Chapter 27

He turned away almost instantly, unable to watch any more. This was pointless. He'd given Pansy her two dances, he'd seen Blaise's latest flavor, he'd shown his face around and he'd watched Goldstein and Granger paw at each other throughout the night, but the dam ultimately broke when he saw him lean over to kiss her on the cheek. He couldn't stand to be here another minute.

It was irrational and admittedly quite pathetic…but such was the nature of jealousy. He threw the dancing couple one last look, before making his way out of the hall. Pondering over what he could do now which might help elevate his unsettled disposition, he began walking towards the grounds and in the process encountered several couples tucked away tightly inside dark alcoves of the castle. He ignored them all.

It was this picture that had taken residence inside his mind – the picture of Hermione Granger standing unnaturally still across the Hall – which made him increase his pace as if it was this very image that he was running from. Granger was an attractive girl and he ought not to feel surprised at that fact anymore… He'd snogged her for one good minute…it wasn't as if he found her physically repellant. But he just had no business thinking about her in any way other than her being an ally of the Light, and someone who might draw a dagger through his heart if Potter so commanded it, and do it without batting an eye. Someone who could never be his friend or sympathizer in any sense of the word; her display last evening had proven that. Someone he should hardly spend an idle thought on.

But he did. He did it every waking hour. He did it every time when she was within his sight. And he was doing it now, even when she wasn't.

It was her face that peered at him through the murky depths of his own unconscious mind, during nights which had him feeling restless and feverish. It was nothing new; he knew the first brush of innocent attraction as his body and mind submitted to it time and again ever since the year he'd turned eleven. He knew what it felt like. He remembered feeling it for Pansy, for Shannon Selwyn, for Fleur Delacour in his fourth year, for Angelina Johnson, and embarrassingly enough for Madam Rosmerta for as long as he could remember. It was boyish, predictable and completely harmless.

Not this time. This time it was dark and ominous, gripping him tightly behind his neck and choking him with every breath. This time it was her. A girl who was such a clean-cut amalgam of the opposite of every single trait that he'd been furnished with since the day he was born, traits that were both ingrained and acquired. A person whom he had expressly hated for years and had sometimes wished death upon. Sometimes he had even considered her subhuman. And if he were to boil down all of those facts into one concrete, practical truth – it was the fact that she was a Mudblood. And the fact that he was thinking about this now proved that he could ignore this entire thing no longer.

He had expected the night to turn out completely different. But it hadn't gone at all as planned. Pansy had shunned him and might or might not have forgiven him, but she'd certainly given up on him as far as a serious relationship was concerned. He'd shown up alone but in good spirits, but his spirits had dulled considerably as the night had passed. Granger had breathed not a word to him for the entire night; she'd hardly looked at him, appearing content enough in Goldstein's arms. The food hadn't been all that great and the old hag McGonagall had somehow managed to confiscate all the firewhisky with Filch's help. Tonight, the occupants of the Great Hall were all stone cold sober and enjoying it. He wasn't.

Damn in all to hell, he wished it all to go away and leave him alone. He wished for the days when she would punch him in the face, and he could complain about her arse-licking habits to his father and expect retribution for all the times that she and her friends had him feeling like a fool. But never in his life had he felt a bigger fool than he did now, and the crux of the matter was that there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

So he circuited about the cold Hogwarts grounds, carting his lame tuxedo and stupid heart around in misery, calling himself every kind of fool as he did so. Who had he wanted to impress anyway? Granger?

She didn't care about him. She was wearing Ravenclaw colours tonight.

Of course just when Hermione was finally in a mood to get drunk, the premises had conveniently decided to run out of stock. On further investigation it was brought to her notice that Professor McGonagall was the one to blame, and for the first time in her life she uttered a very disrespectful word for her most respected teacher. Disgruntled, Hermione lifted the skirts of her gown and headed for the Prefect's bathroom.

Dear God.

Just having a cake wouldn't do. Apparently, there needed to be a cheery on top. And Pansy Parkinson seemed just the person to fit that description as she turned around to stare at her with her bright red lips and her dark, dark eyes.

Hermione decided to ignore her. She brushed right past her, stepped into the farthest cubicle and sat over the lid.

"You brewing something inside there, Granger?" Her oily voice interrupted her musings after a few minutes had passed.

Hermione lifted her head slowly to stare at the graffiti on the wooden door. Was she seriously attempting a conversation with her?

"What did you say?"

"I said – are you brewing something? A love potion, perhaps? The way you did a couple of years ago to entice Krum, just to get him to date you?"

"That was too long ago for you to still harbor any kind of jealousy, Parkinson. I advise you to let it go. It's clearly eating you up from inside."

"Well, I'm a Prefect. If you're doing something illegal in there, I gotta know and report you."

"Please go away. I want to be left alone."

There was a moment of silence, but she doubted that Pansy would comply with her request.

"You know there's no hope for you, don't you?" Her voice seemed to come from just in front of the door.

"What are you talking about?"

"I believe I've told this to you before, Granger," she began in a self-important tone, "Mudbloods are not tolerated amongst pureblood society. You won't get anywhere even if you die trying. We upper crusts are stringent about these things. You'll be abandoned at the drop of a hat for the next blueblood socialite with a pretty face."

"Why should I care? And what in the world does that have to do with me?"

"Don't play dumb, Granger. It's pathetic when you do. I'm telling you this as kindly as possible, girl to girl. You're better off."

She stared blankly ahead at the door. "With what?"

"Without Draco. Because first of all, you don't have it… so it's laughable to see you try. Secondly, since you have proved yourself a sneaky little hussy with a flair for spellwork now and then…even if you do manage to get his attention, you won't sustain it. You can't handle him."

"And you can?"

Silence.

"Guess not," Hermione arranged the hem of her skirt. "There's no need to put on a show, Parkinson. There's no audience here, and certainly no sign of Rita Skeeter. I don't see why you even bother, honestly, because I assure you I have no shred of interest in the lowlife that is Draco Malfoy."

"Just keep saying that. You might have the rest of the world eating out of your hand just 'cause you're chummy with Potter and a mighty bookworm, but you don't fool me. I know your kind and I know your stink. Your days are numbered as it is. Spend them on more rewarding pursuits."

Hermione kicked the door open, bending down to retrieve her wand and pointing it in her face all in one second.

"One more word. One more, I dare you, Pansy."

She was too slow to respond as Hermione got in her face, veins thrumming with annoyance. What in the blazes was she talking about anyway? Malfoy had looked perfectly happy with her just a while ago. She had nothing to lament over. So why was she whining again?

Pansy stepped back a little ways and stared at her wand, evidently surprised by her reaction. And Hermione realized that this girl suffered from a severe case of entitlement… entitlement over Draco Malfoy, over the entire Slytherin house, and over all purebloods in general. Or maybe that was the case with all of them…they viewed her as an outsider and couldn't wait to kick her out. At least Voldemort was more upfront about his bigotry; he was willing to kill for it.

Plus, she was so obviously in love with Malfoy that she was surprised that he hadn't yet figured it out. It was written all over her face.

Hermione lowered her wand.

"What do you want, Pansy? I might as well hear it."

Pansy stiffened her chin and looked her straight in the eye.

"I want you to leave Draco alone."

"We have to work together. Part of the job description, you see."

"Consider yourself warned, Mudblood. That's all."

"Are you seriously threatening me?"

"It's not me you ought to be worried about, but yourself. I was serious earlier. This is the realest piece of advice you will get – don't push your existence into jeopardy."

"My – " Hermione chuckled, "..my freaking existence? Are you saying that it's in danger? Are you going to kill me, Parkinson? Is that what you mean? God, you really are messed up."

And surprisingly enough, Pansy's red lips stretched into a thin smile.

"I know. That's how you might just end up. By the time he's through with you, you friends wouldn't know you from a bar of soap."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"I'm just saying that Draco is not your usual pretty face with a bad attitude. He's got some real issues… issues that are beyond your scope or understanding. You should stick to your lot. Weasley or Longbottom. Even that freak Goldstein will do nicely."

"Charming though your 'real piece of advice' might be, Pansy, I don't see how it's relevant to me. I know he's a cowardly ferret and a headcase, and one that I have to survive for the rest of the year. I'm sorry that you're feeling threatened with this situation, but I really can't help you."

She narrowed her eyes into little slits.

"I didn't fucking ask for it. I can't believe you still aren't listening to me. But you will get your dues. Your kind always does in the end. Good luck with your five minutes of glory, as they won't last."

She swirled her hefty silver gown and turned on her heel to walk out of the bathroom, muttering something along the lines of 'stupid mudblood…'

But just as she walked past the large bath, a jet of foamy water erupted soundlessly from the pool and in the next second, drenched her with a large splash. Pansy stood there looking flabbergasted – doused in water from head to toe – as a silvery shadow emerged from the depths of the pool and came to hover in the space between them.

"You little dead piece of shit!" Pansy shrieked.

Myrtle twittered exuberantly and splashed her with more water.

"You have got such a dirty mouth, Pansy Parkinson. My, it's even dirtier than my poor kind! You need to be cleaned and disinfected!"

Pansy aimed a spell at her, but of course it went right through her and hit one of the main pipes.

Myrtle guffawed noisily and dive-bombed into the pool, splashing cold water everywhere and soaking Pansy even more in the process. She aimed ill-calculated spells around the bathroom as she sought the ghost; her teeth chattering and her pretty dress all ruined.

Hermione felt really sorry for her, but figured she deserved it, so in the end she walked away without docking points.

Silently, Hermione opened the door a crack and peered into the office. The room was dark and quiet, save for the modest glow from the fireplace where a steady fire was crackling but not enough to create much warmth. Feeling like a teenager sneaking in home, she tiptoed past the large armchair where Malfoy appeared to be fast asleep. She made her way around his sleeping form, before she stopped suddenly and turned to stare. He was leaning back into the cushions with an arm thrown over his face. His jacket was strewn across the back of the chair and his bow lay unraveled around his shirt collar.

That was no comfortable way to sleep. Should she wake him up?

Leave him alone, admonished her conscience in its best Pansy-like voice.

She inched forwards, watching his face carefully as she did. However, before she could do anything he withdrew his arm from his face and opened his eyes a fraction. She froze automatically at an arm's length away from him, with one hand outstretched midair.

His gaze moved slowly from the sodden hem of her skirt, following the lines of the falling fabric, sweeping over her front, to the column of her neck where here pulse hammered, lingering at her mouth and finally meeting her eyes. By the time he was done, she was feeling like an icicle melting under the direct glare of sunlight.

"Interesting outfit," she blurted, just for the heck of it.

He glanced down as if he'd forgotten what he was wearing.

"Why?"

"It's muggle."

"Not nearly," he said, flicking some imaginary lint off his shirt, as if he was greatly offended. Why wear it, then? She wondered.

"Well, it's pretty muggle, but it looks nice," she said.

She bit her lip next, only just realizing what she'd done.

He didn't react though, as he drove a careless hand through his blond hair and stood up suddenly. For the first time in the entire night, Hermione regretted not having worn heels. He towered over her, literally staring her down, and the more he did it the more she wanted to hide. How was it possible that hundreds of eyes on her in the great Hall didn't affect her nearly as much as these grey ones did?

"You're wearing blue again." He'd remembered her Yule Ball dress?

"It's not blue. It's teal."

His eyes slid lazily over her frame again. "Looks blue as a Ravenclaw's balls to me."

She rolled her eyes at the imagery, and said, "I'm not surprised. One out of twelve guys is colour blind."

"Did you snog him then?" he said out of nowhere.

"What?"

"Goldstein." He stepped imperceptibly forwards, but she was quick to notice. "Did you snog him?"

"That's none of your business. And stay where you are."

"Why? We both know the distance deal was off the minute you decided to kiss me." Why was he bringing that up again?

"It wasn't a settlement, ferret," She snapped. " – just basic common sense. Manners. Things that you are obviously unfamiliar with."

"You just circumvented the question entirely."

"Which question?"

"Did you or did you not?"

Her cheeks were turning hot under his gaze, molten as it appeared in the flickering firelight. He was looking at her that way again, the way he did those rare times when she was caught off guard and eventually managed to convince herself that she was just imagining it. The way a boy looks at a girl. The way Ron never did and the way Victor used to, only this was nowhere as innocent.

"Like I said. It's none of your business."

He had somehow moved directly in front of her, but being the glutton for punishment as she was, she refused to budge.

It was when she felt his hands sliding over the smooth fabric at her waist that she realized what was happening. She was standing here, dressed like this, in front of Draco Malfoy, in the middle of a barely lit room at midnight as he stood touching her. It was a recipe for disaster.

"What are you doing?"

She tried to move away but he his fingers instantly dug into her flesh, gripping her tightly.

"Well, if you didn't, after all…I hope you wouldn't mind me doing this," he said, splaying one hand at her lower back and pulling her fully against him.

All those games, all those fights were all going to bite her in one combined karmic move. Breathless and miserable, she struggled against him but he didn't relent. She leant back from his hold but he pulled her back in. When she turned her head away, he followed.

"Malfoy – "

"Let me do this," he whispered against her earlobe, causing her to shiver. "Just once."

"I can't."

"Please," He sighed as his lips brushed at her pulse point. "No one ever has to know. I won't say a thing about it. Not one thing."

She shook her head vigorously, close to tears.

"Merlin, why are you so goddamn stubborn?" he groaned, sounding haggard. "Just let it go for a while."

"No, I'm not doing this. I'm not doing this again," she only wished that sounded as firm as it did in her head.

"Why not?" His hands slid across her rib cage, his thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts over and over in distracting arcs.

"Malfoy, stop." She gasped out, giving him a decisive shove on the chest.

He retreated at once, shock plastered across his features.

"What's the matter with you?"

"What's the matter with you?" she yelled. "I never thought you were so vile that you would cheat on your girlfriend!"

He looked as if he'd been hit by a Stunner.

"Girlfriend? What the hell are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about Pansy Parkinson! The jealous harpy who keeps threatening me at every chance."

"She what – ?" he began in a startled voice, but then his face cleared in understanding. "That's pretty much over. It's done."

She didn't believe that for one minute.

"I doubt she's aware of it."

He ran his hands through his hair. "Believe me, Granger. She is."

"Well, that's all fine and dandy then! I believe this conversation is over."

She turned to walk away by he was having none of it.

"You can't keep doing this," he said, grabbing hold of her wrist.

"I can't? Watch me, Malfoy."

He lost it.

"What the hell is your problem?" He'd pulled at her arm like a petulant child, turning her forcefully to face him, but she managed to snatch her arm free, holding it close to her chest like it burned. "You want it as much as I do! You started this whole thing, and now you're running away! Just where do you get off treating me like that?"

"I can't believe I'm still here listening to you," she said as slowly as possible, "I don't want this. You don't want this. When that precious pure blood of yours is running in the direction of your brain again, you will realize this."

His cheeks turned pink, but not once did his obstinate expression falter.

Feeling his gaze burning a hole through her back, she began retracing the steps towards her dorm, hoping to get back relatively unscathed and turn in for the night. Apparently that was too much to ask.

"I was wrong," he called out.

She stopped in her tracks, but didn't look back.

"Your dress. It's not blue," he said dryly, "It's much closer to green."

Ack!

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