Chapter 23

Pansy was staring at him. It wasn't the kind of satisfied post-coital gaze that he was used to; usually they went off into their separate ways with the promise of the next encounter weaved into sly smiles. He'd never felt the need to explain himself to her because she was the kind of person to never really question anything. But he'd recently realized that maybe she never questioned him. Maybe there was more to it than she let on by her easygoing behaviour.

"Going so soon?" she said, her body folded enticingly beneath the duvet.

"I have patrols," he answered, buttoning up his shirt all the way up. He paused, before unbuttoning the top three again. He reached for his socks.

"It's pretty late. Why don't you come back to bed?," she shivered exaggeratedly and burrowed deeper into the covers. "It's going to get cold out."

Not that it wasn't tempting to slide into the bed next to her warm, inviting body and gear up for another round; he didn't know how long it had been since he'd last done this. It had been quite a dry spell for him but he was going to take good care of it. Somewhere in the midst of the heated kisses and restless groping, he'd realized that there must be some sort of correlation between his sex life and the state of his mind. Both deteriorated with the lack of either, which would obviously explain the strange incidents of the past weeks.

"Snape will have my head. No, I have to go."

"Do you, though, really?"

He looked at her.

Her eye makeup was smudged and her lips were jagged with tiny splits. He had a feeling there was a confrontation coming in, and he wondered if there was any way to tell her that this wasn't the time to have one.

"You're right," he said, "It's pretty late. Why don't you call it a day too?"

He moved towards her side of the bed and leaned in for a kiss, silently praying for her to take the bait. "I can't wait to see you tomorrow. And we'll pick up right where we left off."

She didn't disappoint. Kissing him with a renewed fervor, she sighed into his mouth. The girl would let him get away with murder. But just when he was about to step out of the door, she called out.

"You don't have to keep insulting my intelligence, Draco. A girl can tell when she's being kicked out, no matter how politely. And though I appreciate your concern, I've changed my mind. I'll stay right here."

He turned to look at her, pissed beyond belief. She answered his look with a challenging one of her own.

"Go wherever you want, take as long as you wish. I don't mind where you come from as long as you come to me," she said, before turning to her side on his bed, "'night."

Okay, what?

For an entire minute he stood staring at her, willing her to surface from beneath the covers, grin at him in that way he'd gotten used to since childhood, and tell him that she was only yanking his chain. She didn't.

Her remark could only be described as the closest thing to an admission, and already he could feel the imaginary blade of commitment loom over his guillotined head, like she already owned him. He couldn't believe he'd missed the signs. Pansy had seemed to have grown a backbone when he hadn't been looking.

He gave her sleeping form one last glance, before marching out of the room, and shutting the door behind him. She could stay here if she wanted to. Slytherin dorms were always going to be open for him.

Somewhere between patrolling the corridors and handing out detentions to curfew breakers, he ended up searching for Hermione Granger. She wasn't in the library, she wasn't in the kitchens, she wasn't in the owlery and she definitely wasn't in the Astronomy tower. This could mean only one thing; that she'd already headed out into the grounds, that too at twelve in the morning. Alone.

Calling himself ten kinds of fool, he made his way to the Black lake, a spot she had gotten rather fond of. A thick layer of mist covered the area surrounding the lake but he knew as soon as he set foot that she wasn't here either. He ended up kicking several rocks into the water to relieve his agitation. Atypical Granger behaviour might have started off as an interesting thing but now it was beginning to piss him off. Where the hell was she?

Reluctantly, he began walking towards the Quidditch stands. Looking at the pitch made him think of the last time when he'd been here; the game with Ravenclaw. She had planted herself next to Goldstein, but he knew that her eyes were on him for the whole time, when she thought he hadn't been looking. For someone so smart, she was ridiculously easy to read. A part of him still refused to believe the entire thing; because really, what were the odds of Hermione Granger having the littlest bits of hots for him? He would've doubted, too, if she hadn't defied all those odds by going out and snogging his face. Still, it would've been great if she'd done it in front of other people so her humiliation had been more public and he wouldn't have had to go through all of this again, because that would've been nearly a clean strikeout, her ultimate defeat. But too bad. Looks like she was going to have to endure just a little bit longer.

That's when he saw her.

She was sitting at the topmost row, both hands clasped tightly around a broomstick. She held it in front of her like it was some sort of spear. Her eyes were closed.

Silently, he made his way towards her. By the time he made it there, he was panting and not making any effort to remain silent. Still she did not move. Her hair was up in an uptight looking bun, the way she'd been wearing it for the past few days after the 'incident.' He would've said something about it earlier, had it not looked so unbelievably hot.

"You're joking, right?", he said.

She snapped to attention, almost knocking the broom over. When she focused on him, her eyes were wide.

"What are you doing here?"

"Granger, that is not a quill," he observed.

She rolled her eyes. "I know that."

"Yeah. Just wanted to make sure you did, because the way you're holding it tells me that you're about to snap it in two."

"You're not funny, Malfoy," she looked away, "I wish you'd stop trying."

"I think we already covered how fabulous you are at lying. But really, what's the big plan? Are you really going to ride it?"

She threw him a glare filled with death. See, he'd always known she had a dirty mind. When he didn't smirk or give any kind of indication of having been thinking what she definitely had been thinking, she looked away again. He'd bet a thousand galleons that she was blushing in that moment, but it was hard to tell in the dark.

"As a matter of fact, I am." It was his turn to start.

"You're joking."

"Am I?"

"You don't even know how." It was getting difficult keeping a straight face.

"I've learnt a thing or two." Damn, but she was good at this.

"Oh, yeah? Then what are you doing all the way up here?"

"No, the better question is, ferret, what are you?"

"I think I'm going to stick around and watch you make a fool out of yourself."

"I told you, Malfoy. I've done it already. I just wanted to try riding it from a height, and that's why I came up here in the first place."

"So you're saying you've never done it from top?" He smirked at her.

She finally glanced down into her lap.

"Alright, you can stop with that."

"With what?"

"Good Lord, Malfoy! What's it going to take for you to leave me alone? Why can't you just go back to normal? I was doing fine with you ignoring me. Stop playing mind games with me!"

This somehow seemed like the wrong thing to say, and it made him so defensive that his pulse racked up a few heartbeats. He stepped closer to her and was pleased to note that she had to look up to meet his eyes.

"Let's set this straight, Granger. Your plebian friends might have deluded you into believing that you're hot stuff and that the sun rises out of your arse, but let me tell you…you do nothing for me," she remained blank faced, so he decided to go straight to the spot that would hurt most, "You seem to be doing a pretty good job at pretending otherwise but I was there, remember? You kissed me. And you liked it."

It was then that she did the thing he would've never expected. She laughed in his face.

He crossed his arms against his chest, willing for her to finish. She was smiling by the end and then she leaned back a little ways, her weight pushed back on both arms, looking like the perfect picture of leonine arrogance. All she needed was a black cat in her lap.

"I'm going to tell you something, ferret. It's not exactly conversation material but it's going to clear all the misconceptions you seem to have fabricated. When I was twelve, I kissed my pillow. Just to see what it felt like. I did it again, and I kept doing until I believed I was getting some good practice," she smirked condescendingly at him, "So you can imagine my surprise when one day the pillow decided to kiss me back. I don't know if it was my imagination or if my magic went haywire, but I can tell you this with complete surety. I felt nothing for my pillow. It only served a purpose that time, and I'm not proud of it."

"I did not kiss you back," he bit out.

"Sure, you didn't. But I was there, remember?" she repeated offhandedly, before standing up on her feet and stretching lazily.

"Look, as much fun as this little chat has been, I'm going to fly for a while and I prefer to do that in private. And just so you know, I have already finished with the patrols."

With that, she turned her back on him and began walking towards the other direction. He honestly didn't know what he was going to do until he'd gone ahead and done it.

He grabbed the wrist which wasn't holding the broom and pulled her back in. From the look on her face, she seemed seriously spooked by this action which was why she didn't react until he'd leaned in fully towards her. For the second time.

And it would've gone down the same exact way that it had eight days and seven hours ago, if she hadn't suddenly snapped out of it and put her palm on his chest to halt him. He didn't immediately let go of her; he was still too tightly wound up over what she had just said, and if she decided to say something so half-arsed again he might just go over the edge. So they stood there silent against each other, breathing themselves in.

Her gaze lowered, and stayed at the part of his chest he'd intentionally left bare, and his battered self-esteem threw a fist pump at this. She pulled her hand back, so he did the same.

With downcast eyes, she said to him, "You don't really want to do this, Malfoy. And neither do I. There will be hell to pay otherwise."

There was seriousness in her voice that he'd never heard before, and it wiped his mind blank of everything.

What was she saying?

"No more games," she answered, as if reading his mind.

She backed away several steps, her eyes distant and unseeing. He couldn't believe it. Of all the things that he'd expected, this was the last he'd ever thought he'd hear out of her mouth.

"God, what a mess," she shook her head slowly, before glancing down pathetically at the broom in her hand, "I hate heights."

Giving him one final unreadable look, she began making her way downwards. He stood there with his limbs frozen into his sockets and watched her leave until she'd finally disappeared from his sight.

Draco made his way to the dungeons feeling like shit.

He wanted to pretend that these last few months had been a strangely thorough and well-lit nightmare. He wanted to go for a long, dreamless sleep. He wanted to forget the entire mindless game. But more than anything, he wanted to forget that he'd ever known somebody named Hermione Granger.

The Slytherin common room was dark and empty. He'd always liked how it registered eerily similar to home, but now he couldn't wait to get away from here. He trudged down into the seventh year dorm.

Crabbe and Goyle were both snoring. He pointed his wand and silenced them.

"Thanks, mate. I was about to do that."

He looked over to see Blaise rubbing sleep out of his eyes.

Once he'd focused fully on his blond friend, he stated what be already knew, "You look like shit."

"Yeah, I could use some company."

"You're a filthy, fucking liar, mate. Pansy came into the common room barely over an hour ago and she looked like she was about to bawl her eyes out, so I know it's not company you're seeking."

Pansy had left? He felt relieved and just a little bit sorry.

" – so I know that what you really need is this," continued Blaise, before magicking a full bottle of Ogden's firewhisky from his trunk.

"You're a godsend," he sighed, as he sunk into the bed next to Blaise's.

"And you're a right bastard. I care about Pansy, and I thought you did too but now you're just messing with her head."

He didn't say anything; he just closed his eyes and drank deeply out of the conjured goblet.

"She's been following you around like a lost puppy since forever, because heaven knows there's no accounting for women's taste. But keep this up and you're going to lose a friend for good."

The firewhisky was nice. It seared the insides of his mouth. He covered his lips with the taste till he could no longer remember hers.

"Are you even listening to me?"

He glanced absently towards his friend, wondering why he was still talking.

Right, he'd wanted company. Why had he said that? Alcohol was always better company.

"Blaise, I really can't stand her," he sighed.

"I know that but you've got to be careful."

"You don't understand. She's bossy and impolite, and not all that nice. Not like the way she is with her friends – "

"Wait, who..?"

He was not yet drunk, but he was getting there. He'd skipped dinner, after all.

" – and you know what her worst quality is? She thinks she's got me all figured out. Merlin, I hate that."

"Okay, is this the Head girl that we're talking about?"

"But I don't hate her, you know? I mean yeah, she's annoying and a mean little ballbuster but it's just – "

As a matter of fact, he was well aware that he was rambling, but he couldn't seem to stop. In a matter of minutes he had figuratively spilled his guts out in front of his friend and judging by the shell-shocked expression on Blaise's face, it hadn't been pretty.

"So, you're saying..," began Blaise, "…that you've got a thing for her?"

"What? No!," he wailed, "Don't be fucking nuts."

"So you don't have a thing for her?"

"Mate, that would be fucked up. She said so herself," he said, crossing his arms behind his head, "I can't get her out of my head, though."

"There are ways to do that."

"I'm trying."

"Look, this is your call. You have to figure out what you want." Blaise had taken that lecturing pitch of voice again, so he figured he might as well pay attention.

"But whatever that might be, she's not your quarry. She's just the Head girl that you've got to associate and cooperate with for the rest of the year. You can't keep this up. So, don't turn this into a contest because you know as well as I do that neither of you is going to win. And judging by your pathetic state, I'd say that you've pretty much lost it already."

"Fuck off."

He snatched the bottle from him and stood up. Swaying a little on his feet, he made his towards his own dorm. He heard Blaise say something after him but he ignored it. By the time he made it, the bottle was empty.

He tilted it downwards and looked for a leftover trickle. There wasn't a single drop left for him to magically multiply the substance. He chucked the empty bottle away and fell back into his bed, laughing.

"…has never even done it from top," he muttered inaudibly to himself, before eventually falling asleep.

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