Forgive and Forget (Chapter 17)
Chapter 17: Breaking All the Rules
My lover asks me:
"What is the difference between me and the sky?"
The difference, my love,
Is that when you laugh,
I forget about the sky.
~ "My Lover Asks Me" by Nizar Qabbani
"Draco, it's your move."
Draco glanced up at Hermione, startled out of his reverie. She swept her hand over the chessboard sitting on the table between them, indicating that it was his turn to play. He studied the pieces for a few moments.
"Knight to C-6," he commanded. Hermione's eyes narrowed as his emerald green knight rode his horse across the board to cleave down one of her pawns. Draco smirked triumphantly, and placed her severed pawn on his side of the table.
"So that means it's my turn to ask a question," he said, as he smirked in anticipation.
It was Tuesday evening, the week after the Easter holiday, and they had decided to take a break from studying to play a game of wizard's chess. Hermione still had little fondness for the game, and Draco only convinced her to play by adding the proviso that whenever one of them captured an opponent's piece, they were allowed to ask any question they wanted, and their opponent had to answer truthfully.
The added rule appealed to Hermione's curiosity, or as Draco thought of it, her nosy and obnoxious tendency to ask personal questions of him; however, Draco was no fool. He knew that with Hermione's mediocre chess skills, he would be the one asking most of the questions. So far, that had proven to be the case. Only two of Hermione's white chess pieces remained, gazing forlornly at the green army Draco was amassing against them.
"Well, get on with it then," Hermione muttered, leaning back in her chair and folding her arms over her chest. "Ask me your stupid question."
It was difficult for Draco to hide his grin at Hermione's waspish demeanor. She really was a sore loser sometimes, especially when she was losing against him. He had a feeling his next question was not going to improve her mood.
"Did you ever have any sexual fantasies about me before this school year?"
"That's-that's not a fair question," she sputtered, her cheeks turning pink.
"We agreed that all questions were fair game, Hermione," Draco said firmly. "You can't change the rules as you go along, as much as I admire your Slytherin-like attempt to do so. Just answer the question...and remember you have to answer truthfully."
Hermione grew increasingly flustered, which pretty much answered the question for him, but Draco wanted to hear her say it out loud. Sometimes it amazed him how he still got so much pleasure out of annoying her. Of course, not as much pleasure as he got out of partaking in other activities with her.
"Fine!" Hermione huffed. "I had a few fantasies about you towards the end of sixth year - but just a few! And the thought of it disgusted me at the time. Happy?"
"Supremely," Draco said with a wicked grin. "What sort of fantasies?"
"Uh-uh, not telling. You only get one question per piece captured, remember? Since you're being such a stickler for the rules."
She looked at him smugly before returning her attention to the game. Draco rolled his eyes and watched as she studied the chessboard, contemplating her next move. Soon, she was doing that annoying habit again - nibbling on her lower lip in a way that always managed to drive him crazy with desire. He sighed and looked away, distracting himself by taking in his unfamiliar surroundings.
The OWLs and NEWTs were less than two months away, and the library was overrun with students who were rabidly studying for the upcoming exams. Therefore, Hermione had suggested they take their chess game to the Gryffindor common room. At first, Draco had adamantly protested, but finally gave in, deciding it would be a more comfortable setting than the Great Hall. Very few Gryffindors had paid attention to him when he entered the room. It had become quite commonplace for students from different houses to be invited into each other's common rooms these days, and everyone in the school had been made aware of Draco and Hermione's friendship months ago. Therefore, contrary to the reaction he had been expecting, no one threw hexes at him or threatened his life for gracing the Gryffindor common room with his Slytherin presence.
Draco sighed once more, glancing at Hermione out of the corner of his eye. She looked so pretty sitting there with her brow furrowed in concentration, the light from the fireplace shining in her hair. It reminded him of how the firelight had flickered across her face when they spent the night together in the cave.
As always, the memory of the night he and Hermione had spent in the handfasting temple unleashed a slew of conflicting emotions in Draco. Of course longing and desire were foremost in his thoughts, as he recalled the mind-blowing lesson in love-making that Hermione had given him. However, he also experienced feelings of guilt and confusion, as he recalled the declaration she had made that night-a declaration that he had found himself unable to respond to.
When Hermione had told him she loved him, Draco had thought that perhaps he had imagined it. Part of him hoped he had; but another traitorous part of him rejoiced when she said it. However, the joy and warmth that had spread through his entire being at that moment had quickly been replaced with dread. What if Hermione expected him to say it back? To his relief, she had fallen asleep almost immediately afterward, and Draco had been spared the necessity of issuing a reply.
He had lain awake for a long time afterward, thinking about what Hermione had said, and how he should respond to it the following morning, if she brought up the topic again. For hours he stared at the artwork on the walls of the cave, and all of the symbols of love and devotion those images carried. He had stared for so long at the Latin words etched on the back wall of the cave he thought they would be forever emblazoned in his memory: "the circle is open but ever unbroken". Hermione had said the ancient wizards that wrote those words were referring to love, and the fact that you could find it anywhere, if you were willing to let it into your life.
Draco had stared down at Hermione's slumbering face then, wondering if he had indeed found love in the most unlikely of places. He felt so many things when he was with her - happiness and sadness, lust and tenderness, comfort and anxiety, frustration and exhilaration. Alone, none of these emotions were love per se, but when you added them all together, was that love? He certainly cared for her more than he had ever cared for anyone outside of his own family.
And that was when reality - harsh, painful, and inescapable reality - had come crashing down on him once more.
The truth was that Draco could never betray his family. For most of his life, they had been the only people who truly loved and cared for him. They would never understand the affection he felt for the Muggleborn witch sleeping in his arms (yes, Draco could at least admit that he felt a deep affection for Hermione). He didn't know if he was in love with Hermione, but he knew he loved his parents. He knew that after all of the things that they had done for him, after all that they had lost, he could never abandon them - and from their point of view, falling in love with a Muggleborn would be akin to abandonment. He had not abandoned them when he was faced with the terrors of Lord Voldemort, and he would not abandon them now. With this logical but discomforting thought in his head, Draco had finally fallen asleep.
When Hermione had awoken the next morning in the cave, she had been her usual cheerful self, acting as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred the evening before, other than having the most amazing sex that either one of them had experienced in their entire lives. Draco thought that maybe she had forgotten about admitting her love for him. However, in the days that followed, he would sometimes catch her glancing at him with a pensive look on her face, as if she was waiting for him to do something, or to give her some sort of sign.
This thought made Draco frown. He felt guilty about being unable to reciprocate Hermione's declaration of love (Merlin, the death-grip that woman had on his conscience could rival a Devil's Snare), but he tried to assuage his own guilt by telling himself that he had warned her in advance, telling her that he didn't think he could ever love her - or any other woman for that matter. Was it his fault that she hadn't taken his words seriously? Was it his fault that she had chosen to ignore the harsh yet obvious truth that Draco Malfoy was not the sort of man who gave his heart away?
"Draco? DRACO!"
Draco blinked several times, finally noticing that Hermione was shouting his name and waving her hand in front of his face, trying to get his attention.
"Do you have to screech like a banshee?" he muttered. "You're giving me a headache."
"It's not my fault you decided to send your brain out for a holiday," Hermione said with a scowl. "My queen just captured your castle, so it's my turn to ask a question.'
"About time you made your move," Draco grumbled.
"It didn't take me that long."
"Oh please," Draco said with a smirk. "In the amount of time it took for you to take your turn, I could have discovered the meaning of life ten times over - and quite possibly found a cure for cancer, while I was at it."
"Yeah right," she muttered. "Okay, genius, what is the meaning of life then?"
"The meaning of life is to get as much out of it as possible while it lasts...even if you have to cheat, steal, swindle, and lie through your teeth to get it."
"Admirable sentiments," Hermione said, rolling her eyes.
"Family motto," Draco replied with a shrug. "Well, it's actually worded in more formal terms than that, but it's a loose translation of the Malfoy family motto, anyway."
"Why I am not surprised?" she said. "All right, so here's my question. What did you write about in your scholarship essay?"
"Nope, you can only ask me one question per turn."
"But that is my question!"
"No, you asked me what I thought the meaning of life was, remember?" Draco countered, his face spreading into a sly grin.
"That was just rhetorical! You can't count that, it's not fair!"
"Life's not fair, Hermione. My move."
Draco glanced down at the chessboard, trying not to notice how insanely kissable Hermione looked with her cheeks flushed and her lips pursed with anger at his tricky little maneuver. He heard her grumbling under her breath, and caught the words "conniving" and "Slytherin" before he decided to ignore her and focus on his next move.
"Bishop to A-5," he said. "Check."
Hermione groaned as Draco's bishop raised his staff and knocked her queen's head off with it.
"I hate wizard's chess!" she complained as Draco retrieved her decapitated queen from the board. "I'll never get the hang of it."
"You're getting much better," he reassured her. "You just need to improve on your strategy. I always think at least three moves ahead."
Hermione cocked her head to one side and studied him for a few moments.
"And what about us?" she said softly. "Have you figured that out three moves ahead of time?"
"You know I haven't," Draco said in a low voice. "I told you what I have with you isn't a game to me. I know all the legal moves in chess, but there's no rulebook for what happens between you and me. Besides, even if there was, I'm sure we've broken every rule in it by now."
"True," Hermione said, her lips curving into a small smile. "Anyway, I believe you get to ask me another question now."
"Okay, so what fantasies did you have about me in sixth year?"
Draco chuckled as the smile instantly slid off of Hermione's face.
"I hate you," she muttered.
"No you don't. Just answer the question."
She heaved a resigned sigh.
"I used to have fantasies about you cornering me in a broom closet and shagging me against the wall."
"No kidding?" Draco mused, making sure to file that away for future reference. "You know, I fantasized about the same thing myself sometimes."
"Really?" Hermione asked, her embarrassment replaced by her usual curiosity. "But not during sixth year?"
"No, I didn't think of you that way back then," Draco said with a shake of his head.
"So when did you start thinking about me in that way?"
"Sorry, but I believe you have to capture another one of my chess pieces if you want me to answer that question."
Hermione gave an annoyed huff and leaned back in her chair. She didn't have many moves left. Her king was under check, and he was the only remaining piece she had on the board. In a few moves, Draco would have her under checkmate. Hermione did what she could to move her king out of check, but it was useless.
"Knight to B-5," Draco said finally. "Checkmate."
Hermione sighed as her white king dropped his sword at his feet, admitting defeat. Draco stared at her intently instead of giving her the usual triumphant smirk he would flash her upon winning a game.
"My last question," he said. "What do you want to do with your life? After graduation, I mean?"
"Why do you want to know?" she asked, arching one eyebrow in surprise.
Draco shrugged and said, "Just curious."
"I...well, I don't know for sure. I know that I really want to make a difference in the wizarding world. What I want more than anything is to do more to help the house-elves, and perhaps introduce S.P.E.W. to a wider audience."
Draco mentally gave himself a pat on the back for managing not to roll his eyes at this.
"I want to be happy in my career," she continued, staring into the flickering flames of the fireplace. "But it'd also be nice to get married someday and start a family."
He snorted disdainfully in response, and she scowled at him.
"Don't mock me for wanting to be happy, Draco. What's your life's ambition, if you think mine's so insufficient?"
Draco didn't want to tell her the truth, which was he didn't really have one. Malfoy men were expected manage the family fortune, marry a pureblood witch, and make pureblood babies to start the whole cycle over again. His "life's ambition" was already chosen for him, whether he wanted it or not. So instead he smirked at her, putting his hands behind his head and leaning back in his squishy red velvet chair.
"My life's ambition is to top Witch Weekly's list of ‘Most Eligible Bachelors' by the time I turn twenty-five."
Hermione shook her head and groaned, but he noticed the little flicker of lust in her eyes as she took in the sight of his lean, lounging form. He felt his own desire reawaken, and the gears in his cunning, Slytherin mind started to turn, thinking three moves ahead as he had during the chess game.
"I think it's time that we headed down to the Great Hall for dinner, wouldn't you agree?" he asked casually.
"Hmm?" Hermione murmured, sounding a bit distracted. "Oh, yes I suppose."
She helped Draco put his chess set away, which he promptly shrunk with his wand and stowed away in his pocket. Then he led the way out of the Gryffindor common room and out into the corridors, heading in the direction of the Great Hall. Hermione was at his side, hurrying to keep up with his long-legged stride. At one point, he snuck a furtive glance in both directions, noting that the hallway was empty since most of the students were already eating in the Great Hall.
Perfect.
Hermione was rambling on about the NEWT exam...again. That seemed to be all she talked about these days. The exam was two months away and already she was driving Draco crazy with how much time she spent fretting about it. Tonight, however, having her attention focused elsewhere worked to his advantage because when he set his plan into motion, she was caught completely off guard.
"Draco what on earth- !"
Before the words had even left her lips, Draco managed to fling open the door to a broom closet, shove Hermione inside, and shut the door behind them. They were plunged into complete darkness, standing toe to toe in the cramped space. The closet smelled of dust and various cleaning products, but when he stepped closer to Hermione, her delicious floral scent took its place. He reached out in the darkness, wrapping his hands around her hips and tugging her closer to him, diminishing what little space had been between them.
"Draco?" Hermione whispered uncertainly. "What...oh!"
She gasped as his lips found the crook of her neck, and then drifted up to her favorite spot below her right ear, navigating by touch since it was too dark to see. In the darkness, all of Draco's other senses were heightened, so that the taste and scent of her skin were even more alluring than usual. The sound of her breathing was magnified as his hands explored her body, skimming every curve of her figure as if he was reading Braille. Thank Merlin she was wearing a skirt today, he thought to himself, as he began to lift it.
"Wait!" Hermione protested. "Draco what are you doing? We could get caught."
Although they were in the dark, Draco smirked at her. He figured that even if she couldn't see it, she could probably sense his smirk.
"The risk is half the fun. Besides, I do recall you saying this was a particular fantasy of yours?"
"Yes, but a fantasy is a fantasy. You don't necessarily have to act on them."
Draco paused, bending to bring his mouth close to her ear.
"Granger, you've been playing the role of good little Gryffindor for far too long," he said, lowering his voice into that silky, dangerous tone that Hermione never failed to respond to. He grinned when, as expected, she gave a little shiver of anticipation. "When was the last time you actually did break the rules?"
"I broke rules all the time with Harry and Ron - "
"No, that doesn't count," Draco argued, without changing his seductive tone. "Back then you were breaking the rules because you had to, to defeat Voldemort, or save the world, or at the very least, get those two idiots out of trouble."
Hermione stiffened slightly at his last words, but he ignored this and continued speaking, slowly sliding one hand up her thigh and raising her plaid skirt centimeter by centimeter in the process.
"You've never broken the rules because you wanted to, just for the fun of it. When was the last time you did something you felt like doing and didn't give a damn about the consequences?"
He was surprised when Hermione chuckled softly in response.
"Draco, I've been doing that every day for the past month just by being with you."
"Well, then consider that a warm-up for this."
With these words, Draco artfully slid her knickers down her legs and hoisted her up against the wall, using his Quidditch-earned muscles to balance her in one of his arms. He used his free hand to shove the clothes off of the lower half of his own body. He pushed Hermione's skirt up to her waist and stepped forward into the space between her thighs, reveling in the moan of longing this action withdrew from her.
"Brace your feet on the wall behind me," he ordered, his voice husky with desire. "You'll be more comfortable that way, and this closet is just the right width for it."
"How do you know that?" she asked, and he could practically hear the frown in her voice.
"Hermione, do you really want to know the answer to that question?"
"Oh...um, no, actually I don't."
Without further ado, she stretched her legs out to rest her feet on the opposite wall, thereby opening herself up to him further. Draco took the opportunity to reach in between them and stroke her, causing her to let out a loud groan.
"Hmm," he mused, pausing to take his wand out of his pocket. "Think I might have to cast a Silencing Charm on the door. The danger of getting caught does add to the fun, but it would be a bit of a nuisance to have to explain the situation to Professor McGonagall if we actually were caught, and with the Quidditch final next week, I don't have time to serve detention."
Draco cast the charm, and was surprised to hear Hermione start laughing. He scowled, failing not to feel somewhat insulted. As a man with a fair amount of experience in all things carnal, he knew it was generally not a good sign when the woman you were trying to seduce suddenly burst into giggles.
"Granger, this is no laughing matter. What's so funny?"
"I'm sorry," she said, her voice shaking with mirth. "I was just thinking about Professor McGonagall."
Draco was dumbfounded.
"Um...do I want to know why you're thinking about our elderly headmistress while I've got you pinned against the wall with my hands up your skirt?"
"I was just thinking, when Professor McGonagall said that you and I had done so much to ‘improve inter-house relations' at Hogwarts, somehow I don't think this is exactly what she had in mind."
Hermione continued to laugh, and Draco couldn't help but join in, picturing the shock and horror on the headmistress's face if she found out what they were doing in the school at that very moment. Suddenly Hermione, in her breathlessness, leaned forward to brace her hands on Draco's shoulders, accidentally bringing her naked flesh in contact with his. They immediately fell silent, and with a low growl of need, Draco thrust his hips forward to join his body with Hermione's. What happened next was, indeed, no laughing matter.
Screaming, however, was a perfectly acceptable alternative.
The rest of April flew by, and the days grew warmer and longer as spring finally arrived at Hogwarts. Draco and Hermione continued their secret "relationship", finding stolen moments alone in broom closets and quiet corners of the library after all the other students had gone to bed. Sometimes they would steal away to Draco's summer home, where Hermione continued to give Draco lessons in making love. For once, he more than appreciated her "practice makes perfect" mentality. However, they never returned to the handfasting cave, since he was still nervous about what had happened the last time they entered it.
Despite the joy that came with spending so much time with Hermione, other emotions simmered beneath the surface - uncertainty, anxiety, and guilt being the most prominent. Draco could sense that Hermione felt them, too, and that they grew day by day, threatening to eventually boil over. While the secrecy of their trysts had at first been fun and exciting, it was now eating away at them from the inside. Like the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back, he knew that soon, something would have to give.
But secrecy remained a necessity for Draco.
He wished that he had the sort of relationship with his parents where he could be open and honest with them about his feelings for Hermione. However, he had never been able to discuss such things with them before. When Draco turned sixteen, he didn't receive "The Talk" from his parents; instead, his father had decided to go with the "experience-is-the-best-teacher" approach and had taken him to a brothel in Knockturn Alley that catered to wealthy wizards. Draco had never had one of those father-son moments that he heard of other young wizards having, where he could regale Lucius with tales of his romantic conquests and receive a knowing thump on the back and a proud "that-a-boy".
How could he possibly tell his father about Hermione? "Yes, Father, I've been shagging Hermione Granger. You remember her? She's that Muggleborn Gryffindor girl you've wanted to kill on one or two occasions. But don't worry, she's taking a very reliable Contraceptive Potion, so I won't, as you put it, ‘sully the Malfoy bloodline.'"
He had a feeling that having that particular conversation with Lucius would result in less proud, fatherly back-thumping and more Avada Kedavra-ing.
One Sunday in late April, Draco found himself once more plagued with thoughts about how to resolve the issue of his and Hermione's forbidden relationship. The two of them had spent most of their afternoon digging through the library at the Malfoy summer home in Dover, trying to find a book that would describe the nature of the magical jolt they had encountered in the cave a few weekends before. They had spent much of their free time in the previous weeks performing the same search in the Hogwarts library, but with no success. So far, their search at the summer home had been equally fruitless.
At one point, Hermione sighed and closed the massive book she was holding, lugging it over to the nearby row of shelves. She glanced up at Draco and noticed the pensive expression on his face.
"Are you nervous about the match this weekend?" she asked.
Draco shrugged, idly pulling another book off the shelf. He flipped through the table of contents, but found nothing that aided them in their search.
"Not really," he said, replacing the book. "I don't get that nervous about Quidditch to be honest. Especially now that- "
He paused, and Hermione glanced up at him from where she had just sat cross-legged on the floor, opening another ancient tome in her lap.
"Now that what?" she pressed.
"Now that my father isn't able to attend the matches."
"I see."
Draco didn't like the sympathetic look that sprang to Hermione's face.
"It's not what you think," he said. "It's not as if my father gets angry at me if I lose a match. He just gets...disappointed, that's all."
"You hate disappointing him." She said this more as a statement than a question.
"Yes."
"I just don't understand," Hermione said, flipping through the leather-bound book on the history of Dover. "Why are you always so worried about disappointing your parents? If they truly love you, then they should accept you no matter what."
Draco frowned, not liking what she was implying.
"You think that just because my parents supported Voldemort, that they're the sort of people who would be incapable of loving their own son? You know that they betrayed the Dark Lord, putting their own lives at risk for my sake."
Hermione arched an eyebrow at him.
"Yes, but do they tell you they love you?"
"My mother says it often enough. My father..."
Draco sighed. He didn't even know why he was having this conversation with her. Talking about his parents, like having a discussion that involved Muggles, was always going to be a touchy subject between the two of them.
"My father doesn't like to express his emotions in that way," he continued. "He doesn't say how he feels about me, unless it's anger or disappointment. But he's always shown he cares by giving me gifts and attention, and coming to all my Quidditch matches and things like that."
"Yes, but don't you sometimes wish he would tell you he loved you, just so you would know for certain?"
Draco did not respond to Hermione's question. He had a feeling that this conversation was not just about him needing reassurance of his father's love, but also about Hermione wanting reassurance of his. He felt an overwhelming need to change topics.
"Have you found anything yet?" he asked, reaching for another book.
"No," she said, wearily brushing back a few curls that had fallen out of her ponytail. "I think handfasting temples are extremely rare. Only very wealthy wizard families had them, while most families conducted their marriage rituals outdoors. It's also possible that the magic in your family's temple is unique to that cave alone, and, therefore, not described in the literature."
"So we may never find out what that spell was," Draco mused, feeling uneasy about not knowing the answer.
"Maybe not," Hermione said, slamming her book shut. She climbed to her feet, starting to search some of the higher rows for books that she hadn't looked through yet. Draco's mouth went dry as this position caused her jumper to rise upwards, flashing a glimpse of her creamy skin and slender stomach. In a heartbeat, he was at her side, pinning her against the bookshelves. Hermione gasped in surprise.
"Just what do you think you're doing, Draco?" she asked, smiling as he ran his fingers along the smooth expanse of her midriff.
"We're taking a little break," he said, pulling her closer. "We've been sifting through these dusty old books all afternoon."
Draco bent to kiss her, but then hesitated, his lips hovering a few centimeters above hers.
"What's wrong?" she asked him, her smile faltering somewhat.
"It's just...the magic in the cave. It bothers me that we don't know what it is, or what effect it may have had on us."
"Like I said before, I don't feel any different," Hermione reassured him, "and you said you don't feel any different, either. I don't think it caused any long-term effects, if that's what you're worried about."
Draco paused as he tried to think of a way to voice his concerns.
"It's just that, after it happened...after that magical jolt, or whatever it was, that's when you said...I mean that's when you told me...."
"Stop," Hermione said, pressing her hand over his mouth. "Draco, there is no spell in existence that can make someone fall in love, so whatever happened in that cave did not make me fall in love with you. I already loved you before that night...I think I may have loved you for some time before then."
Draco's eyes widened in surprise. Hermione shook her head, gazing up at him with a knowing expression on her face.
"Do you honestly think the only way I could fall in love with you is because some spell forced me to?" she whispered, shifting her hand away from his mouth and using it to brush his hair out of his eyes. "Do you think it's impossible for me to love you of my own free will?"
Draco said nothing, but of course he knew the answer was yes, he wouldn't have thought it possible for Hermione to love him without some form of magical coercion. How could she love him after all of the things he had done in the past? How could she love a former Death Eater whose family had, on numerous occasions, threatened the lives of both her and her friends? Part of him was relieved to learn that she loved him of her own free will, but another part of him was terrified by this fact. If she loved him because of a spell the handfasting temple had inflicted upon her, then they could find a way to reverse the magic, and release its hold on her; but if the love she felt for him was real....
You need to stop this, he told himself. She's already fallen in love with you, and you're starting to get too attached to her. You're going to end up hurting her if you continue down this path. You might even end up hurting yourself. You need to stop and walk away before it's too late....
Hermione interrupted Draco's thoughts by gently pulling his head down so that she could capture his lips with hers. His resigned sigh was lost in the warm depths of her mouth.
Too late, he thought as he kissed her back.
The crowd went wild as Draco angled his broom next to the Ravenclaw Seeker, both of them closing in on the elusive golden snitch. The Slytherins were far enough in the lead that if Draco caught the snitch now, they would not only win this match, but the Quidditch championship as well. He had never tasted that sort of victory before, and he was hungry for it. He let his hunger drive him forward, pushing his Nimbus2001 to its absolute limit. Just three more centimeters... just two more... one more...
"Draco Malfoy has caught the snitch! Slytherin wins the Quidditch championship!"
The announcer's words reverberated in Draco's ears as the tiny snitch fluttered helplessly in his hand. He held it aloft in triumph, proudly leading his teammates in a victory lap around the pitch. The green and silver clad students were in a joyous uproar, beginning to rush out onto the pitch. He flew down to join in the celebrations.
Once Draco's feet hit the ground, he was swarmed by his fellow Slytherins, all eager to offer their congratulations, but his eyes sought the only Gryffindor in the crowd.
Hermione was beaming at him, her eyes full of love and pride. Draco didn't know if it was the determined look on his face that parted the crowd, or whether he had accomplished it by wand-less magic, but a path was cleared between him and Hermione, and suddenly he was standing before her. She opened her mouth, preparing to say something, but whether it was, her congratulations or some witty remark about the Slytherin win, Draco never knew. Because the moment he reached her, he dropped snitch and broomstick to the ground, caught her up in his arms, and kissed her passionately.
The crowd immediately fell silent. Draco was pretty sure he could hear the faint twitter of birds in the distance, that's how quiet the Quidditch pitch became at that moment, despite the hundreds of students clustered around them. Somewhere in a part of his brain that was still functioning properly, he thought he had officially lost his mind, snogging Hermione Granger in front of the entire school, but for the moment, he didn't really give a damn. He was so high on his victory, and the taste and feel of Hermione's lips, that he didn't think anything could ruin this perfect moment.
"My, my, my, I don't think I've ever witnessed a more stirring conclusion to a Quidditch match."
Draco froze, his heart dropping into the region of his toes at the sound of that familiar voice. He pulled away from Hermione, whirling around to face the elegantly dressed woman standing behind him, her blue eyes flashing in a way that made him feel like he was six years old again, caught with his hand stuck in a cookie jar. Only this was much, much worse. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to speak.
"Hello, Mother."
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Table of Contents
My lover asks me:
"What is the difference between me and the sky?"
The difference, my love,
Is that when you laugh,
I forget about the sky.
~ "My Lover Asks Me" by Nizar Qabbani
"Draco, it's your move."
Draco glanced up at Hermione, startled out of his reverie. She swept her hand over the chessboard sitting on the table between them, indicating that it was his turn to play. He studied the pieces for a few moments.
"Knight to C-6," he commanded. Hermione's eyes narrowed as his emerald green knight rode his horse across the board to cleave down one of her pawns. Draco smirked triumphantly, and placed her severed pawn on his side of the table.
"So that means it's my turn to ask a question," he said, as he smirked in anticipation.
It was Tuesday evening, the week after the Easter holiday, and they had decided to take a break from studying to play a game of wizard's chess. Hermione still had little fondness for the game, and Draco only convinced her to play by adding the proviso that whenever one of them captured an opponent's piece, they were allowed to ask any question they wanted, and their opponent had to answer truthfully.
The added rule appealed to Hermione's curiosity, or as Draco thought of it, her nosy and obnoxious tendency to ask personal questions of him; however, Draco was no fool. He knew that with Hermione's mediocre chess skills, he would be the one asking most of the questions. So far, that had proven to be the case. Only two of Hermione's white chess pieces remained, gazing forlornly at the green army Draco was amassing against them.
"Well, get on with it then," Hermione muttered, leaning back in her chair and folding her arms over her chest. "Ask me your stupid question."
It was difficult for Draco to hide his grin at Hermione's waspish demeanor. She really was a sore loser sometimes, especially when she was losing against him. He had a feeling his next question was not going to improve her mood.
"Did you ever have any sexual fantasies about me before this school year?"
"That's-that's not a fair question," she sputtered, her cheeks turning pink.
"We agreed that all questions were fair game, Hermione," Draco said firmly. "You can't change the rules as you go along, as much as I admire your Slytherin-like attempt to do so. Just answer the question...and remember you have to answer truthfully."
Hermione grew increasingly flustered, which pretty much answered the question for him, but Draco wanted to hear her say it out loud. Sometimes it amazed him how he still got so much pleasure out of annoying her. Of course, not as much pleasure as he got out of partaking in other activities with her.
"Fine!" Hermione huffed. "I had a few fantasies about you towards the end of sixth year - but just a few! And the thought of it disgusted me at the time. Happy?"
"Supremely," Draco said with a wicked grin. "What sort of fantasies?"
"Uh-uh, not telling. You only get one question per piece captured, remember? Since you're being such a stickler for the rules."
She looked at him smugly before returning her attention to the game. Draco rolled his eyes and watched as she studied the chessboard, contemplating her next move. Soon, she was doing that annoying habit again - nibbling on her lower lip in a way that always managed to drive him crazy with desire. He sighed and looked away, distracting himself by taking in his unfamiliar surroundings.
The OWLs and NEWTs were less than two months away, and the library was overrun with students who were rabidly studying for the upcoming exams. Therefore, Hermione had suggested they take their chess game to the Gryffindor common room. At first, Draco had adamantly protested, but finally gave in, deciding it would be a more comfortable setting than the Great Hall. Very few Gryffindors had paid attention to him when he entered the room. It had become quite commonplace for students from different houses to be invited into each other's common rooms these days, and everyone in the school had been made aware of Draco and Hermione's friendship months ago. Therefore, contrary to the reaction he had been expecting, no one threw hexes at him or threatened his life for gracing the Gryffindor common room with his Slytherin presence.
Draco sighed once more, glancing at Hermione out of the corner of his eye. She looked so pretty sitting there with her brow furrowed in concentration, the light from the fireplace shining in her hair. It reminded him of how the firelight had flickered across her face when they spent the night together in the cave.
As always, the memory of the night he and Hermione had spent in the handfasting temple unleashed a slew of conflicting emotions in Draco. Of course longing and desire were foremost in his thoughts, as he recalled the mind-blowing lesson in love-making that Hermione had given him. However, he also experienced feelings of guilt and confusion, as he recalled the declaration she had made that night-a declaration that he had found himself unable to respond to.
When Hermione had told him she loved him, Draco had thought that perhaps he had imagined it. Part of him hoped he had; but another traitorous part of him rejoiced when she said it. However, the joy and warmth that had spread through his entire being at that moment had quickly been replaced with dread. What if Hermione expected him to say it back? To his relief, she had fallen asleep almost immediately afterward, and Draco had been spared the necessity of issuing a reply.
He had lain awake for a long time afterward, thinking about what Hermione had said, and how he should respond to it the following morning, if she brought up the topic again. For hours he stared at the artwork on the walls of the cave, and all of the symbols of love and devotion those images carried. He had stared for so long at the Latin words etched on the back wall of the cave he thought they would be forever emblazoned in his memory: "the circle is open but ever unbroken". Hermione had said the ancient wizards that wrote those words were referring to love, and the fact that you could find it anywhere, if you were willing to let it into your life.
Draco had stared down at Hermione's slumbering face then, wondering if he had indeed found love in the most unlikely of places. He felt so many things when he was with her - happiness and sadness, lust and tenderness, comfort and anxiety, frustration and exhilaration. Alone, none of these emotions were love per se, but when you added them all together, was that love? He certainly cared for her more than he had ever cared for anyone outside of his own family.
And that was when reality - harsh, painful, and inescapable reality - had come crashing down on him once more.
The truth was that Draco could never betray his family. For most of his life, they had been the only people who truly loved and cared for him. They would never understand the affection he felt for the Muggleborn witch sleeping in his arms (yes, Draco could at least admit that he felt a deep affection for Hermione). He didn't know if he was in love with Hermione, but he knew he loved his parents. He knew that after all of the things that they had done for him, after all that they had lost, he could never abandon them - and from their point of view, falling in love with a Muggleborn would be akin to abandonment. He had not abandoned them when he was faced with the terrors of Lord Voldemort, and he would not abandon them now. With this logical but discomforting thought in his head, Draco had finally fallen asleep.
When Hermione had awoken the next morning in the cave, she had been her usual cheerful self, acting as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred the evening before, other than having the most amazing sex that either one of them had experienced in their entire lives. Draco thought that maybe she had forgotten about admitting her love for him. However, in the days that followed, he would sometimes catch her glancing at him with a pensive look on her face, as if she was waiting for him to do something, or to give her some sort of sign.
This thought made Draco frown. He felt guilty about being unable to reciprocate Hermione's declaration of love (Merlin, the death-grip that woman had on his conscience could rival a Devil's Snare), but he tried to assuage his own guilt by telling himself that he had warned her in advance, telling her that he didn't think he could ever love her - or any other woman for that matter. Was it his fault that she hadn't taken his words seriously? Was it his fault that she had chosen to ignore the harsh yet obvious truth that Draco Malfoy was not the sort of man who gave his heart away?
"Draco? DRACO!"
Draco blinked several times, finally noticing that Hermione was shouting his name and waving her hand in front of his face, trying to get his attention.
"Do you have to screech like a banshee?" he muttered. "You're giving me a headache."
"It's not my fault you decided to send your brain out for a holiday," Hermione said with a scowl. "My queen just captured your castle, so it's my turn to ask a question.'
"About time you made your move," Draco grumbled.
"It didn't take me that long."
"Oh please," Draco said with a smirk. "In the amount of time it took for you to take your turn, I could have discovered the meaning of life ten times over - and quite possibly found a cure for cancer, while I was at it."
"Yeah right," she muttered. "Okay, genius, what is the meaning of life then?"
"The meaning of life is to get as much out of it as possible while it lasts...even if you have to cheat, steal, swindle, and lie through your teeth to get it."
"Admirable sentiments," Hermione said, rolling her eyes.
"Family motto," Draco replied with a shrug. "Well, it's actually worded in more formal terms than that, but it's a loose translation of the Malfoy family motto, anyway."
"Why I am not surprised?" she said. "All right, so here's my question. What did you write about in your scholarship essay?"
"Nope, you can only ask me one question per turn."
"But that is my question!"
"No, you asked me what I thought the meaning of life was, remember?" Draco countered, his face spreading into a sly grin.
"That was just rhetorical! You can't count that, it's not fair!"
"Life's not fair, Hermione. My move."
Draco glanced down at the chessboard, trying not to notice how insanely kissable Hermione looked with her cheeks flushed and her lips pursed with anger at his tricky little maneuver. He heard her grumbling under her breath, and caught the words "conniving" and "Slytherin" before he decided to ignore her and focus on his next move.
"Bishop to A-5," he said. "Check."
Hermione groaned as Draco's bishop raised his staff and knocked her queen's head off with it.
"I hate wizard's chess!" she complained as Draco retrieved her decapitated queen from the board. "I'll never get the hang of it."
"You're getting much better," he reassured her. "You just need to improve on your strategy. I always think at least three moves ahead."
Hermione cocked her head to one side and studied him for a few moments.
"And what about us?" she said softly. "Have you figured that out three moves ahead of time?"
"You know I haven't," Draco said in a low voice. "I told you what I have with you isn't a game to me. I know all the legal moves in chess, but there's no rulebook for what happens between you and me. Besides, even if there was, I'm sure we've broken every rule in it by now."
"True," Hermione said, her lips curving into a small smile. "Anyway, I believe you get to ask me another question now."
"Okay, so what fantasies did you have about me in sixth year?"
Draco chuckled as the smile instantly slid off of Hermione's face.
"I hate you," she muttered.
"No you don't. Just answer the question."
She heaved a resigned sigh.
"I used to have fantasies about you cornering me in a broom closet and shagging me against the wall."
"No kidding?" Draco mused, making sure to file that away for future reference. "You know, I fantasized about the same thing myself sometimes."
"Really?" Hermione asked, her embarrassment replaced by her usual curiosity. "But not during sixth year?"
"No, I didn't think of you that way back then," Draco said with a shake of his head.
"So when did you start thinking about me in that way?"
"Sorry, but I believe you have to capture another one of my chess pieces if you want me to answer that question."
Hermione gave an annoyed huff and leaned back in her chair. She didn't have many moves left. Her king was under check, and he was the only remaining piece she had on the board. In a few moves, Draco would have her under checkmate. Hermione did what she could to move her king out of check, but it was useless.
"Knight to B-5," Draco said finally. "Checkmate."
Hermione sighed as her white king dropped his sword at his feet, admitting defeat. Draco stared at her intently instead of giving her the usual triumphant smirk he would flash her upon winning a game.
"My last question," he said. "What do you want to do with your life? After graduation, I mean?"
"Why do you want to know?" she asked, arching one eyebrow in surprise.
Draco shrugged and said, "Just curious."
"I...well, I don't know for sure. I know that I really want to make a difference in the wizarding world. What I want more than anything is to do more to help the house-elves, and perhaps introduce S.P.E.W. to a wider audience."
Draco mentally gave himself a pat on the back for managing not to roll his eyes at this.
"I want to be happy in my career," she continued, staring into the flickering flames of the fireplace. "But it'd also be nice to get married someday and start a family."
He snorted disdainfully in response, and she scowled at him.
"Don't mock me for wanting to be happy, Draco. What's your life's ambition, if you think mine's so insufficient?"
Draco didn't want to tell her the truth, which was he didn't really have one. Malfoy men were expected manage the family fortune, marry a pureblood witch, and make pureblood babies to start the whole cycle over again. His "life's ambition" was already chosen for him, whether he wanted it or not. So instead he smirked at her, putting his hands behind his head and leaning back in his squishy red velvet chair.
"My life's ambition is to top Witch Weekly's list of ‘Most Eligible Bachelors' by the time I turn twenty-five."
Hermione shook her head and groaned, but he noticed the little flicker of lust in her eyes as she took in the sight of his lean, lounging form. He felt his own desire reawaken, and the gears in his cunning, Slytherin mind started to turn, thinking three moves ahead as he had during the chess game.
"I think it's time that we headed down to the Great Hall for dinner, wouldn't you agree?" he asked casually.
"Hmm?" Hermione murmured, sounding a bit distracted. "Oh, yes I suppose."
She helped Draco put his chess set away, which he promptly shrunk with his wand and stowed away in his pocket. Then he led the way out of the Gryffindor common room and out into the corridors, heading in the direction of the Great Hall. Hermione was at his side, hurrying to keep up with his long-legged stride. At one point, he snuck a furtive glance in both directions, noting that the hallway was empty since most of the students were already eating in the Great Hall.
Perfect.
Hermione was rambling on about the NEWT exam...again. That seemed to be all she talked about these days. The exam was two months away and already she was driving Draco crazy with how much time she spent fretting about it. Tonight, however, having her attention focused elsewhere worked to his advantage because when he set his plan into motion, she was caught completely off guard.
"Draco what on earth- !"
Before the words had even left her lips, Draco managed to fling open the door to a broom closet, shove Hermione inside, and shut the door behind them. They were plunged into complete darkness, standing toe to toe in the cramped space. The closet smelled of dust and various cleaning products, but when he stepped closer to Hermione, her delicious floral scent took its place. He reached out in the darkness, wrapping his hands around her hips and tugging her closer to him, diminishing what little space had been between them.
"Draco?" Hermione whispered uncertainly. "What...oh!"
She gasped as his lips found the crook of her neck, and then drifted up to her favorite spot below her right ear, navigating by touch since it was too dark to see. In the darkness, all of Draco's other senses were heightened, so that the taste and scent of her skin were even more alluring than usual. The sound of her breathing was magnified as his hands explored her body, skimming every curve of her figure as if he was reading Braille. Thank Merlin she was wearing a skirt today, he thought to himself, as he began to lift it.
"Wait!" Hermione protested. "Draco what are you doing? We could get caught."
Although they were in the dark, Draco smirked at her. He figured that even if she couldn't see it, she could probably sense his smirk.
"The risk is half the fun. Besides, I do recall you saying this was a particular fantasy of yours?"
"Yes, but a fantasy is a fantasy. You don't necessarily have to act on them."
Draco paused, bending to bring his mouth close to her ear.
"Granger, you've been playing the role of good little Gryffindor for far too long," he said, lowering his voice into that silky, dangerous tone that Hermione never failed to respond to. He grinned when, as expected, she gave a little shiver of anticipation. "When was the last time you actually did break the rules?"
"I broke rules all the time with Harry and Ron - "
"No, that doesn't count," Draco argued, without changing his seductive tone. "Back then you were breaking the rules because you had to, to defeat Voldemort, or save the world, or at the very least, get those two idiots out of trouble."
Hermione stiffened slightly at his last words, but he ignored this and continued speaking, slowly sliding one hand up her thigh and raising her plaid skirt centimeter by centimeter in the process.
"You've never broken the rules because you wanted to, just for the fun of it. When was the last time you did something you felt like doing and didn't give a damn about the consequences?"
He was surprised when Hermione chuckled softly in response.
"Draco, I've been doing that every day for the past month just by being with you."
"Well, then consider that a warm-up for this."
With these words, Draco artfully slid her knickers down her legs and hoisted her up against the wall, using his Quidditch-earned muscles to balance her in one of his arms. He used his free hand to shove the clothes off of the lower half of his own body. He pushed Hermione's skirt up to her waist and stepped forward into the space between her thighs, reveling in the moan of longing this action withdrew from her.
"Brace your feet on the wall behind me," he ordered, his voice husky with desire. "You'll be more comfortable that way, and this closet is just the right width for it."
"How do you know that?" she asked, and he could practically hear the frown in her voice.
"Hermione, do you really want to know the answer to that question?"
"Oh...um, no, actually I don't."
Without further ado, she stretched her legs out to rest her feet on the opposite wall, thereby opening herself up to him further. Draco took the opportunity to reach in between them and stroke her, causing her to let out a loud groan.
"Hmm," he mused, pausing to take his wand out of his pocket. "Think I might have to cast a Silencing Charm on the door. The danger of getting caught does add to the fun, but it would be a bit of a nuisance to have to explain the situation to Professor McGonagall if we actually were caught, and with the Quidditch final next week, I don't have time to serve detention."
Draco cast the charm, and was surprised to hear Hermione start laughing. He scowled, failing not to feel somewhat insulted. As a man with a fair amount of experience in all things carnal, he knew it was generally not a good sign when the woman you were trying to seduce suddenly burst into giggles.
"Granger, this is no laughing matter. What's so funny?"
"I'm sorry," she said, her voice shaking with mirth. "I was just thinking about Professor McGonagall."
Draco was dumbfounded.
"Um...do I want to know why you're thinking about our elderly headmistress while I've got you pinned against the wall with my hands up your skirt?"
"I was just thinking, when Professor McGonagall said that you and I had done so much to ‘improve inter-house relations' at Hogwarts, somehow I don't think this is exactly what she had in mind."
Hermione continued to laugh, and Draco couldn't help but join in, picturing the shock and horror on the headmistress's face if she found out what they were doing in the school at that very moment. Suddenly Hermione, in her breathlessness, leaned forward to brace her hands on Draco's shoulders, accidentally bringing her naked flesh in contact with his. They immediately fell silent, and with a low growl of need, Draco thrust his hips forward to join his body with Hermione's. What happened next was, indeed, no laughing matter.
Screaming, however, was a perfectly acceptable alternative.
The rest of April flew by, and the days grew warmer and longer as spring finally arrived at Hogwarts. Draco and Hermione continued their secret "relationship", finding stolen moments alone in broom closets and quiet corners of the library after all the other students had gone to bed. Sometimes they would steal away to Draco's summer home, where Hermione continued to give Draco lessons in making love. For once, he more than appreciated her "practice makes perfect" mentality. However, they never returned to the handfasting cave, since he was still nervous about what had happened the last time they entered it.
Despite the joy that came with spending so much time with Hermione, other emotions simmered beneath the surface - uncertainty, anxiety, and guilt being the most prominent. Draco could sense that Hermione felt them, too, and that they grew day by day, threatening to eventually boil over. While the secrecy of their trysts had at first been fun and exciting, it was now eating away at them from the inside. Like the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back, he knew that soon, something would have to give.
But secrecy remained a necessity for Draco.
He wished that he had the sort of relationship with his parents where he could be open and honest with them about his feelings for Hermione. However, he had never been able to discuss such things with them before. When Draco turned sixteen, he didn't receive "The Talk" from his parents; instead, his father had decided to go with the "experience-is-the-best-teacher" approach and had taken him to a brothel in Knockturn Alley that catered to wealthy wizards. Draco had never had one of those father-son moments that he heard of other young wizards having, where he could regale Lucius with tales of his romantic conquests and receive a knowing thump on the back and a proud "that-a-boy".
How could he possibly tell his father about Hermione? "Yes, Father, I've been shagging Hermione Granger. You remember her? She's that Muggleborn Gryffindor girl you've wanted to kill on one or two occasions. But don't worry, she's taking a very reliable Contraceptive Potion, so I won't, as you put it, ‘sully the Malfoy bloodline.'"
He had a feeling that having that particular conversation with Lucius would result in less proud, fatherly back-thumping and more Avada Kedavra-ing.
One Sunday in late April, Draco found himself once more plagued with thoughts about how to resolve the issue of his and Hermione's forbidden relationship. The two of them had spent most of their afternoon digging through the library at the Malfoy summer home in Dover, trying to find a book that would describe the nature of the magical jolt they had encountered in the cave a few weekends before. They had spent much of their free time in the previous weeks performing the same search in the Hogwarts library, but with no success. So far, their search at the summer home had been equally fruitless.
At one point, Hermione sighed and closed the massive book she was holding, lugging it over to the nearby row of shelves. She glanced up at Draco and noticed the pensive expression on his face.
"Are you nervous about the match this weekend?" she asked.
Draco shrugged, idly pulling another book off the shelf. He flipped through the table of contents, but found nothing that aided them in their search.
"Not really," he said, replacing the book. "I don't get that nervous about Quidditch to be honest. Especially now that- "
He paused, and Hermione glanced up at him from where she had just sat cross-legged on the floor, opening another ancient tome in her lap.
"Now that what?" she pressed.
"Now that my father isn't able to attend the matches."
"I see."
Draco didn't like the sympathetic look that sprang to Hermione's face.
"It's not what you think," he said. "It's not as if my father gets angry at me if I lose a match. He just gets...disappointed, that's all."
"You hate disappointing him." She said this more as a statement than a question.
"Yes."
"I just don't understand," Hermione said, flipping through the leather-bound book on the history of Dover. "Why are you always so worried about disappointing your parents? If they truly love you, then they should accept you no matter what."
Draco frowned, not liking what she was implying.
"You think that just because my parents supported Voldemort, that they're the sort of people who would be incapable of loving their own son? You know that they betrayed the Dark Lord, putting their own lives at risk for my sake."
Hermione arched an eyebrow at him.
"Yes, but do they tell you they love you?"
"My mother says it often enough. My father..."
Draco sighed. He didn't even know why he was having this conversation with her. Talking about his parents, like having a discussion that involved Muggles, was always going to be a touchy subject between the two of them.
"My father doesn't like to express his emotions in that way," he continued. "He doesn't say how he feels about me, unless it's anger or disappointment. But he's always shown he cares by giving me gifts and attention, and coming to all my Quidditch matches and things like that."
"Yes, but don't you sometimes wish he would tell you he loved you, just so you would know for certain?"
Draco did not respond to Hermione's question. He had a feeling that this conversation was not just about him needing reassurance of his father's love, but also about Hermione wanting reassurance of his. He felt an overwhelming need to change topics.
"Have you found anything yet?" he asked, reaching for another book.
"No," she said, wearily brushing back a few curls that had fallen out of her ponytail. "I think handfasting temples are extremely rare. Only very wealthy wizard families had them, while most families conducted their marriage rituals outdoors. It's also possible that the magic in your family's temple is unique to that cave alone, and, therefore, not described in the literature."
"So we may never find out what that spell was," Draco mused, feeling uneasy about not knowing the answer.
"Maybe not," Hermione said, slamming her book shut. She climbed to her feet, starting to search some of the higher rows for books that she hadn't looked through yet. Draco's mouth went dry as this position caused her jumper to rise upwards, flashing a glimpse of her creamy skin and slender stomach. In a heartbeat, he was at her side, pinning her against the bookshelves. Hermione gasped in surprise.
"Just what do you think you're doing, Draco?" she asked, smiling as he ran his fingers along the smooth expanse of her midriff.
"We're taking a little break," he said, pulling her closer. "We've been sifting through these dusty old books all afternoon."
Draco bent to kiss her, but then hesitated, his lips hovering a few centimeters above hers.
"What's wrong?" she asked him, her smile faltering somewhat.
"It's just...the magic in the cave. It bothers me that we don't know what it is, or what effect it may have had on us."
"Like I said before, I don't feel any different," Hermione reassured him, "and you said you don't feel any different, either. I don't think it caused any long-term effects, if that's what you're worried about."
Draco paused as he tried to think of a way to voice his concerns.
"It's just that, after it happened...after that magical jolt, or whatever it was, that's when you said...I mean that's when you told me...."
"Stop," Hermione said, pressing her hand over his mouth. "Draco, there is no spell in existence that can make someone fall in love, so whatever happened in that cave did not make me fall in love with you. I already loved you before that night...I think I may have loved you for some time before then."
Draco's eyes widened in surprise. Hermione shook her head, gazing up at him with a knowing expression on her face.
"Do you honestly think the only way I could fall in love with you is because some spell forced me to?" she whispered, shifting her hand away from his mouth and using it to brush his hair out of his eyes. "Do you think it's impossible for me to love you of my own free will?"
Draco said nothing, but of course he knew the answer was yes, he wouldn't have thought it possible for Hermione to love him without some form of magical coercion. How could she love him after all of the things he had done in the past? How could she love a former Death Eater whose family had, on numerous occasions, threatened the lives of both her and her friends? Part of him was relieved to learn that she loved him of her own free will, but another part of him was terrified by this fact. If she loved him because of a spell the handfasting temple had inflicted upon her, then they could find a way to reverse the magic, and release its hold on her; but if the love she felt for him was real....
You need to stop this, he told himself. She's already fallen in love with you, and you're starting to get too attached to her. You're going to end up hurting her if you continue down this path. You might even end up hurting yourself. You need to stop and walk away before it's too late....
Hermione interrupted Draco's thoughts by gently pulling his head down so that she could capture his lips with hers. His resigned sigh was lost in the warm depths of her mouth.
Too late, he thought as he kissed her back.
The crowd went wild as Draco angled his broom next to the Ravenclaw Seeker, both of them closing in on the elusive golden snitch. The Slytherins were far enough in the lead that if Draco caught the snitch now, they would not only win this match, but the Quidditch championship as well. He had never tasted that sort of victory before, and he was hungry for it. He let his hunger drive him forward, pushing his Nimbus2001 to its absolute limit. Just three more centimeters... just two more... one more...
"Draco Malfoy has caught the snitch! Slytherin wins the Quidditch championship!"
The announcer's words reverberated in Draco's ears as the tiny snitch fluttered helplessly in his hand. He held it aloft in triumph, proudly leading his teammates in a victory lap around the pitch. The green and silver clad students were in a joyous uproar, beginning to rush out onto the pitch. He flew down to join in the celebrations.
Once Draco's feet hit the ground, he was swarmed by his fellow Slytherins, all eager to offer their congratulations, but his eyes sought the only Gryffindor in the crowd.
Hermione was beaming at him, her eyes full of love and pride. Draco didn't know if it was the determined look on his face that parted the crowd, or whether he had accomplished it by wand-less magic, but a path was cleared between him and Hermione, and suddenly he was standing before her. She opened her mouth, preparing to say something, but whether it was, her congratulations or some witty remark about the Slytherin win, Draco never knew. Because the moment he reached her, he dropped snitch and broomstick to the ground, caught her up in his arms, and kissed her passionately.
The crowd immediately fell silent. Draco was pretty sure he could hear the faint twitter of birds in the distance, that's how quiet the Quidditch pitch became at that moment, despite the hundreds of students clustered around them. Somewhere in a part of his brain that was still functioning properly, he thought he had officially lost his mind, snogging Hermione Granger in front of the entire school, but for the moment, he didn't really give a damn. He was so high on his victory, and the taste and feel of Hermione's lips, that he didn't think anything could ruin this perfect moment.
"My, my, my, I don't think I've ever witnessed a more stirring conclusion to a Quidditch match."
Draco froze, his heart dropping into the region of his toes at the sound of that familiar voice. He pulled away from Hermione, whirling around to face the elegantly dressed woman standing behind him, her blue eyes flashing in a way that made him feel like he was six years old again, caught with his hand stuck in a cookie jar. Only this was much, much worse. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to speak.
"Hello, Mother."
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