Wind me up, put me down
Start me off and watch me go
I'll be running circles around you sooner than you know
A little off center, and I'm out of tune
Just kicking this can along the avenue
But I'm alright
- Jerk It Out, The Caesars
I realized a little too late that focusing on a face rather than a location is the worst possible thing I could have done to ensure a safe transport. I didn't even think of the hazard of revealing myself to Muggles. And I didn't contemplate about how scary it's going to be to arrive in their world in the first place.
In the split seconds it takes me to travel from Point A (Gringotts), to Point B (Who the hell knows), I try to switch focus in my mind from Granger's juvenile face to the single inconspicuous tree that is on the lawn of her neighbours, pushing away the impending fear of the different territory I'll be in in a moment.
At the sudden swift jerk, a change of direction, I cringe inwardly at my mistake; I'm doubting were I want to travel to. 'Determination' and 'deliberation' are important factors in apparition according to that twit Twrycross, and I don't feel either of those things.
I'm going to be splinched.
Fuck, fuck, fuck -
PLOP
The loud crack of landing relief ends with me on my ass in the middle of pavement; I never was the most graceful appiritionist.
And oh lovely it's raining - no that's an understatement. It's an absolute storm. The droplets are falling in sheets and they pelt me like I'm a dirty dish.
I shuffle to my feet, trepidation crowding around the rest of my emotions. I have no idea where I am. This looks like her street, but there is no single big tree in sight.
In fact I find myself at a junction of streets; they all look identical. Which path do I take?
I don't know!
I'm scared; I'm an effing coward, okay. I've never been physically lost before. Furthermore, I'm in London.
Oh hell, London. Not in Wiltshire safe at home, or in Diagon Alley safe from harm, but London.
Muggle London.
My chest hitches, and my breathing becomes rapid, like I just ran a marathon. Anxiety captures my entire body so I can barely move.
What if someone sees me? What do I do if one of them talks to me? What if I can't find Granger?
She'll kill me.
I want to pull out my wand, but I can't; I can't be seen! I feel naked without that wand. It doesn't matter to me whether Potter used this wand to defeat Voldemort, in fact that's a relief more than anything, what matters is it's mine. It chose me. And without being able to use it- I feel vulnerable.
I'm wet now; completely soaking. My hair's plastered to my forehead and the attire I chose to don, that was extremely expensive and took me an hour to pick out, is probably ruined. I could dry off, but I need bloody magic to do so.
I should stop probably whining, I've been standing here still for about a solid 2 minutes; I need to get a move on before one of those car things come to kill me.
I edge to the side of the road, and step timidly onto the sidewalk. I open up the buttons of my black blazer and clutch my carrier to my chest not wanting my music to get wet. I only own 4 records; I don't want them to become destroyed because of carelessness.
Ugh this is horrendous, is the weather always this bad in this part of the world?
Stop complaining and move, you idiot!
WHERE! I don't even know if I'm at the right street, let alone district. Father always told me that Muggle neighbourhoods all looked the same in the city.
I look up from the panicky voices in my head past the roofs of the houses and see a vague tall building looming in the grey clouds that line the sky. Well I'm definitely in a residential area all right; the shops are over there.
What the hell do I do?
Heavens, what is wrong with you? You're Draco Malfoy; smart, rich, cunning, and good looking (Right? Right.). It's time to stop acting like an adolescent baby, running scared at everything you see. Use your fucking head.
Out of sudden insight, I grope around my trouser pocket and feel for the picture, the only key to my survival of finding this place. But it isn't there. Wait, I was holding it. I was holding it and I must've dropped it.
I need it now, I hear weird noises, and I'm late. We never set a time, but I'd have thought 11 sufficed. It was 10:56 when I left Gringotts, damn you punctuality.
Get back on task.
I look frantically on the road and see it, turned over and wet; without hesitation I jump back into the road. Yes! I've snatched it and –THWACK.
I feel a sharp smack upon my torso, a horn, and then a sensation like I'm free falling forever. But then I hit the ground hard.
Terror numbs my instant pain. It was one of those death machines, I know it was. Which means someone was driving it, which means….
"What the hell were you doing, you fucking swot!" I look up completely alarmed to see a woman about my mother's age looking out the window of the automobile. It's Slytherin green and looks worn out. I can smell fumes of something emitting from it. Luckily the thing is small, anything bigger might've killed me.
Oh fuck, now she's opened the door. She's coming to murder me.
I curl my body into myself, clutching my aching ribs. I feel like a cornered mouse. How do these Muggle social conventions work? Am I supposed to be punished because she can't learn to stop? Will she kick me?
I squeeze my eyes shut as the woman nears me. Her footsteps are loud in my ears and I hear her ragged breathing and then –disgusting. She's poking me.
Stop it, Stop it!
Get your filthy hands off me.
"Oi, you alive? Get up, you're scaring me kid!" She speaks in a Cockney accent, like she grew up in the slums or something. I slowly open my eyes and unfurl from the fetal position.
Her proximity shocks me and I let out a little yelp. Her chubby face is extremely close to mine, and I can taste her horrid breath. She recoils at my noises, her hair is now wet and frizzing into dyed blonde clumps, flailing wildly as she jumps back.
Muggles are so undignified.
No, I mustn't input such things in my mind. There are plenty of wizards like the Weasleys who are as improper as this. And Granger doesn't have that accent. Granger isn't ugly. This is just one person. I need to stop being so judgemental.
"Effin' Christ kid, don't be scarin' me like that! Whatcha doin' jumping out the middle of the damn street? I got places ta be."
She's so kind.
I stretch out, feeling myself for injury, blood, and broken bones, but I seem to actually be intact. Thank Merlin. I might've had to curse her if she'd done any real damage. My outfit and belongings probably cost more than her car.
"Excuse me," I say raspily because I've been winded. "But you're the one who hit me in the first place!" You bitch.
"Well ya jumped in the way!' she bellows, no remorse for damaging a minor. "You should have seen me coming! Or at least heard me in this. Piece a junk, innit?"
"Fine, whatever. Good thing my belongings were in my grasp or else you'd definitely have to pay," I reply calmly, steadily rising to my feet, brushing off myself, even though I'm just getting more sopping. I don't want to get too upset, provoking this monstrosity will prove to be a harmful decision.
She looks me up and down as I stand straight. Her tone changes when she next speaks to me.
"You don't uh, need a ride or anything do ya?" I look up into her face and she's slightly frightened. She just doesn't want me to report her to authorities.
"No. I'll be just fine," I sneer.
She huffs for a moment but then walks away to her car, slamming the door and raring to start going again.
I know I need to move to make my point clear but I don't know where to go. I glance at the picture I've been clenching all this time, and try to will it to tell me where I should go. It's damp as a used umbrella though. I flip it around several times to try and make it dry, though it's useless in this downpour; but abruptly a faint script catches my eye.
It's wet but evidently spell casted onto the paper because I can still read it: 22 Parkhill Drive, Camden
Fuck. I'm such an idiot.
How did I never look at the back of this? I inspected the front about a million times –
That's cause you were too preoccupied with little Hermione, dolt.
Shut up.
I scan my immediate area, walking back to the sidewalk so the Muggle can pass in her vehicle. She glares at me as she passes. What is her problem? She thinks I'm going to merely accept an apology to the Muggle who almost murdered me? Petulant, fat….gah.
Anyways. I'm dreadfully relieved to see that I have landed in the right place. The sign reads Parkhill Dr. on the street in which I'm adjacent to. I can hear the angels singing.
Tired of this nonsense, I decide to make a run for it, crossing as fast as I can to the proper area and hurriedly reading each number on my way down the winding, long, street. Luckily the rain seems to be driving off any pedestrians and miscreants. I just want to get to Granger's in one piece so I can effing go home.
I look to my left at the sixth house I've passed.
70
Oh Merlin. How the fuck did I end up at the end of the street? Bloody magic…
Fortunately nobody is around to see me looking like a fool, flapping about down the street.
58
I'm drenched. I'm so very drenched. And throbbing.
36
Sod it, I'm using my wand. I can't show up at the door looking like a dirty fright; it's not proper, and it's simply not Malfoy.
22
My sides are splitting from the ache of that fall, this is absolutely –
Fuck. I'm here aren't I?
The tree, the cornflower blue accents, it's all right here in front of me. The house is higher than I could ever have first thought, like a daunting challenge of will. It's surreal, almost. I have people to impress in there. I have work to do in there.
I walk in a daze up to the front porch, taking steps slowly. The curtains aren't drawn, so I feel for the tip of the magic stick in my pocket.
Taking it out slowly, glancing incessantly around me, I take a deep breath.
"Siccus," I murmur, brandishing and flicking down my body discreetly. Instantly my clothes feel somewhat drier, but my hair is still mussed. It's not very effective. But I don't dare incant the spell louder, who knows what's lurking? My ribs will just have to suffer.
I remove my bag from the front of me to the side, smooth down my garments again as best I can, and push my fringe away from my face. I must not look nervous. Cool and collected.
But I'm meeting a Mudblood's parents. No, I'm meeting Granger's parents. Somehow the latter feels worse to think about.
But why should I care if they hate me?...I don't.
Definitely don't.
Liar.
Shut up.
I pull my shoulders back, stand tall, and tape on the signature charismatic smirk I inherited from my Father.
Knock Knock
At first I hear no sign of life; after what feels like an eternity I want to praise the wizards and Disapparate the hell out of here, but I get no such blessing.
Movement and voices sound from inside the confines of the house, and all too suddenly a woman opens the door.
A very attractive woman.
She smiles big at me, and I just stare at her. She looks like Granger. I mean, of course she looks like Granger. But she has green eyes instead of brown, and, ahem, an ample bust. She's taller too. Though I'm still towering over her.
However, the smile, the slightly untamed hair, and the overall body type is strikingly reminiscent.
"You must be Draco," she says. I flinch at the usage of my first name, but I nod and keep the smirk on.
"Oh, don't be shy, please come in," she urges, and I find myself compliant. Then she surprises me by lightly grabbing my arm and tugging me into the lion's den. "Goodness, I had no idea that it was so awful outside," she says surveying me. "How did you manage to get here all on your own? Hermione informed us that you weren't used to London and our way of life."
I feel scrutinised but surprisingly not too uncomfortable. She's not acting as I'm a different species after all, the way I probably would have if our roles were reversed. I don't know why I never considered the fact that her parent's might be decent or decent looking, just goes to show how stupid I am. I remember vaguely seeing her them second year in Flourish and Blotts, but that was ages ago.
Oh, she's waiting for an answer. Say something, you git. It's polite.
"Yes, it is rather wet out there to say the least," I laugh, trying to keep my bitterness out. Stupid car-driving bitch. Her eyebrows perk up when I start to speak.
"I, er, used magical means to get here," I add, not wanting to elaborate seeing as Muggles probably hold no interest in this sort of thing.
"Oh, really? Magic? Oh, do tell. Hermione never tells us a damn thing, but I've always been so curious." She's looking at me eagerly and I don't know what to do. I by no means imagined Granger would hush it all up. Her magical life.
"I travelled here by Apparition," I talk slowly, like she could be a monkey. I mean, that's rude, but I don't know if she'll understand. At least she can speak proper English. "Simply, you think very hard about where you'd like go, focus a mental image within your brain, and well, you just end up there." I finish stupidly. How the hell do I explain it?
She furrows her brow. "Does it hurt?"
"Uh, slightly. Sort of as if you've been suffocated, but at the very last second you get to gasp for breath. After the first couple tries it isn't so terrible." Why am I even telling her this? I don't even talk to my own mother like this.
"Fascinating," she responds, and it looks like she means it. "Oh, but I'm probably boring you stiff, making you stand there while I ask silly questions. You must be cold; would you like some tea?"
Tea? Yes, yes I would.
"Yes," I reply. She raises an eyebrow at me again and says "Well come in, come in."
She sways to what I presume is the kitchen, so I take off my soaking oxfords, noticing a small pile of shoes at the door. I seize the opportunity to look around. Not bad, actually. Bit cramped in my opinion, but there appears to be no clutter; a true Granger house. Everything is white and monochromatic, but paintings and flowers seem to liven up the place, unlike my house where every area is dark so the décor just adds a gentle haunt to all the rooms.
I feel strange walking around in sock feet, but this isn't my house, and a Malfoy is anything if not respectful. Snort, Who am I kidding? We`re absolute bigots.
I saunter along to the spotless kitchen, and I stand, unsure of where I should go or sit. There are a lot of weird appliances in here: besides a sink there's a big rectangle with 2 doors, what looks to be a fancy stove with knobs, and a square box that has a number pad on it. It appears I have a lot to learn.
"Which kind of tea would you like, love?" she asks suddenly. Love?
My throat catches. Feeling slightly embarrassed I say in a higher pitched voice, "J-just black tea if you have it."
She turns round at my voice, and grins amused: "Sorry, did I frighten you, using 'love'? I'm just so used to saying it to everyone. My apologies," she laughs, a tinkle like a pixie. "Now please, sit down." She ushers me onto blue stool. I take off my bag and set it neatly at my feet.
Apparently, the tea has boiled, so quickly might I add. I watch as the woman in front of me swiftly acquires a cup for me, retrieves milk in a carton, and sugar in a little bowl.
She pours in the water with the tea bag and then hands it over to me, pushing the condiments over the island in front of me.
"Thank...you, uh" She looks at me sadly for a moment, as if I am awful at speaking and really introverted. But no; I hardly ever say those words, so she should be grateful I even thanked her.
"Call me Helen." She smiles. She's surveying me, hands clasped and leaning over the counter, expecting me to say something like I'm the most interesting person on the planet.
In this bizarre fantasy I suddenly realize why I'm here in the first place. I don't add any milk or sweetener, and take a small sip of tea before continuing the conversation.
"Helen," I say (she grins wide when I say it), "where exactly is Gr-, uh, Her…mione?" I don't know if I've ever said it aloud. I wonder if she'll still call me Malfoy in front of them.
"Upstairs. She said she thought you'd arrive around noon because you probably sleep in," I smirk at this because normally I would, "but she herself overslept and was showering. The water is off, though I think she may need some time to get ready," she says winking at me.
I gulp. Jesus, Granger showering. She'd be lathering up her body, unworried about anything because she'd be alone. I wonder if she sings or lets loose in here. She'd be wet and naked of course, maybe tilting her head back as the hot steam rinses off the soap and… Okay, quit it imagination. I'm not getting aroused in front of Granger's mother.
"I see," is all I say. And why did she wink at me just now? Is she suggesting that Granger is getting prepped for me? Impossible. She can be nice to me, yes, but she definitely finds me unattractive. In personality and looks, since she finds people like Weasley and Thomas good-looking.
"So, I'm curious." I look up at Helen, and I'm afraid she's going to ask me something about my family. Not the greatest people in her eyes, I'm sure. "Hermione gave me the impression from describing you that you and she didn't get along. Is that true?" Eyebrows once again are raised.
Noooo, of course not. I only treated your daughter like scum for 6 years, my family wanted Muggles to be destroyed, and to my mother you aren't even worthy of being shit on her shoe. We get along great!
"I – it's remotely true." I say. I might as well not lie through my teeth, just ease into it.
She merely nods. "Yes, well Hermione's always had a difficult time making friends." How precious. "She always talks highly of her friends Harry and Ron though, do you know them? She was dating Ronald for a period of course." Oh, do I know them. And she was dating him? Hm, bad taste. "But I've barely even met them. I think she's scared I'll disprove of them, and in turn, her being you know, a witch."
In-ter-esting. I was not aware of this development. Granger actually is fazed by something. "Well, whatever she thinks, I can tell you with certainty that she is very good friends with Potter - uh, Harry. And he's, well, an upstanding person." I reply sourly. It's true I suppose. He did save my ass twice last year. She smiles at me appreciatively.
"Yes, the Chosen One, or whatever nonsense people were calling him; Hermione found it a right laugh." She gazes up for a moment nostalgic and shakes her head. "So what house are you in? Or whatever it's called. You seem like a nice enough boy, she's never mentioned you." Oh, I'm hurt. Surely my callous has had some profound effect on her life?
"Slytherin." I reply proudly. Her face falls for a moment. Oh, but Granger didn't forget to leave out the stereotype that every Slytherin is dark and evil and wants death, did she?
"I take it she doesn't think highly of Slytherin, then? No, Gryffindor's usually don't," I say. "But yes, Hermione and I go way back," I chuckle reminiscing. Her face is still apprehensive. Have I said something?
"Is anything wrong?" I ask, inquisitive.
"Oh, it's probably nothing," she says. "Hermione just said that…last year, with the Voldemort man, that the Death people who were after the Order of the Pheonix were all from Slytherin, as were their children." I become rigid. How dare she bring that up? How dare she? I thought Granger said on the train that she'd modified her parent's memory! What if she knows what happened at my house?
But she couldn't possibly, because 'Malfoy' would've jogged her memory immediately. Suddenly I feel very out of place. My family tortured this very nice woman's daughter. I don't deserve the kindness she's giving me.
"That subject is fairly taboo." I state. Coldly. I pull my sleeve over my left arm self-consciously, very glad I didn't take off my jacket. She may know what the mark means, but had she not she'd definitely ask if she had the opportunity.
"I apologise, I – I have to confess I don't remember much about last year. Hermione was at school and then Voldemort," I flinch. "took over the Ministry or government, or whatever it's called, and she went off with the Order. And I just couldn't stop the intense worry I felt. All I can remember from the past summer is the worry and then relief when he was shot." She looks uneasy.
School? Shot? Order?
Surely she didn't lie to her parents? She implanted a false memory? She made them think the darkest wizard of all time was murdered by a Muggle weapon? And that Potter wasn't even the one to do it? That she didn't play a huge role in the defeat of him?
What a guile minx.
Well, I am impressed. Didn't think she'd have it in her to do such a thing. She keeps herself out of the spotlight so her parents can live a normal life and not be wary of hers. Hopefully it doesn't backfire should they visit my world and hear the rumours...
"I can tell you Helen, that the war was a nasty business, and regardless of what occurred during it I'm thoroughly relieved that the Dark Lord is dead." Fuck, I used 'Lord'.
"The dark…Lord?"
"People generally don't use his name; too afraid. Most say He Who must Not Be Named, You Know Who, or…the Dark Lord." This is becoming awkward. "I mean, I suppose now he's dead it doesn't matter, really..."
"Yes, I do recall her using You Know Who when she was younger….anyways," she finishes. "This is definitely not a suitable topic of conversation. I'm sorry, Draco, I just have never spoken to any wizards besides that darling Arthur Weasley," ick. "And of course Hermione and her friends. But that was all brief."
Thankfully she's not suspicious, she's more concerned with how she's made me feel. Which is scared and insulted, mind you, but what I used to be and what I used to like wasn't the most upstanding ideals a person should hold now, was it?
"It's perfectly all right," I lie. "I'd be curious as well."
I attempt to give her a small smile, but it's not sincere. She eats it up anyways. I take one long sip of tea and set it gently on the dish; I can hear a slight hum from overhead; what is taking her so long?
"I suppose I should get to work then, shouldn't I? I can go up to inform her of my presence?" She struggles for a moment; should she let this incredibly handsome boy with polite manners (for the most part), who is a potential killer, into her precious daughter's room?
Honestly, what is the big deal about being in each other's places of rest? It's not like we're going to fuck.
"I suppose…"
"Trust me Helen, my intentions with your daughter are anything but what you're probably thinking," I drawl, laughing slightly. And it's true. Maybe I want to ram her into the ground with my dick, doesn't mean I ever will. It's just hormones. "We have a project to do," I smirk.
"You're right, of course. It's silly, my husband Darrell is just a worry wart – thinks every boy who crosses paths with our Hermione has a bad agenda", she chuckles. Well I don't blame him. "It's upstairs on the first left, her room; she's never usually this unpunctual. I'll come to check up in a few minutes."
I thank her (again) for the tea and grab my still wet bag off the ground, using my left arm to clutch it to my chest; I can't shake off the worry in the pit of my stomach.
"Have fun!" she calls as hurry to the staircase. I don't think 'fun' is the operative word. I step slowly up the winding wooden steps and try to keep quiet. I don't want her to corner me on the stairs, i'd rather it be a lovely surprise I'm here to see her, her reaction I hope will prove to be most amusing. I am also curious to see her room too: I imagine it to be filled with hundreds of books, contain a small bed and boring decoration. I'm going to guess it's dark blue, the most generic colour. She doesn't seem the type to use school colours like red; too sexy for Granger. My room of course is black and green, but then, I've always liked green. She wouldn't need fancy gear, would she? When she's not trying to impress men she's rather plain and boring.
I look to the left as I reach floor 2, and there it is. 'HERMIONE' rests upon the door in fading gold letters. I take a deep breath, suddenly a bit edgy. I've just realized I've never actually been in a girls room before. When Pansy and I had our thing, she'd always lumber over begging for cuddles, kisses, and sex. Her room was probably covered in vomitatious pink anyways.
Well here goes nothing. I turn the silver handle, opening the gateway to –
Oh.
My.
Merlin.
It isn't the fact that I take back everything I said about her being plain and boring. It isn't the royal purple walls, the dark wooded floor or the king-size bed framed in gold that shock me. It isn't the fact that the room has taste; with a gold and white antique vanity table, a small velvet couch next to a desk, lovely artwork lining the walls, and only one bookshelf that creates spaciousness.
No.
It's the fact that Granger is sitting on the bed with somehow perfect hair, a gorgeous face, and is only covered by a fluffy white towel. A very short towel.
I can't move. I'm standing here like a peeping tom with one hand resting on the doorknob, trying to will myself leave, give her some privacy, but a bulge in my pants is forming and, just. Fuck.
"Malfoy!" she shrieks softly. She's been staring at me in utter humiliation and silent anger the entire 20 seconds I've been staring at her. "G-get out. I'm not dressed! Please, just go! Now."
The look on her face (sad eyebrows and a frown), and the fact she's crossed her arms over her chest and nether regions snaps me back to reality.
Without saying a word I shut the door. And then just stand there like I've been Imperius'd, mesmerized by the thought of her luscious legs.
That – that cad!
Hasn't he ever heard of knocking?
How long as he been here for? Oh my god, he must've been talking to Mum! He wouldn't come up here uninvited would he? No, even he's not that stupid.
But what he just did was. Incredibly.
Ugh, it's all my fault for not waking up sooner. I stayed up all night trying to hide any embarrassing things round the house that Malfoy might've seen, and tidying up anally. I didn't expect him to actually come up here.
Argh, mum! I'm going to kill her. Not that I have the guts to tell her what happened. It's far too embarrassing, and makes Malfoy look like a creep, and we can't have her forbid his welcome.
Sigh, I'm so glad Dad is out fishing for the day with the boys.
I just didn't want to have sopping wet, unruly hair when he came over, but I needed a shower. I did! And once I used Sleakeazy's Hair Potion from 4th year (it never expires) to help with the drying process (hair dryers turn my hair into an afro; afro's look awful on me), I got a bit carried away. I found all my makeup that I never use and thought that it couldn't hurt to put a bit on, just the concealer, some mascara and eyeliner.
And no, I wasn't trying to impress him. I just didn't want 'Muggle' London to look bad. I wanted to make him feel guilty that he ever thought that we were uncivilised.
But now he's seen my chest…well some of it. And too much of my legs. Okay, I know I've seen him naked, but it isn't really the same is it? It wasn't intimate like it was for me: Just sitting vulnerable in my room. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
I sigh, and slide off the bed, not wasting any more time. I never thought about what I would wear, because I didn't think I'd have to, but now nothing will ever be suitable. If I cover up it'll show how embarrassed I was, and if I wear something low-ish cut or shorter he'll just stare at me. Well, maybe not. But, the one time I wore a scoop necked top around Ron, that's all he gaped at; my boobs.
Boys.
I exhale heavily and grab a black bra and matching panties from my dresser, throwing them on hastily. I then sprint to my closet and rifle through it quickly. Nothing really pops out at me. I see a flash of dark green and grab it, inspecting the garment. It's a really simple cotton dress with long sleeves, a square neckline and stops short at my knees if I remember correctly. It's not too conservative and only shows my calves. It's comfortable too. I pull it on. Then I close my closet and scan myself in the mirror: not too tight or revealing. Now i'm unsure of what to do or say next.
But luckily my partner does it for me.
"Granger?" I hear muffled through the barrier that is my door. "I-I'm….I'm sorry." Sorry? He gaped at me like I was a Dementor tap-dancing and all he can say is he's sorry. Humph.
"May I come in now? Or…shall we go downstairs?"
Bugger. He sounds apologetic and ashamed, I may as well not risk going down there until absolutely necessary because I know Mum will be thinking the worst when she sees how I look; i.e. a lot better than usual. But that doesn't mean I'm not livid. Seriously, who does that? Isn't he always schooling people on proper manners?
I roll my eyes and meander to the door, opening it up and then putting my hands on my hips. He looks at me sheepishly, but I don't miss him gazing at me up and down. Stop it.
"Next time Malfoy, knock. Or I'll curse your stupid perfect hair off your stupid face until you're bald forever." So much for not letting him know he gets to me.
I swivel quickly and march to my bed, placing myself firmly on the edge of it.
I look up at him with his leather man-purse to see him smirking slightly. I ball my fists, how dare he mock me! ?
"What?" I demand.
He stands there in his aristocratic aura and says, "You called my hair perfect, Granger. Even if you threatened to chop it all off. Probably the nicest words that've ever come out of your mouth in regards to me."
Stupid, ferrety….no. Calm down Hermione, he's just trying to get to you.
"Yes well, my mistake then right?" I cross my arms. "When did you arrive here?"
His smirk flickers slightly, but only for a moment.
"About 15 minutes ago. Had a nice chat with your Mother over tea," What! "You should be happy though that I got here at all, I almost was killed in the process of arriving here."
"Happy? Well you didn't die, so why should I be happy?"
"Ouch, Granger, I'm hurt," he says, putting a hand to his head like he's in a Shakespeare play. "Your insults wound me."
I just glare at him.
"Oh come on, get your knickers out of knot, all I saw was some leg; you've seen all my bits." He cringes. I blush.
"Well you could've immediately slammed the door like a normal person, instead of gaping at me like a circus freak," I say lowering my head. I glance up at him and he's raising an eyebrow quizzically.
"I already apologized, there really isn't much else I can do I'm afraid," he replies. Prideful git.
We sit in silence for moment and curiosity gets the better of me. "What did you mean by almost got killed? You didn't splinch did you?" I gaze at him almost worried, I would feel bad if he was hurt even if he is a snarky Slytherin.
"Should have done; would've been better than what happened." My turn for eyebrow raising. "But no, really," he continues. "I ended up at the end of your street rather than in front of your house like I intended to, and it's pouring like there's no tomorrow outside. I dropped that picture you gave me; nice face by the way," I knew it. I knew he'd take a stab at how silly I look, playing in the mud in that dratted photo.
"But then I saw it in the middle of the street and jumped for it so it wouldn't blow away. I mean, I couldn't exactly use my magic in plain sight, could I? It was weird…" he shakes his head. "Anyways,"
How is it that I can loathe a person so much but still find him incredibly….sexy. Yes, I used it. Sexy. It must've been pouring…his close-fitting trousers cling to his legs, his tailored black blazer hangs effortlessly off his frame and his white t-shirt is slightly see-through from the wetness. I can see his nipples. And his hair….what is it about messy hair that I love so much? Maybe because both Ron and Harry have that trait, but Malfoy's is clean and probably was nicely groomed before it got all mucked up.
I realize I'm staring but thankfully he's too engrossed in his story. "Then the Muggle lady comes up to me out of her vehicle and screeches at me about being in the way of her, and I'm lying there clearly hurt and –"
"Wait, what? You got hit by a car! ?"
He rolls his eyes like I'm an illiterate child trying to read a book. "Yes, keep up, Granger."
"Are- are you ok?" My question throws him, His face contorts for a moment and then returns to normal.
"Fine," he replies, staring at me sideways. "I did get here in one piece didn't I? She also didn't hit me very hard, but it was just rather painful. I uh, silently used Siccus at your doorstep so I wouldn't be so muddy and wet. But it didn't work that well, obviously." His turn to be self-conscious. He looks fine.
"Oh. Okay. Well… lovely story. Did you want to get started then?"
He looks at me blank.
"Start listening to the music choices. I assume you brought yours along, or are we just going by your rule that you'll be picking out who we study?"
He grimaces and shakes his head.
"Never give me a chance do you Granger? Yes, I have them, where shall we play it?"
Good thing I scrounged around for Dad's ancient vinyl player when I got home. Wizards should definitely look into implementing computers into the system.
"Over here, may I see them?" I point to the other side of my room. He sways timidly for a moment, and then hesitantly reaches in and grabs 4 records, handing them to me.
I carefully look at the cover of each: Chopin (obvious), Liszt (also obvious), Tchaikovsky (hmm, good choice), and…..Paganini? But he's famous for the violin…
"Thought you'd might enjoy a little violin music," is all he says, shrugging at my gaping expression.
Well who would've thought he could be considerate.
"Uhm, shall we?"
"What about your selection of composers…or artists?" he asks.
"We'll worry about them after yours."
He cocks a brow one more time, and follows me along to the (tiny) couch next to my desk where I placed the turntable. Malfoy sits gently on the sofa, and crosses a leg elegantly. Sliding out his Chopin piece (Raindrop Prelude Op. 28 No. 15 in D Flat Major), I place it gently on the plate, and then switching it on I put the arm onto the record. I hear the distinct fuzz of a record beginning to play and then take a seat next to him, not wanting to be rude, but keeping as much distance as I can.
The song is actually...amazing.
The proximity and the intensity of the piano music flowing from into the room is creating a strange tension; it's nice, but also stressful. I look at the boy on my left and his eyes are closed contently. He's smiling.
Smiling. Oh, god. It creates butterflies in my stomach.
Please, lord, get this over with now, please. There's a handsome, cultured, but annoying as sin man in my bedroom, sitting 5 inches away from me. His long fingered hand resting in those 5 inches.
I feel a stirring in my chest.