Disclaimer: This story belongs to J.K. Rowling. Or whatever.
At a very late hour, when the moon was high in the sky casting dark shadows over the earth, a tall boy with flame-red hair slept deeply in his bed. His sleep was so deep, in fact, that he did not awaken when a quiet tapping began to sound at his small window. The tapping grew a little louder, and the boy shifted on his pillow slightly. Then the tapping stopped, and there was silence for a moment. Then came two rapid knocks on the glass. The boy shot up into a sitting position. He looked around his room, his hand coming up to push the hair out of his eyes. He heard a small series of taps across the room, and his eyes shot to the window. He gave a violent start when he saw a pale face looking in at him. Then his eyes widened in recognition.
"Harry…" he whispered.
Hermione pushed her empty bowl away and sat back in her chair. She thought back over the day's events, wondering how she could have ended up in such a drastically different situation over such a short period of time. Just yesterday she was at Grimmauld Place with Harry and Ron, taking care of a weak and wounded boy whom she loathed. Now she was in a strange cabin in a strange forest, running from Death Eaters, sitting across from a physically recovered Malfoy who had saved her life several times and kissed her. Twice. Passionately.
Her mind reeled at the thought of it. She was utterly exhausted, and her head still hurt. She looked across at Malfoy, who was still eating. After their earlier conversation, he had become moody and quiet.
"I'm going to take a shower," she said.
"Thanks for the update," he replied sarcastically.
She narrowed her eyes. "You know, you don't have to be so rude. Just because—"
She stopped.
"Just because what, Granger?" he asked, his own eyes narrowing and locking onto hers.
Just because I slapped you and hurt your pride doesn't give you the right to treat me like crap.
"Just because you're in a bad mood doesn't mean you should take it out on me."
"Who says I'm in a bad mood?"
"Why wouldn't you be?"
He pushed his bowl away and stared across at her harshly. "Yes, why wouldn't I be? Shall we go over the reasons why I should be in a bad mood? Most of them revolving around your own stupidity…"
"Excuse me?"
"What, you doubt that?"
"You could hardly say that this whole situation is my fault," she said indignantly.
"Oh, couldn't I? If we really wanted to get down to it… I could say that you're the one who decided to run after Harry in the middle of the night—"
"You didn't have to follow me—"
"—and you're the one who Apparated me to this piece-of-shit forest, and YOU decided to open your stupid mouth when the Death Eaters were watching for us."
"I didn't know they were there!"
"Use your fucking common sense."
Hermione slid back her chair and stood up. "You're horrible," she said.
She walked quickly into the bedroom and slammed the door. He was horrible. How dare he try to make her feel guilty like that! Like it was all her fault that they were in this situation. Of course she had followed Harry! He was one of her best friends, like family. She couldn't have just let him go off on his own. And besides, it wasn't her fault Malfoy had chased her outside. It's not like she wanted to Apparate him. He had an iron grip on her hand!
Use your fucking common sense.
His words still stung in her mind. Somehow, he had the ability to make her feel like an idiot child.She was so angry, tears sprang to her eyes. She wanted to walk back out there and slap Malfoy across the face. How dare he make her feel like this! Like everything was her fault. She wiped the tears out of her eyes quickly, but more followed. She tried to ignore the feeling of pressure building up in her chest as she searched for a towel and some extra clothes in the drawers of the dresser. She did not want to cry anymore. It was pointless. But she couldn't stop now.
Through the unwanted stream of tears, she found a towel and a suitable outfit to sleep in. Then she went into the bathroom and slammed the door behind her.
Draco listened to the faint but steady flow of water from the showerhead in the bathroom. He remained in his seat at the table, silently stewing in anger. She acted like she'd done nothing wrong! But he had every right in the world to be furious with her. He would be halfway across the world right now if not for her. He could have escaped. Escaped his old life, escaped her. If she hadn't gone chasing after Potter.
If you hadn't gone chasing after HER, contradicted a rebellious portion of his thoughts.
Oh, what was I supposed to do? Let her run out in the middle of the night and be captured by Death Eaters?
Yes. That's what the old Draco would have done.
He had no response to that. The angry little voice was right. The old Draco would happily have let Hermione Granger die at the hands of the Death Eaters.
And the old Draco wouldn't have kissed her, piped the angry little voice.
Oh, sod off, thought Draco.
He shook his head to rid himself of these thoughts and stood up from the table. Granger was taking an awfully long time in the shower. Which created a problem, because he too wanted to take a shower sometime in the next century or so. He paced around the living room, his already limited store of patience stretching thinner by the second. Five more minutes passed. He strode up to the bedroom door and banged loudly on it with his fist.
"How long do you plan to take in there?" he called in as rude a tone as he could manage.
He heard the water shut off, but there was no response.
Fine. Five more minutes. Then I'm breaking down the door.
He sat on the couch and waited. Five minutes passed. Still no sign of her. He stood up and banged on the bedroom door.
"Hurry up!" he called.
No response.
"I'm coming in!"
He opened the bedroom door and stepped inside. The dresser drawers were flung open and he could see light under the crack of the bathroom door. He walked over and knocked loudly on the door.
"Would you hurry up?" he called.
He heard movement inside, but no response.
"Granger!" he yelled angrily.
Still nothing.
"MUDBLOOD!" he bellowed into the door.
The door flew open inwardly and there stood an extremely pissed-off looking Hermione Granger. She was wearing some sort of large, gray muggle shirt that came down to her knees. Her hair was wet and there was something floppy and white stuck to the side of her head.
"Go away and leave me alone!" she yelled at him.
She went to slam the door, but he caught it and pressed it open, taking a step inside. She stepped back against the sink and glared daggers up at him. He looked down at her and fought off the sudden urge to laugh. He realized that the white, floppy thing was a bandage stuck halfway on and halfway off the side of her head.
"Having difficulties?" he asked, the hint of a smirk breaking through on his mouth.
"I hate you," she hissed, shoving past him and stomping barefoot through the bedroom and out into the living room.
He watched her go, and saw her yank the uncooperative bandage from her hair. Though she was a mess, he felt a sudden wave of…attraction for her. There was something in the way she moved when she was angry, and how she seemed so small in that huge shirt.
He followed her out into the main room. She was standing next to the table, fiddling with the bandage. She obviously had no idea what she was doing.
"If you need help," he began tauntingly, "all you have to do is ask."
If fury could be transformed into flame, the look she gave him would have set his smirk on fire.
"I don't need your help, and I don't want your help, you stupid…stupid—"
"Stupid what?" he asked.
"Leave me alone!" she yelled, stomping forward.
She went to walk past him, back into the bedroom, and he could see that she was about to rip the bandage in two. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her back.
"You're going to hurt yourself even more," he said.
"Don't touch me!" she exclaimed, trying to yank her wrist back.
He snatched the bandage out of her other hand and released her wrist. He looked at it. It was a thick piece of gauze with a strip of medical tape at two ends.
"Give it back!" she cried, trying to snatch it back from him. "I had to make it myself!"
"I can see that," he said.
She grabbed hold of his shirt collar and tried to reach the bandage, which he held just out of her reach. She really was going to hurt herself even more. He let her go on with that struggle for about five seconds.
"Okay," he said. "Time to calm down."
He tossed the makeshift bandage to the side (eliciting an incredulous gasp from Hermione) and grabbed her hand off of his collar. Her other hand, which came very close to smacking him on the face, was gathered up as well, and he maneuvered both of her (thankfully) small wrists into one hand. His other arm wrapped around her waist (eliciting yet another incredulous gasp), lifted her up bodily, and sat her on top of the table.
"Sit," he said. He let go of her wrists and took a step back. "Stay."
Her expression of disbelief was one of the most rewarding prizes of his life.
He turned and walked away from her, through the bedroom and into the bathroom, where he found the first-aid kit sitting open on the floor. He reached down, picked it up, and began walking back out to the kitchen. He found her standing in the bedroom doorway, her eyes blazing.
"I can't believe you just—"
"Granger," he interrupted. "Really. Let's not be counter-productive here. I put you up there for a reason."
He tucked the kit under his arm and walked towards her. Her eyes widened and she stepped back, but he closed in on her quickly and maneuvered her back towards the table by her upper arms. He placed the kit on the table, then slid his hands down to her hips and lifted her onto it. Startled, she grabbed onto his arms automatically.
"Stop—handling me!" she yelled, smacking him on the chest.
He removed his hands from her hips. "Stop being an idiot."
"I am not—"
"You are. You're being an idiot. I'm trying to help you and you won't let me."
He opened the kit and began rifling through it.
"You're not trying to help me, you're trying to make me mad!"
"You call this trying?" he asked, pulling out a roll of gauze. "Now hold still. And move your goddamn hair out of the way."
She stared at him with one of the most fiery glares he had ever seen. He half expected her to just haul back her arm and punch him in the nose.
"Fine," he said. He reached up and pushed the hair away from the right side of her face. He glanced at her expression. She was still glaring at him whole-heartedly, but there seemed to be no protest. He unrolled a short length of gauze and tore it off, setting the roll to the side. Then he folded the piece in half.
"You cleaned it out, right?" he asked.
"Yes, I'm not stupid," she replied. She was still glaring.
He reached up again to move her hair out of the way, but this time he raked it upwards with his fingers, exposing the gash. He held the one hand there against her head and used the other to place the pad of gauze against the wound. He saw her flinch.
"Hold it there," he said.
She complied, reaching up her right hand to press the gauze down against her scalp. Still holding her hair up on the right side, he reached into the kit on the table to her left. He heard her take a short breath at this. He realized he had just brought them into a very close, very intimate position. He froze involuntarily for a moment and then continued what he was doing, looking through the kit. He could feel her eyes on him as he did so. And he could smell her shampoo. It smelled…well, quite nice to be quite honest. They were in very close proximity to one another. He fished out a roll of tape.
"Is this what you tried to use?" he asked.
"Yes," she said. He noticed that her glare had softened somewhat, though it was still there. Glaring.
"Well it's not going to work," he said, tossing it back in the kit. "Your hair is too wet."
"Do you have any better ideas?" she scoffed.
"Yes…" he said, in a tone that communicated, I'm about to make you feel stupid. He grabbed the roll of gauze off the table. "That piece should stick to the wound by itself, and I'm going to wrap a piece of this stuff around your head to keep it there."
"It's called gauze," she said.
"I know what it's called," he countered. Using his right hand (he was becoming more and more aware of the position of his left hand, which was still cradling the side of her head to keep her hair up) he brought the roll of gauze up to her head to begin wrapping it. But she leaned away from him and pushed his hand away.
"You're trying to make me look stupid," she said.
"No," he said. Hepaused and looked at her. "But it wouldn't be that difficult."
The nerve! she thought.
Hermione, who moments before was having a very hard time digesting the sensations of Malfoy's hand holding her head and his body leaning in so close to hers, felt renewed fury at his words. She knocked his arm away from her head and shoved him backwards.
"I'll do it myself," she spat, sliding down from the table.
She snatched the roll of gauze from his hand and walked quickly to the bedroom door. A little too quickly. A wave of dizziness rolled over her very suddenly. She grabbed onto the doorframe, accidentally dropping the roll of gauze. As the floor began to roll in her vision, she gasped and closed her eyes. For a moment, she thought she might faint.
Then she felt an arm go around her waist. And another arm. And a solid body pressed against her. She opened her eyes and saw Malfoy's face peering down at her, all covered in black spots.
She heard faintly, as if from very far away, "You did that on purpose, didn't you?"
Then she closed her eyes again and let her face sink into his chest. He felt very, very good at the moment. Warm. And he smelled good. Their argument slipped from her mind. At one point, she couldn't tell if she was supporting herself on her feet, or if he was holding her up entirely. A long moment later, Hermione lifted her head back up and opened her eyes. The black spots were gone, along with most of the dizziness. There was just Malfoy. Staring at her strangely. He looked kind of…tense, actually. She could see a muscle working in his jaw.
She opened her mouth to say something (she couldn't remember what, afterwards) when he suddenly moved in and pressed her lips closed with his. The portion of her brain responsible for rational thought seemed to go numb for a moment, and her eyes closed automatically. She felt one of his hands as it slid up her back and neck to press against the back of her head, applying even more pressure to the kiss. A strange thrill went up her spine as he parted his lips and began moving them slowly against hers, back and forth, with more and more intensity, until she couldn't breathe anymore. She pulled her head away to gasp in a breath of air, and he let her, but his lips moved immediately down to her neck.
This was an entirely new sensation for her, and she felt every kiss, every burning trail that his mouth made as it traveled lower, down to her collarbone. She felt his hand slide slowly from the back of her head, down the nape her neck, and across her shoulder, where he bunched the fabric of her shirt and pulled it down her arm, exposing more collarbone for his lips to explore.
She could feel her pulse beating rapidly in every vein, and though she had regained her breath, she was light-headed, and her eyelids were heavy. A small part of her was saying, this is wrong. She couldn't ignore it.
"Stop," she said, and it was barely a whisper.
But he heard her. He brought his head up and their eyes met for a moment. He must have seen something favorable in hers, because a moment later, she felt his lips on the opposite side of her neck, working their strange magic again. Her eyes closed of their own accord for a moment, and her hand went up to the back of his head. Still, she heard, this is wrong.
"Malfoy," she said, and it was even more faint. "Stop."
She heard him inhale roughly as he pulled his head away from her neck.
"You don't want me to stop."
His eyes settled directly on hers, and the look they held made something inside of her quiver. There was no challenge, no smirk, none of his usual arrogance. Just a silent intensity, boring into her. She couldn't form a response.
Then his face was coming closer, very quickly, and she felt the warmth of his lips connect with hers. There was no resistance left in her. As he kissed her more and more deeply, opening her lips with his and sliding his tongue in to meet hers, she felt the tension go out of her body and mind, and certain images began surfacing behind her closed eyes. She remembered the first time she helped him down the hallway at Grimmauld Place, the mixture of pain and stiff pride in his face; when he walked out of the bathroom in his normal clothes for the first time, looking like the real, powerful Draco Malfoy she remembered; the slightly confused expression he wore inside the tree, right after they had kissed, when he was fastening his robes around her shoulders for warmth; the sight of him stepping around the bend in the cave, just as she had given up all hope of him returning to her. He was so deeply entrenched in her thoughts, in her mind, and she hadn't given it due thought until this moment. Her world had revolved around him constantly for the past week, like a satellite in orbit, and now the gravity was just too strong. She was crashing down.
She couldn't explain any of it, and she didn't want to at the moment. And while that one voice could still be heard saying, this is wrong, there was something else inside of her screaming that it was more right than anything she had ever felt before.
Draco felt her give in to him as he started kissing her again. She was so soft all over, radiating such warmth, that it was hard for him to keep a clear head. But what good would a clear head do him now? He had already lost all control over the situation by kissing her in the first place.
As much as he wanted her. As strong as the pull was. No matter the situation. He was not going to make another move on her.
Oh, he remembered well. His anger at her, his bitter resolution to stay away from her. Not that it mattered anymore. He didn't care. She was there, and she obviously wanted to be, and he was kissing her, and…the rest could go to hell.
His arms were wrapped full-circle around her back, holding her in as close as was physically possible (without resulting in any injuries to either party). He felt her hands clinging tightly to the back of his neck, and her chest rising and falling with each quick breath she took. Down lower, he felt her legs shaking, and he realized they probably weren't going to hold out too much longer.
Sliding one hand down her side to grasp her hip, he tugged her backwards towards him and maneuvered her over to the couch, never parting their mouths in the process. When the back of her legs met the bottom of the couch, she sat backwards in surprise, and he guided her onto the seat. He pulled himself away for a moment to look down at her. Her lips were red and her eyes were dark and wide. He immediately closed the space between them, catching her lips with his and lowering himself onto one knee beside her leg on the couch. He kissed her like this for a moment, her head tilted onto the back of the couch, before taking hold of her shoulders and lowering her down sideways, onto her back. He heard (or rather, felt) a little sound die in the back of her throat as her head met the cushion. He slid his hand once again down to her hip, which was quickly becoming one of his favorite parts of her body. The hem of that large, shapeless shirt was edging further and further up her leg, and his brain crackled at the prospect.
Or maybe it was the room that crackled.
"My apologies," sounded a deep voice from across the room.
A/N:
Okay, I had a long author's note written out, but screw it, I'll make this short. I know this was a really slow update, and I apologize. I'm trying to make time for writing. (I GOT one of those silly job things.) Not much happened in this chapter as far as plot, but I didn't want to make you wait another week or two while I wrote the next little scene. (Yes, it takes me that long.)
Please note: your reviews leave me in a state of overwhelming glee. For this I thank you. With that in mind, REVIEW. Let me in on your thoughts concerning my story, I am always so interested to read them.