DISCLAIMER: Hermione, Severus, Draco and all their friends
belong to JK Rowling, Scholastic Books and everyone else with a copyright.
I'm
just letting them out to play a bit 'til the next book or movie comes out
and
they have to get back to their day jobs.
Chapter 3
Draco shifted silently, wondering exactly how much time had elapsed since he had taken up his position in the shadows to lie in wait. He'd arrived early; he couldn't contain his impatience once he knew that he would finally see her, alone. He'd paced his room for an hour before he could wait no longer and he'd headed out to wait for her.
Where was she?
He sighed softly and shifted again. She should be here any minute if Uncle Severus' copy of the Head Girl's patrol schedule was correct. If it was, there was no chance of her not coming down this corridor. It was on the schedule, and Granger always did exactly what she was supposed to do, exactly on time. He just had to wait a little longer.
Draco knew the minute she stepped foot onto the third floor.
She was still 10 or 12 meters away, but he knew she was there, even if he couldn't see her or hear her yet. Every nerve in his body was attuned to her, every fibre of his being drawn to her, like a plant to the sun, and he could feel her presence. Draco drew in a shaky breath and closed his eyes, firmly shoring up his self control before stepping from the shadows into the flickering torchlight and heading down the corridor.
He heard her soft footfalls first. His eyes searched for her greedily; he could feel her, hear her, and he wanted, needed to see her. When she came around the corner into sight he stopped, momentarily unable to breathe. His eyes devoured her, moving over her possessively, lingering over the feminine curves barely visible beneath her school robe. He watched her move towards him slowly, his heart beating in time to the soft sway of her hips.
"Malfoy?" Her voice was soft in the deserted half light of the corridor.
He forced air into his lungs, not sure if his sudden light headedness was due to lack of oxygen or finally being near her. "Granger." His voice was low and rough, filled with the need and hunger that burned in him.
She was the one, the only one, a part of him, and everything in him cried out to touch her, taste her, join with her and never let her go. She was so close, it would be so easy to bury his hands in all that wild hair, to cover her lush lips with his, to draw that soft body against his and make her feel the same aching, desperate need for him that he felt for her. His hands curled into fists as he fought the overwhelming desire to reach for her, barely noticing when his nails bit into the skin of his palms, drawing blood.
"Malfoy? Is everything all right?"she asked, uncertainly. She stepped closer, trying to get a better look at his face and he breathed deeply, drinking in her scent.
"Everything's fine, Granger - thanks for asking." He forced his voice into some semblance of its usual arrogance.
"You aren't supposed to be here, Malfoy." Her tone was prissy and scolding. He suddenly wanted nothing more in the world than to make it up to her; he wondered what her reaction would be if he offered to lick her from head to toe, or to slide his fingers into her wet silken heat and stroke her until she shattered. "Malfoy? Are you sure you're okay?"
"I told you, Granger, I'm fine." He took a deep, steadying breath and took a deliberate step away from her, stifling a groan as his erection shifted and throbbed. He'd never been this hard, ached so much for release, and she hadn't even touched him.
Granger scowled. "Well, so sorry I asked. There's no need to be a git, Malfoy. Of course, you wouldn't know how to be anything else, would you?"
His eyes searched hers. "Is that really what you think? That I'm the same arrogant little prat I was a few years ago?"
She looked taken aback for a moment before regarding him through narrowed her eyes. "Aren't you? Look at all the terrible things you say to poor Harry and Ron, all the awful names you call them!"
He rolled his eyes in response. "And what about the 'terrible things' Potter and Weasley say to me?"
She snorted delicately and tossed her head. "It takes two to tango, Malfoy!"
"True, Granger, but someone has to ask for the dance. I think, if you pay a bit more attention, you'll find that Potter and Weasley are the ones filling my dance card, not the other way around." He watched her consider his statement, her small white teeth worrying her bottom lip, and was suddenly desperate to find out what they would feel like doing that to his skin.
It was time to go before he did anything he would regret later. "If you'll excuse me, I'm on an errand for Professor Snape and I don't think he would appreciate being kept waiting."
He swept past her, deliberately brushing her body with his, smiling at her sharp intake of breath. "Good night, Granger. Sweet Dreams." He threw his farewell over his shoulder, not daring to look at her.
*********************************
Hermione stood and stared after him. What the hell just happened? She'd just had a civil conversation with Malfoy. Well, she was pretty sure it was Malfoy. He'd looked like Malfoy, and he'd smelled like Malfoy (she avoided thinking about how she knew exactly what Draco Malfoy smelled like) but the way he'd looked at her...
She shivered at the memory of the look in his grey eyes when he looked at her. There was hunger there, and need. There had been something almost predatory about him tonight and it had touched some deep, primitive, very female part of her she hadn't known existed before. For a moment all she'd wanted was to throw herself in his arms, to feel her body yield to his, to let him take anything and everything she had to give
Hermione shook her head and started back down the corridor toward the stairs. It was late and she was tired and it was making her imagine things. That was the only explanation.
Chapter 3
Draco shifted silently, wondering exactly how much time had elapsed since he had taken up his position in the shadows to lie in wait. He'd arrived early; he couldn't contain his impatience once he knew that he would finally see her, alone. He'd paced his room for an hour before he could wait no longer and he'd headed out to wait for her.
Where was she?
He sighed softly and shifted again. She should be here any minute if Uncle Severus' copy of the Head Girl's patrol schedule was correct. If it was, there was no chance of her not coming down this corridor. It was on the schedule, and Granger always did exactly what she was supposed to do, exactly on time. He just had to wait a little longer.
Draco knew the minute she stepped foot onto the third floor.
She was still 10 or 12 meters away, but he knew she was there, even if he couldn't see her or hear her yet. Every nerve in his body was attuned to her, every fibre of his being drawn to her, like a plant to the sun, and he could feel her presence. Draco drew in a shaky breath and closed his eyes, firmly shoring up his self control before stepping from the shadows into the flickering torchlight and heading down the corridor.
He heard her soft footfalls first. His eyes searched for her greedily; he could feel her, hear her, and he wanted, needed to see her. When she came around the corner into sight he stopped, momentarily unable to breathe. His eyes devoured her, moving over her possessively, lingering over the feminine curves barely visible beneath her school robe. He watched her move towards him slowly, his heart beating in time to the soft sway of her hips.
"Malfoy?" Her voice was soft in the deserted half light of the corridor.
He forced air into his lungs, not sure if his sudden light headedness was due to lack of oxygen or finally being near her. "Granger." His voice was low and rough, filled with the need and hunger that burned in him.
She was the one, the only one, a part of him, and everything in him cried out to touch her, taste her, join with her and never let her go. She was so close, it would be so easy to bury his hands in all that wild hair, to cover her lush lips with his, to draw that soft body against his and make her feel the same aching, desperate need for him that he felt for her. His hands curled into fists as he fought the overwhelming desire to reach for her, barely noticing when his nails bit into the skin of his palms, drawing blood.
"Malfoy? Is everything all right?"she asked, uncertainly. She stepped closer, trying to get a better look at his face and he breathed deeply, drinking in her scent.
"Everything's fine, Granger - thanks for asking." He forced his voice into some semblance of its usual arrogance.
"You aren't supposed to be here, Malfoy." Her tone was prissy and scolding. He suddenly wanted nothing more in the world than to make it up to her; he wondered what her reaction would be if he offered to lick her from head to toe, or to slide his fingers into her wet silken heat and stroke her until she shattered. "Malfoy? Are you sure you're okay?"
"I told you, Granger, I'm fine." He took a deep, steadying breath and took a deliberate step away from her, stifling a groan as his erection shifted and throbbed. He'd never been this hard, ached so much for release, and she hadn't even touched him.
Granger scowled. "Well, so sorry I asked. There's no need to be a git, Malfoy. Of course, you wouldn't know how to be anything else, would you?"
His eyes searched hers. "Is that really what you think? That I'm the same arrogant little prat I was a few years ago?"
She looked taken aback for a moment before regarding him through narrowed her eyes. "Aren't you? Look at all the terrible things you say to poor Harry and Ron, all the awful names you call them!"
He rolled his eyes in response. "And what about the 'terrible things' Potter and Weasley say to me?"
She snorted delicately and tossed her head. "It takes two to tango, Malfoy!"
"True, Granger, but someone has to ask for the dance. I think, if you pay a bit more attention, you'll find that Potter and Weasley are the ones filling my dance card, not the other way around." He watched her consider his statement, her small white teeth worrying her bottom lip, and was suddenly desperate to find out what they would feel like doing that to his skin.
It was time to go before he did anything he would regret later. "If you'll excuse me, I'm on an errand for Professor Snape and I don't think he would appreciate being kept waiting."
He swept past her, deliberately brushing her body with his, smiling at her sharp intake of breath. "Good night, Granger. Sweet Dreams." He threw his farewell over his shoulder, not daring to look at her.
*********************************
Hermione stood and stared after him. What the hell just happened? She'd just had a civil conversation with Malfoy. Well, she was pretty sure it was Malfoy. He'd looked like Malfoy, and he'd smelled like Malfoy (she avoided thinking about how she knew exactly what Draco Malfoy smelled like) but the way he'd looked at her...
She shivered at the memory of the look in his grey eyes when he looked at her. There was hunger there, and need. There had been something almost predatory about him tonight and it had touched some deep, primitive, very female part of her she hadn't known existed before. For a moment all she'd wanted was to throw herself in his arms, to feel her body yield to his, to let him take anything and everything she had to give
Hermione shook her head and started back down the corridor toward the stairs. It was late and she was tired and it was making her imagine things. That was the only explanation.