Chapter Ten: "Dealing in Absolutes"
A million questions and a million feelings were running through Hermione's head and veins, but it was Georgia May's laugh of 'We're a slave to our emotions', that tattooed to the beat of her heart. Draco Malfoy was snogging her, and it was with such intensity that she didn't know how to react.
So she did nothing.
And when he pulled back, she saw he wasn't embarrassed, wasn't covering up or apologizing for his audacity. She grew hot, incredibly, awfully hot, and experienced the horrible sensation of being exposed.
"What do you think you're doing?"
It was a stammering whisper she released, and she cursed herself for not sounding stronger, for letting him know he affected her.
"Kissing you," he smirked, and his confidence only served to falter hers.
"Draco, I don't want you to be. Not right now…I've, god, I've made too many mistakes in the past few days."
"Well what's the harm in making a few more, then?" he asked, drawing her chair closer to him so their knees grazed. But as he leaned in to grab her again, she put a hand on his chest.
"Because I'm fairly certain I've ruined friendships by them, and that's not something I care to repeat."
"I'm not your friend," he countered, clutching her fingers in his, to which she shook him off.
"No, no you're not. Why would you want me?" she questioned, her tone laced with apprehension. Unable to stop herself from thinking he was up to something. "You're drunk."
"I'm not, though," he laughed, shaking his head. "Look at me."
He pointed to his eyes; examining them, they weren't glazed. She didn't know how to feel about that.
"I am, though," she lied. She was moments ago, but his lips had surged her into sobriety, save for her vision becoming hazy. But that probably wasn't from the alcohol. "I barely even know you, you don't even like me."
"How do you know if I like you, Granger? Haven't I just said I do?"
"B-but," she stuttered, tucking curly strands behind her ears, wondering why she couldn't will her legs to move.
She needed to turn him off her, she needed to create an opportunity for escape.
"I had sex with Ron last night," was what she blurted out.
"I made out with Georgia last night," he shrugged, astounding her.
"You did?"
How could somebody try it on with Georgia, and not go further? she pondered, flabbergasted. Why would she consider him worthy of getting in the bedroom?
She then remembered that people could be extremely charming, as she'd done the deed with scum, Blaise. It seemed that her new mate paid little heed to who she slept with, but then, that wasn't true. She was wasted at Draco's party, just as Hermione was wasted the evening before with Ron. And Georgia wouldn't willingly cheat, she just was so spontaneous that these things didn't bother her.
"Wait, that's not the issue," she rubbed her face. "I cheated. I'm a horrible human being. I broke up with Blaise and made the same offence."
"Did you?" Draco asked, slightly impressed, extremely amazed. Hermione was annoyed he sounded curious instead of disgusted.
"Yes. Ron was 'on a break' with Lavender, but it doesn't matter, they still care for each other. I'm a giant hypocrite. I'm just as bad."
"Did you want it? Did he want it? Yes. It's not all your fault, love."
"But I am the one who's always rational," she cried, smashing her fists onto the table, falling apart in front of the last person she wanted to. "He was upset, we were both vulnerable. And I knew it. Just why?"
"People screw up."
"And why," she rose, ignoring him, expression blazing, "why didn't you go all the way?"
Draco took a sip of his whiskey.
"She was up for it, but I didn't want to, was hesitant," he explained, which didn't make her flattered that he wasn't like that around her, as he'd hoped. It made her angry.
"Well why? Why is it so bad to have casual sexual encounters!" she growled. "And why don't you care if I got off with Ron? You hate him!"
"It's not, Hermione. What you do is your business, why should I give a fuck? And I do hate him, but I thought you wouldn't be so loving towards Miss Stoned in there, having canoodled with two people now you don't fancy. It was a way of offering up a balance."
"Balance? How is it balanced? You don't make any sense!"
"I assumed that we'd be even if we both banged people we didn't care for."
"What? Why would we need to be even?"
He gave her a significant look, a sheepish grin on him. She rested her skull on the counter, confused and really irked.
"Why would you be hesitant about shacking up with somebody so pretty if you're both single?" she prodded, unable to let that thought go.
"It didn't feel right to me."
Right and Malfoy were two words Hermione wouldn't have placed in the same sentence. He wasn't giving the same closed off, twisted appearances as she only had recollections of.
"I don't know why you're so calm. You have the nerve to kiss me, after telling me that you made a bet with Theo, and you don't think it appears fishy? Is that why you wanted to hire me? Huh, spill it Malfoy, before I smack you into the Thames," she demanded quietly, expecting him to avoid answering.
"Yes, it is why. But I did know you'd do well anyways," he smiled, spinning his glass in his hand. "Blaise made several petty remarks to Theo and I, and he rounded me up to try and get closer to you. Because Blaise despises me, and likes telling his acquaintances and lovers what to do," he drawled.
Hermione was frozen to the spot again. Honesty wasn't something she'd foreseen from him, but then, he was surprising her completely this instance.
"How do I know you're not hiding things now? How do I know if you're being genuine to me? You used to find me repulsive, and even if I considered coming near you, you might just throw this 'conquest' in the ring, so you can have another tally under your belt in this game you're involved in."
Sighing, he laid his head down in the same fashion she had hers, so he could examine her face properly. Then, he ghosted a palm over her bare knee, and tentatively settled it down. His hands were cold, and she shivered from the contact.
But didn't push him away.
"Granger, if I was the same boy from school, I wouldn't be living in London, and I wouldn't be talking to you at all. I hadn't seen you in years before that boat cruise, and I naively thought I enjoyed goading you for the same juvenile reasons as when I was 12. Maybe I'm still a conniving bastard, but I don't toy with people's emotions. Because it's been done to me too many time before, and I know how much it hurts."
It was then that she flickered her gaze to him, his vulnerable inflection similar to the one he'd used in his flat to get her to agree to write his contract. Only it was weaker than then, and the softness in his eyes completely transformed the way his usual self-assured features were.
"Truth is, I didn't actually understand until a minute ago that upon seeing you again, not in that pub, but at the Quidditch pitch a month ago, that I felt the need to be guarded because I fancy you. Not because of your blood, or our past lives. Or because your Potter's friend, and you were Zabini's girl. I acted the only way I knew how around you, because you still thought me to be a pompous cock. And I probably am. But not always," he murmured delicately.
A glimmer of a smile crept onto her lips, and the breath from her barely audible giggle was felt on the tip of his nose. He felt his lungs stop working, and marvelled at how unlucky his stars were to be enchanted by the most inconvenient girl possible. That fact making it all the more tantalizing.
"You know, you have the most spectacular smile. I don't know how I've never noticed."
She was surveying him as if he were a particularly nasty exam question.
Somehow she felt an attraction that hadn't been present when he'd arrived here. Perhaps she was always on the high ground because she sought a vengeance where she only used razor-sharp wit. But he was no different from Harry or Ron in that sense, they all liked to take action, all liked getting even.
And she recognized that up until now in this moment, they'd both been putting on a front. They'd always been putting on fronts.
This was the real Draco Malfoy talking.
This, she concluded, was why Pansy Parkinson was after him so badly.
His thumb was now tracing a pattern, leaving her skin tingly. Slowly, tentatively, she swept stray hairs on his forehead so she could see him a bit clearer. And when she heard his breath catch, her heart imitated his body.
In such a tense, lingering silence, the only thing that can interrupt it is action.
He found it easy, so right, to inch closer to her until he could plant a soft peck onto her parted mouth. And when again she didn't react, though he had predicted she wouldn't, he got the shock of his life when the next thing he knew, she was wrenching him back to her.
She tasted deliciously sweet; warm from the wine and her bubbling aggravation. He tasted intoxicating to her, his tongue chilled from the ice in his drink, prickling her senses with hints of whiskey and peppermint toothpaste.
They had their fingers tangled into each other's hair, and were kissing slowly, with an ardour that went beyond lust.
It was different to them both, than their experiences with Ron and Georgia. It was controlled, and it didn't feel careless, it somehow wasn't mere carnal longing. Because their figures hadn't moved from their seats, everything was focused above the shoulders.
Draco had turned out to be a great snogger, perhaps because he'd had such a long build up to finally want and be able to test his skill. Hermione knew exactly where to caress, and knew how to keep things interesting, a fact that he was prepared for from the way Blaise had bragged about her.
And when they found themselves gasping for air, Hermione was overwhelmed by how lost she'd gotten in him, somehow she'd forgotten where they were. Her dress was lowered, her lingerie exposed. She was on his lap, and felt his chest respiring heavily.
Then she became afraid, she became her normal worried self.
"So," she panted, folding her arms in disbelief as she adjusted her shirt, "S-so, what does this mean?"
With widened eyes, he laughed incredulously.
"It means I like you. What does it mean to you?" he questioned, running a hand over his pale hair.
"But….are you wanting to, to, sleep with me? Have an affair?"
"None of those," he confessed. "I've never had a girlfriend, Hermione."
"Yes, Blaise told me. But surely you don't mean that," she replied shrilly, turning nearly as white as Draco already was.
"No, well, I don't know," he admitted, his poise noticeably slipping for the first time.
"I don't want to date you, at least, not right this second."
"You're making out with me, isn't that the right place to start?" he inquired, to which she became unnerved. But unnerved was nothing compared to the next phrases he uttered.
"For dating? Is that what you do on dates?" she flushed.
"You tell me. What if I told you I've never been on a date. That I've kissed only Pansy and Georgia. And never had sex?"
"I – " she paused, unable to come up with anything that would not be insensitive or respectful.
"Because it's true. That's also why I didn't get it up with Georgia May, but I haven't felt like this in so long, that I wouldn't even if I wasn't pathetic."
"Like this?"
"Never mind," he murmured, feeling idiotic, unsure of himself.
"But – is that why Pansy wants you so badly?" she slipped out, to which he shrunk and emitted a tsk of irritation. It would be like Pansy to 'claim him' while he was unsullied, like he was a box that could be ticked.
"You noticed then?" She chose to feign indifference and nodded. "Maybe it is."
"Well why haven't you? I mean –" she corrected at his anguish, "You're obviously not unattractive. I – I think you look nice. And if you can be charming like that, what more does it take, really?"
"Granger, I've been having this chain of thought binding me that I want to shag somebody I date. Who wants to go out with me, though? I torched the bridge at school and locked myself up at home. Nobody finds me amicable, and why would they? I'm Draco Malfoy, pure-blooded scum who should only be seeing somebody in the Slytherin gene pool."
"Okay, but – "
"The reason I stayed at home for so long is because I was going to be damned if I ended up like Blaise, or Astoria, or fucking Theo once I left. I don't like living a façade, I don't want to be somebody I'm not. I want to just do whatever. I spent so long being fake that now I'm free, forcefully anyways, I feel lost. The idea I can just do anything, try anything, and talk to whomever is daunting, and why I'm so reserved about getting close to anybody unless they make the first move. It took a lot to even get my wits up to call Georgia. I want to change it."
He didn't know why he was ripping out his soul and laying it to waste in front of this girl, this understanding, intelligent girl. But he was; and she felt compassion.
"Everybody feels similar to that, Draco," she whispered, and before she knew what she was doing, she had wrapped her arms around him in embrace. "Yours is elevated because high society is all based on face. But I get exactly what you mean, and it is horrible. Good for you for trying not to be a part of it. Everybody worries about what people will say or what they'll do if you make a mistake."
Oddly, he wanted to start crying, or yell, something rash. But he chose the right decision, and hugged her back, speaking softly.
"I don't desire the backlash I'd receive from - god forbid – associating with somebody who is 'beneath me' or 'too different' or has been taken, like the way a lot of those idiots have been gossiping about my career path. Which was a fuck you, by the way," he added, and they both chuckled. "But…having you in my life would never be a mistake."
Her grip tightened on him, nails biting into his back.
And then, seconds later, he was released.
Puzzled, he furrowed his brow at the woman who held him, who appeared so alarmed, he couldn't make words form to ask if she was alright.
"Hermione?..."
"I don't know," she inhaled, finding it very difficult to speak, "if having you in mine would be."
She watched the curves of his lips turn into something much more horrifying than a frown. She watched the muscles contract inwards, as if he was wincing, and the air in the room charged from passionate to cold. He felt cold.
"Are you willing to find out?"
His tone was strained.
"I'm not sure. This is too fast, and it's too soon. Please understand," she beseeched to him.
Of course he did, but he was used to instant gratification. He was hardly used to such unpleasant rejection based on something that was an honest speculation.
"I understand," he told her in a way that suggested he didn't.
"I'm not saying no, but you are much more courageous than me. See, I don't think anyone dear to me would let you near me, they'd think I'd gone insane," she admitted, and he fought very hard not to smirk. "And I would be scared of what they think. I'm already on thin ice from last night."
She was gathering her old clothes, fumbling with her keys, trying to distract herself.
"So when will I know?"
But his desperation caused her stomach to tighten with guilt, of letting him snog her and then informing him he couldn't have a chance yet.
"I have your number."
And though these kinds of lines always zinged in television shows as a good exit, Hermione felt like a giant arse as she walked out of the unfamiliar apartment. She couldn't find the inner strength in her to just let herself act how she wanted. She wanted to go back up there and just kiss him, and not care about where they stood.
But the funny thing was, that it did really matter to her, and she was considering letting him in. So she couldn't be rash, because then he'd end up like Ron. Because then she'd have the knowledge that there was a decent person she'd ruined by jumping under the sheets too quickly, especially when he hadn't had a relationship.
She was over thinking everything, and decided she'd walk all the way to Harry's to calm herself. She could still feel his hands on the nape of her neck.
Back in the apartment, Draco had dumped his drink down the drain.
He knocked on the door and when there was no reply, he let himself into the bedroom and laid next to a comatose Georgia. Waking her up with his rustling movements, she waved away his sorrys and cuddled up next to him.
"You okay?" she sighed, half-asleep. "Hermione still here?"
He noticed now it was after midnight. They must have been out there melting into one another for at least two hours. It seemed like seconds.
"I'm fine. No, she's not. Good night," he soothed, patting her head.
"Mm, night."
She shuffled a bit closer to him, enjoying the warmth, and nestled under his chin. He took her caringly, imagining that she had brown curls instead of blonde extensions, shoving a blanket over them as he closed his eyes, completely awake.
And now he understood exactly how Pansy felt.
{}
They'd broken up for good.
At least, that's what Lavender had told Ginny, and what Ginny had screamed at Hermione when she made it to Harry and Ron's flat.
It had taken her a few hours to get there, and mother nature decided to pour rain in the middle. So she looked like what the cat dragged in, entering a place containing a disgruntled couple. She'd been hoping that Ginny was back home, and she could speak with just Harry, as he usually stayed up exceedingly late. But they were still together, Ron had declared he would be at the pub if anyone required his presence.
Her friends weren't terrible people. They set her up with a cup of tea, and dressed her Harry's old pajamas, and then sat her down to talk.
"Where the hell have you been, anyways? Lavender called me sobbing, saying that she couldn't let herself date Ron anymore. I thought you'd be there," Ginny asked with constrained anger, to which Harry nudged her.
He may be annoyed at her best friends actions, but it wasn't all Hermione's fault. And she appeared so downtrodden; he hated being pissed off. Ginny was clouded by the fact that her brother was hurt, and couldn't understand why she would cheat when she'd been cheated on recently (or at all).
Ron was very nice, and was very caring. But he was also impulsive, and Harry had heard and seen him at work when he had an idea in his mind. He'd been so up and down about Hermione that something must've been done in the first place to enable her to abandon her usual logic.
"I left because he wasn't going to talk to her," she said, her voice quiet. "I ran into Lavender on the street, and directed her to his location. I told her what happened right away, which may have been the wrong decision. But I did do what you suggested, Ginny. God, I'm so stupid."
Head in her hands, Ginny was suddenly distressed by the fact that Hermione was apparently weeping.
Of course they didn't know that Miss Granger had just fraternized with the enemy, or that he'd acted as anything but evil. She cursed herself for being so upset about the occurrence, for having it happen in the first place. She'd left a mess to create another one, left Ron to have the shittiest weekend of his life.
"Oh….Hermione. I'm sorry, alright. But you and he were so daft."
"Don't apologize, I'm getting what I deserve for this. I just wish I could do something, anything to fix it. Georgia May, that's who I met up with, tried her damnedest to be there for me, tried to correct her mistake. Only she didn't know about Blaise dating me, and I did know about Ron."
"Really? You met up with her?" Ginny pulled a face. "That's odd."
"I figured she might be able to give me advice seeing as we both committed similar crimes."
The pulled face changed to a surprised approving one.
"That makes sense, actually. Well, at least you feel bad about this. And you did do all you could, right?"
"I explained myself, but maybe I'll write a letter and send her something nice tomorrow. I know I didn't take to her in Hogwarts, but she's really quite sweet. And she made him happy."
"I know," Ginny rubbed her arm soothingly. "It's just that Ron is convinced you would be able to too, isn't he? "
But I wouldn't, she thought. And neither would he me.
Ron wouldn't make her happy if they tried because he was so indecisive. It might cause such a rift between everything; they didn't hold as much unfailing devotion as Harry and Ginny.
Blaise didn't make her happy, he only made her feel desirable.
Lamenting over what makes a good relationship, she couldn't get Draco's voice out of her skull: "When will I know?"
She wished she knew. If for certain they'd make each other happy before she dared to be bold, she admitted to herself she would ring him up now.
"I don't want Ron, I stand by what I said."
She didn't know what she wanted.
She couldn't fathom the idea that a boy who used to vex her was different. That a few smatterings of banter between them was enough to make him like her. It was evident he could still be manipulative, and if he was hatching something, she'd never forgive herself or him. She couldn't trust him.
So why then was she still having vivid dreams about that night several weeks later?
Why did she wake up with the moon still shining in the sky, hot and bothered, in need of some water.
Was he restless too?
Every morning she'd tell herself she was going to call him and say 'Sorry, but no.' But every morning came and passed, every afternoon, and she did nothing.
Unluckily for her, the nightmare wasn't over.
At least nobody had leaked that she and Ron shacked up, but thankfully, Lavender wasn't spiteful.
She was unsure of why she stashed it under her mattress. The magazine that included a smug shot of Draco, a bad one of her, and an unflattering one of Georgia. Pansy had apparently gone to Witch Weekly and relayed the real story of how Blaise Zabini, famous entrepreneur, cheated. It made Draco out to be some kind of saint, which greatly displeased the woman who revealed the information. But, Hermione guessed, that was due to the fact the piece had been featured in the issue where Draco was on the front, talking about his recent success. They wouldn't slag him off in that one. Sometimes she'd yank it out, re-reading his interview. Staring at his face change from a serious stare to an amused smirk.
Despite these weird secret rituals she'd hidden from everyone, the group had gone back to normal, as normal as they could be anyways.
Ron and Hermione were awkward around one another, they resolved to get past their mishap. It was difficult though, when they both recalled having vigorous animal sex on the floor in their meeting spot. But Ginny and Harry did their best to pretend like nothing had ever happened, taking them out to safe, friendly venues. And nothing bad had occurred, save for a few drunken phone calls and a few more teary outbursts.
Hermione had been texting Georgia as distant friends do; Draco had kept discretion, she wasn't aware of the events either.
She'd sent Lavender a card, and made Ron send her pink roses, as a final 'I'm sorry'.
The roses were promptly returned. The card had received no reply. All was almost well.
Until one day, the routine was different.
It was August now, and private school term had just begun. Tuesdays were the day Hermione babysat her young cousin, Finlay. Tuesday was her roommates date night.
Having no siblings, the nine year old essentially acted as a nephew she'd never have. Hermione was happy to help out Leah, one of her closest relatives, and a single mum with two jobs. A night off to go out or relax was much appreciated.
Her standard procedure of going to the office, working hard and returning home an hour early was much the same. She prepared the meal he always requested, peanut butter and jelly with chocolate milk, in advance so she could set up the pull out couch in front of the telly. She would take him to school in the morning, he liked to watch a movie before bed.
"Hermione! Guess what I made for you today!"
It was 4:30, and he had bounced in, hands sticky from spilled fruit punch, clutching a crumpled drawing in his little hands. Handing it to her, she took his empty juice box and the paper. It was of the two of them walking through Hyde Park in neon Crayola markers.
It was difficult to reign in a bouncy child full of energy, so she took him for 'adventures' on the tube to see fountains and playgrounds. Tuckering him out and so he could get some exercise
"Another masterpiece? You know I'm going to have to start an art gallery. Maybe you'll be famous one day," she smiled, bending down for a hug.
"You think so? I was just saying to mummy that it would be grand if I could be one of those men with those tall hats that drive carriages with lovey dovey people in them."
Leah rolled her eyes and giggled, thanking her as usual for being so helpful.
Leah was a high school teacher, and worked weekends and some nights at a convenience store. She looked exhausted as she came inside the flat, but was dressed up to go to dinner with her mates.
"You're such a star, eh? Think I'd lose me head if I didn't get a load off," she squeezed Hermione's hand while sighing in her Scottish brogue. "Give us a kiss, now Finlay, and behave."
"Promise!" he sang, jumping into her arms and planting a big smooch on her cheek. "Bye mam, enjoy your curries!"
"See you later," Leah winked, waving her way out.
"Now that she's gone," Finlay sighed dramatically, plopping onto a chair. "May I please have some choccy biscuits? You're the only one who lets me eat them, dumb academy."
Hermione found his tenacity and taste for rebellion reminiscent of Sirius, and hoped one day they would meet. Presently, he was throwing off his blazer and his button up to reveal his black t-shirt printed with "Han Shot First."
"Get out your homework, and once you've started, you can have some. You better eat your sandwich though, you know I buy raspberry jam just for you," she teased, to which he squeed in glee.
It was around six when he finished, constantly asking for clarification regarding math and now reciting his language arts journal entry assignment to her. She adored aiding him, it was nice to be useful to somebody who actually was interested in what you had to say.
They settled down for dinner, always joining him in eating his swanky cuisine.
Meanwhile, Draco was sitting in Southampton, at the club, by himself. He was invited by Miles, but a German witch had managed to spark enough interest that he was chatting her up.
Sipping some Irish whiskey, indifferent to the fact it was still early, he found himself watching Theo and Astoria, their subtle couple-y gestures something he hadn't noticed until lately. Why a beautiful girl like her considered dating such a weasel like him was beyond his comprehension, but for the first time he was envious. Evidently, Theo could do some things right.
It didn't help that while solitary, when he needed company, most were avoiding him. Theo gave him a meaningful look when he walked in, but otherwise stayed away. Pansy was shooting daggers at him across the room, same with Blaise. Nobody in the circle really gave a shit that he cheated, especially since they didn't care about Hermione at all. They did however, find it interesting that a Malfoy was getting close to a famous muggle model, one that Blaise deemed worthy enough to shag.
In all this, Sergei was absent, and Draco dreaded the answer as to why.
He'd locked himself up in his home these days, throwing himself fully into work, networking with everybody he could. He only came out this afternoon because he had free time, and didn't like where his mind wandered when there was nothing to occupy it. Georgia was on vacation right now, a last minute trip with her father before returning for fall semester.
Unable to stand the sensation of burning gazes on scalp, he stood up in his excessively non-wizard clothing, and marched onto the verranda, to see the swans glide in the lake.
After a few peaceful minutes, he felt a hand tap on his back.
"Y'alright, Malfoy?"
Miles was beaming like he'd been bludgered, leaning over the railing to chat. He slipped a number into his trousers before paying attention to his schoolmate.
"Eh."
"Haven't seen you in a while. You seem pretty down. Blaise giving you a hard time?"
Draco didn't show it, but he was surprised at what he'd just been asked. What exactly had Blaise been saying behind his back?
"No. Which scares me more than anything, really. Just been out of sorts, been busy," he muttered, not bothering at discretion because Miles was one of thew few non-vile people that were in his ring. He was always much too high to be a dick.
"Been sleeping much? Anything wrong, Draco? It must be annoying to have all these jerks sizing you up and criticizing you."
Flicking his lighter to smoke a fag, he handed one graciously to Miles and exhaled the smoke before he decided to speak. "If I tell you, you probably won't believe me."
"Try me," Miles challenged, beckoning him with his free hand to go for promenade round the sunny grounds, a detail that didn't go unnoticed by Miss Parkinson in the corner.
So sitting under a tree, with Miles burning a doob, something gauche in the club, he told with slightly ambiguous details the tale of his crazy night in July, about the bet, about his falling out, and the day Zabini got taken down a peg.
When he got to the part about making out with Hermione, Miles jaw gaped open.
"Holy fuck, man. You're crazy! Does he know? Is that why he's been in a foul mood 24/7?"
"No, I don't think so. He was livid that I informed Pansy of the details of his offense. He's been making idle threats, or else, he's planning something big. I'm certain that shit in Witch Weekly was her doing, actually. I almost want to throw her off the cliff and into his shark pool, but I'm tired."
"Integrity, friend. Yeah, she's been getting really pissy. I suspect she got into a fight with Sergei, which adds to it all. She's been slagging you off nonstop," he chuckled, laying down in the cool grass, stomping the cherry with his foot.
"Ugh. I wish I hadn't yelled at her, but it's too late to say sorry now."
"It is….well what're going to do about Hermione? Do you like her? Was it a lapse in sanity, maybe a sudden urge for revenge?"
Draco bumped his head against the trunk, staring up into the branches, watching the green leaves rustle in the breeze.
"I tried to convince myself of that, but it's a lie. It was such a feeling of, of clarity, when I understood that I – that I wanted to kiss her. I can't stop thinking about her. It's the most ridiculous thing."
Miles, who was coughing, tried to focus on this man beside him, who up until now had acted like a kid. He remembered Draco as being a mouthy little prat in school, entertaining nonetheless. He remembered him being a cock to Hermione – and everyone else – but maybe all those things parents used to say were right; maybe you picked on people you fancied.
"You can't help who you fall for. And as I recall, you aren't well versed in the land of lasses. She's a proper lady, that one, I can't blame you. Maybe in Hogwarts you would've been out of line. Now it's cause old Blaise had her 'first', but she deserves somebody who's going to actually love her, not allow her to be in their life."
"What are you saying?"
He wasn't looking for suggestions or pity, but he wasn't necessarily unhappy to receive that.
"I'm saying you dolt, go fucking get her! You know where she lives, don't wait for her to give you the go ahead. You messed her about in the past, it's up to you to prove your worth, not her."
This idea had crossed his mind millions of times, once the first week of no confirmation or rejection went by. And the same anxiety swallowed him each time it did.
"I cant get past the thought of Ginny Weasley being home when I go. Fuck, maybe the Weasel himself will be. Or worse, Potter," he grimaced.
"Well, what if they aren't?"
"I don't know," he replied defeated. "I wouldn't even know what to say."
"'Date me, Hermione. Give me a chance!'" Miles sung, throwing his hands up as if he were in a play. "Bring her a carnation, no, bring her a book, and a love letter."
"We're not bloody 15 years old," Draco snickered.
"Yeah, but didn't we have a nice reckless abandon that was so romantic at that age?Remember when Marcus Flint was so hopelessly enamoured with Gemma Farley that he wrote her a poem and recited it in the dungeons? You know she acted like it was funny, but deep down, she loved it. Like, go for it. It's lame and cheesy, but it's nice, eh?"
"I suppose," he agreed, laughing at the memory.
If he was right about Hermione, then perhaps, unlike the Slytherin stock, a Gryffindor girl would appreciate the effort. And not see it as weakness.
"You're not just completely blazed right, and talking out your arse, are you?"
Peeking through his bangs, he hadn't been bothered to style it like usual, Miles grinned sheepishly.
"I am, but I'm serious. And you know it's good advice. You can beat me up if it doesn't work. And if she rejects you, at least you know where you stand. Clearly she`s just as frightened as you if she didn't tell you to stuff it straight away."
Somehow, maybe he had a contact high, he found he had some strange courageousness out of thin air.
He brushed off his legs as he stood up, clutching his wand with one shaking hand in his pocket. Before he went, he took the flask he'd stowed away, chugging down the rum within it, shuddering at the sharp taste.
"Wish me luck," he said.
"I wish you luck," Miles bid. "Let me know how it goes."
With a 'will do', he disaparated into the lobby of Granger's home, narrowly avoiding a resident in his haste. There was only a short span to back down from his nerve, but he decided not to be spineless, or conniving.
He wanted with every fibre of his being to see her, to get his answer. So he went to the elevator.
Ten floors up in the Kilburn apartment complex, Finlay was setting up the dvd player. Hermione always joined him in whatever film he selected, even though he picked the same series every damn time.
She'd just hung his uniform to dry, while he got on his nightclothes. She let her hair down from the severe bun she reserved for work, and changed into cloth shorts and a black camisole, microwaving some popcorn to munch on.
When there was a hesitant knock at the front, she was expecting, at 7:30, for it to be Leah. Hoping it wasn't an emergency, perhaps her plans fell through, perhaps he'd forgotten something from home, it could've been a modicum of reasons. Worry set in her stomach, but she instructed Finlay to pop in the disc.
Opening up, she nearly dropped the bowl she was holding, and narrowly avoided swearing.
"What are you doing here?" she hissed at Draco Malfoy, who was forlorn and cute, as she jumped behind her door, her body not exactly decent.
He had on a white Rolling Stones shirt, and beige jeans. He was dressed casual, and his hair was different; better. No, this wouldn't do. She wanted him in a suit, standoffish, and surrounded by Slytherins.
"I – " he faltered, craning his neck to see if anyone was in.
"I'm babysitting, Ginny isn't here!" she groaned, inviting him reluctantly in. "Well, come on. I'm grabbing a sweater, give me a moment."
"Who's at the door, Hermione?"
Pitter-pattering into the kitchen, Hermione wanted to tear out her hair at this massive inconvenience.
"My- uh – friend, Finlay. Hold on, sweetheart."
Faced with a freckled little muggle chap, with bright eyes, Glaswegian accent and a mop of auburn tresses, Draco did the only thing he knew how; he introduced himself.
"Finlay? I'm Draco, hi." He waved, a bit self-consciously. He never had experience with children. "Nice to meet you."
"Thanks, Draco. Is that Finnish or something? Your name, I mean. You have really white hair," he commented, making his way back to the couch, launching himself belly first onto it.
Amused by this cheeky child, Draco smirked as he kicked off his boots and crawled onto the pull-out with him, crossing his legs.
"Did I say you could come here?" Finlay asked, and then giggled at this bloke's falling expression." You're too easy, I'm only joking."
"Oh," he breathed a sigh of relief. "Guess I need to make sure I ask for permission."
"You bet you do! Why are you here so late?" Finlay asked, staring directly into his eyes that unsettling way children seem to do. Draco snickered, liking that he thought eight was late. "Hermione wasn't expecting anyone."
"I needed to tell her something, it couldn't wait I'm afraid."
"Well it better be good, don't make her sad. Or I'll be sad! She's the only one who lets me eat biscuits."
"Is she? I can't promise you that she won't be upset, but I can promise you you'll always have your biscuits if she allows you them."
"I don't want her all weepy, that's mean. Be careful won't you? Geez, how long does it take get a sweater?" he wondered, anxiously bopping with the remote to press play.
"I promise I'll be careful….Sorry I'm ruining your movie," he stated to a screen that had gold script: "A long time ago, in a galaxy far away…"
"It's just the beginning. Do you like Star Wars then?" Finlay bounced, face lighting up.
"Oh, I – I've never seen it, actually."
"WHAT!?"
Never had he seen somebody so young with such a mad expression, as if Draco had surely lied.
"What's wrong?" Hermione came out alarmed, the long grey cardigan she was wearing making her look adorable.
"He's never seen Star Wars! How is that humanly possible?" he asked, slapping his hands to his face and pulling down so his eyelids drooped. "We gotta start from number four then. He won't get the rest."
"I really do like him," Draco pointed, causing nothing from Hermione, who was stewing over the fact that Draco had made himself cozy, when she was so uncomfortable she couldn't even sit down.
"Why does everyone say that when they're laughing at me?" he asked, shuffling to switch the films. Hermione met her gaze to her guest, turning away when he smiled to convey how great her cousin was. "Do you have popcorn ready? Pleeeassseeee?"
"Yes, right. Sorry."
Walking to the small dining room, she attempted to ease her mind.
"Thanks!" Finlay snatched the snack, lying back again, sipping his water as he wasn't allowed soda or too much sugar after hours.
"Draco, can you come to my room to discuss whatever it is you're here for?"
She asked it pleasantly, knowing why he came, absolutely terrified.
"Can't Draco stay and watch it with us? He's never seen it! Do you even know about the force?" He was very sombre. When Draco shook his head, Finlay gave a disgusted 'uh'!'. "Plebeian."
Shaking with merriment, Draco got up and allowed Hermione to enter her quarters first. She opted to stand as she slid the door shut, wanting this over ASAP. Candles were lit everywhere, she didn't want to turn on the lamps, have to catch every change in his facial features as they spoke.
"You know, I really didn't know kids could be so hilarious," he said in her silence.
"Yes, he's quite the character," she admitted, gaze glued to the ground.
"He's your nephew? How old is he?"
"Uh, nine. And my cousin. My cousin's son," she clarified, wondering why he even cared.
"He's precious," he noted, his sentiments genuine.
"Draco, I still don't know if I want to give it a try," she cut to the chase, thickening the air in the place, causing his mouth to pout. "I know that's why you're here. I just – I…"
"I can't get you out of my head."
Out of anything he'd ever said, this threw her so far off, she might as well have been in outer space.
"You can't?"
He closed in on her, grabbing both her hands together.
"I've been trying to forget about you, and that night, claim it as a one-off. Yet I wasn't drunk, I know you were nearly there. I don't care though. It's like I'm a teenager again. The switch was flipped and it's broken now. Maybe I won't like you if we went out, but right now I do; the 'what if' is driving me insane."
She couldn't move. She couldn't imagine why he'd grow to like her so much.
"Hermione, please look at me," he begged, and when he saw her swallow hard with difficulty, he dropped to his knees so she was forced to. "Everything that's keeping you from me is my fault. As Miles pointed out to me, if I want this to work, I need to be the initiator. If you don't want me, that's fine. I just need you to set me straight."
"Merlin, Draco, why do you play the sympathy card so well?" she snarled, bronze eyes wide with frustration.
"I'm not trying to!" he defended himself, as she wrenched herself away and fell onto her duvet. "I don't know what to do. Usually I'm calculated and self-assured, but like, I actually don't want to harm you in any way, do I? I'm not going to scheme if it might cause you pain."
With that same effrontery he had when he invaded her privacy the last time he was here, he sat down next to her, trying not to notice the sliver of skin that was exposed as her shirt rode up as she lay.
"I just want a chance," he admitted when again she did refuse to speak. "Or for you to tell me to bugger off. I'd expected you to by now."
"Fuck, just shut the hell up!"
He felt himself shrink back, but then he was being pushed backwards onto his spine, and Hermione was straddling his waist.
"Just," she growled through gritted teeth, "shut up." She removed the cardigan she took so long to retrieve.
"What about – "
She put her index to his lips, before snogging him in a manner that was anything but polite. Grinding against his trousers, she wanted to scream as he was erect almost immediately. She loved the way he stroked the back of her neck, the way he scratched her back so gently. She loved how he was the complete opposite she imagined.
And he loved the way she moaned into him, and slithered her way expertly over his body. Of course he'd never had this experience before, but he knew nobody would be like her if he had.
"So," he stopped her, smirking like he'd triumphed over everything, "what does this mean?"
Hitting his chest, she let escape a strangled titter as she conceded; "We can go out, once, to see if it works. And if it doesn't, well, I'll admit to myself that I'll be a bit disappointed."
Elation stuffing his very heart until it burst, in a fit of happiness he flipped her over so he was on top, kissing her frantically, trailing his hand down to her hip, the other caressing her cheek.
"Or maybe a lot," she breathed when he, in an experiment, nibbled on her ear lobe.
Minutes passed, and orchestral music startled them out of their make out session, faces rouged, slightly ruffled. Walking out back to Finlay, they joined him to cries of the fact they missed the opening explanation.
Not wanting to give her dear cousin too much to talk about, she let Finlay rest his head on her legs, while she held on tight to Draco's calve, which was outstretched next to her. Throughout the film, he attempted to rouse her by subtly massaging her shoulders, or going for her tits. He liked trying to make her react to it, and she had to disclose that she liked the way he teased.
"Are you paying attention, Draco? See the gold one? That's 3PO, he's a good guy, the smart one. Same with the little blue and white one; R2D2 – Hey!"
Draco snapped his gaze from Hermione's to the screen, apologizing profusely, and making real effort to do what Finlay requested. He knew a happy cousin would ensure a happy Granger.
"You like the Sith then, or the Jedi's?" he asked as they were halfway done, to which the small boy scoffed.
"You're such a noob! Everyone likes the good guys! Who wouldn't want to be a Jedi? Who likes the bad guys?"
"Sometimes the bad guys aren't so bad," Hermione expressed, and while Finlay made his case against her words (Jabba the Hut, the Emperor as some), she felt a peck on her exposed collar.
"…..wrong, Hermione! Do you like the Sith, Draco?"
"I like the ones in the middle of it, I like Han Solo. People aren't just good or bad, are they? They're a mix of both."
"That's true I guess," Finlay agreed, quietly. "You're smart, you are."
"I try," he responded, ruffling his red hair, getting brushed off immediately.
"My mum will kill you! Need to be proper for school," he mocked his mother's voice. "Ah, whatever, bunch of fools."
"Finlay," Hermione scolded, trying not to giggle.
"Wot, it's the truth! Always tellin' me what to do. Now, you tell me the truth. Do you like each other, then? You two. Been googly-eyed all the film."
"A lot, apparently" Draco did not waver to answer. "At least on my end."
Hermione neither denied it or confirmed it, just grinned, which was enough for her cousin.
"Yeah, she does too."
They finished off Episode IV, Finlay succumbing to slumber close to the end. Draco pecked at Hermione through the credits, moving away to let her tuck him in, admiring the way she was so tender with him, so patient, when moments ago she'd been so controlling. If it had been anybody he knew taking care of Finlay, they'd have told him to stop asking questions, stifle him because he was so young.
"I have work in the morning. What day are you free?"
"Any day, up to you," he spluttered, hitting himself because since when had he turned into such a sap?
"Friday then? Ginny is going to have a heart attack, should prepare her for it," she tried to sound indifferent, but he could tell she was nervous.
"Friday is fine. I'll pick you up? I can meet you somewhere if you'd prefer to keep it secret."
"I might, please don't hold it against me," she pleaded, dragging him to leave. "I'll call you, okay? No, I mean it."
"Pinky swear?" he asked, offering up his finger.
"You're absurd."
But she sealed her promised by intertwining their hands, leaning in for a kiss goodbye.
"A bit."
"Bye, Draco."
"Bye."
It took him far too long to lace up his shoes, hoping she'd ask him to stay so he didn't have to leave for a big empty bedroom.
But he remembered the existence of muggle technology once he got a call in his flat, and as she brushed her teeth, she received a message from him. The ding surprising her.
Sweet dreams xx, it said.
She could feel her ribcage tighten, a few letters managing to warm her insides.
Maybe, like today, he would surprise her.
It was still too soon to tell whether or not he was upright, and that he'd changed.
But he'd made a damn good start.