A/N:-P Yep, another story.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.
The last chapter of 'What if' is in the process of being finished; I just need to edit it! Whoo!
Summary : "I'm wearing my Slytherin knickers." "I'll be able to spot that easily during the match."
Granger; she's Malfoy's. This is their forbidden affair.
Chapter One:
The scorching water poured; burning him. He did not care. The intense heat of the water produced steam, filling the entire lavatory. The simple task of showering oneself wasn't so simple, when it involved Draco Malfoy. The intensity of his shower seemed to mirror his current mood. A warm shower meant he was fairly content, happy. A cold shower usually indicated his feelings of frustration, as the temperature of his water plummeted, the frustration intensifies. Scorching hot water revealed his anger. Jealously. Confusion. Annoyance. Hot water released an array of his emotions.
000
She was alarmed by the sounds of running water. He never woke up before eight on Saturdays…
'Unless there's Quidditch match.' Inwardly she groaned at the thought.
The opening match of the Quidditch season. Gryffindor vs. Slytherin; no better way to open the season. The biggest rival teams revealing to one another how much they'd improved... or how much they hadn't improved, over the summer holidays.
The water stopped running.
Hermione Granger's eyes left her book, wandering to the antique muggle clock on her bedside table. She had more or less twenty minutes to ready herself for breakfast. The match being after breakfast, of course.
She was already dressed for the match, clad in simple muggle jeans and a form fitted scarlet top, 'Gryffindors' adorning the front.
'He's upset.' Hermione thought. He always took lengthy showers when he was particularly bothered.
Sighing, she closed her book, gently placing it on her bedside table. Hermione then stood from her bed, heading to the lavatory she shared with the Head Boy.
She entered without knocking, the steam assaulting her as she stepped inside. The Head Girl sighted his outline inside the shower, drying off.
Or avoiding her.
With the flick of her wand, the bothersome mist instantly disappeared. Satisfied, Hermione then studied reflection.
"You're going to the match--" Came his deep, husky voice. It was a statement, not really a question.
Hermione merely gave a slight nod as she retouched the very little make-up she wore. She saw his reflection appear behind hers in the large mirror.
"I suppose you'll be there for them." He continued. Her eyes caught his in the mirror.
'Is this what's bothering him?' Hermione asked herself.
"Don't be ridiculous, you don't know who I attend the matches for."
"But what I do know is whose side you sit on." He spat back.
She spun around to meet his glare.
"Would you rather I sit on your side, Draco? I'm sure your housemates will enjoy being in the presence of a Mudblood Gryffindor."
Malfoy said nothing-- but his actions always spoke volumes. She saw his fist clench tighter on the towel that clung lazily on his waist.
He grunted something incoherent before his mirror image disappeared from Hermione's sight.
Closing her eyes, she slowly exhaled. His levels of maturity... or lack of it, varied. Just as his moods did. She wondered at times how he managed to be elected as Head Boy with his childish outbursts, an example being what just happened in their Heads lavatory.
If he even cared just a little about her, why would he suggest that she sit with those sickening slimy Slytherins?
Finally satisfied with her appearance, Hermione made her way back into her room. It was a chilly November morning, she decided to complement her simple scarlet top with a Gryffindor embellished cloak. She draped it over her arm before heading to the common room she shared with Malfoy.
000
Leant against one of various armchairs in their common room, Malfoy tightly grasped his broom with his left hand; clad in Slytherin Quidditch robes. They couldn't walk to the Great Hall together, but he always waited.
He had his back to her, but Malfoy heard her soft footsteps against the hardwood flooring. Then he felt her occupy the armchair he was propped against.
"If it's any consolation, I'm wearing my Slytherin knickers..." She offered feebly.
Hermione didn't see it, but he smirked.
"I'm sure I'll be able to spot those easily during the match." Malfoy drawled sarcastically.
"Draco--" She began.
Swiftly, he pushed himself off the armchair.
She stood, following as he swaggered to the portrait; he was leaving.
Hermione had expected him to depart without a good-bye--
--she was startled when he abruptly turned around, causing her to collide into his toned chest.
"I guess I'll have to wait until later on tonight to see those knickers of yours." He said in a low, suggestive whisper, placing a short kiss on her forehead.
Before the exchange could continue between the two seventh year Hogwarts students, Malfoy had already made his exit.
000
Several moments before the Head Girl arrived (which was done deliberately), Draco Malfoy had already strutted confidently into the Great Hall.
He took a seat at the Slytherin table, his eyes scanning the Gryffindor table as he did so.
Pothead and Weasel. Malfoy's knuckles went white at the mere sight of them. He observed the two idiots, laughing at something moronic the poverty-stricken redhead had said.
Malfoy's lip curled in disgust.
'How can she voluntarily spend more time than necessary with those oafs?'
Suddenly, Weasley's eyes were clouded with lust, noticing someone enter the Great Hall.
Malfoy's eyes darted to the entrance as well, knowing who it was Weasley was lusting after. The entire bloody school knew... it was a little more than obvious. But she acted as if shewere completely oblivious to this truth, which angered Malfoy even more.
Hermione Granger, Head Girl, pride of the Gryffindor House.
She was breathtakingly beautiful. Standing at 5'6 to Malfoy's 6'3. Thankfully, having matured throughout her years in Hogwarts, she learned to tame what once was a bush on her head-- she called that bush hair. No longer bushy, she styled her hair to cascade in soft ringlets, a little past her shoulder. With her jeans being so annoyingly concealing, Malfoy couldn't enjoy a view of her very shapely legs. Hidden beneath her layers of the mandatory school uniform (which she wore five days out of the week) were curves that drove Malfoy wild- a toned, flat stomach, and humble but satisfying breasts. How she attained the legs and body of a goddess left Malfoy wondering. She was the most lethargic woman he knew- when it came to maintaining her body, exercising. Although he adored her body, he believed the eyes were Hermione's best feature. Her striking hazel eyes. They were so alluring, seductive- she had the ability to do anything, given she used them correctly. She did, after all, capture his hea-
"Gorgeous, isn't she?" Came a remark from beside him.
Blaise Zabini; Malfoy's only trusted housemate and unsurprisingly his best mate since infancy, was eyeing Hermione knowingly.
Zabini did not miss the flicker of panic in Malfoy's eyes before his look 'admiration' directed at Hermione transformed into a glare.
"If you're willing to stoop down to that level of filth, I suppose she's decent." Draco spat with revulsion, lying through his bloody teeth.
"Tsk, the 'ew, mudblood' bullshit doesn't cut it with me anymore, mate." Blaise spoke quietly- he's known Malfoy his entire life, of course it was clear to him when Malfoy blatantly lied to his face.
"We'll talk after the match, Zabini."
(Revised: 03.05.08)
Tada.
What'd you guys think!
Next up : The match, Draco and Blaise's 'talk'.
Review, review, review!
Kristine.