Chapter Eleven: Think
Whispers erupted throughout the hall, but Draco didn't care. He did not understand what just happened, where that kiss came from. Was that all part of the ruse to make Weasley jealous? The kiss certainly made Draco think a few things that he would be too proud to admit out loud. His lips still tingled, feeling slightly bruised from the initial impact and sore from the little bite she'd given him. Merlin, that made his pants twitch.
"Salazar, Draco. If she kisses you like that in public, you're a lucky man. I can't imagine how she kisses you when you're alone."
"Shut it, Blaise. That's my girlfriend you're talking about," snapped the blonde bitterly as he was pulled from one awfully inappropriate thought to an even more inappropriate conversation.
"Woah! Sorry mate," Blaise said, holding his hands up in defense. "I didn't realize you didn't care to discuss... those things." He sent a smirk across the table at Goyle, who snickered at the innuendo.
"Yeah, Draco, when you deflowered Pansy after the Yule Ball fourth year, you wouldn't shut up about it for weeks!" agreed Goyle.
"We were starting to assume you not talking about Granger meant you hadn't gotten into her knickers yet-"
If Blaise was going to say anything else, no one would ever know. Draco's wand was out faster than the reflexes of a Hungarian Horntail. It's point jabbed into the underside of the Italian's chin like a hangman's noose. Blaise's eyes were wide with alarm, while Draco's silver orbs flashed dangerously, boring into his longtime friend's.
"I suggest you let any more indecorous thoughts about Hermione Granger disappear from your mind completely. She is my girlfriend and I refuse to sit here quietly while others degrade her." His tone, stern and fierce, was terrifying. Never had the Slytherins seen their unspoken leader so angry. Especially not toward one of their own.
Raising his voice a little louder so others around them could hear, Draco continued, glare still focused on Blaise beside him. "You'd all do well to remember how savagely protective I am over things I care about. I will not hesitate to hex anyone else who dares to speak so inappropriately about Hermione. I don't care what colors you wear on your robes."
With that, Draco lowered his wand, grabbed his things, and stormed out of the Great Hall, adrenaline fueling his pace as he took step after sharp step.
He continued down to the dark dungeons and into his dormitory where he quickly gathered his broom and a cloak before marching himself to the Quidditch pitch.
He needed to clear his head of the numerous thoughts that plagued his mind.
Less than fifteen minutes ago, Hermione had kissed him. Hermione Granger, the bossy, stubborn, swotty, muggle-born Gryffindor had grabbed his face in her soft hands and kissed him in front of the whole school, professors and everything.
He couldn't deny that it had been the sexiest, most passionate kiss he had ever experienced. Usually, he was so calculated and planned with everything he did, even while snogging, but there in the Hall, his body had taken over, shoving all thought somewhere irrelevant. His hormones leading every movement of his hands and lick of his tongue, as every drop of blood had rushed southward.
He mounted his Nimbus 2001, soaring higher and higher until the cold air chilled his whole body and the pitch was only as small as a galleon. He let the wind make a mess of his usually immaculate hair.
What was he thinking? This was Hermione! He couldn't be thinking about her like this. His body shouldn't be reacting in such unsuitable ways.
No, he had simply been deprived of a woman's touch for too long. That must have been it, he told himself.
It wasn't her fierceness as she'd approached him, or the way her gentle hands softly but surely gripped his pale cheeks. It wasn't the way he could feel her melt into him as she lowered into his lap, nor the way she tasted of strawberries. It couldn't have been her reckless hair that matched her uncharacteristically reckless behavior.
NO!
He sent his broom into a sharp descent at a neck-breaking pace. He'd almost reached the ground before he finally pulled up on the handle, soaring back into the sky. Darting back and forth rapidly, Draco tried to force the thoughts to shake right out of his head.
And what was that at the end? Why had she suddenly been so bloody cold with that tense smile? Why did the sickeningly sweet tone of her voice remind him so much of his mother? Was it all for show? He'd shot back as much of the same controlled sweetness as he could muster at that moment, but he was confused and annoyed; he wasn't sure if he'd managed to get it across. She could be so thick sometimes, she probably hadn't noticed his lack of contentment and absolute confusion.
He weaved in and out of the goalposts, barely making the turns sharp enough to avoid colliding with the rings. He was trying to kill himself now. He didn't care if he hit the metal ring and plummeted to his death.
He stopped weaving when he got dizzy, though. He took to challenging the wind to a race, hoping he could outfly the set top speed of his incredibly fast broom. But no matter how fast he went, the events of that morning still stuck with him.
The kiss itself was complicated enough, but then his idiot best friend, Blaise Zabini, had the nerve to talk about her in such a degrading way. Sure, yes, everyone had definitely seen the deep, desperate, ardent kiss. There was truth in Blaise's statement, and that's what set Draco off.
Why?
Because now, Draco wanted to know the answer. Now Draco wanted to know how she'd kiss him when no one was watching.
Was that awful? Was he starting to have feelings for the brains of the Golden Trio? Or was this simply a physical attraction that was plaguing his mind?
He wanted it to be physical. He'd freely admit now that he didn't find her unattractive. She could be quite pretty sometimes. Actually, he's even thought her to be beautiful once or twice when they were studying in the library and she had this strong look of complete focus. Or that day on the bench when she'd cried and they'd laughed hysterically. The joy that danced on her features then was stunning. Even today, with her ankles crossed by his, her torso comfortably melted into his chest, and a smile pulling at her lips as they kissed, the smile that he felt rather than saw.
His eyes had been closed, but he would bet his whole Malfoy fortune that she had looked beautiful in that moment.
He didn't want there to be emotions involved. That was one of the rules they'd settled on what felt like so long ago. But didn't his reaction to Blaise mean it was more than just physical? Would he have stood up for her, protecting her, if he didn't care on some fundamental level?
Probably not.
He hated that answer. The only person he'd ever been so protective over was his mother. Maybe his father at one time, but he'd learned a lot since then.
And if Draco cared for her, like really, honestly had feelings for her, what would that mean about their fake relationship? Should he call it off? No, he couldn't see that helping the situation at all.
Did she feel the same thing for him? Did she feel the sparks that flew between them or the same tingling he was still feeling on his lips and throughout his body? Was that kiss for their fake relationship, or had Hermione actually wanted to kiss him? What was that emotion her caramel eyes were singing before she left? And where the bloody hell did that bite come from? Where had she learned to do that?
He took his broom for another climb, wishing desperately that he'd get close enough to the gods for them to tell him what to do.
He couldn't be certain that he had feelings for her. No, maybe the feelings that came with the kiss were simply that. A one-time spark between two people who should never kiss again. That would probably be for the best if they wanted to keep this fake relationship going smoothly. Feelings and emotions were sure to mess up their plan.
Draco slowly brought himself down, landing almost perfectly in the center of the field, having decided his next course of action.
He'd pick Hermione up at her portrait hole like usual and take her to their bench by the lake that she liked and refrain from kissing her. He'd listen to what she had to say, her explanation of why she'd kissed him. Real feelings for her or not, he'd carry on with their agreement like a professional because that's what Malfoys do.
He might apologize to Blaise, too.
But he might not.
Chaos.
Complete and utter, uncontrollable, chaos.
Hermione's mind felt like a war zone, conflicting opinions, pointed wands; Incendios, Crucios, and Stupefies rained down inflicting mayhem on her thoughts. Everything she had known about Draco Malfoy was sent up in smoke. Fear and tranquility clashed; nerve and caution rivaled; her mind and her heart drew swords. So much was rushing through the brunette's head, yet she was thunderstruck, stunned and dazed, lying on her canopy bed with the curtains drawn and her favorite pyjamas on once again, desperate for some semblance of security.
Like a sad song on repeat, she thought over and over and over again: I just kissed Draco Malfoy. I just kissed Draco Malfoy. I just kissed Draco Malfoy.
The thought left her anxious, confused, exhilarated, and filled with questions.
Why couldn't she think of a reason to be in the Room of Requirement to tell Harry? Why did Ginny have to tell her brother such atrocious information? Why did Ronald have to go and make a big deal about them not kissing in public? Why did his arrogance have to rear its head in the middle of the damn Great Hall?
Why did Draco have to be the second boy she kissed? Why did he have to kiss back? Why did she end up on his lap? Why did McGonagall have to break them up?
Why did she like it?
It was so different from any kiss she'd experienced before. Despite having crashed into him so forcefully, without warning, Draco's lips met hers with such a gentle connection, concentrated, yet electric. He knew where to put his hands and how to move his tongue along her bottom lip. He knew how to make her feel secure through the slightest comforting movement of his hand, intentional or not. He knew how to make her heart race in a way she didn't know was possible.
She had never understood the cliche before, but when she'd kissed him, she had a fluttering feeling in her stomach that reminded her of butterflies.
It reminded her of her favorite tea, the way he warmed her up.
But this was Malfoy she was thinking about. It was Draco Malfoy that she'd kissed.
How could she kiss the epitome of an enemy? He'd teased her, insulted her, hated her for the last five years. He'd been ruthless to her and her friends. She shouldn't be kissing him, she shouldn't be thinking about him, and her body shouldn't be responding to him.
But then, he wasn't as much an enemy anymore, was he? No, he'd become an ally, a friend (though she still wouldn't say it out loud) over the past few weeks through their fake relationship and working on the cabinet together. She'd grown to trust him. She'd come to enjoy his company and even appreciate how he always seemed to know the words she needed to hear. He'd argue with her, encourage her, and even compliment her in that roundabout way when she was down. But, of course, it was all laced with a hidden insult, true to Malfoy form, or came as part of his fake boyfriend duties.
But they weren't supposed to kiss in this fake relationship, that was one of their rules.
It wasn't who she'd kissed that bothered her. No, it wasn't that she had violated their contract that scared her. It wasn't the fact that it had been in front of the whole school that made her thoughts panic.
Hermione was paralyzed by the fact that she'd enjoyed it.
Her heart was racing in a pleasant way; her cheeks flushed and her lips were swollen. It was a feeling that she'd never experienced before. A certain weightlessness, a light, lingering haze that clouded her brain and made her thoughts so unmanageable.
She imagined that this was similar to the sort of high one would feel after consuming some kind of illegal drug, not that she would know at all what being high would feel like. But the way her mind was spinning, the euphoria that lingered despite her mess of thoughts, and the way her whole body ached to kiss him again… It all surely sounded like a drug. Didn't it?
Hermione didn't like Draco. This headrush didn't mean she had feelings for him. That wouldn't even be possible. Maybe it meant that she was more attracted to Draco than she had been to Viktor back in fourth year, that was probably it. This dizziness didn't mean anything.
It was complicated, to say the least.
On one hand, she wanted to try it again to see if it would have the same effect on her. Purely for academic understanding, of course. Was all of this a byproduct of adrenaline and hormones? Or was it the fact that the whole school was watching? Or, could it possibly have been a side effect that would always come from kissing Draco?
Another reason (though she wished it wasn't true) was that Draco was, undeniably a good kisser. She didn't even have to have much experience with the activity to know this to be a fact.
Everything about the kiss was perfect, everything about him in that moment, really.
She couldn't stop thinking about his hands on her waist, or her chest rising and falling with his, or the way his tongue made her feel like she must have one of the most exquisite tastes. She couldn't stop thinking about the warmth of his forehead as it rested against hers.
If she were honest, Hermione didn't want to stop thinking about any of it.
But she was finding it extremely difficult to be so honest, even with herself because, on the other hand, kissing Draco Malfoy a second time would definitely be problematic.
For starters, what if all of these odd feelings persisted? What would happen then?
What if they didn't? What if it was only a one-time thing, an act, a show? Would she be okay with that? Frighteningly, Hermione wasn't sure she would be.
It wasn't like Draco would want to kiss her, anyway. He was probably off right now, taking his anger out on some undeserving first year, or off flying around the quidditch pitch with the hopes of calming down enough so he wouldn't completely blow their cover by shouting at her in the Great Hall.
Maybe he was disgusted by the kiss and only had kissed her back because he didn't know how to push her away without drawing incredible suspicion. Maybe he was taking an incredibly long, cold shower with the intent of scrubbing away all of her mudblood germs.
But that was a ludicrous thought, too, and Hermione knew it. Thankfully, Draco didn't care about her blood anymore. That much she was sure of.
The idea, though, of him, you know, in a shower, brought her back to to the annoying, persisting, craving of his lips again.
Ugh.
She knew it would never, should never, could never happen the way her– hormones– wanted it to.
It was all rather silly, she knew, all of these thoughts about him.
She rolled over in her bed slowly, pulling her blankets up around her and situating a pillow in front of her face so she could scream without anyone hearing. Not that anyone would care if they did.
They wouldn't even understand, would they? No, they would not think anything of the heated kiss they'd seen. Instead, they'd probably blame her current state on the fact that her sex life was now public knowledge spreading throughout the school.
Ugh.
The more she lay there thinking, the more worked up she got. She now had to figure out a way to explain everything to Draco. She could only hope that the rumor wouldn't reach him before lunch, but this was Hogwarts, and this was boarding school, and there was no telling how far, how wide, nor how quickly rumors would spread.
That led to her next problem, and maybe one she should have been thinking about most importantly. How exactly would she tell Draco that everyone thinks they are sleeping together and she basically confirmed it with that mind-searing kiss? What did this mean for their fake relationship?
She wouldn't let these strange thoughts derail her plan. She'd have to be professional about this: apologize for the situation and explain how it transpired, casually explain how everyone now thinks they're sleeping together, and insist they never kiss again.
Sure, that sounds great.
She didn't want to experience those odd post-kiss feelings again, at least not with Draco.
Truthfully, she simply didn't want to address them at all. Not kissing would be the best way to avoid it. Maybe they'd have to be a little more touchy in public, but they could find ways to express their fraudulent intimacy without using their lips.
Godric, this was a mess. She wasn't thinking. She was so blinded by her anger at Ron and embarrassment from Ginny, and her sheer shock at Harry's statements; it had driven her to the point of insanity. That's the only thing she could think of to explain why she actually charged the Slytherin Table and kissed Draco. Absolutely, not-right-in-the-mind madness.
She brought the pillow back in front of her face and screamed into it again. Now she was thinking about Ronald.
He had been so confident in his certainty that Hermione was playing things fake, and that irritated her. Sure, it was all a fictional show, but she and Draco had played their parts well, or so she thought. Well, it didn't matter now because she'd shown him! Whatever comfort Ron felt before thinking that it wasn't real was out the frosty-paned window.
She'd finally seen that jealous reaction from Ron that she'd been wanting for so long, but oddly enough, it was a hollow victory that lacked the expected satisfaction.
She was worked up but didn't seem to be able to keep her thoughts focused on Ron's reaction for very long.
The kiss itself was definitely not the reason she was distracted… No, her change in feelings really didn't have anything to do with Draco.
That would be ridiculous.
Once again, Ron had shown her what a complete jerk he could be. The way he drawled the word librarian with deep disdain made it sound less like a respectable occupation, less like a simple insult, and more like a steel blade, sharpened to perfection, that was thrust with cruel force into Hermione's left lung.
He truly lacked consideration for her feelings and hadn't shown even a slight hesitation in the way those insults fell from his mouth. If he hesitated, maybe she could have held onto the wishful idea that his subconscious mind didn't want to hurt her.
But he hadn't.
It was the boys' dormitory all over again, despite this conversation being so much shorter. She recognized that these words themselves didn't break her nearly as much as his rant had back in Gryffindor tower- she wasn't going to cry this time- but Ron, that morning, had hurt her heart in a very different way.
Before, she could almost blame his past outburst on the situation. Maybe his hormones were too hyped up. Maybe he had a bad day and was taking his anger out on her. Maybe he didn't really mean any of it.
Maybe.
Maybe, there was hope.
But unfortunately, just because she'd bounced back didn't mean Ron had. And unfortunately, just because there is a flicker of hope, doesn't mean it will ever become more than that.
That was the harsh reality Hermione now faced.
Hadn't they fought all along? Hadn't most of those fights left her crying her eyes out in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom and feeling isolated and lonely for months? Hadn't he insulted her time and time before? Hadn't he shown her over and over again that he didn't want her?
How had she built him up so much in her head all those years? How had she let him get so much power over her?
Everything Ron said and everything he did affected her so much- too much.
This whole revenge plot should have been the first telltale sign that Hermione viewed Ron too highly. Any normal girl would have been upset if their crush had kissed someone else, but to let it drive them to complete and utter madness? Hermione shouldn't have. Then the fact that the insults he shouted at her in his dormitory, the venom in his voice, had driven her to drown in such self-loathing and desperation showed her that she had given far too much power to the unstable redhead. And yet, she let him do it all over again when he challenged her to kiss Draco! For someone who had been coined the Brightest Witch of Her Age, Hermione Granger was feeling rather stupid.
It was pathetic, really, how after years of being generally unnoticed and entirely undervalued by the freckled-faced boy, she still hoped it would be her and him in the end.
But not anymore, she told herself with a fierceness she usually reserved for making people do what she wants. The days of pining over Ronald Weasley were over.
She'd spent years being unapologetically herself around him and he'd told her over and over again that it wasn't good enough.
Hermione knew in her heart that learning and knowledge were fundamentally part of her being. There is no Hermione without books or a hand raised in the air because, really, that was who she fully intended to be. She was passionate about the things that mattered to her and she desperately wanted to prove that she belonged in this incredibly magical world.
So what if people thought her academic confidence was annoying? So what if she pushed to prove herself? That was who she was!
Hermione Granger would never stop reading, or learning, or trying to prove herself, and if Ronald Weasley wasn't okay with that part of who she was, which he had made so clear in the last few conversations (read: arguments) they'd had, she would have to move on. She refused to be thirty-five, playing small, and sitting comfortably in a life that she couldn't be proud of.
Because that girl, the one it seemed Ron Weasley wanted- a well-trained, brainless lapdog that lived to serve him- was never going to be Hermione Granger.
And she was infuriated, Godric she was infuriated, by the amount of time she'd spent dreaming about a future with him. She was angry for the energy she'd spent trying to get him to notice her. But most of all, she was furious at herself for not noticing their obvious incompatibility sooner.
She was furious that it took six years, a sham relationship, surprisingly encouraging words and a kiss from Draco Sodding Malfoy for her to realize it.
Part of her wanted to end the whole arrangement with Draco and move on with her life now that she didn't care about whether or not Ron wanted her, but she couldn't do that to Draco. Not after everything he'd helped her with and all of the times he had cheered her up.
It was not like her to go back on her promises and responsibilities, especially ones she made to friends. She had agreed to help him mend the cabinet and she would hold true to that.
And, maybe, that would mean she'd have to (get to) kiss him again somewhere along the way.
She'd be lying if she said that wasn't listed on the better side of her mental pros/cons list. She'd also be lying if she said that the words were not mentally bolded and underlined.
She was now lying face down in her bed, thinking about Draco Malfoy in weird ways and wondering why she'd spent the last six years dreaming of someone as harsh, dimwitted, inconsiderate, and downright barbaric as Ronald Weasley.
For a girl who had battled Dark Lords, escaped prisoners, and dark wizards year after year, Hermione was beginning to wonder why this year felt the most exhausting. It wasn't even close to exams yet!
With the soft late-morning sun dancing through her windows and leaving her skin comfortably warm, the weight of it all lulled her to sleep.
.
.
A/N: Hi there, happy Friday! I am so so soooooooo glad that the last chapter was so well-accepted! Every review makes me smile for hours and helps motivate me to edit and improve each chapter I post. Big shoutouts to Sara 99, Ash543, AnotherLife and Madaboutyoubaby for their regular reviews and kind words. Seriously, it means so much to have readers that take time out of their day to respond to the story, but especially for those who comment every week! You are amazing!
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Disclaimer: All publically recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of J.K. Rowling.
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