Hi, how are you? 😊 I hope very well... As always, thank you very much to all of you who are following this story, and a special hug to those of you who leave a comment, it always makes me happy to read your opinion heh, heh, heh 😍😍 but thank you very much, from the bottom of my heart, to all of you who are there reading! 😍
What did you think of the last one? The end was more tender, in its own way, to balance out how much they've been arguing the whole chapter, what a pair 😝
By the way, has anyone else noticed that Draco hasn't heard anything at all about what the teachers have been talking about? Being close to Hermione was more interesting... He must be banging his head against the wall right now 😂.
I hope you like this new chapter a lot 😊 as always, I'll be happy to read what you thought if you feel like telling me about it.
Thank you so much in advance for reading! Big, big, big hugs! 😊
CHAPTER 33
Filch's broom cupboard
"All righ', here we go," Hagrid muttered, tossing some thick, soil-stained roots into the bucket next to him. He wiped the sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his work shirt and looked around. The soil had been left in perfect condition. Moist and turned over, perfect for planting the pumpkins they would use at next year's Hallowe'en feast. The area of the vegetable garden closest to his house was already finished and full of seeds. What was missing was the area closest to the path up the hillside towards the castle.
Hagrid, kneeling on the ground, considered getting up to reach the bag of compost a few yards away, but realised that his age was playing tricks on him. And getting up would not be easy after more than twenty minutes of kneeling in the same position. Instead, he fixed his black eyes on his temporary assistant.
"Malfoy, hand me the sack with the manure, will yeh?" he asked, dryly. The boy barely bothered to glance sideways at him. He stood with his arms folded, leaning against the fence that separated the garden from the Forbidden Forest, his back to both of them. The sun was close to setting now, but it still warmed the air intensely. Draco had loosened his tie and opened his shirt a couple of buttons. That was all he could do. He wasn't about to take off his clean, expensive school uniform robes and leave them anywhere in that stinking vegetable garden. And he wasn't going to roll up his sleeves either.
"Take it yourself, Professor," the boy growled through his teeth, not budging an inch from his position. And giving his voice a sneer of contemptuous sarcasm. Hagrid narrowed his normally kind eyes in resentment.
"Look, boy, I'm bein' rather magnanimous with yeh. I'm allowing yeh not ter work too hard. But McGonagall has ordered yeh ter help me, in order ter serve yer punishment, an' if yeh don' brin' me the sack right now, I'll tell her yeh haven' done yer part. Which will mean another day's punishment," he tilted his huge, bearded face to one side. "An' I doubt very much tha's what yeh want."
Draco glared coldly back at him. The flaps of his nose flared.
"I don't have a wand," he mumbled, almost inaudibly. Hagrid snorted.
"But yeh do have two hands," he snapped, sarcastically. "It was part o' the punishment not ter use magic, yeh know... Bring the sack, boy."
Draco grimaced. Not disguising the fact that it was the last thing he felt like doing, he pushed himself away from the fence and walked over to the open sack that stood precariously straight at his side. He bent down to pick it up and found with resigned satisfaction that it was not too heavy. It was half empty.
He lifted it as gracefully as he could, not bothering to conceal a grimace of disgust that curved his mouth, and carried it over to where Hagrid was kneeling. It did not escape Hagrid's notice how little effort the boy had to make to lift the sack. He glanced inside as soon as his student had carelessly dropped it beside him.
Hagrid's bushy brows furrowed.
"Not enough," he muttered, disappointed. He looked around, estimating how much of the field he had yet to fertilise. "I'll have ter go ter see Pomona..."
Draco arched an eyebrow in rude disbelief.
"What, now?"
"Yes," Hagrid sighed, struggling to his feet with a tired sigh. Draco narrowed his eyes grudgingly as he saw him bother to stand up now. "I won' be too long. Wait here an' don' touch anythin'. Make yerself comfortable," he added, almost casually, tossing aside his work apron, hanging it over the fence.
"Where am I going to do such a thing?" Draco spat sulkily, but Hagrid was already walking away, muttering under his breath. Possibly criticising the young man's manners.
Draco snorted loudly, suddenly finding himself alone in his old Care of Magical Creatures teacher's pumpkin patch. He put his hands to his face and rubbed it hard to reduce his frustration. Which, as he realised a second later, had been a mistake. His hands had been smeared with compost when he held the sack.
Shuddering at the sensation of the damp earth sticking to his face, he let out a loud expletive and hurriedly wiped it off with the sleeve of his robes. And then his hands, resignedly, on his trousers. How fucking disgusting.
He looked at his wristwatch. It was Friday. And it was almost eight o'clock in the evening. Shit.
He'd arranged to meet Granger at eight, when he assumed he'd be finishing his last day of the punishment McGonagall had given him for burning the girl's essay.
When he'd turned up at six in the evening in the teacher's office two days ago, he hadn't imagined that the punishment would involve playing assistant to that clumsy half-giant. For three afternoons in a row. It was humiliating that she had given him such a task. Him, a Malfoy, planting pumpkins like some ordinary house-elf. It was nonsense.
He closed his eyes. In other circumstances, he would have written to his father at once to tell him. To have him take appropriate action. But now it wasn't possible. And, as offended as he felt, he didn't want to upset his mother with something like this. She was having enough trouble at home...
He snorted harder, feeling the problems in his head piling up, and gave the half-empty sack a half-hearted kick. He wouldn't make it in time to see Granger. They had arranged to meet at the Clock Tower, intending to hide among the cogs. It tended to be an area with little people, especially at that time of day. But it was clear that he wasn't going to have time, having to wait for Hagrid to return. And he had no way to warn her either.
He scratched the back of his neck, resigned. He would have to explain it to her in person, for safety's sake. It wouldn't do to write to her with such a message. But he would write her a note in class, as soon as he could, summoning her somewhere else. It would have to wait until Monday, though. They had seen from past experience that it was much more difficult to see each other at the weekend, with both of them having the whole day free to spend with their respective friends and acquaintances. There wasn't a single class where they didn't meet up with their friends and could sneak off to see each other. It was harder to find an excuse.
That morning he had checked the timetable for the whole of the following week to find out which days and subjects he would be seeing her. It was just so he would know when he would see her, in case they couldn't find a way to sneak off-school hours; it had been difficult lately. And he'd memorised it by heart. On Monday they would see each other in Charms. The next day they wouldn't meet in any of them, but on Wednesday in Potions and on Thursday in the double Herbology class. Two whole hours. Two hours in the same room, with the possibility of his eyes on her on more than one occasion. Even if the girl wouldn't look back at him, out of safety. They wouldn't be able to have a word with each other. But she would be there. He would see her moving around the place, her thick hair pulled back in a practical way, with the intention that it would not get in the way of her attending to the lesson. Perhaps he would catch the moment when she would scrunch up her face in concentration as she tried to prune some dangerous plant. He would hear her voice, strained above the din that was always in the greenhouses, as she explained something to her friends, gesturing with her hands in her usual exalted manner. Her petulant tone as she expounded to Weasley something she considered indisputable was marvellous. He would try not to look at her when her voice rose above the silence that was sure to form in the greenhouse, to answer efficiently any questions Sprout asked, confident in herself and her good memory. But he would be sure to look her in the face, to see her smile with luminous excitement, when the professor congratulated her on her accurate answer.
Draco put his hands in his pockets and walked a few paces through the orchard. Trying to contain a rage he knew was disproportionate. Not being able to see Granger that day shouldn't bring up the resentment he was feeling growing inside him. They would see each other another day. And that was that. It wasn't that big of a deal.
With no other entertainment besides berating himself for the disappointment he felt at not attending an intimate meeting with a Muggle-born he was supposed to hate as a matter of course, he forced himself to take a half-hearted glance at the outside of the gamekeeper's hut. He turned up the corner of his lip in a grimace of disgust — how could anyone live in such a shack? The hygienic conditions did not seem to him to meet a minimum of sanitation...
It was made of wood, really well-built. But it was still definitely humble. There were rubber boots and a crossbow by the front door. Draco arched an eyebrow at the size of the crossbow. Really, that brute lout was the gamekeeper. He was looking out for everyone's safety, making sure nothing left the Forbidden Forest. Bloody hell, now he felt less safe than ever... Did Dumbledore really think him capable of such a task? In fact, that wasn't all. He had more titles. Important titles, if he remembered correctly. What was it like...? His father had mentioned it once. He was a gamekeeper and... Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts. It was unbelievable.
A spark went off in Draco's brain and shot through his spine and down his legs to the tips of his toes. Keeper of Keys.
The front door to the castle danced before his eyes, with its thick, musty lock. Was that fool in possession of the key that unlocked that door?
Draco began to breathe heavily. He craned his neck sharply and glanced up the hillside. Hagrid hadn't been gone long. It would be a while yet. He had to get to the greenhouses, find Sprout if she was there, and ask her for the manure. Or go look for her inside the castle. He had plenty of time.
He approached the front door of Hagrid's Hut and took the copper handle between his fingers. With his heart pounding in his ears, he pulled it and opened it outwards. It was open. You had to be irresponsible... His eyes took in the dark interior, replete with some giant furniture and small windows. But he didn't have time to take in too much, when loud barking startled him.
Fang, Hagrid's huge boarhound dog, had risen from the corner where he had been dozing and bounded towards the door. Draco let out a startled yelp and slammed the door shut again, right under the dog's nose. The dog continued to bark loudly from inside, clawing at the surface with his huge paws. Draco let out a swear, swallowing to regain his composure. Fuck, that scared the shit out of him. Stupid mutt.
Draco snorted and looked around. There was nothing nearby he could throw at the dog — a stick, maybe? But there were no trees nearby, he'd have to get closer to the Forbidden Forest. He decided to go around the house, hoping to find another entrance. And he did. There was a back door.
He pressed his ear to the wooden surface and found that Fang was still scratching at the front door. With his tongue between his lips, he pulled the latch and opened it just a crack. He saw the dog standing upright on his hind legs, his back turned, scratching at the other entrance. Draco opened the door a little wider and looked around. Hams and pheasants hung from the ceiling, not too far from him. He squinted. It was his only option to search the house.
Taking a couple of slow breaths to calm himself, he opened the door further and slipped inside quietly, just a couple of steps. Prepared for a quick getaway if necessary. He stretched a hand above his head, grateful for his slightly above-average height, given that everything in that house matched the dimensions of that eleven feet, six inches tall giant. He reached for the leg of one of the pheasants, which was hanging from a rope, and gave a sharp tug. The animal released, falling flat and hitting the floor with its lifeless body, and attracting Fang's attention. The dog turned instantly, but Draco was quicker. He threw the dead pheasant near the dog, to one side of the room, and the effect was immediate. The animal stopped barking and pounced on it and began to devour it with its powerful, slobber-laden jaws.
Draco let out a sigh of relief. By the skin of his teeth.
"Don't move from there, you silly dog..." he growled under his breath, scanning his surroundings. There was a large table in the centre, with an empty teapot and cup on its surface. There was also a fireplace on one of the walls, with a copper pan inside it, over a now extinguished fire. And, in one corner, a bed whose blanket was made of scraps of different fabrics and colours, and a large trunk beside it.
The boy first glanced at the walls. But he saw nothing except the windows. There were no hangings, not even any pictures. He saw a cupboard in one corner, with some drawers, and went over to it. He found nothing interesting, except for some needle and thread, pieces of cloth, and a broken lamp. In another drawer, he found a small photograph that attracted his attention. It showed a definitely young Hagrid, perhaps eleven years old, with a short man sitting on his shoulder. Both of them smiling, beside an apple tree.
Despite being in a bit of a hurry, Draco felt so confused that he stared at the photograph for long seconds. It was absurd to be conscious at that moment, but it struck him as odd that the bearded man who now lived in that dingy hut had once been the huge boy in the photograph. And the man with him looked like his father. He remembered the article that Rita Skeeter had written about him when they were in the fourth year. She mentioned that his mother was a famous giantess, though Draco could no longer remember her name. His father must, of course, be a man. A wizard.
Draco's grey eyes roamed over the man's face, happy and smiling on his son's shoulder. The always cold, stern face of his own proud father danced in Draco's mind...
He put the photograph back in the drawer roughly and slammed it shut. He clenched his jaws to keep from thinking. He turned around stiffly and continued to scan the room. He walked over to the bed and looked underneath, feeling under the mattress as well. Careful not to knock over the pink umbrella hanging from the back of one of the chairs, he also looked under the table. And inside the huge trunk, full of clothes. And then he walked over to the fireplace. He pushed the cauldron to one side, and leaned his body into the fireplace, turning his trunk and head as far as he could, trying to see inside the wide stone tube.
Bingo.
There was a bunch of keys, hanging on a hook, inside the chimney. Invisible to someone simply watching the fireplace from the room. Shifting his weight back on his feet so as not to lose his balance from the awkward position, he reached out an arm and tried to grab it. As soon as his fingers brushed the metal, he clearly saw it glow as if it was red-hot. And just like that, his hand felt it. With a restrained cry, he pulled it away instantly, feeling his fingertips burn. He checked the damage and saw that his skin had reddened slightly. He scrutinised the bunch of keys without trying to touch them again, his lips pursed. Well, that gamekeeper wasn't so useless after all. He could cast a few spells. Stupid half-human...
Draco pulled his body out of the fireplace and sighed in annoyance. It was obvious that Hagrid would need them to close the castle at night anyway, or something similar. He would notice their absence. And Draco didn't even have his wand with him to try to remove the spells that protected them. Or make a copy. He couldn't get hold of them now. But at least he knew where they were.
Though he was still at the starting point of what he'd nicknamed Plan B. He still didn't know what other spells were protecting the front door. He couldn't sneak the Death Eaters through there, at least for the time being. If only he'd been more attentive at the teachers' meeting he'd secretly attended, in the company of Granger, both of them hiding in that dangerous bloody wardrobe...
He was an arsehole. He definitely was.
Barely holding back the urge to slap himself, he decided to get out of there. Fang was still busy with the pheasant, oblivious to him, and he reckoned it wouldn't be long before Hagrid would be back.
For the time being, he would continue with his Plan A. That consisted of continuing to check the maps he had found in Filch's office, and the passages that appeared in them. The previous afternoon he had only had time to search the dungeons. To no avail. He would continue with the first floor. Today he would have no more time, judging by the time the punishment looked like it would be over. He would have to manage to continue tomorrow, and possibly Sunday as well, if he managed to avoid being with his friends. And maybe Monday after classes... Oh, no, shit, he had Quidditch practice. He'd have to leave that for Tuesday, and that meant he wouldn't be able to meet Granger then either... Although he could also skip the morning classes and devote that time to his mission, and leave the afternoon to see Granger...
He clenched his jaws, reiterating in his mind the idea that he was an arsehole. Was meeting Hermione Granger really a priority on a par with a life-and-death mission for the Dark Lord? Merlin's beard... Of course not.
After snorting for the umpteenth time, looking around and making sure there was no sign that anyone had searched the house, he hurried out of there.
"But I don't understand — wait, wait! Don't go!" Ron was quick to reach out and grab Hermione's arm before she could get far away. "Explain to me why it takes three Spines of Lionfish, that's all I'm missing..."
"Ron, I have to go to Arithmancy, I already told you," Hermione exclaimed impatiently, raising her voice to make herself heard over the dozens of conversations coming from the students crowding the corridor around them. "I'll help you later to finish the essay, I have to go now..."
"I won't have time later!" the red-haired boy whined, giving her a puppy-dog look as he leaned his parchment back against the inside window sill as a makeshift table and placed his quill on top of it. "Potions class is after free period! And you're not in free period!"
"Exactly, because I have Arithmancy now and I'm going to be late," Hermione protested in an annoyed, exasperated tone. "Harry can help you..."
"Harry didn't have that mistake in his potion! Ah, but wait..." Ron rested the parchment better and hurried to jot something down in a definitely nasty handwriting. "I'm going to add the Asphodel thing..."
Hermione rolled her eyes and fixed her gaze on Harry, who stood beside them, an open magazine in his hands. He was intently reading the centre pages of the new issue of The Quibbler magazine, his dark brow firmly furrowed.
"So?" Hermione questioned softly. Harry sighed through his nose, but did not look away from the magazine.
"They're letting her go back to Beauxbatons," he muttered coldly. He raised his green eyes and fixed them on his uneasy friend. "The French girl. They let her go back to school as if nothing had happened."
"That means they haven't found anything against her," Hermione opined cautiously. Harry pursed his lips.
"I think it's risky to let her into a school after being in Voldemort's hands."
"We don't even know that for sure," Hermione corrected him, arching her eyebrows. "There's no proof of any kind. It's just one of the possibilities..."
"Maybe this whole French girl thing doesn't even have anything to do with You-Know-Who, and we're all paranoid already," Ron corroborated, absentmindedly, still writing. "Harry, you failed at the Valerian Root thing too, didn't you?"
"Aha..." his friend admitted resignedly, finally closing the magazine.
"Hurry, tell me how you got it right... No! Don't go, Hermione, I still need your help!" Ron exclaimed, turning his head to the other side to make sure his friend didn't slip away. And again he turned his head to look at the dark haired boy. "Come on, Harry, tell me..."
As Harry summarised what he had put into his Potions essay, reading over his friend's shoulder as he hurriedly drafted it, Hermione sighed and walked away very slowly and discreetly. Ron had a bad habit of getting overconfident and leaving all his work to the last minute. Then he would get desperate at the last minute and drive his two friends crazy. Hermione always ended up helping him out and giving him some ideas or corrections, but now she had to go to Arithmancy or she'd end up being late. And she wasn't about to let that happen.
Because, besides, there was something else in her plans before going to class.
Trying to get lost in the crowd of students milling about, Hermione gripped her heavy bag tightly and managed to get far enough away from a nervous Ron to round the corner. She slipped down a side corridor and hurried along it, almost jogging. She went up a narrow spiral staircase, staying close to the wall to avoid the people coming down it, and reached the top, a small seventh-floor landing crowded with students. She slipped back down the adjoining corridor and, once there, stopped, panting softly.
Was this an appropriate place to meet? Hermione didn't agree at all...
She approached a statue she identified as that of Lachlan the Lanky and leaned against it, resting and trying to avoid the centre of the corridor so as not to be swayed by the crowd of students. She looked around, puzzled. He had summoned her there, in that corridor, but it didn't make sense. There was nowhere to hide from prying eyes. Everything was full of people, anyone could see them there. There were students from every year and every House. And Filch was cleaning the window panes at the other end of the corridor.
The girl wondered in her mind if she had misunderstood his handwriting and, consequently, the meeting place. She looked at her wristwatch; she had arrived a little late, and he wasn't even there yet. Still, she could afford to wait a few minutes for him. They were in the mid-morning break, in which they had half an hour before their next class. Half an hour that they intended to use to spend some time together...
Hermione began to look alternately up and down the corridor, her eyes searching for him in the sea of students. Well, if he ended up appearing, he would appear from one side or the other. Or so the girl thought.
What she hadn't expected, however, was that a small, old wooden door immediately behind her, which she hadn't given the slightest thought to, would open. Releasing a white hand that she didn't see either. A hand that gripped her arm tightly and dragged her, not too gently, across the doorstep, almost staggering. The door closed immediately behind her. Hermione was suddenly plunged into darkness, into a very small space that she couldn't identify. Her first reaction to the feeling of someone grabbing and pulling her had been to scream, but before she could put it into action, she had managed to stifle it. She instantly realised who it was.
"Have you gone mad, Malfoy?" she spat in surprise, as her eyes slowly became used to the darkness. As the seconds passed, she discovered, with mild alarm, that they were both in a slightly claustrophobic space of just over a metre square. There were wooden shelves on one wall, taking up much of the space, and several boxes on the floor. Also, something she recognised as brooms, or perhaps mops, in one corner.
Despite the gloom, she clearly saw Draco's smirk. The faint light through the cracks in the door made his grey eyes twinkle.
"Aren't we supposed to meet here?" he sneered, arching an eyebrow at her frustrated expression. Hermione snorted in disbelief, setting her heavy bag down at her feet.
"We were supposed to meet out there, in the seventh-floor corridor by the statue of Lachlan the Lanky," she snapped, irritated. "And I don't know if you've noticed, you brute, but half of Hogwarts was in that corridor, and still is, and you haven't exactly been discreet by sneaking me in here. If anyone noticed your recklessness, I swear to God I'll —"
Draco didn't get to know what Hermione was planning to do to him if any of the students had seen him put her in that place. Impatient at her angry speech, he had decided to cut it short, leaning towards her and covering her mouth with his own in a firm kiss. Hermione breathed in through her nose, angry that he was forcing her to shut up in such an unlawful manner. But her anger evaporated shamefully quickly. He was in no hurry to pull his mouth away, even after he had succeeded in silencing her. He moved his lips over hers with momentum, enveloping them with his own, barely giving her a chance to breathe. He leaned closer to her, tilting his face to one side and slipping into her mouth. He used his tongue to caress hers, increasing the eroticism of the kiss, and reducing her to a flustered mass of feelings.
As their lips parted, though their faces didn't do so much, Hermione took a deep breath. She was almost shaking. And she had to run her tongue over her own lips when she lost his contact. She reciprocated his intimate gaze, but also tried to swallow and look back at him reproachfully.
"Anyone could have seen us, you were very reckless," she accused him again, in an annoyed whisper. But more faintly than before. "Besides, where are we? What is this?" she then added. She looked around quizzically again, now that she could see a little better, and her foot inadvertently bumped into what she recognised as a mop bucket.
Draco, immune to her complaints, raised one of his hands and cupped her chin, running his thumb absently over her bottom lip, wiping away the wet trail his passionate kiss had left behind. Hermione, though still determined to look offended, instantly softened her expression at his attentive gesture.
"One of Filch's many broom cupboards, full of cleaning supplies, all over the castle," Draco reported, shrugging disinterestedly, and then releasing her face again. He didn't even seem to do it consciously. It almost seemed like a reflex action. "No student is going to come in here, I assure you."
"No wonder," Hermione corroborated, wrinkling her nose. "It smells awful."
"It's quite possibly Mrs Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover," Draco replied sardonically, pointing to a large green bottle on the shelf next to a couple of filthy rags. A viscous liquid was leaking from the poorly sealed stopper. "It might be hallucinogenic, I'm not sure. If you see two 'Dracos' at any point, firstly, congratulations, you're lucky; and secondly, let me know so we leave."
Hermione let out a spontaneous laugh, at which Draco put his index finger to his lips, amused, asking for silence. She covered her mouth with one hand, smiling in embarrassment. She really had laughed too loudly. She wanted to dwell on the fact that he had been reckless, shoving her into a broom cupboard almost under the noses of the students crowding the corridor, but the initial fury had subsided, and it seemed obvious that they hadn't seen them. Otherwise, they would have opened the door instantly to discover them there, and that had not happened.
The young woman then allowed herself to relax and simply enjoy his company. They didn't have much opportunity for that, so she forced herself to put aside all possible worries. They had not been able to see each other since the previous week, since the day of their clandestine, impromptu meeting in the staffroom. They had tried to meet last Friday at the Clock Tower, but the boy had not shown up to meet her. And several more days had passed without communication. Until yesterday, Wednesday, when he had sent her a new note in Potions class, summoning her to the time and place where they were at the moment.
"How was Professor McGonagall's detention?" Hermione wanted to know, softly, looking him in the eye. Trying to see him in the gloom. Draco's face tightened, and his lips twitched.
"Eternal," he revealed, grumpily, "McGonagall made me help that gamekeeper oaf to plant his stupid pumpkins..." he explained, looking disgruntled, scorning Hagrid out of inertia. Hermione cocked her head to one side and arched her eyebrows censuringly, indicating to him that she would not accept such insults. Draco, catching her steady gaze, made a quick motion with his eyebrows, indicating that he had understood, but continued unapologetically, "The day we were supposed to meet at the Clock Tower, I didn't even make it to dinner. That git — the gamekeeper kept me there until after nine o'clock. That's why I couldn't go," he finished, now scrutinising her carefully. As if he was suddenly wondering if it had really bothered her that he hadn't shown up.
Hermione, still giving him a censorious look at the way he was talking about Hagrid, agreed to smile faintly.
"I figured, don't worry about it. I'm sorry it took so long," she assured him, softly. Draco grimaced and shrugged. Pointing out that it was his fault for being grounded in the first place. "How many days will you be grounded?"
"I'm done, it was only three days. Guess I caught McGonagall in a good mood..."
Hermione forced a smile again, catching his resigned sarcasm. She could barely contain a deep sigh through her nose. It was admirable that he took it with humour that he had been punished to work for someone he hated, for doing something that had actually been against his will. To keep up appearances so that no one would find out what was between them.
Letting herself be carried away by an impulse she didn't want to contain, Hermione brought her hands forward, groping for his hands in the shadows. She found them on either side of his body, thumbs hooked in the pockets of his robes. She interlaced her fingers with his, forcing him to release his pockets. His hands were large compared to hers, and his fingers, though slender, were also thicker than hers. And she could feel some hardness in his palm, probably from the use of the broom.
He just looked at her, with a fine crease between his light eyebrows, looking almost wary of her gesture. He didn't pull his hands away, but he didn't move either.
"How were the trials for the selection of the Beaters yesterday?" she finally wanted to know. He looked even more puzzled, and just blinked for a few seconds. "Harry and Ron told me that they were held..."
Draco arched an eyebrow, looking smug again. As if he wasn't making light of the fact that she was holding his hands.
"Since when did you care about Quidditch?" he questioned, his voice full of suspicion. Hermione pursed her lips into a shy smile and shrugged.
"I don't," she agreed simply, subtly indicating to him that that was not the reason for her question.
Draco then understood her attempt to make conversation. As if they were a real couple. The kind that told each other how their day had gone. For a moment, he thought it was absurd. They weren't that kind of couple. They weren't a couple. They couldn't be. But... he had to admit that the fact that they were behaving like this seemed nice. She was... showing interest in his life. Even if Quidditch didn't interest her. But he did interest her. His life interested her.
Suddenly he was feeling his heart bounce against his ribs, and he hoped she didn't appreciate it, though he knew it was physically impossible. Sensing the insecurity in her eyes at his silence, as if she feared Draco would mock her or not want to participate in her conversation, he allowed himself to relax his shoulders. Relax his walls.
"Quite disappointing," Draco then said with exasperation, "but it ended well. Crabbe and Goyle were bad, and I never thought I'd say this, but the rest of them suck. It's taken a while, but Montague has finally got new Beaters, a fourth year and a fifth year."
Hermione's eyes sparkled with poorly contained excitement. And he sensed it wasn't because of the good news for the Slytherin Quidditch team, but because he had accepted her attempt at conversation.
"How are they doing?" she wanted to know, a little more confidently. Draco shrugged reluctantly.
"They could do better. But they're the only decent thing out there. With some training we expect them to improve. They're two big guys, though aim isn't their strong suit. I'm guessing we'll have to resort to a trick or two if we're going to win," he commented, with a smirk. Hermione looked at him with open admonishment.
"Possibly, without cheating, you have a chance of winning the Quidditch Cup..."
"I'll be happy if we don't finish below the Gryffindors in the league standings."
She narrowed her eyes, again disapprovingly. But, still, she smiled. She'd figured out that he'd just wanted to mess with her.
"You can rest easy. I don't know where you'll be in the standings, but everyone knows you're a good team," she replied, arching an eyebrow smugly, still smiling.
He looked at her mockingly, unperturbed by her words. Their hands were still clasped. And Draco realised then that his thumb was stroking the back of her hand, and he didn't know for how long. He stopped the movement instantly.
"You're a Quidditch expert now?"
"Hey, just because I don't play doesn't mean I don't know anything about it," the girl protested, lifting her chin slightly. "I've watched my friends play for years, both in matches and in training. I understand the rules, and I can recognise a good player. And you're a very good one."
The boy had been watching her condescendingly as she spoke, ready to sneer as soon as she finished, but her last sentence threw him off balance. The arrogance vanished from his eyes, and Hermione, despite the darkness, caught a glimpse of the puzzlement on his face.
"Really?" he mumbled, in a whisper. "I mean — I know, but, well — I didn't know you'd noticed."
Hermione chuckled.
"I'm not an expert in the technique, but I have eyes. I can tell if someone is stumbling, if they're wobbling, if they're fast... You have great balance, you have quick reflexes when it comes to catching the Snitch, and you're a very agile flyer. You're good," Hermione shrugged, dismissively. "I'm sure there are a hundred thousand techniques besides that that I don't understand, or appreciate... Harry and Ron tried to teach me, but they failed. I know there's something called the... Wonky-Faint, or something like that."
"Wronski Feint," corrected Draco immediately, forcing his lips to curl up into a sneer. Pretending not to attach any importance to her words. But he was making an effort to breathe properly.
Draco suddenly felt that all those hours of training in rain, sun and snow had been worth it. His effort had been rewarded. No one ever told him he was a good Quidditch player, except for Pansy. The team never acknowledged it to him, and he forced himself to think it was because he was already a senior member of the team. He had never been auditioned again over the years. He had made the team at the age of twelve, with the help of his father's generosity. With his gift of a Nimbus Two Thousand and One broom for each member of the team. They had lost matches many times because of him, for failing to catch the Snitch. On the vast majority of occasions, when he had faced Harry Potter. And it had been Hermione Granger, precisely Hermione Granger, who had made him feel, five years later, that he deserved to be where he was. It was maddening.
He could still hear in his head the words spoken by the girl years before, her voice sounding higher-pitched due to her youth, but with the same smug tone still in it...
'At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in. They got in on pure talent.'
The young girl's thick brown hair framed her face on both sides, and a bushy lock on the left side hid part of her cheekbone due to its volume. Draco, feeling annoyed at this detail, separated his fingers from hers and raised his hand. He tangled his fingers in the lock, trying to push it aside, and tuck it behind her ear.
"And yet, you have no idea about brooms..." he teased in a distracted mumble, not looking her in the eye, still struggling with the fluffiness of her hair. His grey eyes shining with concentration to keep the unruly lock firmly in place. "What class do you have now?"
"Arithmancy," she answered in a quiet voice, lost in his gesture, in the tenderness it concealed. Tenderness of which he was certainly not aware.
"What mark did you get in that midterm a couple of weeks ago?"
Hermione couldn't hold back a nervous, almost shaky laugh through her nose. She was surprised he remembered. She had mentioned to him weeks ago, even before their argument about not coming to meet him behind the greenhouses, the existence of that Arithmancy midterm, specifically about the Soul Number. The girl had been complaining for a long time that she would get her mark very close to the next midterm, which she thought was unfair in order to calculate her average. And he had remembered. She hadn't expected it.
"An 'Outstanding'," she muttered barely. She found thinking difficult, with his fingers brushing against the sensitive skin of her ear.
Draco snorted, and arched his eyebrow. He finally left the lock of hair for impossible, at its own free will. That girl had too much hair.
"I don't know why I ask. The day you get an 'Exceeds Expectations', the gamekeeper's Blast-Ended Skrewts will turn into Wood lice to feed Bowtruckles."
Hermione smiled, squinting her eyes censoriously.
"I got one in my Defence Against the Dark Arts O.W.L."
"And the Bowtruckles of the world are cheering..."
Hermione managed to stifle her laughter this time. The dwindling voices of the students could still be heard through the closed door, creating a pleasurable sense of risk. Technically, anyone could walk in there, anyone could discover them. They were a few steps away from the outside world, a few steps away from a world that had forbidden them precisely what they were doing. With the only protection of a weathered door against a powerful world that was capable of destroying their lives with the snap of a finger. A world that had imposed obstacles on them that they were defying again and again under their noses, taking the risks, taking pleasure in it.
The adrenaline of risk, of contesting the forbidden, was capable of igniting a spark between them that only increased the passion of their encounters, the strength of their feelings, forbidden, and therefore addictive.
Their bodies were very close in the confined space. Their eyes roaming the skin of each other's face, in silent glances. They put aside the cordial conversation, in a mutual and mute agreement.
Their faces were pressed together in the gloom, the skin of their foreheads touching. Feeling each other's breath crash against their faces. Hermione reached up and brought her hand to his pale throat, stroking his Adam's apple with her fingertips. Trying to guess his discreet pulse. He leaned down to kiss her lips suddenly, catching the lower one with his teeth and releasing it with a soft sucking sound. Hermione couldn't help but let out a gasp. Almost giddy at the sensation of his teeth catching her lip, biting it gently. At the sensuality of such a gesture. She felt the heat rush up her back.
Hermione lowered her hand, still resting on his throat, and wrapped it around his green and silver tie. With a tug, she pulled him firmly to her so that she could kiss him on the lips. Feeling unable to delay any longer. Draco, seemingly satisfied with her gesture, instantly pressed himself against her, forcing her to pull back. After barely two awkward steps, Hermione was met with a hard surface behind her that she identified as the wall of the wardrobe. Without releasing his lips, Hermione loosened her grip on his tie and went back to caressing his neck, this time with both hands. Scratching the back of his neck as she felt the front of his body push her against the wall, pressing himself against her. The girl let out a moan, silenced by him.
Draco, feeling hot traces on his neck, where she had scratched him, and feeling her moan against his mouth, felt himself begin to lose control of his body. He ran his hands up the outside of her arms in a rapid upward caress until his hands were resting on the wall on either side of her body. Using only his chest and mouth to stay close to her. He needed to not touch her too much, or, judging from past experiences, he would definitely lose control completely.
The young man released her lips and dug his face into the side of her throat, catching the flesh with his mouth. Hermione couldn't hold back another sigh, now unmuffled by the boy. Her nails dug into the back of his neck. She felt him let out a biting laugh through his nose. He leaned closer to her ear, and Hermione felt his lips tickling the receptive area.
"Are you capable of being quiet, or I better cast a Silencing Charm to the door?" questioned the young man in a jocular whisper, nuzzling her temple with his sharp nose.
His words sent a jolt of anticipation through her lower abdomen. So suddenly that such a sensation caught her off guard. With the door silenced she could... make all the sounds she wanted. Draco's actions would encourage her to make all sorts of sounds... Pulling herself together from her own thoughts, Hermione gave a smile free of shyness, which he could barely see out of the corner of his eye. But he did feel her turn her face so that she could kiss his jaw, moving closer to his ear as well.
"And you?" the girl murmured, her lips brushing against the tragus in his ear.
And then Hermione leaned her face closer to kiss his neck in quick, needy kisses. Pulling her hands out of the way. And Draco stopped seeing. Because he had closed his eyes, but it took him a moment to realise that. He focused his efforts on not panting loudly. On biting his tongue, really biting it, so as not to let out the moan that ran along its surface. And not to tremble. He dropped his head, his forehead meeting her shoulder. His fingers clawed at the stone wall of the broom cupboard, just to let it out, to bear it. To endure the girl's soft little mouth descending and ascending down his neck in firm kisses. Running over the sensitive area with confidence, her lips moist from shared kisses; her hot breath making every hair on his body stand on end; her cautious teeth trying to bite the area closest to his shoulder, then eagerly catching his earlobe...
The spasm Draco experienced in his belly made his legs almost give way. And an obvious tremor shook him whole. And he rubbed against her. Unable to contain himself.
It was too much. He couldn't take it anymore. Fuck it all.
Hermione heard the boy let out his breath between his clenched teeth, against her shoulder. He turned his face towards her, forcing her to leave his neck. Draco's mouth took hers again, so roughly that it made her moan before she could control herself. Not at all displeased. Suddenly, his hands left the wall. Hermione sensed that they were no longer on either side of her body. And then she felt them on her. She felt them hovering over her chest, causing her to shudder in pure surprise. It took her a second to assimilate the turn of events. He had never... touched her like that before.
But it didn't take her long to realise that it wasn't her breasts he was after. Groping through the darkness, he found the lapels of her uniform robes and grabbed them. He pulled them to either side, opening her robes, slipping it over her shoulders. He intended to take it off, leaving her in shirtsleeves. And she allowed him to. Though she felt a sudden shiver run through her from head to toe, like an electric shock, as she heard the rustle of her clothes as they slid down her arms and fell to the floor. She gasped against his mouth, returning to meet his lips somewhat awkwardly, blindly. Draco kissed her more firmly as he brought his hands between them again. Hermione felt them bump against her chest intermittently as he worked on his own clothes.
She heard a rustle of falling fabric again. It hadn't taken more than two seconds for Draco's robes to fall to the floor behind him. Removed by the boy himself. And then he was pressed up against her, now without the wide, annoying robes detracting from the fidelity of their bodies rubbing against each other. Hermione felt an overwhelming warmth on her skin as his chest slid against hers, as if something had exploded between them. At this point in the year, they were no longer wearing the regulation thin sleeveless jumper. The thin fabric of their shirts was the only barrier between their receptive skins. And she found it an incredibly intimate situation. Never considering breaking the contact for an instant, she wrapped her hands around his body, running them under his arms, to caress his back over the fabric. Studying the shape of his waist. The muscle tension in his sides. The temperature of his skin.
One of Draco's hands trailed down her body, tracing the side of her hip over her skirt. Trying not to tangle his fingers in the pleats of the pleating. He reached the end of the garment and reached the bare skin of her leg that was exposed under the edge of the school skirt. He slid down the skin of her thigh, a tantalizing caress with his fingertips. And then with his palm. He traced it almost absentmindedly and then, in a fit, circled it more firmly, using his whole hand. Squeezing her flesh. He lifted her thigh then with a gentle tug, bringing it up to the level of his own hip as he pressed himself against her. Hermione was surprised at how easily he held the weight of her leg, just with the strength of his arm. But she didn't have long to appreciate it.
Draco gave her a little push to hold her better, probably trying to get her more comfortable between his body and the wall, and to get himself more comfortable between her spread legs. The girl felt his pelvis, sheathed in the rigid uniform trousers, press against her belly for an instant, and manage, without looking for it, to make her whimper involuntarily. Her body arched slightly against him, instinctively seeking some more contact. Draco huffed against her mouth, feeling her press against him like that. The hand holding her thigh twitched, digging its short nails into it. Hermione just dug her fingers into his back. And recovered his lips in the shadows. Encouraging him not to stop.
She needed... something. She didn't know what. But something. More.
Everything.
His free hand came down to her other hip as well, just to hold it. He was supporting almost all of her weight. He had managed to lift her slightly, as Hermione felt her toe barely touch the floor. She could feel his face a few centimetres lower than the height difference would normally make it. He was pressed against her. She felt him completely against her. Pressing his chest against hers. His pelvis against hers. And still, it wasn't enough.
Hermione managed to pull her hands out of the cramped space between their bodies and brought them up to wrap her arms around his neck. Still kissing him. Unable to stop herself from breathing heavily against his face from the intensity of the kiss. As Hermione moved her arms around his neck, she felt something tough touch her elbow on her right. Then there was the clacking of sticks, made of a material that sounded like wood. And, suddenly, something long and tough fell on them, startling her and making her gasp. She felt Draco flinch with surprise as well. They broke the kiss awkwardly, panting, as they heard, and felt, several knocks inside the cupboard.
"What the — ?" Draco mumbled. He released her thigh, letting her rest her weight back on her two feet. Hermione could see in the gloom that he was reaching up, feeling around in the darkness to remove the object that had fallen on them. "Mops? Bloody hell..."
Draco tried to put the supposed mop back in its place in the darkness, clumsily and in a visible hurry to return to his previous task. But it only resulted in other mops, or perhaps brooms, falling on top of them. Hermione shielded her face with her forearm, grimacing in amusement. When she heard the boy swear under his breath, in an overtly impatient manner, she could no longer hold back a thankfully silent chuckle. She found the situation hilarious. They had hit Filch's mops in the passion of the moment, and now they were all falling on top of them like dominoes. Completely disrupting the atmosphere of the ardent situation. Brooms, mops, or whatever they were, they couldn't even see it.
The boy, frustrated, shoved the mops aside, carelessly, trying to get them to fall away from them, into another corner of the cupboard. Hermione, for her part, struggled to contain a spontaneous fit of giggles. She didn't know if her body had decided to burn off the adrenaline and excitement through irrepressible, nervous laughter, but that was what was happening to her. The situation was so unreal that she couldn't stop laughing. Draco Malfoy, the aristocratic Draco Malfoy, was locked with her in a tiny, dingy cupboard, and half a dozen mops had just fallen on him.
She let go of his neck and slid her hands down his chest until she released him completely. But she dropped her head onto his shoulder, to maintain the closeness, resting her forehead on it. Unable to stop laughing. Trying not to laugh loudly. Draco, still pinning her against the wall, hadn't allowed their bodies to lose contact as he repositioned the mops. When he did, tossing them into another corner of the cupboard, causing a couple of loud thuds, he returned his face to the front, searching for hers, hearing her laugh softly.
"Really? You think that's funny?" he spat impatiently. Trying to sound incredulous, but with an ill-concealed mocking tone. Hermione responded by laughing more uncontrollably against his chest, struggling not to raise her voice. "Don't you bloody laugh at me..."
But his voice was betraying him. Hermione couldn't see his face because she had sunk her own into the hollow of his neck. But she could hear him. And he sounded as amused as she was, against his will. Hermione had another brief fit of laughter, which she didn't try to control, only to muffle so that only he could hear it.
And that was when she felt Draco's shoulders shake beneath her forehead. She heard his breath escape his mouth and crash against her ear. He had laughed.
And it hadn't been a biting, sarcastic laugh, let alone a malicious one. It had been a genuine, irrepressible, barely audible chuckle. A real laugh.
He found the situation as pathetic, and it was as funny to him, as it was to her.
Hermione felt her own lips stretch into a smile and she laughed again. She allowed herself to close her eyes and enjoy the intimate feeling of being laughing next to him, pressed against his chest, in the middle of the darkness. There was no need to speak. The situation spoke for itself.
Still giggling residually, still flushed from their earlier shared kisses, she lifted her head at last, leaving his shoulder. She could barely make out the boy's outline thanks to the light still filtering through the cracks in the door. Even less could she see his facial expression. She craned her neck and groped for his lips, covering them with her own in a soft kiss when she found them. Barely separating, that kiss was followed by another. And another. In the next, their tongues met.
Draco pushed her against the wall again, pressing his body to hers. Her hands moved up his neck again. Reaching up to the hair at the nape of his neck and tangling her fingers in it. But the fact that she had to place her elbows between them in order to do that didn't seem to convince Draco.
Hermione felt his hands leave her hips. And suddenly she felt them circling her wrists, finding them almost blindly. He forced her to pull her hands away from him and open her arms. She then found the backs of her hands brushing against the rough wall on either side of her head. With his hands still holding her wrists. Gently, but firmly. Immobilising her. So that he could press his chest completely against hers.
Hermione squirmed as she felt his tongue plunge into her mouth. Swallowing her moan. She reflexively tried to move her arms, wanting to wrap her hands around him, but he held his grip effortlessly. His long fingers were stronger than his slenderness implied. His hands were warm. Hermione then became aware that she couldn't move. She couldn't move her hands. She couldn't touch him. He wouldn't let her. He was devouring her, he was completely attached to her, and she couldn't do anything.
She was at his mercy. And she couldn't feel more relaxed about it.
'If there's anything you don't want to do, just tell me.'
His mouth left hers then, almost sore from the intensity of the kiss, and he slid it down her neck, spreading the moisture from his lips, biting at the hollow where it met her shoulder, exposed next to the collar of her shirt. Tearing another choked sigh from her, laden with longing. She heard Draco growl hoarsely in response. Hermione fought to let go of one of her hands, just one, so she could grasp his hair. But the boy wouldn't let her. Nor would he move away from her neck. She was sure he would be able to feel her steady pulse in her throat. Her whole body was pulsing.
His mouth on her neck was impetuous, blazing, but it wasn't enough to satisfy the fire that had sprung up in her chest, almost to the surface. She wanted to kiss him hard, to grab his shirt with both hands, to tear it off, to scream at him how much she...
And then the light invaded the small cupboard, coming through the tightly closed eyelids of both of them.
Stunned by the sudden change of atmosphere, Draco and Hermione, panting and still full of adrenaline, pulled their faces apart and turned them towards the door. It was wide open, and a dark silhouette was outlined in the frame against the bright light of the corridor.
Hermione felt a buzzing in her ears. An emptiness in her chest. Her body went limp. And then she felt terror. A terror that was so absolute that her body was barely able to take it in. A terror that stiffened her better than any Petrificus Totalus, and which, she was sure, had the same effect on Malfoy.
The scene seemed to freeze for minutes, both of them still holding each other's bodies, as if they could avoid the disaster, and the mysterious silhouette staring at them from the doorstep.
But it was barely two seconds before a stammering voice broke the icy atmosphere.
"What do you think you're doing, you dirty, shameless children?" spat Argus Filch, his bulging eyes wide as saucers.
He reached his bony, spotted hands into the cupboard and grabbed Draco's arm tightly. He yanked him away from Hermione and dragged him out of the cupboard, almost throwing him to the floor. He then did the same to the girl, forcing her out into the wide corridor. Hermione almost closed her eyes, feeling emotionally unable to see herself in the middle of a crowd of students who would be staring at them in awe of the scene. But she didn't close them, and that was fortunate, because the corridor, which minutes before had been crowded, was now wonderfully empty. The almost overwhelming relief the girl felt was instantly replaced by a new wave of worry. How long had they been in the cupboard? Was everyone in class? What time was it?
"Insolent, perverted children — what do you think this is?" Filch shouted, sticking his head into the cupboard, pulling out their robes and bags, which were on the floor, and slamming them on each of their chests. "I won't allow this in the castle, I certainly will not! I'm sick and tired of finding kids screwing all over the place... Come with me!"
He grabbed each of them by the arm with hands that looked like pincers and forced them to walk, as fast as he could with his shuffling gait, along the corridor. Hermione's mind was blank. She couldn't think of anything. She couldn't analyse the seriousness of what was happening. She wasn't prepared for something like this. She could only let herself be dragged along by Filch, clutching her belongings as best she could. The caretaker must have heard the clattering of the mops inside the cupboard. How could they have been so reckless?
"Don't you dare touch me, you dirty caretaker!" Draco suddenly protested, on the other side of the man, from where the girl could not see him. Hermione couldn't conceive of the fact that he had any strength left to complain when she felt on the verge of fainting. "Don't you know who I am? Take your hands off me or I swear I'll — !"
"The Slytherin House Prefect, yes, I know perfectly well who you are! Keep your oaths to yourself, you depraved little brat!" Filch exclaimed, his cheeks quivering, forcing them down a deserted flight of stairs behind a dingy tapestry. "You're going to need them, you're going to pay dearly for this! You'll regret what you've done!"
They walked down a corridor that Hermione recognised as one on the third floor, and passed two students. Both from Hufflepuff. A boy and a girl. Young, very young. Possibly first-years. They looked at them as they walked past. But there was only curiosity in their eyes. There was no surprise, no disturbance. They didn't know them. They didn't know who they were. They would assume they were two senior students, possibly a couple, whom Filch had caught in an intimate situation. They did not know that these two people could not have been caught in such a situation.
Hermione felt her stomach churn with fear. She was going to throw up, she was sure of it. At any moment.
But then they finished walking down another flight of stairs, amidst a string of threats from an upset Filch, and found themselves on a deserted first floor. How they had made it from the seventh floor to the first in such a short time, Hermione never knew. Nor was she able to make a big deal out of such a situation, which was beginning to seem more serious with every step they took.
Now what? What was about to happen?
Filch stopped them in front of a simple wooden door, and knocked with his rough knuckles several times, releasing her arm momentarily. And Hermione realised then where they were. And that she was definitely going to faint imminently.
"No, please, not here, anywhere but here... No!"
"Professor McGonagall!" Filch exclaimed, triumphantly, bursting into the office with a strange air of satisfaction and forcing both teenagers in with him by tugging on their arms. Slamming them against the doorframe without remorse. "I think you'll be interested to see this..."
The Transfiguration teacher and Head of Gryffindor House was sitting at her desk, going through a pile of parchment. Hearing the door open, and the words of the caretaker, she looked up sharply, bewildered at the interruption. Her intelligent green eyes quickly took in the scene before her. It consisted of an upset Argus Filch, snorting noisily and holding tightly by each arm a disdainful Draco Malfoy on one side and a pale, stricken Hermione Granger on the other. Both students looked dishevelled, their clothes crumpled, and they had their school bags and black robes rolled up in their hands.
McGonagall frowned instantly and adjusted her square glasses.
"What happened this time?" she asked, her voice heavy with sternness and patience. She set the quill down in the inkwell and stood behind the desk, resting her fingertips on the surface of the table. "What was the reason for the quarrel?"
Filch let out a loud, almost hysterical laugh.
"No, Professor. It was in no way a quarrel, I assure you."
The woman's sternness faltered, and she seemed momentarily disconcerted. Or at least that was indicated by the rapid sequence of blinks that fluttered her eyes.
"I beg your pardon, Mr Filch?" she insisted, without changing her calm tone. Though it was colder now. She looked at the caretaker over the top of her spectacles, clearly incredulous.
"I mean, it wasn't a quarrel. I found these two shameless kids in a broom cupboard on the seventh floor, during school hours, practising coitus like two —"
"We weren't doing that!" Draco blurted out angrily, opening his mouth for the first time. Hermione could only close her eyes, feeling her face burn. It took McGonagall a second, a brief second, to compose herself from the shock that crossed her face.
"And what were you doing, according to you, Mr Malfoy?" the teacher questioned him, piercing him with her sharp eyes, a tiny wrinkle in her forehead. But Filch wouldn't let him answer.
"I found them kissing and rubbing each other shamelessly in the broom cupboard," Filch insisted, not budging. "You only have to look at the appearance they're wearing, Professor. If I hadn't gone in there, who knows what those two depraved teenagers would have done —"
"That's enough, Mr Filch, thank you," interrupted McGonagall, curtly. "You may go, I'll take care of it. Back to your duties, please."
Filch seemed to deflate. He stiffened suddenly, but his features hardened.
"These two youths have defiled a broom cupboard of my property," he spat harshly, in his gravelly voice. As if to make it clear that he definitely considered what had happened to be of the utmost gravity. His flabby cheeks quivered with indignation. "I shall be awaiting your notice and punishment, Professor McGonagall."
The woman said nothing. She merely looked at him grimly, waiting for him to leave the room. The caretaker still hesitated, as if he wanted to stay and hear what the teacher was going to tell them in the hope that it would be a death sentence, but finally he turned and limped out the door, shutting it behind him. Muttering expletives.
The teacher stared at them for several seconds, in a tense silence that she had no compunction about prolonging. Malfoy looked back at her arrogantly, showing no sign of remorse. Hermione, on the other hand, was pale, staring at the carpet at her feet with wide eyes, unable to look at the teacher. She dared not move a millimetre of her body. She felt that if she made the slightest creak as she shuffled her feet across the floor, the room would collapse.
"Do you have anything to say in your defence to what Mr Filch said?" McGonagall finally asked, calmly and sternly. There was no trace of kindness in her tone.
"We were not practising coitus," Draco repeated, wryly, his tone surly.
"Your position on that detail has been made clear to me," the teacher remarked, curtly, then glanced at the stricken girl. "And I would like to hear from Miss Granger about it."
Hermione began to shake harder. She couldn't look up from her feet. She couldn't look the teacher in the eye. Her nausea was on the edge of her stomach.
"We weren't," was all she managed to whisper, her voice trailing off.
"I'm glad you agreed on that," Minerva said, her voice rising in pitch. "Could you tell me what you were doing, then?"
"Talking," Draco spat, again with scornful sarcasm. He seemed to be so upset and nervous that he couldn't even remember to be the least bit polite to his teacher.
"I doubt very much that Mr Filch would have brought you into my presence if he had seen you talking. It is not forbidden in the school rules for people to talk."
"And coitus is?" Malfoy replied, scornfully, repeating again the word used by the caretaker with open derision.
"No, Mr Malfoy. Coitus, per se, is not forbidden in the rules. Both you and Miss Granger can have intercourse with whomever you please on your own time. But not in a broom cupboard owned by the caretaker and not during school hours when you should be in a classroom, studying," said the teacher, her voice hardening with each word. Now even Draco was beginning to look doubtful. Hermione was growing paler by the minute. "And, of course, with consent on both sides."
Hermione looked up at that last specification. And found her teacher staring at her. Earnestly. And the girl understood instantly. The woman wanted to make sure that Draco hadn't tried to... She couldn't let the teacher think such a thing. No way.
Hermione nodded her head. Barely perceptibly. It had all been consensual.
"We weren't doing anything," Draco lied blatantly, his voice unsteady. Without realising anything. "That bloody caretaker is a lying sod — !"
"Shut up, Mr Malfoy," the woman spat with unexpected harshness, silencing him instantly. "I must say I am disappointed in your behaviour. You are both Prefects, and were elected precisely because of the faculty's conviction that you would enforce and abide by the rules without exception. And now you appear in my office, dragged by the caretaker, and looking far from presentable. I must say I am surprised at your behaviour, Miss Granger," she raised her face slightly, her features hardening. Hermione closed her eyes tightly, feeling faint. "Unfortunately, this is not the first time Mr Malfoy has broken school rules this year, but you have always been a student with a spotless record and exemplary behaviour. I must say I am disappointed that you have committed such a breach of righteousness," she sighed slowly, shifting her gaze from one teenager to the next. "In view of the facts, I am not going to punish you. This is your first offence of this kind, at least that I am aware of. But I want to impress upon you the extraordinary gravity and lack of decorum in what you have done. For which, I will take twenty points from each of you for your respective Houses."
Hermione felt a sharp blow to her chest that cut off her breath. Twenty points. Lost. Draco's jaw dropped of its own weight. She heard the young man's breath leave his mouth, but didn't have a chance to protest when Minerva spoke again:
"And, having said that, I recommend that the next time you want to indulge your impulses you do so with a little more sense, and in a more appropriate place. That's all," the teacher pointed to the door with an implacable gesture, "Go to the class you're supposed to be in immediately."
Malfoy pursed his lips in a sneer. He spun on his heel at once, haughtily, and strode towards the door and yanked it open, striding outside. In fact, he opened it with so much momentum, that it slammed against the stone wall and bounced off, half-closing again behind him. Hermione, her legs feeling like jelly and her face hot from holding back tears, made to open the door again to follow him, but the teacher's voice stopped her.
"Hold on a moment, Miss Granger," the woman demanded, her voice not quite clear of seriousness. The girl stopped instantly, as if she had collided with an invisible wall. Her heart raced even faster, if that was even possible. Without wanting it at all, she turned to face the woman.
She had not expected to find a Professor McGonagall staring at her with a sudden veil of bewilderment in her intelligent eyes.
"Miss Granger, it is none of my business, but please allow me to ask you a personal question," she requested. And her voice sounded entirely different. The disappointment was evident on her wrinkled face. "Are Mr Potter and Mr Weasley aware of this?"
The new softness in the teacher's voice, and the despondency in her gaze, pierced Hermione's chest like swords. And her words finished opening the wound. The question from the Head of her House, a woman worthy of admiration and a role model for the young Hermione, finished sinking her into the most absolute misery.
Harry and Ron...
'You'll pay for that one, Malfoy!' Ron had shouted in their second year, when Malfoy had called her Mudblood for the first time, before trying to attack him with a spell that bounced off himself.
'Hermione's a witch!' Harry had exclaimed during the Quidditch World Cup, when Draco had told Hermione that if she wanted to go through the air flashing her knickers, all she had to do was get close to the Death Eaters attacking the camp.
'Furnunculus!' was the spell Harry used against Draco when the latter offered Hermione one of his badges that said POTTER STINKS but told her not to touch his hand when she took it.
'Oh yeah, I forgot, you're a Mudblood, Granger, so ten for that...' were the words Draco had uttered when he was a member of the Inquisitorial Squad, and they had caused Ron to pull out his wand with the intention of attacking him for it.
And now she was seeing him behind their backs. A boy who had had nothing but taunts, cruel words and spells behind their backs for as long as they had known each other. Harry and Ron were her best friends. And they had always protected her. From him. And now she was...
She had to duck her head, unable to hold her teacher's bitter gaze, which was a thousand times worse than her usual stern one. Unable to bear her own thoughts.
"No, Professor," she managed to articulate, in a hoarse whisper.
McGonagall looked at her for a few seconds longer, just looked at her, and then took a seat back at her desk.
"I see. You may go, Miss Granger," she offered, still softly. Her voice didn't sound accusatory. It didn't sound suspicious. But the disappointment was evident in it.
The girl bowed her head, unable to open her mouth without letting out a sob, and was out the office door in the blink of an eye. As soon as she closed it behind her, she almost collided with Draco, who was waiting for her in the corridor.
"What did she say to you?" he wanted to know, roughly, looking at her.
But Hermione couldn't speak. She was shaking. Harry and Ron's smiling faces were drawn in her pupils.
'Are Mr Potter and Mr Weasley aware of this?'
She felt guilty, disheartened, and ashamed. She couldn't look at Malfoy. Nor did she feel capable of talking to him at the moment. So she shook her head sharply, indicating to him that she didn't want to answer his question, and then tried to walk away from him, taking off down the corridor. She needed to be alone. She needed to think. She knew he wouldn't understand, but she couldn't be with him at that moment. And she didn't have the strength to explain it to him.
But Draco anticipated her. He dropped his robes and bag without even looking at them, letting them fall to the floor with a thud, and hurriedly reached out to grab her arm.
"What did she say? What happ — ?" he insisted, tugging her so that he could turn her towards him again. To see her face, at least in profile. But he was suddenly speechless when he managed to do so. When he saw her expression. Her face was congested, twitching in a silent sob, her eyes reddened and covered with a thick layer of tears...
"Nothing," Hermione gasped, trying to pull away from him without much effort. She turned her face away from his eyes again. "Nothing, Malfoy, she hasn't said anything to me... Let me go, please..."
"Bullshit," he spat, his tone curiously low, not letting go of her arm. His brow was firmly furrowed. "Look at you. She said something to you just now, when I went out, and that's why you're upset. What was it? Is she going to tell anyone — ?"
"No, of course she's not going to tell anyone!" the girl exclaimed, her voice cracking in mid-sentence. She jerked out of his grip and turned to face him, "Professor McGonagall is an honourable person, she would never do such a thing! She's not stupid, she's perfectly aware of what she's just seen and our situation! She would never do such a thing to us!"
"Then what the hell is wrong with — ?" he spat, his voice rising in pitch. His eyes flashed. She stomped her foot on the floor, just to vent the helplessness she felt.
"For God's sake, Malfoy, how am I supposed to react? You don't realise Filch caught us in there? You don't realise how serious this is? Well, I've just realised the reality! We've been caught and I never thought we would be! And we won't always be so lucky! We — we can't do this! It's not right..." she stammered, stuttering, but stopping herself from shouting. "McGonagall has never looked at me like that before. I've never let her down like this before, and I can't bear to disappoint her..."
"Disappoint her?" Draco spat suddenly, with angry scepticism. "What, you're too good to be with me? You deserve better than that delinquent Draco Malfoy?"
"It's what she thinks, and you can't deny that she has her reasons," Hermione protested, coldly, but swallowing hard. "Just last week, she punished you for burning my essay in front of our classmates. Imagine what she'll think of me after she's seen us... like this."
She pointed to her body, indicating the presence of her dishevelled clothes, and her robes on the floor. Draco said nothing. He was breathing heavily. But his face had lost its defensiveness. He seemed to be convinced by her justification. And understand her point.
"What difference does it make what she thinks?" he added even so, lowering his voice in annoyance. "As long as she doesn't say anything to anyone, it doesn't matter. And the same goes for Filch, though I know that... limp-wristed git won't say anything. It wasn't that bad. McGonagall's far too intransigent about decorum and —"
"She's a wonderful teacher," Hermione corrected him, her voice choked but firm. "A wonderful woman whom I admire and can't bear to let down. For God's sake, she's right about everything," she turned in desperation to turn her back on the boy. Now she was talking almost to herself, "What is happening to me? I wasn't like this before, I would never have done anything like this... I would never have done this behind Harry and Ron's back. I don't want to hurt them. They don't deserve any of this. I don't want to hide, I don't want to do things this way. I can't — I can't do it anymore. I don't want to live day by day feeling guilty. I'm — I'm fed up —"
Her face had been falling forward as she spoke. Hermione could feel the tears sliding down her chin. She let her robes and bag slip from her hands to the floor, unwilling to hold them any longer. Unable to muster the strength to raise her head again, she closed her eyes and hurried to wipe her tears away with the palm of her hand. Covering her face with her hands to calm herself. Clenching her throat to keep from letting out a sob. Coughing clumsily as she tried to catch her breath. She didn't want to collapse like that in front of Draco. Or anyone else. But she couldn't stop. The situation was getting out of hand. It had seemed to her that what they were experiencing was a dream, because the blindfold was preventing her from seeing that it was a nightmare. It was only an illusion. McGonagall's eyes had made it clear. They were not doing things right. And she couldn't bear to consciously do things wrong.
When she stopped speaking, silence fell over the corridor. Malfoy didn't make a sound. She couldn't even hear his breathing.
And, for that very reason, the girl was startled when she felt a sudden presence brush against her back. Something warm and large against her. Suddenly, it stretched out in front of her chest. Enveloping her. Squeezing her just a little. Hermione pulled her hands away from her face, just enough to be able to see what it was. Or at least confirm it, because she suspected it. A pair of arms wrapped around her from behind at chest level, imprisoning her raised forearms. Draco's chest was pressed against her back. He was hugging her.
Her own chest was now empty. Empty of pain. Empty of guilt too. Empty of the desire to cry.
He was holding her.
She closed her eyes again, letting herself be intoxicated by the sense of protection that Malfoy's unexpected, silent embrace instilled in her. She didn't want empty words, or banal promises, or ephemeral solutions. They both knew exactly what they were doing, they knew how complicated it was. They knew the lights and shadows of what they were doing. She just wanted to feel that she wasn't alone, that she wasn't the only one who was scared to death by everything that was happening.
The girl spun herself inside his arms, to face him. Without bothering to raise her head to look at him, she just pressed herself decisively into his chest. Managing to pull her arms out of the space between them first, so that she could wrap her arms around his body and hold onto his back tightly. Clenching his shirt in her fists. She felt Draco tighten his arms around her, clutching her a little tighter. She didn't feel his open hands on her body, or his fingers holding her. Just his forearms on her back, pressing her against him firmly.
Draco's chest was warm, and she was able to feel it rising and falling, according to his slow breathing. She tried to breathe at the same pace, calming herself, swallowing back new sobs. Barely allowing her chest to heave, knowing that now he would notice and could not hide it from him. But the tears would not stop. Because in that moment, cuddled against the warmth of his body in the middle of an empty corridor, and with her mind pushing all common sense aside, she felt that she loved Draco Malfoy far more than she was capable of accepting, and almost understanding. And she felt an almost physical pain at that suddenly clear fact.
"This wasn't supposed to be like this," Hermione wailed, in the privacy of her mind, her face pressed against his chest. With her tears disappearing as they came into contact with his white shirt. "Something like this was supposed to just go away at any moment. That it was just some rambling feelings and a temporary attraction, and it would soon be over. That we wouldn't be able to prolong this. This wasn't supposed to work. Because, whether it does or not, we both know how it's going to end. It can only end one way..."
"What we're doing is utter stupidity," Draco muttered suddenly, almost startling the girl. His tone of voice was very low, and serious, and she could hear him close above her head. "A stupidity that we decided to carry out in a moment of desperation. We knew it when we decided to change everything. We didn't even think it would last this long. That it would come to this point. It's immoral, it's... fucking insane nonsense," he let out a soft snort that hid a chuckle. "And we should stop."
Hermione felt a shiver run through her. She closed her eyelids tightly before she could speak.
"Do you want to stop?" she whispered against his chest. Softly. In the calmest tone she could muster. The silence that followed her question was so long that the girl was tempted to repeat it, thinking he hadn't heard her.
"No."
Hermione smiled against his shirt, before she could help it. He wanted to go on. Despite the complicated situation, despite the wake-up call fate had given them, they were going to turn a deaf ear. Despite the fact that, with each passing day, the risk of their lives being torn apart increased. Even though they were risking so much for something they both knew was fleeting. They couldn't be together forever. They were just living an illusion. A beautiful illusion.
After allowing herself to be pressed against him for a few more seconds, Hermione, somewhat calmer, carefully stepped out of his arms. Not quite letting go, just loosening his grip on his back. She raised her head to look at him. Malfoy didn't say anything. But he did break contact, dropping his arms to his sides. Hermione saw out of the corner of her eye that his fists were clenched firmly. He seemed suddenly uncomfortable, as if his own embrace had made him feel out of place. It seemed that holding her and looking into her face at the same time was too much for him. Hermione released his back as well, trying to help him lessen his embarrassment, and took a half step back, so she could more comfortably look at his face.
His face was tense as he returned her gaze, scrutinising hers. Hermione gave him a discreet smile, downplaying the importance of her, surely, still flushed face. The wetness of her cheekbones.
Draco then raised one of his arms and swept his forearm roughly across her face. Without any gentleness. Rubbing the skin of her face with the sleeve of his shirt. Wiping away any trace of tears. Hermione couldn't hold back an exhale that hid a giggle at the feel of the fabric against her skin. Forcing her eyes to close uncomfortably as she felt her eyelids, and the skin around her eyes, stretch.
When he considered he was done, Draco lowered his arm, his face undisturbed. As if nothing had happened. Hermione blinked, her eyes opening again, and returned his gaze, unable to contain a disbelieving smile. Thanking him for his gesture.
Harry and Ron danced before her eyes again. Threatening to cloud them over again.
They had protected her from him all along. But they didn't have to anymore. Hermione knew perfectly well that to think that Draco was a saint now, that he had changed somehow, was to close her eyes to reality. He was still getting himself into a thousand scrapes and treating so many people cruelly who undoubtedly didn't deserve it. He was still the same sly, arrogant, contemptuous, exhibitionist Draco Malfoy he had always been.
But... some things had changed. She had asked him not to attack her friends in any way, and, as far as she knew, he had kept his word. He had never disrespected her since they had begun their clandestine relationship, with the exception of an argument they had managed to settle and the burning of an essay, against his will, for the sake of appearances. He had just wiped her tears with his sleeve. And she couldn't ignore all that either. If Harry and Ron knew, maybe...
A deep sigh escaped her nose as she scrutinised his face. His pointed features, which she had run her fingers and lips over so many times in the last few weeks. Those eyes that, even to this day, despite everything that had happened, still managed to shake her chest with emotion as they bore into her. Those lips that she could devour for as long as he would let her.
It was getting out of hand. At that moment she was fully aware. Her feelings were slipping out of her control, if she had ever mastered them.
"I think I'm scared," Hermione muttered, feeling the skin on her arms prickle at her own confessions. "Because this isn't what I expected. I feel like... this is all going too well," her voice cracked slightly, and she wanted to believe that she was possibly still a little emotional from the recent crying. "Better than I ever thought things could be between us. And it wasn't supposed to. And it scares me, because it's not clear to me that I ever want this to end. It was supposed to be temporary, but it doesn't... end," she finished haltingly. She swallowed and locked her eyes with his. "Do you feel the same way?"
Malfoy regarded her seriously, silently. Allowing her to speak, taking in her words. He felt her face distort hopelessly before his eyes as he became immersed in his thoughts. The Dark Mark still rested on his arm, and he could almost feel it tingling at that moment. Though he knew the sensation was only in his head. But he was a Death Eater. He was in Lord Voldemort's ranks. In his inner circle. He was going to expel from the wizarding world, to murder, those who were like her. And, in even shorter order, he was going to bring the Dark Lord into the castle, to claim a new magical order, in which all those like her would be considered scum. Including her.
How could he... continue with Granger in spite of all that? How could he keep his ideals standing, tell himself that everything he was fighting for with the Dark Lord was the right thing to do, and, at the same time — ?
Why did everything feel so right? Why was it that the only thing that tormented him was that someone might find out about them? Someone who wasn't a cowardly Filch or a thankfully discreet McGonagall. Someone who would stand in the way, who would remind him of his place, who would tell the Dark Lord and condemn him to death. But why was it that being with her, being in the company of someone who was not pure of magical blood, did not feel unpleasant, uncomfortable, boring or repulsive, but quite the opposite?
He didn't understand. He hadn't been able to understand it all this time. But he couldn't contain what he really felt.
Yes, he felt just like her. Exactly the same. Unfortunately, he felt that way. But he would rather cut out his tongue than admit it out loud.
He was a Death Eater...
"We don't have to make a decision right now," Draco heard himself muttering. His mouth speaking without his permission. But he realised that his mouth was smarter than he was. That was the solution to all his chaotic thoughts. "We said we'd keep at this until we were clear. And we haven't yet. So... let's continue."
Hermione blinked, considering his suggestion. She let her gaze wander down the boy's shirt in front of her. There was an area, corresponding to where she had been resting her face, that was slightly translucent. Still wet from her tears.
She felt a surge of angry irresponsibility come over her. She didn't want to get away from him. And he didn't want to get away from her. So why do it? To hell with the stupid prohibitions of the wizarding world. To hell with purity of blood. To hell with such archaic rules. To hell with the good guys and the bad guys. To hell with everything.
Draco saw her give a firm nod to indicate her agreement. She squared her shoulders, and took a deep breath, as if trying to give herself some strength. He took in the air his lungs had been rejecting.
Hermione glanced at her wristwatch, and her face, to Draco's surprise, barely twitched. The boy was sure that they were definitely going to be late for class.
"McGonagall is absolutely right, we should go to class," Hermione commented loudly, trying to speak with poise and to change the subject. "I have to go to Arithmancy. I've already lost an hour, but if I hurry, I might make it to the second."
Draco barely blinked. He squared his shoulders, as she did, and also straightened up a little more, regaining his determined attitude.
"Fine," he mumbled, calmly.
"Go to class you too," the girl urged him, sternly. He nodded silently, just so she wouldn't insist. Hermione hesitated for a moment, staring unseeing at the reflection of the sun in the glass of the corridor windows, and then suggested, in a quiet voice, "Perhaps we should wait a few days before we meet again. Just in case Filch is alert. And certainly not use a broom cupboard again. We need to find somewhere else. I don't want anyone else to know. At this rate, one by one, everyone in the school will find out."
Hermione saw out of the corner of her eye that Malfoy was nodding again, not saying anything. She looked him in the eye, but his eyes were fixed on the floor. On his own black robe, lying untidily next to his bag. Hermione's lay balled up almost next to it. The girl consciously took a breath. Needing it.
Draco's eyes fell on hers again. And Hermione caught a momentary, strange glint, like liquid silver, which she couldn't interpret. Nor did she know how to decipher his serious look. She wasn't quite sure what to say. If she was supposed to say anything at all. She was sure they were both thinking the same thing.
What had happened in the broom cupboard...
Seeing that he didn't seem to be in the mood to say anything more, Hermione merely stretched the corners of her mouth nervously, fleetingly. With the intention of saying goodbye, she stood on tiptoe and pressed her lips to his. But he reciprocated and leaned into her, prolonging what had begun as a soft kiss. Hermione then cupped his face with both hands and allowed him to extend it. Forgetting her common sense, her doubts and fears. Forgetting about reality.
But having him sink into her mouth again only made what had happened in the broom cupboard, before Filch caught them, come rushing back to her mind like an avalanche.
Draco had caressed her thigh under her skirt. He had removed her robes, and he had removed his own. The presence of both of them on the floor at their feet was irrefutable proof that it had been true. That it hadn't all been a dream. And Hermione couldn't help but wonder, now that her mind was clear, how far Malfoy had intended to go. How far she would have been able to go, if Filch hadn't shown up. In the moment, lost in the passion of the situation, it had all seemed the most natural thing in the world to her. She was definitely attracted to this boy. More than that, she desired him. In a way she had never experienced before. But, now that she thought about it coldly, she was surprised that she had let herself get so carried away. It wasn't like her to be so impulsive.
And Draco's attitude suddenly struck her as disconcerting.
'Your solution would be for us to... have an affair? A merely... physical relationship? A one-night of — ? A one-nightstand? Is that what you want? Well, I don't. I'm not willing to do that.'
'Me neither. That's not what I want. That's not enough.'
How far would Malfoy have gone with other girls? She wondered if it really surprised her that he could be... more expert than she was. She had never stopped to think carefully about the boy's sex life, but she thought that, if she had, she would have assumed that it wasn't too far from her own. Judging by the fact that she had never heard any rumours about any girlfriend, lover or the like. She realised she was jumping to conclusions, though. She didn't know him well enough. And perhaps, although it didn't fit his personality at all, he was discreet about such matters. And there was a possibility that the boy had already had sex with someone.
It overwhelmed her slightly. Not because such a thing would matter to her, but because... she didn't know what to expect. A new door had opened before them. A door she hadn't even realised was there. But now, after what had happened in Filch's cupboard, the possibility of it stuck in her chest.
The possibility of having sex with Draco Malfoy.
An unexpected vision danced on the inside of her eyelids. A vision of herself lying on a soft bed, with the young man on top of her, his naked skin brushing against hers, his hands on her, inside her, his breathing against her ear, his lips —
Oh, my God.
Her body and mind reacted in very different ways. Her body, quickening her pulse, and her breathing, increasing the heat in her neck — and other areas — giving in to carnal desires that were definitely there. But her mind almost panicked. Oh, no, no way. She was totally unprepared for such a scenario. But what about him? What would he think about it? Would it even have crossed his mind? Would he perhaps take it for granted that someday, when they were alone... it would just happen, given the nature of their relationship? Or would he find it indecent to even consider such a thing with someone like her? She was certainly not like any other lovers he might have had. She was a Mudblood. And, until relatively recently, he had hardly considered her worthy of breathing the same air as him. How far had his perception of her changed? Kissing her was one thing, touching her perhaps too... But sex was possibly a step too far to take. Or not?
She had no idea. She couldn't predict how someone as unpredictable as Draco Malfoy would act. He was a padlocked book, like the ones in the Restricted Section of the Library.
And she didn't feel capable of carrying on such a conversation at the moment.
"Are you there?" she suddenly heard Draco ask, bringing her unexpectedly back to reality.
Hermione blinked and focused on him. She was startled to see that the kiss already seemed to be over even though she hadn't been aware of it. She was still holding his face with both hands, forcing him to stay slightly hunched over. He was watching her with an arched eyebrow, amused at her state of deep distraction. The girl let go of his face in a hurry, and smiled, embarrassed, feeling the heat in her face rise.
"Y-yes, I'm sorry," she stammered awkwardly, tucking a lock of hair nervously behind her ear. She felt unusually uneasy, and even reluctant to look him in the eye. The mental image of herself, having sex with him, was dancing in the back of her eyes. As if her brain wanted to mock her. "It's just... I'm still a little shaken up about what happened. I'm absent-minded, I'm sorry."
Draco let out a snort. When she looked back up at him, she saw that he had one corner of his mouth lifted in a sly grin.
"Being shaken up is your natural state. You worry too much," he chided, arching an eyebrow at her.
Hermione let out a soft, amused snort, agreeing with him. Maybe she did worry too much. Looking up again, and meeting the boy's eyes, eyes that had stopped glaring at her with hatred, though she couldn't remember exactly when, she forced herself to promise to stop worrying so much. In every way.
'If there's anything you don't want to do, just tell me.'
She stood on her tiptoes again and gave him a soft kiss on the corner of his lips, and another on his cheek. After separating from him, she bent down to gather her belongings, then turned and walked away down the corridor.
Draco watched her, in no hurry to move, until she rounded the corner. He wasn't going to waste his time going to class, far from it. He had better things to do.
Though the only thing that was occupying his thoughts at the moment was that he still didn't know what it was that McGonagall had said to Granger when he'd left, and that it had definitely, despite her denial, affected her so much.