Chapter 22

The castle was drafty in the morning as Hermione made her way to the grounds. The weather was grey and unfriendly, but she welcomed it all as an apt reminder of the state of her life. She passed the entrance to the dungeons, and her head did an interesting little movement at this point as it tried to simultaneously tilt towards and away from it. Oh well, another proof to the fact that her body was no longer in her voluntary control.

So, she had played the whole embarrassing episode to death in her mind, dissected the words, analyzed the little nuances in his expressions, and pondered over the possible repercussions. She had done it all, several times, waking and dreaming, done it in cycles and shifts. She had hoped that replaying it over and over again will saturate her to the point that she no longer felt that tingle of that little something travelling down her spine. Not that she had had succeeded, but one could always hope. The only thing that she had yet to do was confront him in the aftermath.

It was eight days since the incident, and during this period she had drawn out several bitter truths from the situation. She was attracted to Draco Malfoy. She had never been more attracted to a person in her entire life. She had been the one to initiate the kiss, and he had been the one to end it. Regardless, they'd both participated. She did not want to do it again; in fact it would be far more comforting to her mind if she never saw him in her whole life. And even if he'd blatantly rejected her, she was not drowning in her own tears. Far from it.

Maybe someday far into the future, she'd reminisce about the day when she impulsively decided to snog the most unpleasant boy in her Hogwarts school career and smile at the memory. Maybe she'd tell her friends about it. Or maybe…just maybe she'd simply forget about it. If she was being completely honest, obliviate had been the first word to cross her mind in the second that he had left her room. But she would live with it, she'd have to.

On the brighter side though, this was virtually the end of the petty game which had gotten so far off the track that it had lost its meaning. She did not want to end up as his conquest, and she certainly did not want him to the go down that particular path and try to turn her into one. It was the end of their extra-extracurricular activities and that was that.

All she had to make sure of was the fact that he was on the same page as she was, and even if he wasn't, she did not have to consciously associate with him in that manner.

The memory of his fingers pressing into her sides seared a hole through her mind, and thus she had to do it all over again. It was just as well that every time she did so, she ended up feeling very warm all over, and so the draftiness of the castle slowly began to fade from her consciousness.

"You're still treating it like a wand. The broomstick is not an extention of you, it's merely an instrument. You have to command it, not channel it," said Ariana in her emotionless voice.

She got what she was saying, but this damn thing just won't listen.

"Alright, let's try it again."

"Up."

The broom jumped into her hand. This part was usually easy. She mounted it, and kicked her right foot. The wood began to hum and vibrate under her touch. This part was also easy.

"Now," began Ariana, "think 'forwards' loud and clear in your mind. Think it loudly enough for it to pick it up. And keep both your legs level with each other. Your misbalance will reflect on the broomstick."

Right.

It was a good thing she spoke in such a flat voice otherwise Hermione would've felt like blushing. There was no judgement in her stance, no preconceived notions about her skill, or lack of it. But Hermione was well aware of the fact that this was something that children much younger than her were able to grasp with no significant hiccups.

'FORWARDS'

Miraculously, her broom charged forwards and she let out an amazed laugh.

'UPWARDS,' and up she went.

Unfortunately, she ended up flaying both her legs outwards in a childlike manner from the sheer happiness of it that suddenly her broom tilted backwards, and as a result she slipped onto the far end, literally hanging on to it for dear life.

"Straighten your legs, pull them back and cross your ankles below the shaft! Push your weight in the front!"

She did as she was told, and the broom immediately positioned itself parallel to the ground.

'Downwards,' she thought.

And meekly her broom obeyed, as if it hadn't half tried to kill her just now. She glanced at Ariana once she was level with her. Her lips were pressed into a straight line.

"Never do that."

"Yeah, sorry."

"You got the commands right."

Hermione looked up at her partner. Her words had sounded suspiciously close to praise.

"Thanks," she grinned. Obviously, she did not grin back.

"You've been distracted for the past few days, but unlike most people that works to your advantage."

Hermione stared at her, slightly amazed. That was the most insightful thing the girl had uttered for the time that they had been training, it was also the first time that she had directly called her out on something personal.

She sighed. "You're right, but that's how it's always been with me. I'm more efficient with my concentration divided."

Silence.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

She raised her eyebrows at her.

"Are you feeling alright, Ariana?"

She giggled, and the sound pierced smoothly into the stillness of the mist laden grounds of Hogwarts. Well, wasn't she quite the bundle of surprises today?

"It's alright, you can tell me. There's nobody I'd tell."

"Like you even could, you spend your daily allowance of words in the morning itself…and that's when you're talking to me," she teased.

She only responded with a shrug.

Hermione took a deep breath. Keeping in on repeat, bottled in her own mind had done no good for her after all, so what could it hurt?

So, she told her everything, not very accurately, not quite as detachedly as she'd like herself to sound, but unburden herself she did…even if it took over thirty minutes of her time. There was a self-deprecating smile on her face when she finished and Ariana was keen enough to catch it.

"Well, that did a wonder to you."

"I know, right?"

"I was talking about the kiss. I'm not sure why you did it, but it's done you well. I can see that."

"Are you out of your mind? I completely blew it! I embarrassed myself to the point of no return. He won! Have you seen him lately? I swear I can feel his smug little smirk before I even get to see it. He struts around like that's exactly what the world needs right now…a strutting Draco Malfoy. My head feels like it's going to explode one of these days."

"You kissed him, and he's proud," she said matter-of-factly, "One would've expected him to be disgusted, or at least act like he was, but he's one step shy from bragging about it to his friends. That's telling, don't you think?"

Hermione thought about it. She had felt like avoidance was an exercise in futility so she had faced him every time the situation had called for it. She'd conducted a successful prefects' meeting sitting two elbows-width away from him and the room hadn't burst into flames. She'd seen him look at her with that smarmy little grin, and taken his subtle taunts with a grain of salt. Not once had he uttered anything pertaining to the words 'blood' or 'mud' or even 'muggle.' He had the same countenance, she realized, of a teenage boy who had just scored.

She scoffed. As if.

"Well, I simply kissed him to get it out of the way. I didn't want to prove anything, I wasn't even thinking. He was just there, and he could've easily withdrawn anytime but he….." she trailed off.

"….he didn't," finished Ariana, pointedly.

"He kissed me back," she whispered, realizing it for the first time.

Her mind usually glazed over the details of the kiss into a jumble of confused emotions, but how in the blazes had she missed that simple fact? He had kissed her back! He'd even felt her up!

"That nasty little - !"

All this time she'd been going over it the wrong way, acting like she had been the one to cross the line. She had initiated it, but he'd accompanied her in the crossing over. And he had the audacity to act as if she was the one who'd been one upped. If he thought she'd let him embarrass herself to admitting defeat, he had another think coming. He had taken part in it, he hadn't even shied away from it, so why was she the only one being held responsible?

"I'm so glad I finally realized this or I would've driven myself to madness," she said, looking over to her newest friend, "you're a really cool person, you know that?"

"So I've been told."

Hermione smiled, reached over and hugged her. She hugged her back.

Something had changed and he didn't know what it was. He just knew that he didn't like it. Oh, he liked it a little bit – he liked the fact that Hermione Granger was finally looking him in the eye and not blinking away like a mindless doll. But something had changed, he was sure of it.

Was it that goddamn Ravenclaw again? He was always fucking with her head, why couldn't he just leave her alone?

"…stimulates the vocal chords to vibrate to the will of the speaker, as opposed to pervading the sensory and nervous connections like Mutare vocem does. Volubilis potion is strictly contraindicated for pregnant women or lactating mothers, as adult mandrake stew which is the core ingredient has the property to cause defects in fresh formed life," finished Hermione Granger.

Slughorn was very nearly bursting with applause for his new favorite student, Draco was afraid he'd have a stroke.

"Twenty points to Gryffindor!" he sang happily.

Draco did not miss the subsequent funny look he gave Potter, who had mysteriously seemed to have lost the Potions talents he'd acquired in his Sixth year.

He'd always known that he'd been cheating, the git.

Granger, on the other hand…

"Trouble in paradise?" said Blaise from his side. Draco looked questioningly at his friend.

"Meaning?"

"Meaning why the hell have you been staring at Granger's bushy head for the past twenty minutes, you daft idiot?"

It's not that bushy, was strangely the first thought to cross his mind.

"Enough with it already, this constant staring thing is beginning to piss me off."

"Why?" he said, sharply.

It was Blaise's turn to give him the funny look. "Because it's been a while since Slughorn put up the instructions, and you still haven't moved your arse to get the ingredients."

"Get them yourself," he waved him off.

Blaise sighed in resignation and went off in the direction of the stores. He settled as comfortably as it was possible into the granite stool and contemplated the back of Granger's head from a distance. She was working with Longbottom, and was patiently writing little instructions next to the ingredients list in order to help him into picking out the correct ones. Longbottom scratched his head and began to make his way towards the back, his eyes trained onto the list in his hand, and just when he'd reached the threshold he suddenly let out a little yelp of pain as his foot connected with the doorjamb.

Granger immediately glanced back with concern dripping from her gaze, which vanished in a blink when her eyes finally connected with his.

He felt it again. The jolt that went all the way down to his toes whenever he had her complete attention. She held his gaze, challengingly enough for it to count as a contest and just when his heart was beginning to thud into that erratic rhythm, she broke the eye contact, scratched her earlobe lightly and faced away.

He sat there, amazed, wondering what the hell had just happened.

"Not the usual bird, that one, I must say," came Blaise's smooth voice, "I'm starting to like her."

He glared at him, fighting the urge to wrench him by the collar.

"What the fuck do you mean you like her?" he growled.

Blaise blinked. Then his face cleared into apparent understanding, and he whistled as he set down the materials in front of him.

Draco clutched his head in his hands, threading his fingers through his hair.

The minutes slowly ticked by and he sat there pondering over deep stuff like what the bloody hell was going on in his life and since when he didn't lift a single finger to help out in potion-making and why the fuck did everything eventually end up becoming about Granger. Blaise had just finished corking the vial to be graded when the bell rang to signal the end of the class.

He smiled in that annoying as shit way he had when he knew something he didn't and Draco didn't like it one bit. But he held his ground and didn't stir from his place until he'd made sure that more than half the class had left the classroom.

Granger had apparently gotten delayed by a minute or two courtesy to her shit-for-brains partner, and was just returning from having placed her vial in the grading rack. He intercepted her once she got back to her seat to pick up her stuff.

"Malfoy," she greeted him, as if she'd expected it.

"Granger."

"What is it," He couldn't fathom how it was possible to sound both inquisitive and yet supremely unconcerned at the same time, yet somehow Granger managed it.

"Patrols tonight."

"Yes, I'm aware."

"I'll see you tonight," he mocked.

"Can't wait," she fired back.

"Don't be late."

"I'll be there early."

"Good."

"Okay."

"Fine."

"Get out of my face, Malfoy."

He smirked and leaned till his face was level with hers.

"Funny, should've said so earlier. But, oh wait. You were too busy sucking it last week."

She let out a little hiss of breath, her façade finally shattered. He turned away before she could react and left her standing in his wake.

The son of a bitch.

The nerve he had! How dare he still insinuate that it was all her doing? He could he be so blind to the facts? He'd been there, so was he just in denial?

She glanced at the clock again. Twenty minutes past ten. Where was he?! So much for not being late. She knew he was doing it deliberately because he obviously knew she'd be up here waiting for his lazy arse to show up. It had to be purposeful.

She turned the fire up and it crackled to life, lighting up the office more thoroughly. She had just put a couple of more cushions to the settee when the door opened suddenly. She sprang upwards from her perch, fully prepared to tell him off for his tardiness but the words froze on her lips.

It was Malfoy alright, but it was hard to deduce which parts that belonged to whom from the tangle of limbs that had just walked through the door. The unmistakable ink-black locks belonged to none other than Pansy Parkinson as she tried to walk into the room while keeping her tongue firmly entwined with his. They seemed utterly oblivious to her presence, and when Malfoy surfaced and looked at her briefly, it was only to appear irritated at the fact that the sofa was taken.

"You still here, Mudblood?," panted Pansy, "run along now, this isn't a free show."

She could've fired several colourful retorts back at her pug-face, but her lips were pressed shut and her eyes were carefully watching the entire scene unfold in front of her.

It was only when they had finally managed to stumble into his room that she remembered to blink and breathe deeply through her nose.

She was not angry, but she was definitely not happy. She felt something akin to what she felt during one of those exams, when you turned your question paper idly around, only to find that there is another side and still a long way to go.

She ran a hand through her hair, feeling a newer, tougher kind of a foretaste envelope her mind. It was an older and wiser sort of anticipation. And how ironic was it, really, how silly of her to believe that the game was over and done with. This was his latest play, and she had gotten the message loud and clear.

It was still on.