Forgive and Forget (Chapter 11)
Chapter 11: The Eye of the Storm
I am not yours, not lost in you,
Not lost, although I long to be
Lost as a candle lit at noon,
Lost as a snowflake in the sea.
You love me, and I find you still
A spirit beautiful and bright,
Yet I am I, who long to be
Lost as a light is lost in light.
Oh plunge me deep in love -- put out
My senses, leave me deaf and blind,
Swept by the tempest of your love,
A taper in a rushing wind.
~ "I Am Not Yours" by Sara Teasdale
Over the two weeks following their confrontation, Hermione continued to avoid Draco, and to her surprise, he ceased to aggressively seek her out. It bothered her that he had succeeded in provoking her that day in Defense Against the Dark Arts. It was unlike her to lose her temper; she was always the calm, rational one who kept those around her (namely Harry and Ron) from losing their heads in tense situations. Yet, to her dismay, Draco's provocation had managed to transform her into a raving, fire-throwing banshee. Thus, she felt that keeping her distance from him was the best option.
Hermione had often heard the saying "absence makes the heart grow fonder", but she had never really believed it until now. The more she tried to avoid Draco, the more he seemed to plague her thoughts. She found herself sneaking furtive glances at him during mealtimes, in class, and when they passed in the halls. Whenever she saw his platinum blond hair falling into his eyes, she had an irrepressible urge to brush it off his face herself, remembering how silky soft the locks had felt as they slipped between her fingers. And that annoying habit he had of nibbling on his quill during classes made her remember how it had felt to have him nibbling on her lips instead.
Draco made a few more attempts to speak with Hermione, his tone slightly apologetic, but she always denied him the opportunity to complete a sentence. She wasn't exactly afraid of him doing anything else out of line. She was more afraid of what she would do - like drag him into a broom closet and snog him senseless.
Which, she berated herself, would be a very, very bad thing...wouldn't it?
One Friday morning, as Hermione was sitting at breakfast, Draco caught her gaze as he strode casually into the Great Hall and made his way over to the Slytherin table. She couldn't help watching him out of the corner of her eye as she tried to busy herself with ladling syrup over her hot cakes. She watched as he walked by Astoria Greengrass and the Slytherin girl shot him a withering glare before leaving the room in a huff.
Hmm, Hermione thought, that was interesting.
Why was Astoria angry with Draco? She looked on as Draco sat down to his breakfast. If he had noticed Astoria's miffed reaction to his presence, then he made no sign of it. He did, however, give a charming smile to the female occupants of his table, who were now flashing him shy grins and batting their eyelashes in his direction. It was nearly enough to make Hermione gag on the scrambled egg she was trying to swallow. She knew it was that aura of danger he possessed, which drew women to him like moths to a flame, and to her dismay, she realized she was no better at resisting it than any of those other girls were.
"I am a sad, stupid little moth," she muttered to herself, stabbing her hotcakes with her fork as if she had to make sure they were dead before eating them.
"What did you call yourself?" Ginny asked. Hermione realized she had spoken her thoughts aloud, and her friend, who was sitting across from her, was now looking at her as if she was crazy.
"Never mind," Hermione replied, shaking her head. Before Ginny could question her any further, a large, feathery object came hurtling towards their table, landing directly in Ginny's cereal bowl. The girl shrieked as the bowl tipped over, spilling cold milk and soggy granola into her lap.
Hermione, however, recognized that the creature now perched on the tabletop was an incredibly large and fierce looking eagle owl. It gave her an imperious, yellow-eyed glare before holding out one leg, upon which a small scroll was attached.
"Doesn't Malfoy have an eagle owl?" Ginny asked, shooting a malevolent look in the direction of the Slytherin table as she mopped up her lap with a wad of napkins.
Hermione shrugged and very carefully removed the bit of parchment from the bird's leg. The owl's beak was large and sharp, and she was afraid that if it nipped her, she might end up losing a few fingers. Once she had the parchment in hand, she offered the bird a bit of her eggs, but it merely blinked in disgust before haughtily turning its head away.
"You're right, Ginny," she said with a chuckle. "It has to be Malfoy's owl."
Then Hermione unrolled the parchment the bird had delivered, reading the familiar scrawl:
We need to talk. Meet me outside the front doors after dinner tonight.
~ DM
Hermione scowled at the brief message. It was not a polite request, but a command. How very Malfoy-like. Part of her wanted very much to decline his invitation - if you could even call it that - and show him that there was no way that she was going to cave in to his arrogant demands. Yet, part of her acknowledged that they did need to talk, even if it was going to be an awkward conversation to get through. The memory of their last confrontation was like a nagging thorn in her side, and she was tired of letting it fester. It was time for her and Draco to put the whole situation behind them.
Not wanting to grace his terse message with a response, she merely turned to look at him, trying to catch his eye. There was no need. He was already gazing back at her with one golden eyebrow raised, waiting to see what her response to his note would be. All Hermione gave him was a curt nod, but she knew he understood her meaning because he nodded in return and resumed eating his breakfast. She turned her attention back to the owl that was now pacing back and forth in front of her on the table, with Ginny nervously eyeing its movements.
"Shoo!" Hermione said to the owl, flapping her hand at him, though keeping her fingers safely out of biting range. "I don't need you to send a response. I'm done with you!"
With a disdainful hoot, the enormous bird took flight, making Ginny yelp and duck as its claws nearly nailed her in the head during its ascent.
"Stupid owl!" the redhead hissed, reaching up to smooth down her ruffled hair.
"It's not an owl, it's a bloody pterodactyl!" Dean muttered, watching as the bird sailed overhead. It flew over and landed neatly on the Slytherin table next to its owner - without upsetting any of his food, Hermione noted wryly.
"Well, you know Malfoy. He has to have the biggest and best of everything," Hermione said, watching as the blond-haired boy gave the owl a piece of his bacon, the bird swallowing it in one gulp.
"Yeah, wonder if he's compensating for something?" Dean speculated with a smirk.
Hermione had heard of men needing to purchase large and impressive items -cars, houses, etc.- to make up for being deficient in the size of a certain part of their anatomy. She glanced over at Draco, who now had a Slytherin girl sitting on either side of him, fiercely battling for his affections. When he caught Hermione looking, he shot her a wink so full of self-assurance that it ought to have been considered illegal.
Somehow, Hermione doubted that he had anything to compensate for.
Hermione picked at her dinner that evening, anxious about her impending tête-à-tête with Draco. She took a deep, steadying breath, telling herself that everything was going to be fine. She was going to behave like a calm, rational adult. No matter what he did to try and provoke her, she would not give in. She would be civil.
She glanced over at the Slytherin table and was irritated to find Draco calmly eating his supper as if he hadn't a care in the world. It annoyed her that nothing ever seemed to bother him. Suddenly, he finished eating and glanced up at her, giving her a significant look before he stood and exited the Great Hall.
Hermione frowned. Clearly, Draco meant for her to follow him. Well, she would just let him stew for a little while. She knew where to find him, and the last thing she wanted to do was start things off with her coming to him like an obedient lap dog. Pleased with her own tenacity, she spent a few minutes leisurely cleaning off her dinner plate before she headed outside to meet Draco.
As she left the Great Hall, she tugged her cloak over her shoulders. She had changed into a comfortable pair of jeans and a pink jumper after classes ended earlier that day, and when she opened the front doors, she was glad she had chosen to dress warmly. The mid-March air was damp and cool as she stepped outside, looking around for Draco.
He was at the bottom of the steps, pacing back and forth. Hermione allowed herself a small, pleased smile at his rare display of anxiety. When he saw her, he paused and greeted her with a scowl.
"You took long enough."
"I hate to disappoint you, Malfoy, but I'll never be at your beck and call like your little Slytherin girls," she said coolly, folding her arms across her chest.
"No, of course you wouldn't be," he said. To her surprise, his scowl faded, and his lips twitched as if he were resisting the urge to smile. Then, suddenly, he grabbed her wrist and started tugging her along behind him.
"Malfoy, let me go! Wha - where are we going?"
"Away from here," he said, striding purposefully across the school grounds. "Somewhere we can talk in private."
Hermione's eyes widened with dread.
"Not to the Forbidden Forest!" she protested, hoping that was not his intended destination. That certainly wouldn't be the place for a private conversation - not when you could easily be overheard - and killed - by werewolves, giant spiders, and tetchy centaurs. Hermione had had too many personal experiences with that forest to think entering it alone with Draco was a good idea.
"No, we're not going into the Forbidden Forest," Draco muttered. "I'm not a complete idiot, you know."
Hermione opened her mouth to suggest otherwise, but wisely decided against it. After all, she had been determined to be civil - which was more than she could say for Draco, who was now forcefully dragging her through the Hogwarts gates and off of the school grounds.
"Hogsmeade won't exactly be any more private than Hogwarts," she said, thinking maybe that was where he was heading.
"Not going there, either."
Suddenly he paused outside of the gates, whipped out his wand, and pulled her tightly to his side. Hermione realized that he was intending to Disapparate with her to God-knows-where and instantly panicked, struggling to get out of his grasp. But it was too late. Draco turned on the spot and Hermione felt a familiar crushing sensation as the gates of Hogwarts vanished from view.
Hermione's body unfolded, and her feet slammed against a solid stone surface as they arrived at Draco's destination. Having not been prepared for the Disapparation, she wobbled somewhat, but Draco steadied her with an arm around her waist.
"Let me go!" she hissed, pushing him away.
He let go of her waist, but seized her wrist once more, pulling her up the stone walkway towards a beautiful white cottage. On second glance, Hermione thought that perhaps it was too big to be considered a mere cottage. The building was well-kept, yet weather-worn, with a slate roof and several flower beds that Hermione assumed would be in full bloom within a few weeks' time. It was somewhat warmer here, and she thought she could smell a hint of salt in the air and hear waves crashing in the distance. She knew they were likely still in Britain - recalling the limitations on Apparition, Hermione did not think Draco could have Apparated out of the country. The sky above was dark, however, and covered with thick black clouds. Wherever they were, a storm was fast approaching.
"Let me go!" Hermione demanded once more, trying unsuccessfully to throw off Draco's grip. "What you've just done could be considered kidnapping, you know!"
Draco rolled his eyes, calmly continuing towards the front door of the house.
"It's not considered kidnapping when you came willingly to meet me."
"I was willing to meet you, yes, but I didn't willingly Apparate here. Where the hell have you taken me, anyway?"
"Stop being melodramatic," Draco said, obviously amused at her distress. "If you must know, this is my family's summer home."
Hermione's eyes widened, but Draco merely shook his head as if he had guessed her unspoken fear.
"My father is still under house arrest, and my mother never comes here alone. The House-Elves only come every other weekend to clean and they're not scheduled to come for this one, so we won't be interrupted."
Hermione didn't find this prospect entirely reassuring; she would almost prefer they be interrupted, even it was by the nefarious Mister Malfoy himself. She stood there tugging ineffectively at Draco's vice-like grip as he waved his wand and muttered a few incantations to remove the wards protecting the house. Then he unlocked the door, opened it, and pushed her inside, finally releasing her from his grasp.
With a flick of Draco's wand, the interior lights of the Malfoys' summer home sprang to life, and Hermione gasped in surprise as she took in her surroundings. She wasn't sure what she had been expecting, but it definitely wasn't this. Actually she knew what she had been expecting - fire, brimstone, and possibly a bloodstained alter for sacrificial victims. Maybe the Malfoys weren't devil worshippers, but they had been followers of Voldemort, and in her mind that was the equivalent of devil worship in the Wizarding World. Instead, Hermione found a light and airy house, painted in muted hues that seemed to be drawn from a seascape - blue, green, and brown. There were white lace curtains at the windows and glossy maple wood floors. In contrast to the rather ornate décor that she had glimpsed at Malfoy Manor, this home had a simple elegance to it - one would almost call it casual, in Malfoy terms.
She turned and saw Draco standing several paces off to her side, watching her reaction to what she saw. Immediately she closed her mouth, which had been hanging open in wonder and delight.
"It's nice," she said simply, giving a nonchalant shrug.
"We used to come here every summer when I was growing up," he said, leading her further into the house. "I've always liked it here. In some ways it feels more like home to me than the Manor does. Sometimes I still come here if I want to be alone for a bit, to clear my thoughts."
Hermione was somewhat surprised at what he was telling her, since he rarely ever mentioned his childhood or family life. She followed him to a cozy sitting room at the back of the house, which had a set of French doors leading to the outside. Draco unbolted the doors and flung them open, turning to give her a small smile.
"But this is my favorite part about the house," he said, stepping outside and gesturing for her to follow. Tentatively, Hermione walked out behind him and her eyes widened at what she saw before her.
There was a sprawling stone veranda with a black iron railing surrounding it. Several carefully pruned plants grew along the back of the house, some of which Hermione recognized as rose bushes that were still dormant for the winter. But what was most breathtaking was the view. Not far beyond the edge of the veranda, the ground dropped off into a sheer cliff face - one of several chalk cliffs that Hermione could see from this vantage point. And below, the sea splashed against the rocks, the waves churned white with the impending storm.
"It's beautiful..." she said, turning expectantly to Draco, "...but I believe there was something you wanted to talk to me about."
"Yes," he said, leaning both hands against the iron railing. He sighed, obviously uncomfortable with what he was about to say. "I wanted to apologize for how I acted in Defense Against the Dark Arts that day."
"An apology from a Malfoy? Do my ears deceive me?"
"Don't push your luck," he muttered, turning to stare at the cloud-scudded horizon. His next words were spoken in a subdued tone. "Besides, as I recall, it's not the first time I've issued you an apology."
"That's true," Hermione acknowledged. "Look, I'm sorry, too, for how I behaved that day. I - I shouldn't have gotten carried away like that. It's just that you can be so infuriating sometimes, you know? What am I saying? Of course you know."
Suddenly, a huge bolt of lightning arced across the sky, followed by a resounding crash of thunder. Hermione jumped at the loud sound, gripping the veranda railing to steady herself.
"Scared of a little thunderstorm?" Draco asked with a smirk. "Funny, I've always found them to be soothing."
Hermione raised her eyebrows at him.
"You find comfort in roses, and I find comfort in thunderstorms," he said with a shrug. "To each his own."
"I'll never understand you, Draco Malfoy."
"You understand me better than most people," he said quietly.
"Maybe because unlike most people, I actually try to."
He cocked his head to the side, seeming to consider this for a moment. Then he nodded, reaching out to finger one of her long brown curls, which were blowing in the strong wind. Hermione stared up at him in alarm.
"You didn't just bring me here to apologize, did you?"
"No, I didn't," he said, shaking his head. "I also brought you here to talk about us."
"Us?" Hermione said nervously. "I don't know what you're talking about - "
"Stop it!" he hissed. "Damn it, Granger, will you stop pretending that kiss didn't happen?"
Draco was suddenly angry - even angrier than he had been during their disastrous face-off in the Great Hall several weeks before. His eyes were dark, mirror images of the roiling storm clouds above. And then, almost as if his temper had willed it so, the heavens opened up and a heavy rain pounded down onto them both, soaking them within seconds.
Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, Hermione whipped her wand out of her jeans pocket and turned on the spot, attempting to Disapparate from the rapidly escalating situation. To her horror, nothing happened. She stood there, panicked and confused, while another crack of thunder shook the ground beneath her feet. Draco's anger ebbed somewhat as he seemed to find amusement in her predicament.
"My parents had anti-Apparition spells placed on this property," he said. "That's why I had to Apparate at the edge of the front lawn."
Hermione's eyes widened with dawning realization.
"Y-you planned this on purpose!" she spluttered, now pointing her wand at Draco. "You brought me here because you knew I couldn't escape from you - you sneaky, Slytherin snake!"
"Lovely alliteration," Draco said with a sneer. "But now we're going to talk about the topic that you've been trying to avoid for the past month..."
He trained his own wand on Hermione's shaking form and moved to stand between her and the doors leading back into his house. He had suddenly become the old Draco Malfoy she remembered from their early school years, and that made her extremely uneasy - and angry.
"Forget it!" she shouted. "I'm going back to Hogwarts and I'm not letting you stand in my way! Stupif - "
Before Hermione could finish issuing the curse, however, her wand went sailing out of her hand and into Draco's waiting grasp.
"I was always a bit better at nonverbal spells than you were," he murmured triumphantly, twirling her stolen wand between his fingers.
Thinking quickly, Hermione flicked her wrist, trying to conjure fire in order to defend herself. However, the instant the flames sprang to life in her hand, they were snuffed out by the deluge of rain. In her frustration, she began issuing a list of swear words, including every curse that she had ever heard Ron and his brothers utter throughout the years. Draco merely smirked and gave a patronizing shake of his head in response to her tirade.
"Tut-tut-tut," he said. "Language, Granger. What would Professor McGonagall say if she heard her star student speaking that way?"
Well, so much for my plan to stay calm and collected, Hermione thought wryly. She forced herself to take a few deep breaths, bringing herself back to a rational state of mind before she addressed Draco once more.
"Just say what you have to say to me, Malfoy, so I can get out of here and go home."
Apparently she had said the wrong thing, because Draco's anger immediately flared up again. It seemed as if the calmer she was, and the more she tried to distance herself from the situation at hand, the more enraged he became. Hermione swallowed hard, watching him as he slowly advanced on her. For the first time, she found herself frightened of Draco, and she reflexively backed away from him.
While she was familiar with Ron's temper, Draco's was a completely different beast. Ron's outbursts generally ran a similar course each time they were unleashed: he would turn red in the face and flail his arms around, yelling until he was hoarse, but it was usually over quickly. Draco, however, was cold, collected and completely unpredictable - and in Hermione's opinion, that made him much more dangerous.
"Look, you may be content to keep ignoring the giant pink hippogriff in the room, but I'm sick of it," he spat, pacing back and forth like a caged lion. "If you want to call that kiss a mistake then fine, go ahead and call it that. Just quit denying that it ever happened."
"Okay then," Hermione said, willing her voice to be steady. "It was a mistake."
Another round of lightning and thunder rolled across the heavens, and Draco froze, his stormy gray eyes scanning Hermione's face.
"You're lying."
"No I'm not," she argued, but Draco shook his head.
"You're a terrible liar, Granger. Always were."
Damn him for being right. He was able to read her like an open book, but she still couldn't read him. Yes, she knew he was angry, but she couldn't understand why...
"Look, even if I wanted that kiss to happen, it shouldn't have happened. You and I would never work out. We just don't belong together, not in that way."
"You don't believe that," he said, taking a step closer to her.
"For Merlin's sake, Malfoy, what do you want?"
Draco paused, cocking his head to one side.
"You mean you haven't figured it out yet?"
"Are - are you saying you want me?" she guessed, her voice squeaking in surprise as she realized the answer to her own question. Draco rolled his eyes, and the familiar gesture eased away some of her unease.
"You know, Granger, for someone who's supposed to be the smartest witch of our age, you can be incredibly daft sometimes. Yes - I want you, you silly, stubborn, impossible woman."
Hermione’s heart rate sped up, beating a loud tattoo in symphony with the rain pounding against her skin. Despite the copious amount of water sluicing down her face, her mouth went dry as Draco approached her. His movements were slow and predatory, and his eyes carried an expression startlingly similar to hunger. She found herself torn between the desire to run away from him and the warring need to throw herself into his arms and snog him senseless. Instead, she stood still, her limbs shaking from more than just the cold wind and rain.
"Stay away from me!" she gasped.
To her surprise, Draco stopped and let out a laugh that instantly had her raising her hackles.
"What are you laughing at?" she asked, scowling at him.
"At you, telling me to stay away while you have that ‘come hither' look in your eyes," he said teasingly, before he lowered his voice into a silkier tone. "You know what, Granger? I think you want me just as much as I want you, and you're too scared to admit it."
"I-I'm not scared," she replied, inwardly damning herself for persisting to stutter like an idiot. "And I don't want you."
Draco shook his head, coming to stand directly in front of her. If she wanted to - and a part of her did - Hermione could have reached out and touched him.
"For Merlin's sake," he muttered. "You've turned denial into something of an art form."
The silence stretched on between them for a long moment, and there was nothing but the storm and the two of them gazing back at each other. Draco's eyes were dark with that look that Hermione had come to recognize as pure, unabashed desire, and it made her shiver beneath its intensity. She idly wondered what emotion her own eyes were conveying to him at that very moment. Despite the chill and the wet, she felt her body tingling with an indefinable heat and she could almost imagine that that fiery inferno they had created two weeks before was now spinning between them once more, about to consume everything in its path. And this time, she wanted nothing more than to throw caution to the wind and step into the blaze.
Suddenly, Draco tore his eyes away from hers and the spell between them was broken.
"Alright, I've had my say," he said quietly, so that Hermione had to strain to hear him over the rising gale. "I'm leaving the choice up to you. I'm going to give you one chance to leave - to go back into that house, out of the front door, and Disapparate to Hogwarts. But only one chance. If you choose not to take it, if you decide to stay here with me, then I can tell you right now that there will be no going back. I'm not going to let you keep toying with me like I'm someone you can go to when the urge strikes. You can't just change your mind when your conscience gets the better of you."
Slowly, to show her that he did not intend to attack, Draco held out her wand for her to take back. Hermione did so, relieved to have the familiar stick of wood in her grasp once more. Then, she watched as Draco took a few steps aside, leaving the way clear for her to escape him at last.
Hermione stared at him. What did she want? Her gaze raked over the measuring look in his steel grey eyes, the blond hair plastered against his forehead, dripping down into his face. She took in the black turtleneck and tailored black pants he wore beneath his cloak, all the material now slicked against his body from the rain, hinting at the subtle musculature beneath. She felt it was unfair that he was doing this, giving her just one moment in time to make a decision that could have long-lasting emotional consequences - at least for her. She knew how easy it was for him to move from one girl to the next, tossing the last one away like a pair of old shoes. But is that how it would be with her? Did she have any reason to believe that Draco would act differently if she was the one sharing his bed?
Hermione had never felt so undecided in her entire life. For a moment, she took a few steps towards the house, the rational part of her brain telling her she should retreat to safety. Then she stepped towards Draco, her body burning with need for him, with the need to kiss him again and find out what other delightful sensations he could unlock when she was in his arms. Frightened by the strength of her desire, she stepped away from him once more, realizing with some frustration that she must look like a fool doing an odd little back-and-forth dance.
Draco watched her internal struggle, his facial expression a cross between annoyance and amusement. He shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest, which, to Hermione's dismay, showed off the toned muscle in his biceps.
"Brave little Gryffindor," he murmured. "Too frightened to take what she wants."
"Damn it, Malfoy, you could never give me what I want."
Instead of getting mad as she was expecting him to do, Draco merely gave a sage nod and said, "You're right. I couldn't."
"Okay then. Now that we've established that..."
And with all the recklessness of a diver leaping off of a cliff into the sea, Hermione stepped forward, grabbed Draco roughly by the front of his shirt, and pulled his face down so that her lips were crushed against his. She kissed him fiercely for a few moments, hardly giving him a chance to react. Finally, his arms uncoiled and wrapped around her, pulling her closer so that her body aligned perfectly with his, like two pieces of a puzzle locking into place. Heat radiated outwards from his body and seeped into her skin, despite all the layers of wet clothing between them. Soon, he was kissing her back with an intensity that matched her own.
In a distant part of her mind, Hermione seemed to notice a sudden lack of wind and rain beating against them. It was odd, but the absence did not immediately register, and she was too preoccupied with the delightful taste of Draco's mouth to give it much thought. Finally, needing to breathe, she pulled a few centimeters away from him, and gasped when she saw what was happening around them.
It was as if there was an invisible bubble encasing them both, forcing the driving wind and rain to blow up and around them, but not touch them. Hermione glanced up at Draco, whose eyes were heavy-lidded with desire, his irises glowing with the silver light of an Aeromancer. His expression carried a trace of smugness, and she realized that he was using his powers to protect them from the storm.
"Do you remember that day in Defense Against the Dark Arts when we first learned about elemental magic?" he whispered, trailing his index finger along her rain-slicked cheek. "I guessed that you would be a Pyromancer, and you wondered how I knew."
"Yes, you said it was just a hunch you had."
He nodded, his finger now dragging up to her lips, tracing their edges as if he was mapping them for future reference.
"Even if you're a war hero and a good little Gryffindor, I've always had a feeling that there was more to you than that. Somehow I knew that if given half a chance, you wouldn't mind playing with fire."
Draco gave her a sly grin, and Hermione thought she might achieve spontaneous combustion right then and there.
"Well," she murmured, “you know what happens when you play with fire, right?"
"Granger, I don't really give a shit."
And then Draco's mouth was crashing down once more, capturing hers in a devouring kiss that shot through her body like fire itself. The storm continued to rage all around them, a blur of rain and wind, thunder and lightning, clouds and crashing waves - none of which could touch them, protected as they were inside the invisible globe of Draco's powers. It was like being in the eye of a hurricane; Hermione felt temporarily safe, but uncertain of what lay ahead. At that moment she realized that what happened between them was, in a way, impossible to control. And so, for the first time in her life, she finally let go, content just to exist.
Hermione clawed at Draco's shoulders, pulling his body as close to hers as humanly possible, knowing that if she somehow managed to crawl inside of him, it still wouldn't be close enough. Draco was also seeking a way to get closer, running his hands over her arms and her back, frustrated by the layers of soggy wet clothes that came between them. Finally he cupped his hands beneath her denim-covered backside, lifting her upwards. Acknowledging his intention, Hermione wrapped her legs around his hips and held onto his neck, all the while not breaking their kiss.
Dimly, she noticed that the rain and the wind were fading away, and that he had carried her back inside the house. Draco pressed her up against a wall for a moment, pulling his lips away to catch his breath. Hermione still clung to him, frantically working at the clasp on his travel cloak until she had released it and thrown the dripping black garment to the floor. Then she did the same with her own cloak. She made to pull up Draco's jumper next, but before she could lift the material, he was kissing her again. His lips trailed to her neck, running all the way down to the base of her throat, and then back up again to suckle the sensitive skin beneath her ear.
Hermione's eyes fell closed and she let out a low moan, her hips jerking involuntarily against Draco's. He cursed under his breath, and suddenly they were moving again, and he was carrying her down a corridor and up a staircase. During their ascent, Hermione pulled away from him just enough to tug her pink jumper off over her head, letting it drop to the ground in some random second-story hallway.
Finally, Draco kicked open a door to enter a dark chamber, and with a wave of his wand, several candles came to life, filling the room with their faint, flickering glow. Hermione had a quick glimpse of cream and gold wallpaper, gauzy curtains, and a large, wrought-iron bed before she was plopped down into the center of it. Falling onto the fluffy white duvet was like sinking into a cloud.
Draco crouched above Hermione, bracing himself up on his hands so that he wasn't crushing her with his weight. Her upper half was now covered only by her simple, blue cotton bra, and Draco's eyes raked hungrily over her body, taking in the sight of her goose-bump covered flesh and the wet material clinging to her breasts, revealing the hardened peaks beneath. Hermione plucked at the expensive knit material of his jumper, her hands desperately seeking skin, and Draco sat upright and pulled the turtleneck up over his head, flinging it to the floor. Hermione drew in a sharp breath as she finally laid eyes on his half-naked form.
Draco was leaner than Ron was, and she could see the faint outline of his ribs, but his chest and shoulders still rippled with lanky muscle as he moved. His rain-drenched flesh shimmered in the candlelight, and his skin was pale and flawless, making him look as if he were chiseled from white marble - a living, breathing version of one of Michelangelo's statues.
Hermione pushed herself upright to kneel in front of Draco, running her hands over the planes of his chest, studying the lines of his collar bones, his pectorals, and his taut abdomen. For someone who looked as if he was carved from cold alabaster, his flesh felt surprisingly hot beneath her fingertips. He hissed with pleasure at her exploratory touch, and then reached behind her back to unclasp her bra, sliding the straps down her arms. Hermione's cheeks flamed as she felt the heat of Draco's scrutinizing gaze.
"Beautiful," Draco whispered reverently, as if sensing her insecurity. He kissed her once more, pushing her onto her back with gentle insistence. His mouth was suddenly everywhere at once - on her neck, her breasts, her stomach - sucking the rain water off of her skin as if he was a man who had been wandering in a desert for days and stumbled upon an oasis at last. Hermione gasped and buried her hands in his wet hair as he flicked the tip of his tongue into her navel, lapping up the rain drops he found there.
Draco bent down to remove her trainers and soggy socks, plopping them down on the floor. Then he unzipped her blue jeans and attempted to peel them off of her legs, but the damp material clung to her limbs like glue, and despite his impatient tugs, he was unable to remove them.
"Damn Muggle clothes," he muttered. "How the hell do you get these things off?"
If she wasn't so breathless with lust, Hermione would have laughed at his frustration, but instead she assisted him in pulling off her jeans. He flung them to the other side of the room as if they had morally offended him, and then bent down to continue sipping the water from her skin, this time from her thighs and the sensitive regions behind her knees. Hermione moaned as his tongue laved over her legs, and she arched her hips off of the bed, filled with an aching, insatiable need. Draco chuckled at the wanton gesture, his hot breath grazing her inner thigh.
"Hmm, aren't we impatient?"
"Damn you, Draco Malfoy," Hermione groaned. "If you keep teasing me like this, I swear I'll use Avada Kedavra on you. Take your pants off. Now."
He smirked at her request, but to her surprise he stood up and complied, kicking off his shoes and sliding his trousers down his narrow hips. His legs were as pale and muscular as the rest of him was, sprinkled with fine golden hairs, but Hermione found herself fixated on the telltale bulge in the center of his black silk boxers. Before he could toss his pants aside, however, she stopped him.
"Wait," she whispered, “I need your wand, since mine is on the other side of the room in my jeans pocket. I stopped taking my contraceptive potion when I broke up with - I mean I need to use a spell...."
Needing no further explanation, Draco took his wand out of his pocket and waved it expertly over her abdomen, muttering an incantation. Hermione felt a tingling sensation in her womb which let her know that he had successfully cast a contraceptive spell on her. She frowned at how easily he recalled the incantation; it reminded her of just how many notches he had in his bedpost, and the fact that she was about to add herself to that tally. On top of things, she was suddenly plagued by thoughts of Ron, remembering how tender and uncertain their first love-making sessions had been. They had learned so much from each other in those moments. Briefly, alarm bells went off in her head, and she panicked at the idea of what she was about to do with Draco when her heart still belonged, at least in part, to Ron...
But when Draco tossed his wand on the nightstand and crawled back onto the bed to straddle her hips, she forced herself to push the thought out of her mind. It was amazing really, how Draco could anchor her to the present, prevent her thoughts from drifting to the past or the future, and keep her focused on living in the moment. Ron had left her - that was his choice. And as much as it still broke her heart, she felt helpless to control the new emotions that Draco was unleashing in her. Afraid of being torn apart by her conflicting thoughts, she shut down thought all together and focused on simply feeling.
Hermione arched her hips, which were still encased in her blue cotton panties, and dragged her heat along Draco's length, concealed behind his silk boxers. She smirked triumphantly as his whole body responded with a spasm of pleasure.
"Hypocrite," he said huskily. "Now who's doing the teasing?" And before Hermione quite realized how he had accomplished it, he had divested both of them of their knickers, and there were no longer any cloth barriers between them. Draco kissed her deeply, his tongue probing her mouth while his long fingers stroked between her thighs until she was practically begging for him to end her agony. Obligingly, Draco lowered himself between her legs, but then hesitated, hovering there on the precipice. When he gazed down at her, she was surprised to find a trace of uncertainty in his slate-colored eyes.
"Hermione," he murmured, “what I said earlier is true. I don't think I can give you...I mean I can't - "
But Hermione shushed him, pressing her fingers to his lips to still them.
"It's okay," she whispered, her words heavy and slurred with desire. "For tonight, this is enough for me."
For a few seconds, Draco's eyes searched her face as if he was looking for the answer to a question that he couldn't find the words to ask. Then he nodded, pushing his hips forward to join them at last.
Both of them shuddered and gasped at the contact, and for a moment, Draco was still, as if he was pausing to gather his senses. Then he started to move, and Hermione was lost in a wave of sensations unlike any she had ever experienced before. Making love to Ron had been wonderful, but it had never been this unrestrained; this intense. As she lifted her hips to meet Draco's again and again, her whole body responded to their combined movements, tingling and burning from her scalp down to her toes. She felt as if she was on fire, that the heat between them would consume her alive, and she thought that if this is what happened when you played with fire, then she'd quite happily burn. It surprised her that the wallpaper hadn't started to peel off of the walls.
As Draco rocked against her, Hermione took the opportunity to latch her mouth onto his neck, suckling off the moisture in the same way he had done to her. The cool, spearmint scent of his skin, mingling with his masculine musk, almost drove her to distraction. She let her fingers play over his flesh, feeling the muscles in his shoulders ripple with his movements, counting every bump of his spine, cupping the firm curve of his buttocks. Then she raked her fingernails lightly up and down his back.
"Oh...God," Draco choked out, his breathing ragged from Hermione's ministrations.
"Thanks for the new nickname, but I think that's blasphemy," she teased, gasping as he turned his head to trace the shell of her ear with his tongue, his breath hot and moist against the side of her face.
"Cocky little wench," Draco murmured, capturing her earlobe between his teeth, giving it a gentle tug that was echoed in her nether regions. Hermione dug her fingers into his shoulders, clinging to him as if she was adrift in a turbulent sea and he was her life raft. She felt like they were still in the center of a raging storm, and she and Draco were the only solid things in the world, everything else having melted away into a swirling abyss of wind, water, and darkness.
With a hoarse cry, Hermione suddenly came undone in Draco's arms, her pleasure more intense and blinding than the flashes of lightning outside the window. As she came back down from her peak, she could feel Draco's movements become more erratic, his body tensing with the force of his own impending climax. For the briefest moment his eyes met hers, and she thought that if she knew what to look for, she could have glimpsed his soul. But then his eyes were tightly closed and he came with a soft groan before collapsing on top of her.
Hermione found Draco's weight more reassuring than uncomfortable as his body lay sprawled across hers. Her fingers trailed through the perspiration on his back, tracing soothing circles against his hot skin while they both trembled with the aftershocks of their coupling. Finally, he gathered the strength to roll off of her, still somewhat shaky from his exertions.
As he lay there on his back beside her, breathing heavily, Hermione felt uncertain of what to do next. How did Draco normally conclude his lovemaking sessions? Somehow she didn't picture him as the type to indulge in a post-coital cuddle. Would he just say "thanks for the shag, we should do this again sometime", and send her on her merry way?
Deciding to take the dragon by the horns, so to speak, Hermione slid over and laid her head on Draco's chest, waiting to see how he would react. She could hear a wild thudding sound beneath her cheek, which dispelled any lingering doubts she may have had regarding whether or not Draco Malfoy had a heart. For a few terrifying moments he lay still beneath her, quite possibly just as uncertain as she was with how to proceed. Then, to Hermione's relief, he wrapped his arms around her torso, pulling her closer to him as he buried his face in her hair.
And for tonight, that was enough.
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Table of Contents
I am not yours, not lost in you,
Not lost, although I long to be
Lost as a candle lit at noon,
Lost as a snowflake in the sea.
You love me, and I find you still
A spirit beautiful and bright,
Yet I am I, who long to be
Lost as a light is lost in light.
Oh plunge me deep in love -- put out
My senses, leave me deaf and blind,
Swept by the tempest of your love,
A taper in a rushing wind.
~ "I Am Not Yours" by Sara Teasdale
Over the two weeks following their confrontation, Hermione continued to avoid Draco, and to her surprise, he ceased to aggressively seek her out. It bothered her that he had succeeded in provoking her that day in Defense Against the Dark Arts. It was unlike her to lose her temper; she was always the calm, rational one who kept those around her (namely Harry and Ron) from losing their heads in tense situations. Yet, to her dismay, Draco's provocation had managed to transform her into a raving, fire-throwing banshee. Thus, she felt that keeping her distance from him was the best option.
Hermione had often heard the saying "absence makes the heart grow fonder", but she had never really believed it until now. The more she tried to avoid Draco, the more he seemed to plague her thoughts. She found herself sneaking furtive glances at him during mealtimes, in class, and when they passed in the halls. Whenever she saw his platinum blond hair falling into his eyes, she had an irrepressible urge to brush it off his face herself, remembering how silky soft the locks had felt as they slipped between her fingers. And that annoying habit he had of nibbling on his quill during classes made her remember how it had felt to have him nibbling on her lips instead.
Draco made a few more attempts to speak with Hermione, his tone slightly apologetic, but she always denied him the opportunity to complete a sentence. She wasn't exactly afraid of him doing anything else out of line. She was more afraid of what she would do - like drag him into a broom closet and snog him senseless.
Which, she berated herself, would be a very, very bad thing...wouldn't it?
One Friday morning, as Hermione was sitting at breakfast, Draco caught her gaze as he strode casually into the Great Hall and made his way over to the Slytherin table. She couldn't help watching him out of the corner of her eye as she tried to busy herself with ladling syrup over her hot cakes. She watched as he walked by Astoria Greengrass and the Slytherin girl shot him a withering glare before leaving the room in a huff.
Hmm, Hermione thought, that was interesting.
Why was Astoria angry with Draco? She looked on as Draco sat down to his breakfast. If he had noticed Astoria's miffed reaction to his presence, then he made no sign of it. He did, however, give a charming smile to the female occupants of his table, who were now flashing him shy grins and batting their eyelashes in his direction. It was nearly enough to make Hermione gag on the scrambled egg she was trying to swallow. She knew it was that aura of danger he possessed, which drew women to him like moths to a flame, and to her dismay, she realized she was no better at resisting it than any of those other girls were.
"I am a sad, stupid little moth," she muttered to herself, stabbing her hotcakes with her fork as if she had to make sure they were dead before eating them.
"What did you call yourself?" Ginny asked. Hermione realized she had spoken her thoughts aloud, and her friend, who was sitting across from her, was now looking at her as if she was crazy.
"Never mind," Hermione replied, shaking her head. Before Ginny could question her any further, a large, feathery object came hurtling towards their table, landing directly in Ginny's cereal bowl. The girl shrieked as the bowl tipped over, spilling cold milk and soggy granola into her lap.
Hermione, however, recognized that the creature now perched on the tabletop was an incredibly large and fierce looking eagle owl. It gave her an imperious, yellow-eyed glare before holding out one leg, upon which a small scroll was attached.
"Doesn't Malfoy have an eagle owl?" Ginny asked, shooting a malevolent look in the direction of the Slytherin table as she mopped up her lap with a wad of napkins.
Hermione shrugged and very carefully removed the bit of parchment from the bird's leg. The owl's beak was large and sharp, and she was afraid that if it nipped her, she might end up losing a few fingers. Once she had the parchment in hand, she offered the bird a bit of her eggs, but it merely blinked in disgust before haughtily turning its head away.
"You're right, Ginny," she said with a chuckle. "It has to be Malfoy's owl."
Then Hermione unrolled the parchment the bird had delivered, reading the familiar scrawl:
We need to talk. Meet me outside the front doors after dinner tonight.
~ DM
Hermione scowled at the brief message. It was not a polite request, but a command. How very Malfoy-like. Part of her wanted very much to decline his invitation - if you could even call it that - and show him that there was no way that she was going to cave in to his arrogant demands. Yet, part of her acknowledged that they did need to talk, even if it was going to be an awkward conversation to get through. The memory of their last confrontation was like a nagging thorn in her side, and she was tired of letting it fester. It was time for her and Draco to put the whole situation behind them.
Not wanting to grace his terse message with a response, she merely turned to look at him, trying to catch his eye. There was no need. He was already gazing back at her with one golden eyebrow raised, waiting to see what her response to his note would be. All Hermione gave him was a curt nod, but she knew he understood her meaning because he nodded in return and resumed eating his breakfast. She turned her attention back to the owl that was now pacing back and forth in front of her on the table, with Ginny nervously eyeing its movements.
"Shoo!" Hermione said to the owl, flapping her hand at him, though keeping her fingers safely out of biting range. "I don't need you to send a response. I'm done with you!"
With a disdainful hoot, the enormous bird took flight, making Ginny yelp and duck as its claws nearly nailed her in the head during its ascent.
"Stupid owl!" the redhead hissed, reaching up to smooth down her ruffled hair.
"It's not an owl, it's a bloody pterodactyl!" Dean muttered, watching as the bird sailed overhead. It flew over and landed neatly on the Slytherin table next to its owner - without upsetting any of his food, Hermione noted wryly.
"Well, you know Malfoy. He has to have the biggest and best of everything," Hermione said, watching as the blond-haired boy gave the owl a piece of his bacon, the bird swallowing it in one gulp.
"Yeah, wonder if he's compensating for something?" Dean speculated with a smirk.
Hermione had heard of men needing to purchase large and impressive items -cars, houses, etc.- to make up for being deficient in the size of a certain part of their anatomy. She glanced over at Draco, who now had a Slytherin girl sitting on either side of him, fiercely battling for his affections. When he caught Hermione looking, he shot her a wink so full of self-assurance that it ought to have been considered illegal.
Somehow, Hermione doubted that he had anything to compensate for.
Hermione picked at her dinner that evening, anxious about her impending tête-à-tête with Draco. She took a deep, steadying breath, telling herself that everything was going to be fine. She was going to behave like a calm, rational adult. No matter what he did to try and provoke her, she would not give in. She would be civil.
She glanced over at the Slytherin table and was irritated to find Draco calmly eating his supper as if he hadn't a care in the world. It annoyed her that nothing ever seemed to bother him. Suddenly, he finished eating and glanced up at her, giving her a significant look before he stood and exited the Great Hall.
Hermione frowned. Clearly, Draco meant for her to follow him. Well, she would just let him stew for a little while. She knew where to find him, and the last thing she wanted to do was start things off with her coming to him like an obedient lap dog. Pleased with her own tenacity, she spent a few minutes leisurely cleaning off her dinner plate before she headed outside to meet Draco.
As she left the Great Hall, she tugged her cloak over her shoulders. She had changed into a comfortable pair of jeans and a pink jumper after classes ended earlier that day, and when she opened the front doors, she was glad she had chosen to dress warmly. The mid-March air was damp and cool as she stepped outside, looking around for Draco.
He was at the bottom of the steps, pacing back and forth. Hermione allowed herself a small, pleased smile at his rare display of anxiety. When he saw her, he paused and greeted her with a scowl.
"You took long enough."
"I hate to disappoint you, Malfoy, but I'll never be at your beck and call like your little Slytherin girls," she said coolly, folding her arms across her chest.
"No, of course you wouldn't be," he said. To her surprise, his scowl faded, and his lips twitched as if he were resisting the urge to smile. Then, suddenly, he grabbed her wrist and started tugging her along behind him.
"Malfoy, let me go! Wha - where are we going?"
"Away from here," he said, striding purposefully across the school grounds. "Somewhere we can talk in private."
Hermione's eyes widened with dread.
"Not to the Forbidden Forest!" she protested, hoping that was not his intended destination. That certainly wouldn't be the place for a private conversation - not when you could easily be overheard - and killed - by werewolves, giant spiders, and tetchy centaurs. Hermione had had too many personal experiences with that forest to think entering it alone with Draco was a good idea.
"No, we're not going into the Forbidden Forest," Draco muttered. "I'm not a complete idiot, you know."
Hermione opened her mouth to suggest otherwise, but wisely decided against it. After all, she had been determined to be civil - which was more than she could say for Draco, who was now forcefully dragging her through the Hogwarts gates and off of the school grounds.
"Hogsmeade won't exactly be any more private than Hogwarts," she said, thinking maybe that was where he was heading.
"Not going there, either."
Suddenly he paused outside of the gates, whipped out his wand, and pulled her tightly to his side. Hermione realized that he was intending to Disapparate with her to God-knows-where and instantly panicked, struggling to get out of his grasp. But it was too late. Draco turned on the spot and Hermione felt a familiar crushing sensation as the gates of Hogwarts vanished from view.
Hermione's body unfolded, and her feet slammed against a solid stone surface as they arrived at Draco's destination. Having not been prepared for the Disapparation, she wobbled somewhat, but Draco steadied her with an arm around her waist.
"Let me go!" she hissed, pushing him away.
He let go of her waist, but seized her wrist once more, pulling her up the stone walkway towards a beautiful white cottage. On second glance, Hermione thought that perhaps it was too big to be considered a mere cottage. The building was well-kept, yet weather-worn, with a slate roof and several flower beds that Hermione assumed would be in full bloom within a few weeks' time. It was somewhat warmer here, and she thought she could smell a hint of salt in the air and hear waves crashing in the distance. She knew they were likely still in Britain - recalling the limitations on Apparition, Hermione did not think Draco could have Apparated out of the country. The sky above was dark, however, and covered with thick black clouds. Wherever they were, a storm was fast approaching.
"Let me go!" Hermione demanded once more, trying unsuccessfully to throw off Draco's grip. "What you've just done could be considered kidnapping, you know!"
Draco rolled his eyes, calmly continuing towards the front door of the house.
"It's not considered kidnapping when you came willingly to meet me."
"I was willing to meet you, yes, but I didn't willingly Apparate here. Where the hell have you taken me, anyway?"
"Stop being melodramatic," Draco said, obviously amused at her distress. "If you must know, this is my family's summer home."
Hermione's eyes widened, but Draco merely shook his head as if he had guessed her unspoken fear.
"My father is still under house arrest, and my mother never comes here alone. The House-Elves only come every other weekend to clean and they're not scheduled to come for this one, so we won't be interrupted."
Hermione didn't find this prospect entirely reassuring; she would almost prefer they be interrupted, even it was by the nefarious Mister Malfoy himself. She stood there tugging ineffectively at Draco's vice-like grip as he waved his wand and muttered a few incantations to remove the wards protecting the house. Then he unlocked the door, opened it, and pushed her inside, finally releasing her from his grasp.
With a flick of Draco's wand, the interior lights of the Malfoys' summer home sprang to life, and Hermione gasped in surprise as she took in her surroundings. She wasn't sure what she had been expecting, but it definitely wasn't this. Actually she knew what she had been expecting - fire, brimstone, and possibly a bloodstained alter for sacrificial victims. Maybe the Malfoys weren't devil worshippers, but they had been followers of Voldemort, and in her mind that was the equivalent of devil worship in the Wizarding World. Instead, Hermione found a light and airy house, painted in muted hues that seemed to be drawn from a seascape - blue, green, and brown. There were white lace curtains at the windows and glossy maple wood floors. In contrast to the rather ornate décor that she had glimpsed at Malfoy Manor, this home had a simple elegance to it - one would almost call it casual, in Malfoy terms.
She turned and saw Draco standing several paces off to her side, watching her reaction to what she saw. Immediately she closed her mouth, which had been hanging open in wonder and delight.
"It's nice," she said simply, giving a nonchalant shrug.
"We used to come here every summer when I was growing up," he said, leading her further into the house. "I've always liked it here. In some ways it feels more like home to me than the Manor does. Sometimes I still come here if I want to be alone for a bit, to clear my thoughts."
Hermione was somewhat surprised at what he was telling her, since he rarely ever mentioned his childhood or family life. She followed him to a cozy sitting room at the back of the house, which had a set of French doors leading to the outside. Draco unbolted the doors and flung them open, turning to give her a small smile.
"But this is my favorite part about the house," he said, stepping outside and gesturing for her to follow. Tentatively, Hermione walked out behind him and her eyes widened at what she saw before her.
There was a sprawling stone veranda with a black iron railing surrounding it. Several carefully pruned plants grew along the back of the house, some of which Hermione recognized as rose bushes that were still dormant for the winter. But what was most breathtaking was the view. Not far beyond the edge of the veranda, the ground dropped off into a sheer cliff face - one of several chalk cliffs that Hermione could see from this vantage point. And below, the sea splashed against the rocks, the waves churned white with the impending storm.
"It's beautiful..." she said, turning expectantly to Draco, "...but I believe there was something you wanted to talk to me about."
"Yes," he said, leaning both hands against the iron railing. He sighed, obviously uncomfortable with what he was about to say. "I wanted to apologize for how I acted in Defense Against the Dark Arts that day."
"An apology from a Malfoy? Do my ears deceive me?"
"Don't push your luck," he muttered, turning to stare at the cloud-scudded horizon. His next words were spoken in a subdued tone. "Besides, as I recall, it's not the first time I've issued you an apology."
"That's true," Hermione acknowledged. "Look, I'm sorry, too, for how I behaved that day. I - I shouldn't have gotten carried away like that. It's just that you can be so infuriating sometimes, you know? What am I saying? Of course you know."
Suddenly, a huge bolt of lightning arced across the sky, followed by a resounding crash of thunder. Hermione jumped at the loud sound, gripping the veranda railing to steady herself.
"Scared of a little thunderstorm?" Draco asked with a smirk. "Funny, I've always found them to be soothing."
Hermione raised her eyebrows at him.
"You find comfort in roses, and I find comfort in thunderstorms," he said with a shrug. "To each his own."
"I'll never understand you, Draco Malfoy."
"You understand me better than most people," he said quietly.
"Maybe because unlike most people, I actually try to."
He cocked his head to the side, seeming to consider this for a moment. Then he nodded, reaching out to finger one of her long brown curls, which were blowing in the strong wind. Hermione stared up at him in alarm.
"You didn't just bring me here to apologize, did you?"
"No, I didn't," he said, shaking his head. "I also brought you here to talk about us."
"Us?" Hermione said nervously. "I don't know what you're talking about - "
"Stop it!" he hissed. "Damn it, Granger, will you stop pretending that kiss didn't happen?"
Draco was suddenly angry - even angrier than he had been during their disastrous face-off in the Great Hall several weeks before. His eyes were dark, mirror images of the roiling storm clouds above. And then, almost as if his temper had willed it so, the heavens opened up and a heavy rain pounded down onto them both, soaking them within seconds.
Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, Hermione whipped her wand out of her jeans pocket and turned on the spot, attempting to Disapparate from the rapidly escalating situation. To her horror, nothing happened. She stood there, panicked and confused, while another crack of thunder shook the ground beneath her feet. Draco's anger ebbed somewhat as he seemed to find amusement in her predicament.
"My parents had anti-Apparition spells placed on this property," he said. "That's why I had to Apparate at the edge of the front lawn."
Hermione's eyes widened with dawning realization.
"Y-you planned this on purpose!" she spluttered, now pointing her wand at Draco. "You brought me here because you knew I couldn't escape from you - you sneaky, Slytherin snake!"
"Lovely alliteration," Draco said with a sneer. "But now we're going to talk about the topic that you've been trying to avoid for the past month..."
He trained his own wand on Hermione's shaking form and moved to stand between her and the doors leading back into his house. He had suddenly become the old Draco Malfoy she remembered from their early school years, and that made her extremely uneasy - and angry.
"Forget it!" she shouted. "I'm going back to Hogwarts and I'm not letting you stand in my way! Stupif - "
Before Hermione could finish issuing the curse, however, her wand went sailing out of her hand and into Draco's waiting grasp.
"I was always a bit better at nonverbal spells than you were," he murmured triumphantly, twirling her stolen wand between his fingers.
Thinking quickly, Hermione flicked her wrist, trying to conjure fire in order to defend herself. However, the instant the flames sprang to life in her hand, they were snuffed out by the deluge of rain. In her frustration, she began issuing a list of swear words, including every curse that she had ever heard Ron and his brothers utter throughout the years. Draco merely smirked and gave a patronizing shake of his head in response to her tirade.
"Tut-tut-tut," he said. "Language, Granger. What would Professor McGonagall say if she heard her star student speaking that way?"
Well, so much for my plan to stay calm and collected, Hermione thought wryly. She forced herself to take a few deep breaths, bringing herself back to a rational state of mind before she addressed Draco once more.
"Just say what you have to say to me, Malfoy, so I can get out of here and go home."
Apparently she had said the wrong thing, because Draco's anger immediately flared up again. It seemed as if the calmer she was, and the more she tried to distance herself from the situation at hand, the more enraged he became. Hermione swallowed hard, watching him as he slowly advanced on her. For the first time, she found herself frightened of Draco, and she reflexively backed away from him.
While she was familiar with Ron's temper, Draco's was a completely different beast. Ron's outbursts generally ran a similar course each time they were unleashed: he would turn red in the face and flail his arms around, yelling until he was hoarse, but it was usually over quickly. Draco, however, was cold, collected and completely unpredictable - and in Hermione's opinion, that made him much more dangerous.
"Look, you may be content to keep ignoring the giant pink hippogriff in the room, but I'm sick of it," he spat, pacing back and forth like a caged lion. "If you want to call that kiss a mistake then fine, go ahead and call it that. Just quit denying that it ever happened."
"Okay then," Hermione said, willing her voice to be steady. "It was a mistake."
Another round of lightning and thunder rolled across the heavens, and Draco froze, his stormy gray eyes scanning Hermione's face.
"You're lying."
"No I'm not," she argued, but Draco shook his head.
"You're a terrible liar, Granger. Always were."
Damn him for being right. He was able to read her like an open book, but she still couldn't read him. Yes, she knew he was angry, but she couldn't understand why...
"Look, even if I wanted that kiss to happen, it shouldn't have happened. You and I would never work out. We just don't belong together, not in that way."
"You don't believe that," he said, taking a step closer to her.
"For Merlin's sake, Malfoy, what do you want?"
Draco paused, cocking his head to one side.
"You mean you haven't figured it out yet?"
"Are - are you saying you want me?" she guessed, her voice squeaking in surprise as she realized the answer to her own question. Draco rolled his eyes, and the familiar gesture eased away some of her unease.
"You know, Granger, for someone who's supposed to be the smartest witch of our age, you can be incredibly daft sometimes. Yes - I want you, you silly, stubborn, impossible woman."
Hermione’s heart rate sped up, beating a loud tattoo in symphony with the rain pounding against her skin. Despite the copious amount of water sluicing down her face, her mouth went dry as Draco approached her. His movements were slow and predatory, and his eyes carried an expression startlingly similar to hunger. She found herself torn between the desire to run away from him and the warring need to throw herself into his arms and snog him senseless. Instead, she stood still, her limbs shaking from more than just the cold wind and rain.
"Stay away from me!" she gasped.
To her surprise, Draco stopped and let out a laugh that instantly had her raising her hackles.
"What are you laughing at?" she asked, scowling at him.
"At you, telling me to stay away while you have that ‘come hither' look in your eyes," he said teasingly, before he lowered his voice into a silkier tone. "You know what, Granger? I think you want me just as much as I want you, and you're too scared to admit it."
"I-I'm not scared," she replied, inwardly damning herself for persisting to stutter like an idiot. "And I don't want you."
Draco shook his head, coming to stand directly in front of her. If she wanted to - and a part of her did - Hermione could have reached out and touched him.
"For Merlin's sake," he muttered. "You've turned denial into something of an art form."
The silence stretched on between them for a long moment, and there was nothing but the storm and the two of them gazing back at each other. Draco's eyes were dark with that look that Hermione had come to recognize as pure, unabashed desire, and it made her shiver beneath its intensity. She idly wondered what emotion her own eyes were conveying to him at that very moment. Despite the chill and the wet, she felt her body tingling with an indefinable heat and she could almost imagine that that fiery inferno they had created two weeks before was now spinning between them once more, about to consume everything in its path. And this time, she wanted nothing more than to throw caution to the wind and step into the blaze.
Suddenly, Draco tore his eyes away from hers and the spell between them was broken.
"Alright, I've had my say," he said quietly, so that Hermione had to strain to hear him over the rising gale. "I'm leaving the choice up to you. I'm going to give you one chance to leave - to go back into that house, out of the front door, and Disapparate to Hogwarts. But only one chance. If you choose not to take it, if you decide to stay here with me, then I can tell you right now that there will be no going back. I'm not going to let you keep toying with me like I'm someone you can go to when the urge strikes. You can't just change your mind when your conscience gets the better of you."
Slowly, to show her that he did not intend to attack, Draco held out her wand for her to take back. Hermione did so, relieved to have the familiar stick of wood in her grasp once more. Then, she watched as Draco took a few steps aside, leaving the way clear for her to escape him at last.
Hermione stared at him. What did she want? Her gaze raked over the measuring look in his steel grey eyes, the blond hair plastered against his forehead, dripping down into his face. She took in the black turtleneck and tailored black pants he wore beneath his cloak, all the material now slicked against his body from the rain, hinting at the subtle musculature beneath. She felt it was unfair that he was doing this, giving her just one moment in time to make a decision that could have long-lasting emotional consequences - at least for her. She knew how easy it was for him to move from one girl to the next, tossing the last one away like a pair of old shoes. But is that how it would be with her? Did she have any reason to believe that Draco would act differently if she was the one sharing his bed?
Hermione had never felt so undecided in her entire life. For a moment, she took a few steps towards the house, the rational part of her brain telling her she should retreat to safety. Then she stepped towards Draco, her body burning with need for him, with the need to kiss him again and find out what other delightful sensations he could unlock when she was in his arms. Frightened by the strength of her desire, she stepped away from him once more, realizing with some frustration that she must look like a fool doing an odd little back-and-forth dance.
Draco watched her internal struggle, his facial expression a cross between annoyance and amusement. He shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest, which, to Hermione's dismay, showed off the toned muscle in his biceps.
"Brave little Gryffindor," he murmured. "Too frightened to take what she wants."
"Damn it, Malfoy, you could never give me what I want."
Instead of getting mad as she was expecting him to do, Draco merely gave a sage nod and said, "You're right. I couldn't."
"Okay then. Now that we've established that..."
And with all the recklessness of a diver leaping off of a cliff into the sea, Hermione stepped forward, grabbed Draco roughly by the front of his shirt, and pulled his face down so that her lips were crushed against his. She kissed him fiercely for a few moments, hardly giving him a chance to react. Finally, his arms uncoiled and wrapped around her, pulling her closer so that her body aligned perfectly with his, like two pieces of a puzzle locking into place. Heat radiated outwards from his body and seeped into her skin, despite all the layers of wet clothing between them. Soon, he was kissing her back with an intensity that matched her own.
In a distant part of her mind, Hermione seemed to notice a sudden lack of wind and rain beating against them. It was odd, but the absence did not immediately register, and she was too preoccupied with the delightful taste of Draco's mouth to give it much thought. Finally, needing to breathe, she pulled a few centimeters away from him, and gasped when she saw what was happening around them.
It was as if there was an invisible bubble encasing them both, forcing the driving wind and rain to blow up and around them, but not touch them. Hermione glanced up at Draco, whose eyes were heavy-lidded with desire, his irises glowing with the silver light of an Aeromancer. His expression carried a trace of smugness, and she realized that he was using his powers to protect them from the storm.
"Do you remember that day in Defense Against the Dark Arts when we first learned about elemental magic?" he whispered, trailing his index finger along her rain-slicked cheek. "I guessed that you would be a Pyromancer, and you wondered how I knew."
"Yes, you said it was just a hunch you had."
He nodded, his finger now dragging up to her lips, tracing their edges as if he was mapping them for future reference.
"Even if you're a war hero and a good little Gryffindor, I've always had a feeling that there was more to you than that. Somehow I knew that if given half a chance, you wouldn't mind playing with fire."
Draco gave her a sly grin, and Hermione thought she might achieve spontaneous combustion right then and there.
"Well," she murmured, “you know what happens when you play with fire, right?"
"Granger, I don't really give a shit."
And then Draco's mouth was crashing down once more, capturing hers in a devouring kiss that shot through her body like fire itself. The storm continued to rage all around them, a blur of rain and wind, thunder and lightning, clouds and crashing waves - none of which could touch them, protected as they were inside the invisible globe of Draco's powers. It was like being in the eye of a hurricane; Hermione felt temporarily safe, but uncertain of what lay ahead. At that moment she realized that what happened between them was, in a way, impossible to control. And so, for the first time in her life, she finally let go, content just to exist.
Hermione clawed at Draco's shoulders, pulling his body as close to hers as humanly possible, knowing that if she somehow managed to crawl inside of him, it still wouldn't be close enough. Draco was also seeking a way to get closer, running his hands over her arms and her back, frustrated by the layers of soggy wet clothes that came between them. Finally he cupped his hands beneath her denim-covered backside, lifting her upwards. Acknowledging his intention, Hermione wrapped her legs around his hips and held onto his neck, all the while not breaking their kiss.
Dimly, she noticed that the rain and the wind were fading away, and that he had carried her back inside the house. Draco pressed her up against a wall for a moment, pulling his lips away to catch his breath. Hermione still clung to him, frantically working at the clasp on his travel cloak until she had released it and thrown the dripping black garment to the floor. Then she did the same with her own cloak. She made to pull up Draco's jumper next, but before she could lift the material, he was kissing her again. His lips trailed to her neck, running all the way down to the base of her throat, and then back up again to suckle the sensitive skin beneath her ear.
Hermione's eyes fell closed and she let out a low moan, her hips jerking involuntarily against Draco's. He cursed under his breath, and suddenly they were moving again, and he was carrying her down a corridor and up a staircase. During their ascent, Hermione pulled away from him just enough to tug her pink jumper off over her head, letting it drop to the ground in some random second-story hallway.
Finally, Draco kicked open a door to enter a dark chamber, and with a wave of his wand, several candles came to life, filling the room with their faint, flickering glow. Hermione had a quick glimpse of cream and gold wallpaper, gauzy curtains, and a large, wrought-iron bed before she was plopped down into the center of it. Falling onto the fluffy white duvet was like sinking into a cloud.
Draco crouched above Hermione, bracing himself up on his hands so that he wasn't crushing her with his weight. Her upper half was now covered only by her simple, blue cotton bra, and Draco's eyes raked hungrily over her body, taking in the sight of her goose-bump covered flesh and the wet material clinging to her breasts, revealing the hardened peaks beneath. Hermione plucked at the expensive knit material of his jumper, her hands desperately seeking skin, and Draco sat upright and pulled the turtleneck up over his head, flinging it to the floor. Hermione drew in a sharp breath as she finally laid eyes on his half-naked form.
Draco was leaner than Ron was, and she could see the faint outline of his ribs, but his chest and shoulders still rippled with lanky muscle as he moved. His rain-drenched flesh shimmered in the candlelight, and his skin was pale and flawless, making him look as if he were chiseled from white marble - a living, breathing version of one of Michelangelo's statues.
Hermione pushed herself upright to kneel in front of Draco, running her hands over the planes of his chest, studying the lines of his collar bones, his pectorals, and his taut abdomen. For someone who looked as if he was carved from cold alabaster, his flesh felt surprisingly hot beneath her fingertips. He hissed with pleasure at her exploratory touch, and then reached behind her back to unclasp her bra, sliding the straps down her arms. Hermione's cheeks flamed as she felt the heat of Draco's scrutinizing gaze.
"Beautiful," Draco whispered reverently, as if sensing her insecurity. He kissed her once more, pushing her onto her back with gentle insistence. His mouth was suddenly everywhere at once - on her neck, her breasts, her stomach - sucking the rain water off of her skin as if he was a man who had been wandering in a desert for days and stumbled upon an oasis at last. Hermione gasped and buried her hands in his wet hair as he flicked the tip of his tongue into her navel, lapping up the rain drops he found there.
Draco bent down to remove her trainers and soggy socks, plopping them down on the floor. Then he unzipped her blue jeans and attempted to peel them off of her legs, but the damp material clung to her limbs like glue, and despite his impatient tugs, he was unable to remove them.
"Damn Muggle clothes," he muttered. "How the hell do you get these things off?"
If she wasn't so breathless with lust, Hermione would have laughed at his frustration, but instead she assisted him in pulling off her jeans. He flung them to the other side of the room as if they had morally offended him, and then bent down to continue sipping the water from her skin, this time from her thighs and the sensitive regions behind her knees. Hermione moaned as his tongue laved over her legs, and she arched her hips off of the bed, filled with an aching, insatiable need. Draco chuckled at the wanton gesture, his hot breath grazing her inner thigh.
"Hmm, aren't we impatient?"
"Damn you, Draco Malfoy," Hermione groaned. "If you keep teasing me like this, I swear I'll use Avada Kedavra on you. Take your pants off. Now."
He smirked at her request, but to her surprise he stood up and complied, kicking off his shoes and sliding his trousers down his narrow hips. His legs were as pale and muscular as the rest of him was, sprinkled with fine golden hairs, but Hermione found herself fixated on the telltale bulge in the center of his black silk boxers. Before he could toss his pants aside, however, she stopped him.
"Wait," she whispered, “I need your wand, since mine is on the other side of the room in my jeans pocket. I stopped taking my contraceptive potion when I broke up with - I mean I need to use a spell...."
Needing no further explanation, Draco took his wand out of his pocket and waved it expertly over her abdomen, muttering an incantation. Hermione felt a tingling sensation in her womb which let her know that he had successfully cast a contraceptive spell on her. She frowned at how easily he recalled the incantation; it reminded her of just how many notches he had in his bedpost, and the fact that she was about to add herself to that tally. On top of things, she was suddenly plagued by thoughts of Ron, remembering how tender and uncertain their first love-making sessions had been. They had learned so much from each other in those moments. Briefly, alarm bells went off in her head, and she panicked at the idea of what she was about to do with Draco when her heart still belonged, at least in part, to Ron...
But when Draco tossed his wand on the nightstand and crawled back onto the bed to straddle her hips, she forced herself to push the thought out of her mind. It was amazing really, how Draco could anchor her to the present, prevent her thoughts from drifting to the past or the future, and keep her focused on living in the moment. Ron had left her - that was his choice. And as much as it still broke her heart, she felt helpless to control the new emotions that Draco was unleashing in her. Afraid of being torn apart by her conflicting thoughts, she shut down thought all together and focused on simply feeling.
Hermione arched her hips, which were still encased in her blue cotton panties, and dragged her heat along Draco's length, concealed behind his silk boxers. She smirked triumphantly as his whole body responded with a spasm of pleasure.
"Hypocrite," he said huskily. "Now who's doing the teasing?" And before Hermione quite realized how he had accomplished it, he had divested both of them of their knickers, and there were no longer any cloth barriers between them. Draco kissed her deeply, his tongue probing her mouth while his long fingers stroked between her thighs until she was practically begging for him to end her agony. Obligingly, Draco lowered himself between her legs, but then hesitated, hovering there on the precipice. When he gazed down at her, she was surprised to find a trace of uncertainty in his slate-colored eyes.
"Hermione," he murmured, “what I said earlier is true. I don't think I can give you...I mean I can't - "
But Hermione shushed him, pressing her fingers to his lips to still them.
"It's okay," she whispered, her words heavy and slurred with desire. "For tonight, this is enough for me."
For a few seconds, Draco's eyes searched her face as if he was looking for the answer to a question that he couldn't find the words to ask. Then he nodded, pushing his hips forward to join them at last.
Both of them shuddered and gasped at the contact, and for a moment, Draco was still, as if he was pausing to gather his senses. Then he started to move, and Hermione was lost in a wave of sensations unlike any she had ever experienced before. Making love to Ron had been wonderful, but it had never been this unrestrained; this intense. As she lifted her hips to meet Draco's again and again, her whole body responded to their combined movements, tingling and burning from her scalp down to her toes. She felt as if she was on fire, that the heat between them would consume her alive, and she thought that if this is what happened when you played with fire, then she'd quite happily burn. It surprised her that the wallpaper hadn't started to peel off of the walls.
As Draco rocked against her, Hermione took the opportunity to latch her mouth onto his neck, suckling off the moisture in the same way he had done to her. The cool, spearmint scent of his skin, mingling with his masculine musk, almost drove her to distraction. She let her fingers play over his flesh, feeling the muscles in his shoulders ripple with his movements, counting every bump of his spine, cupping the firm curve of his buttocks. Then she raked her fingernails lightly up and down his back.
"Oh...God," Draco choked out, his breathing ragged from Hermione's ministrations.
"Thanks for the new nickname, but I think that's blasphemy," she teased, gasping as he turned his head to trace the shell of her ear with his tongue, his breath hot and moist against the side of her face.
"Cocky little wench," Draco murmured, capturing her earlobe between his teeth, giving it a gentle tug that was echoed in her nether regions. Hermione dug her fingers into his shoulders, clinging to him as if she was adrift in a turbulent sea and he was her life raft. She felt like they were still in the center of a raging storm, and she and Draco were the only solid things in the world, everything else having melted away into a swirling abyss of wind, water, and darkness.
With a hoarse cry, Hermione suddenly came undone in Draco's arms, her pleasure more intense and blinding than the flashes of lightning outside the window. As she came back down from her peak, she could feel Draco's movements become more erratic, his body tensing with the force of his own impending climax. For the briefest moment his eyes met hers, and she thought that if she knew what to look for, she could have glimpsed his soul. But then his eyes were tightly closed and he came with a soft groan before collapsing on top of her.
Hermione found Draco's weight more reassuring than uncomfortable as his body lay sprawled across hers. Her fingers trailed through the perspiration on his back, tracing soothing circles against his hot skin while they both trembled with the aftershocks of their coupling. Finally, he gathered the strength to roll off of her, still somewhat shaky from his exertions.
As he lay there on his back beside her, breathing heavily, Hermione felt uncertain of what to do next. How did Draco normally conclude his lovemaking sessions? Somehow she didn't picture him as the type to indulge in a post-coital cuddle. Would he just say "thanks for the shag, we should do this again sometime", and send her on her merry way?
Deciding to take the dragon by the horns, so to speak, Hermione slid over and laid her head on Draco's chest, waiting to see how he would react. She could hear a wild thudding sound beneath her cheek, which dispelled any lingering doubts she may have had regarding whether or not Draco Malfoy had a heart. For a few terrifying moments he lay still beneath her, quite possibly just as uncertain as she was with how to proceed. Then, to Hermione's relief, he wrapped his arms around her torso, pulling her closer to him as he buried his face in her hair.
And for tonight, that was enough.
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