Chapter 6

Hermione sat on the floor for a while after Draco had left. She knew that this was just Malfoy, playing his little games and messing with people's heads. She knew she shouldn't be affected by it. Yet, for some reason, he had seemed different for a moment. It was the most honest and genuine she had ever seen him. She knew that she was only so upset because of her little crush on him, but even that seemed to be fading. The problem was, Draco had just voiced Hermione's worse fears. That no one could stand to put up with her, that boys would use her like Ron had that dreadful night over the summer. Although they had talked about it awkwardly, apologized to one another profusely, and vowed to never tell Harry or speak of it again, those fears would not seem to go away. Draco's antics would never have affected her at all before. Except, things were different now. Draco was a mystery to her, and she would not rest until she solved him.

Draco's night of self-destruction had only just begun. Hating himself for letting his guard down, and even thinking of Granger as anything but an annoying mudblood, Draco set about getting himself ridiculously drunk. Around the fifth glass of scotch and the twelfth shot of firewhiskey, Draco believed it to be a grand idea to look for the Weasel and Potter.

He found them a short while later, coming in from a late-night quidditch practice. Weasel looked thoroughly pleased with himself, as he had just made Potter laugh at something probably extremely dull. "Oh, look who it is, Harry! Our favorite ferret!" Harry chuckled and made to continue past Malfoy without even looking at him. Draco, however, had other plans.

"Oh no," he said. "Insulted by a sidekick weasel! That just absolutely ruined my night. Looks like your girlfriend will have to comfort me." Harry grimaced and Ron turned bright red. "I don't have a girlfriend."

"Why weasel, I know you're not very bright but surely you can remember the mudblood's name." Ron stepped menacingly forward. "Hermione is not my girlfriend."

Harry remained ominously quiet. "Ooh, now this is interesting," Draco slurred. "The weasel and the mudblood have called it quits! Ah well, it was more fun when I thought she was cheating! Still an awful lot of fun though, isn't she?" He knew this would get under the boy's skin, yet he was surprised when it was Harry who brutally shoved him by the collar into the stone wall opposite him.

"Malfoy," he spit. "I know you are clearly finding yourself very funny, but you ought to be careful talking about Hermione like that."

"I'm not joking, Potter," Draco spat back. "Sorry to throw a wrench in your golden threesome." Harry immediately dropped him, disgusted. "Get out of my sight," he said. "And cherish every moment before Hermione finds out about this."

"Why, I'll go right back to her bed right now and tell her all about it, Potty. She might even fuck me again for it!"

Ron lunged at Draco's throat, but Potter caught him before he could make contact.

"That's right, Weasel. Have lover-boy here restrain you."

They both glowered at him, and Harry mumbled a "let's go Ron," before they disappeared down the end of the corridor. Quite chuffed, Draco somehow found his way to his dorm, stumbling the whole way back. Wrenching the door open, he fell through the doorway and gripped the knob to what he thought was his bedroom, ready to collapse. However, the door he fell into wasn't his own, but the connector to Hermione's dorm. He fell straight through the doorway and into her bookshelf, causing Hermione to scream and draw her wand from her seat on the couch.

"Malfoy!" she roared. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"Sunbathing," he mumbled sarcastically, while books dug into his spine.

"Well, get up!"

"Mmmmmh can't."

He heard Hermione mumble something rude under her breath, before feeling her hands delicately press under his arms, lifting him off the broken bookshelf. She stumbled under his weight, hitting the wall with him completely leaning on her. Grunting, Hermione slung his arm over her shoulders and began the trek to his own bed.

In his drunken stupor, he thought of how nicely she fit under his arm, being so much shorter than him. She looked the same from earlier, though her hair was a bit looser and her eyes tired. Her face was flushed from the effort of dragging him, biting her lip in concentration. Draco would remember the next morning that she smelled like lilacs.

"Alright?" he asked.

"Just-" grunt, "lovely."

Finally they reached his bed. Hermione turned to drop Draco onto it, but he grabbed her shoulder at the last moment, sending her flying backwards underneath him on the bed.

"Oof, Draco get off!"

"I can't!" he yelled back, realizing his shirt sleeve had gotten caught in her hair.

Hermione's face was a bright pink, with Draco having fallen directly between her legs on top of her. His hair tousled, eyes shining, and smelling faintly like firewhiskey, she deemed their situation entirely hopeless.

"Here," she said, as calmly as possible. "Let me try." She reached up to where his sleeve was caught, her fingertips brushing his, causing little electric shocks to jolt his arm back, pulling her head along with it. Suddenly, their faces were very close together, and Draco was very, very drunk.

"Draco," she murmured, her voice low. "What's happened?"

He stared at her a moment longer, before whispering, "everything."

And then he kissed her.

Hermione went so still, it was if she had been turned to stone. Draco was gentle, and his lips much softer than she ever thought they'd be. Not that she thought about them all the time or anything. Draco pulled away from her to find her eyes still closed and her lips slightly parted, a flushed pink from their chaste kiss. Then, her eyes flicked open and she grabbed onto his tousled hair, pulling him back down to her.

He moaned, deepening the kiss, holding her body as close to him as possible. She ran he fingers through his hair and down his chest, her every touch sending flames shooting through him. Fooling around had never felt like this before, like his every move was perfectly countered by her. She sat up, pushing him away. He was terrified she had come to her senses, had realized how dangerous this was, how irresponsible. Yet to his pleasure, instead of pushing him away, she reached forward, tugging his shirt over his head. At some point in their skirmish, his shirt had come free of her wild hair. Draco realized what she was doing, and ripped it over his head. Grabbing her by the waist, he began to kiss her neck, earning him soft moans that electrified his veins.

"Oh, Draco," she moaned.

It was this, her saying his name, that sent him spiraling, attacking his senses, loosening his muscles and blurring his vision. She was better than flying, better than firewhiskey. She was electrifying, pure flames setting fire to his senses. He was lost in her.

He groaned, pushing her back down on the bed. He collapsed beside her, and finally gave in to the effects of the firewhiskey. He fell asleep on her chest, breathing in the scent of lavender and firewhiskey.

Hermione lay still, her mind racing and chest pounding. Her whole body felt shocked, as if she had been hit with a spell. She had no idea what had come over her, only that she didn't regret it, which scared her terribly. She was terrified that she wanted him, wanted more. Now, with Draco's hair tickling her collarbone, she began something dangerous. She began to wonder if he felt the same.