AN: Here's a quicker upload! Please review so we can hit 100 :D Anyways, this is my favourite chapter. Ever! I hope you'll read and find you feel the same way. Anyway my exams are coming really close so my updates will be coming rather infrequently and spasmodically. So please bear with me for the next two months and don't give up on this story! Oh, on a side note, I'm following Tom Felton on twitter and he's hilarious, really.
Reviews: Thanks to Lollo-BookLOOVEER,123Aqua123, tigger93, LK-HoGwArTs-hEaDgIrL ,TheWitchOfTheSouth (Yeah i realised :p), beautifly92 , BeccaSucks (Thanks ever so much, you're the best really! Following this story since the beginning. Yeah I agree its amazing!),Karate Chic , LadyOfTheLancashireManor (Thanks!),Nicconicco (thank you dear! Here's a quicker upload for you!)
Chapter 14. Defining Moments
That night, Hermione woke up in the wee hours of the morning, feeling peckish. Swinging her legs out of bed, she padded out of the room into the hallway, where she was able to Apparate without causing disturbance. She apparated to the Dining Hall, intent on getting a midnight snack. Unsure of what to, standing in the semi darkness of the hall, she looked around, squinting. The only light source came from a few flickering flames from the torches, casting long shadows on the walls. Most of the torches had already been snuffed out. She fished her wand out of her favourite light blue flannel pajama bottom's pocket. "Lumos," she whispered, and the tip of her wand shone with astonishing brightness, lighting the way for her. She walked over to the counter at the side of the Dining Hall, and looked down at it.
"I don't know if you can hear me," she said loudly, feeling rather silly speaking to the air. "And I don't want to trouble you...but if I could get a plate of cookies and milk, it'd be lovely." Hermione knew that the House Elves were probably still doing their scullery work down in the kitchen and didn't want to be a bother. However, she added quietly, "A bit of Butterbeer would be very much appreciated too."
It was a little vice of hers. Butterbeer, for all intents and purposes, had a little alcoholic content, and Hermione never could hold her liquor well so even Butterbeer induced slight tipsiness. However, Hermione liked it when she mixed Butterbeer and milk together, it made for surprisingly soothing drink whenever she couldn't sleep, even though it caused her to be a bit woozy afterwards. She didn't really share her little quirk with others, Ron had scoffed at her when she hinted that it may have tasted good.
The house elves seemed to be very obliging, and procured a whole plate of yummy looking chocolate chip cookies, a tall glass of milk and a whole bottle of Butterbeer for her. Hermione grabbed it all, and made her way carefully to the nearest table to sit. After mixing two parts Butterbeer with three parts milk, she sat back, enjoyed her drink and munched on the cookies.
After awhile, her eyelids started to droop, and she decided to take a slow walk back to her room instead of apparating to the hallway, which indicated taking the risk of upchucking the contents in her stomach, ending up in an entirely different continent altogether, or passing out on the floor . Clutching her unfinished drink, she started the leisurely stroll back to her room.
It took her longer than expected, as she stopped to take occasional swigs of Butterbeer milk from her glass, and she wasn't walking at a very fast pace either. When she finally reached the Waiting Room, her glass was at the half mark, which did say something as it seemed to be magically refilling itself. Hermione decided to sit down and have a bit of rest. However, it seemed that once again, she was not alone.
Draco Malfoy was sleeping on a fat armchair, his head lolling, an opened Daily Prophet lying in his lap. Hermione tiptoed forward to take a look, her Butterbeer milk sloshing in the glass. Peering over the sleeping Draco's shoulder, she saw that a report on a newly imposed ban of winged and levitating shoes had been the thing that had lulled him to sleep out of the comforts of his own bed. She leaned down even further to take a closer look. Suddenly, Malfoy jerked and whimpered and his hand nearly whacked Hermione's face, missing it by near inches. She quickly moved her head away and shook his shoulder, knowing he must have been suffering from his nightmares again. Goodness, how often did these things happen? Every night? The poor boy. Gently, she shook him some more.
"Draco," Hermione said in his ear, "Wake up!"
He did so, his head snapping up to look at her, unguarded and fearful. She couldn't bear it, couldn't be bothered to think if she'd regret it later. Clumsily, she put down her drink and enfolded him in a hug, patting his back soothingly, arms tightening around him. She could feel him take a deep, shuddering breath.
"Hermione," he mumbled into shoulder.
"S'okay, Draco," she said in hushed tones. "S'okay."
And surprisingly enough, he didn't pull away.
After that, it became an unspoken agreement for both Draco and Hermione to sneak out of their rooms and sleep in the Meeting Place, and then slip back into their beds at the crack of dawn, just before anyone could notice their absence. Sometimes, they didn't even speak to each other, just noted each other's presence, and took comfort in it as the night wore on. Other times, they exchanged a few friendly words, talking about the events that conspired during the day over a plate of cookies and a drink of Butterbeer milk that Draco agreed was undeniably tasty. Once, they talked about the war, divulging the difficult, sometimes traumatizing experiences and their own personal losses. They discussed their relief when Harry had finished You Know Who off for good in the Forbidden Forest, and at what price. They even broached the topic of Lucius Malfoy's imprisonment in Azkaban. But most importantly, when Hermione slept a sofa away from him, Draco's terrifying, emotionally draining nightmares ceased.
Their friendship blossomed, out of daytime banter and nighttime rendezvous. People noticed, commented, gossiped, and grew to accept it. The only one who didn't share in their element of surprise was the She Weasel, who wore a look that, if put into words, uncannily translated to I told you so. It infuriated Hermione quite a bit. Even Blaise and Iris, though they were initially disquieted, managed to reconcile themselves to the fact that Draco actually had a true blue muggleborn friend. He completely understood. He had a hard time wrapping his mind around that idea himself.
"She's got you whipped, mate," commented Blaise when they had walked to dance class together with Iris.
"Merlin's pants! Don't get ahead of yourself, she's not my girlfriend!" replied Draco, fairly amused.
"Yeah, but it's a pretty close thing," said Blaise gravely.
Iris had subsequently linked arms with Draco and said plaintively, "Let's not talk about her."
"But honestly, I'm not fussed. She's hot," Blaise conceded, disregarding the witch.
"You're mental!" Iris protested hotly.
"Yeah," Draco laughed, ignoring and disengaging himself from Iris's hold. "But you'll never get near enough to tap that!"
The snubbed dancer rolled her eyes. "Boys!"
Draco was glad to have Hermione as a friend, though. Sometimes he even joined her for meals with the She Weasel, and they engaged in spirited conversation and debates. The first time he had walked over to sit with Hermione, the littlest of the Weasley brood had stared at him for a good five minutes before she could bring herself to eat. He dismissed Hermione's idea that it was because of shock and instead attributed it to the fact that he had been having a particularly good hair day.
And it wasn't that they didn't argue anymore. They argued plenty. In fact they argued seventy five percent of the time, but there had been a pivotal, you could say, focal shift in their disagreements. They agreed to disagree. And their arguments had rapidly lost their venom, adopting a tamer form and even turned into playful banter most of the time. They argued about everything under the sun, about a certain Ancient Runes translation, or Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration, whether Chocolate Eclairs were slices of heaven on earth, and if pick up lines would ever work on a girl. Draco attested himself to be a living testimony of the fact that it did whereas Hermione scoffed at the idea, and prided herself to be resistant to even the most suave one-liners. While on that topic, she dragged him to the library mid-lunch and showed him a ridiculous book Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches. She had made a joke out of it all, until Draco too was laughing fit to burst.
"You have the portkey to my heart," she snorted, giggling derisively.
Draco read the next one, wincing at how cheesy it sounded. "You must be magical, because I've fallen under your spell."
"Do you have a map? I'm getting lost in your eyes!" Hermione had laughed even louder.
"You're so beautiful that you made me forget my pickup line...which loser came up with this one!"
"You're like a dictionary, you add meaning to my life!"
"Ah yes, that suits you nicely, Granger!" he teased before admitting to the sad and sorry truth.
"God, these are terrible."
Then Hermione blushed red, not because she was smitten by his undeniable charm, but because for the first time in her life, the librarian had stormed up from behind to shush them.
Slowly but surely, Draco was being introduced to the muggle world by a devious and sneaky Hermione Granger. His vocabulary had been expanded to include words like Wii gaming and cars, both of which intrigued him greatly. He had walked in on her flipping a muggle magazine with a picture of a semi-good looking bloke leaning on a shiny, red thing. Upon politely inquiring on her reading material, she had explained to him all the intricacies of sports cars and Formula One races. Seemed that these Muggles used cars as a sorry substitute for brooms. However, he was scandalized to find that muggles used broomsticks to, horror upon horrors, sweep the floor! Merlin, how degrading.
Once, he had seen her use a sleek, rectangular object to talk to her parents. It worked like magic and he had been transfixed. The screen had lit up and you could change the images that appeared with a flick of a finger. Subsequently, he had nicked it and tried to figure out how to use to it but the damned thing had remained blank. Unfortunately, before he could have another go at it, she found out.
"Malfoy," she had said, none too patiently. "Are you going to return me my iPhone now?" They had progressed to a first name basis and Hermione only called him Malfoy when she was annoyed, or wanted to annoy.
"What's an eye-tone?"
"iPhone, Draco, iPhone. It's my mobile! A shiny, rectangle thing, you know, the device I used to phone my parents the other day?"
"Haven't a clue what you're saying," he replied innocently, lying through his teeth.
Too bad she hadn't believed him. Curiosity had also bested Draco, and he Summoned the phone and she showed him how to work it. He had been amazed at how slick the device was, and didn't let Granger have her phone back for the rest of the day while he played with the applications. There had been an amused glint in her eyes, though, that led Draco to suspect that the conniving witch had planned to pique his interest.
They had also started choreography for their new piece of work. Though Hermione had been less than enthusiastic to dance the tango, he had been completely thrilled. He loved ballroom dancing in any shape and form. He was determined to make Hermione adore the dance just as much as him. Well, not adore. He would have substituted it with a much more macho word but none had come to mind.
Their choreographers were actual wizards and witches this time. Draco was grateful that he could benefit from the expertise of real live humans this time, especially for a type of dance he liked. They were fun, beautiful people, a tall, shapely blonde called Bree and an even taller black haired man called Tim. On their first lesson, intent on impressing Hermione with his unerring skills, Draco pulled Bree into a closed position and began to expertly navigate the room, shaking their hips and executing precise and tricky footwork. He proved himself an excellent lead as brought Bree through a complicated sequence of twists, turns, exchanges, lifts and splits. He succeeded in impressing Bree very much, but failed miserably where Hermione was concerned and ended up intimidating her instead, which didn't make her anymore comfortable with tango than she already was.
It was after their third lesson that most of their choreography was completed. During the lesson, they had been filmed for quite a bit, for their video clip for the next round of competition. After that Bree and Tim had left them alone to practice and work things out by themselves. The wizard, a stocky looking fellow by the name of Hugo, asked them to wait around for him, he would come back after filming the rest to do their interviews. They had agreed.
Draco practiced his steps at the side of the barre, twisting and manipulating his hips with the grace and ease of a seasoned professional, making the move seem effortless and at the same time incredibly sexy. In the reflection of the mirror, he could see Hermione struggling to master a certain tricky step.
"Need help?" he called.
"No," she growled back irritably. Draco bit back a retort, knowing that she was tired and frustrated. Wisps of hair were escaping from her bun and her face was tinged red from exertion. He sighed, and continued to go through his steps.
Time passed, a slow trickling of minutes, and Draco soon grew tired of practicing and relaxed against the barre casually observing his partner.
"Want to practice together?" he offered affably, uncharacteristically.
Hermione huffed in return. "Fine. But don't blame me if I mess up five seconds into it."
Draco looked suitably disbelieving. "You won't. Come on now."
He fiddled around with the knobs of their magical radio, trying to get it to play their song.
"Blast," he cursed. "I can never get this damn thing to work."
"That's because you never watched our instructors doing it," Hermione chastised gently.
"How bout' a hand then?"
He was interrupted by Hugo entering through the sliding panels, heaving his black, dangerous looking video camera. Draco didn't trust the black device. Introduced after the War, most wizards had treated the device with apprehension and mistrust. Hermione had explained to him the mechanics of it, and that it was powered by magic, but Draco still felt like the new fangled gadget invaded his space. In some respects, he prided himself as a traditionalist. In others...he smirked. Well, not so much.
"You ready guys?" Hugo asked them amicably.
Draco sneaked a quick look at the mirror. His hair was in perfect condition, his black track pants and emerald green tight fitting tee showcased his toned body, and he was his usual suave and charming self. "Ready," he answered quickly.
Hugo switched on his camera, and started to film. He opened his mouth to ask a question, but Hermione beat him to the punch.
"Not ready!" his partner squeaked a tad too late, gazing at her reflection despairingly. Draco didn't see a problem with Hermione's appearance. Her hair was tamed into a bun, with a few strands of brown curls dangling down, which framed her face in a way that didn't seem so much messy as it did casual. She had donned a grey tank top and shorts that showed off her curves and slender legs... Draco thought she looked riveting. Not that he'd tell her that. Ever.
"You'll never be ready," he informed her. "You'll always pale in comparison to me."
Hermione glared at him fiercely. Draco simply shrugged. "Humility was never one of my gifts."
"Too right!" Hermione fervently agreed.
"But," he smiled wolfishly. "I'll have you know I always tell the truth."
His clever remark got him a whack on the arm.
Hugo laughed out loud at their exchange. "How's the dance going?" he prompted.
"Well," Hermione prodded Draco with her index finger as he preened. "This guy's a natural. Me, not so much. I'm not so familiar with ballroom." She frowned. "The terms, the techniques, they're all quite alien to me, I hope I'll be able to master it by the end of the week!"
"And if she can't," Draco supplied, lazily draping his arm over Hermione's shoulder. "I'm good enough for the both of us."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence," she said sardonically.
"However," Draco waffled on, unperturbed. "The passion, the love, the heat of the dance, we got it down pat." He pushed Hermione in front of him, twirled her around, held her close to his body, such that their noses were almost touching. He swore that she became slightly pink and breathless, and it wasn't front exertion this time.
"You see," he said very convincingly. "Just look at her face. You can see it, plain as day. She wants me."
"The only thing I want," Hermione retorted hastily, having recovered her powers of speech and wiggling herself free of him, "Is for you to shut up. Prat." She folded her hands across her chest.
"She secretly fancies me," Draco assured the scary black gizmo that was recording his every move. "I can tell."
"Hugo," Hermione smiled charmingly. "I think we've done enough filming for today. It's way past Draco's bedtime."
Hugo chuckled as he switched off his camera and packed up. "You two are hilarious," he told them.
Draco took that to be a compliment. Without preamble, without waiting for Hugo to leave, he waltzed up to Hermione and grabbed her by the waist.
"Merlin!" Hermione squealed again, in tandem with the whoosh of the sliding panels that indicated Hugo's exit.
"Aren't you jumpy today," Draco observed. "I was merely going to suggest we continue dancing."
"Oh," she said faintly. Was it just him, or did she seem slightly disappointed?
Without letting go of her, Draco grabbed his wand and cast a spell, hoping and praying, that it would get the radio to work. It did. A slow, rhythmic piece of music emitted from the magically enhanced speakers.
"Milady," he said gallantly, stepping away from her and bowing gracefully.
"Honestly, did someone cast a cheering charm on you? You're in such a good mood today."
"I think you're the one in desperate need of it," he said, guiding her hand to rest on his waist. Draco led her through the basic steps of the Samba, slowly and patiently, so that she would relax. She did, and leaned into his grip.
"This isn't that bad." she confided as Draco increased the speed ever so slightly.
"Mm, told you so." With a flick of his wand, he changed the song to their actual performing one. Hey, he was getting the hand of the stereo thing! Maybe you weren't to touch the knobs at all, one only needed to use your wand.
"What do you say? Let's try the routine out," Draco said mildly.
Hermione looked intimidated by the fast paced music. "Not promising a stellar performance," she hedged.
"Who cares!" Draco encouraged. Hermione looked fairly scandalized. "No one's watching. Go with it!"
He started dancing their sequence, expertly executing the tricky footwork in a very snazzy way. Hermione soon joined in, shaking her hips loosely and twisting her feet. She was doing fine, Draco thought.
"Like this," he said, and put his hands gently on her hips, applying pressure to rock them side to side. He stepped back to observe.
"Loosen up your torso..." he advised, now dancing with her. "That's it, that's it, now sharper. Good, do it a bit quicker...faster, yes, you've got it." He let his hand skim down the side of body, ghosting around the her curves, and he felt her shiver under his touch. Sparks like electricity went through both of them, but they continued dancing fluidly while more and more of these jolts occurred. It was incredibly sensual, the very antithesis of their friendship they had built up. With his other free arm, he loosely grasped her right hand and brushed it against his lips as they traversed the floor. Whoa, there cowboy. Not part of the plan.
Their bodies pulled close together, then they slid apart. She did a jazz kick in the air, he grabbed hold of her leg, placed it over his shoulder, and performed the complicated lift that Bree had taught them. Effortlessly, he twirled her, his eyes feasting on the sight of her gorgeous form and beautiful dancing. He admired the way they danced together, their hips moving in perfect synchrony as they spun round. There was an intensity pervading the air, almost suffocating in its potency. He pulled her into the required embrace and felt her suppress a shiver. They stood there slightly longer then was necessary, entertaining the idea that they just may be dancing together for other reasons besides the competition, and savouring the new, unknown feeling that was enveloping them. Pulling apart, she stepped on his foot.
"Drats!" Hermione cried, effectively ending the dance. She pushed away from him and walked to the other side of the room to the barre. If you could call it a side, that is, as the room was perfectly circular.
"I can't do this!" she vented loudly, punctuating each exclamation with a grand battement. "I can't, I can't, I simply can't! I am utterly disgraceful at ballroom!" kick. "I can't dance at all! Stupid, stupid, samba!" kick. "I can't move my hips fast enough and my arms aren't smooth enough and my feet keep getting twisted and tangled because of these bloody heels-" she removed them and tossed them aside viciously as she spoke. "-And we have only two more days to clean the item up and I'll totally bring us down during the performance and we'll get kicked off before you can say Crumple-Horned Snorcacks, which don't even exist, just so you know!"
She paused to draw in a deep breath before executing an admirably high kick, and then continuing with vehemence," And it'll be all my fault and you'll just hate me for eternity. And I look so fat today! And my hair frizzed like mad during the filming and I just know my head is going to resemble a brown pygmy puff on video-" Draco found that he was disagreeing more and more with each statement she made. "- and I look so ghastly and hideous today. My grey top makes me look like a granny-" Draco fervently disagreed with this. "- and I don't hold a candle next to you. I need-" kick. "To succeed-" kick. "-In this damn competition!" kick. "I need-"kick"To prove-" kick "I'm something other than a prudish bookworm!"
Draco couldn't stand her constant put downs any longer. In fact, he was rather mad that she even felt that way about herself. She was Hermione Granger. She was the ultimate library of information no one else could, or bothered to, remember, with everything placed in specific categories and organized according to alphabetical order and level of importance. She was the perfectionist of the century.
"You don't need to prove anything," he said furiously.
"Yes I do! You don't understand!" She turned sharply to the other side and started grand battements on her other leg. "I need-" kick "-To be perfect! I'm supposed to be good at everything! It's so frustrating when I'm not in control, when I'm not at my best.."
She continued along on that vein, and Draco wanted nothing more for her to stop. Should he cast a Silencio on her? Or give her a Calming Draught? It hardly seemed tactful though, to brandish his wand in her face or shove a potion down her throat. Then again, since when was he ever a sensitive chap? To hell with it! He hadn't the foggiest idea how to console hysterical females.
"Merlin!" he cried, stalking forward. "Would you just shut up!"
"...see that twist right there, after we do this? Yeah, I can't that either! No matter how many times I try! I'm an incapable little-"
Roughly, he grabbed her shoulders and spun her around to face him. That successfully stunned her into silence.
"For heaven's sake, woman," he growled, watching her eyes widen in surprise. "Just. Shut. Up."
Somehow, Hermione managed to gather her wits, and voiced protest, "But I'm really, really, not good enough-"
"Granger!"
Draco had enough. He honestly couldn't see why she could view herself as anything less than perfection. If anyone wasn't good enough, it was him, Draco Malfoy, master of depravity. She needed to stop talking. Now.
So his head swiftly descended and tenderly, gently and firmly, he kissed her, his hands reaching up to frame her face, as he silenced her insecurities once and for all.