herself, going to great lengths at that. But he knew her enough to be convinced that trying to ignore him wasn't giving her any advantage. It was so pathetically Granger of her overlook the fact that the one thing she needed protection from was her own mind. Draco himself couldn't do anything more than sneak idle glances, dabble in sly conversation and engage in healthy bouts of hair-touching. But minds…minds could spin vivid fantasies, imagine unreal situations, and dream impossible outcomes… and minds could definitely romanticize the enemy.

Is that what's happening here?

He shoved that thought back forcefully, biting back an aggravated groan. Yes, he supposed this had something or the other to do with his deflated mood. What did she hope to accomplish anyway? As if ignoring him was supposed to make him go away or somehow reverse the occurrences of the past few days. She was supposed to act on it, do something. Fight it. But no, she was going along with it like some dumb Hufflepuff bimbo, not even questioning it.

He was seated in the Heads' office utterly sure of the privacy it gave him, since Granger had started taking the long way down to her classes with the rest of her housemates, all as a part of her concerted effort to avoid him. The longer he thought about it, the madder he grew. So he had gotten past her defences and started screwing with her head. So what? It was not like he was insulting her or calling her a Mudblood at every chance he got. He'd been fairly decent to her, even nice. He wasn't nice to his own friends.

All she did in exchange was avert her eyes, change her path when she saw him coming, or ignore his presence. And on the off chance that she decided to speak to him, she'd address the wall or his shoulder.

Something unravelled forcibly inside of him.

He dredged himself up from the chair and marched towards her door.

Finding it locked, he tried to unlock it his wand. But she appeared to have taken a leaf out of his book and warded it heavily.

He knocked impatiently on the door.

"Granger, open up."

There was no response. He knocked again.

"Granger!" He held his ear against the wood and tried to hear what she was up to.

There was the sound of a door closing followed by shuffling of footsteps around the room, but they didn't seem to be coming in his direction any soon.

"I know you're in there. Open the door, Granger."

He counted the seconds till she moved to the door, and he whipped back only a millisecond before she finally opened it.

He took her in, slowly enough to compel that blush on her cheeks. She carried the flowery scent of a soap he couldn't really place at that moment. Her hair had the dewy sheen of having been freshly washed and magically dried. He remembered what it felt like twined around his fingertips. He remembered the quiet sounds of her shallow breaths and the errant brush of soft skin on his palms.

"What?"

He ignored her question and pushed his way inside. This obviously threw her off.

"Hey, I don't recall inviting you in!" she cried. "What do you want?"

So, there really was an old Granger hiding in there. He moved further inside her room, tracking his surroundings with hungry eyes.

It felt like ages since he'd last been here but nothing had seemed to have changed. Her room was messy, an organized chaos, just like her own prissy personality. He was somewhat disappointed to find no incriminating underwear lying around, no scandalous novels tucked away. But the very thought of being in Granger's private domain was gratifying enough.

He looked back at her, meeting angry brown eyes.

"Malfoy, I'm asking this for the last time before I kick you arse-first out of the door. What do you want?"

He figured there was no proper way of conveying that by being herself she was giving him exactly what he wanted.

"Relax, Granger. I just want to talk."

"Nice try. Get out."

"Why is that so hard to believe?"

"I make it a point not to believe in anything that comes out of a Slytherin's mouth."

He tutted.

"That's very prejudiced of you."

"You're the one to talk," she scoffed.

"Fair point." He said, making his way to her desk and taking a seat there. Her profile went rigid for a second, and her eyes flicked to the books behind him. "But unnecessary. I have no hidden intentions, I really just want to talk."

She crossed her arms and rolled her eyes, but the telltale blush remained.

Seconds ticked by.

"Well?"

"Stop pretending, damn it."

"Pretending what?"

"You're allegedly smart. You don't have to play dumb."

"No, I'm afraid I've gotten rather dumb off late, Malfoy. Why don't you spell it out for me?"

"Stop pretending that you hate me. The sooner we get that out of the way, the easier it will be. You can't keep ignoring me for the rest of the year."

She went completely still.

"What?"

"You heard me."

"Why do you care?"

He only stared at her. They looked at each other for several long seconds, before she pulled her gaze away and glanced at the wall behind him.

"Oh, please." She finally said.

Her blasé, wooden manner was annoying him more than it usually did. He wanted to do something…just anything to get her out of his skin.

"You don't have to go out of your way to show that you hate me, when we both know that you don't."

"I don't hate you, Malfoy," she said at once, not looking him in the eye. "I don't care about you enough to hate you."

She shrugged.

"I don't know what this is about, but since you asked, let me tell you this once and for all. You are not important. I've spent more time with you this year than I've ever wanted to, it's enough to last me a lifetime. But as I've gotten to know you more over the months, it has become clearer as to how completely irrelevant you are. All I feel for you is pity."

"Pretty words," he said, as he slowly walked towards her.

She tracked his movements with wary eyes, but their slight widening and the movement of her throat gave her away. It took everything he had to not give in to the urge to touch, but dear Merlin, did he want to shake her till her brains rattled.

"Now look me in the eye, and say that again."

Her only response was the imperceptible tightening of her jaw. He chuckled.

"You're so naive. You really think you're all that. When you're lying to a Slytherin, Granger, at least make it seem like you actually know what the fuck you're talking about. And you look like you know squat." She flinched at the harsh wording.

He leaned down to get in her face.

"Your ignorance is telling. Your lies are pathetic. And the real kicker? You still won't look me in the eye."

He watched her closely then, as the war raged inside her mind. To look or not to look. Her Gryffindor side won over eventually. She raised her eyes slowly to meet his.

He felt a jolt which went all the way down to his fingertips. Out of nowhere, he wondered how they'd gotten here, how they'd went from being snarling, seething adversaries to...this.

"Say it." He didn't even know what he was asking for, only that she'd understand. "Tell me what's true."

"Stop doing this all the time," she said quietly.

"I'm not doing a thing. All I want is the truth."

"You don't know even what you're talking about."

"Then explain it to me."

"I owe you no explanation."

"Please."

"Stop it! What's the matter with you? Why can't you leave it alone?"

This conversation had gotten a bit too intense for his liking.

"Hell if I know."

He turned away, feeling pathetic all of a sudden. Really, what did he care whether or not she hated his guts? She certainly wasn't going to open up to him. However defenseless she might appear now, she'd proved impenetrably stubborn at every chance.

But it was then that she did the unthinkable.

Her hand closed around his wrist. The other went to his jaw. He had barely begun to register the look in her eye, before she raised herself on her toes and kissed him squarely on the mouth.

He inhaled sharply at the contact, his mind going into an abrupt freeze, halting every coherent thought. Guardedly, she pressed against his mouth, and her lips began to caress his with a tenderness he'd never have expected of her. Her hands found their way inside his hair.

Any second now she would pull away and act horrified at her actions – any second now. But she didn't, and neither did he. They were drawn to each other like the opposing poles of a magnet, and it was only natural that he started responding to the pull. They pressed against each other, kissing softly, as seconds bled into minutes and minutes began to taunt his patience. One hand fisted inside her hair, another clenched tight at the curve of her waist, and eager fingers bit into her flesh. His tongue had barely grazed her lips when she stilled.

Well, he did the only thing feasible in that moment; he pulled away before she could.

She stared straight ahead, slightly out of breath and unable to meet his gaze. He just stood there trying really hard not to stare at her mouth and wrap his mind around what had just happened.

Confusion and humiliation clouded over her features, and she turned away, hiding her face from him.

It was just too good to leave it the hell alone.

"What the fuck was that?"

Her shoulders hunched over, and she ran a shaking hand through her hair.

"I'm sorry."

"You just – Granger, you just fucked up big time."

"I know," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "Please, go away."

He stood there for a while, resisting her completely rational request and the quiet sounds of her sniffling. The walls appeared to be closing in on him, her scent was still infesting his mind and his throat had turned dry all of a sudden.

Before this got any more awkward than it already was, he bolted.

This was his answer in its most basic form, and he'd gotten it without even breaking a sweat. It was what it had been building up to. He shouldn't be alarmed; it was finally his chance to gloat.

There was a giant clusterfuck of prickly emotions raging through his veins, each stronger than the next. But what he registered was just a single word, having no bearing whatsoever to his predicament:

Jasmine.

A/N: First of all, I'm really sorry for such a late update. Really, I am.

Now I know that it feels like the kiss was rather abrupt, but by no means are they're going to fall head over heels after this. That's going to take some time. Plus, I've always felt that it makes much more sense for Hermione to make the first real move. Draco...well, he's just not cut out for it. ;)