CHAPTER 4
“Truce?”
Hermione did the squinty-eyed glare thing at Malfoy that was slowly becoming her trademark look. She didn’t trust him at all, even though for once he wasn’t smirking his damned smirk.
“All right, Malfoy, what are you playing at?” she hissed.
He raised an eyebrow. “I thought I just offered a truce, Granger. Hopefully you know what the word itself constitutes.”
Hermione gritted her teeth angrily. “I know what it constitutes, you arse. I just don’t know what the hell you think you’re doing, offering to make peace with someone you and I both know you so dearly hate.”
“Well, what else did you think I’d offer to make to you other than a temporary peace?” he retorted. “Love?”
Hermione flushed a slight red and watched with abundant irritation as the bastard started smirking again. Clearly, he was enjoying this conversation, argument, dispute, whatever the bloody hell you pleased. She began to pace around the Head Common Room, feeling suspicious and confused about a certain Slytherin lying comfortably on the loveseat.
“Am I to understand, Granger,” Malfoy cut in, “That you don’t want to have a truce? Perhaps you enjoy our little spats, hm? Yes, that would certainly explain it,” he speculated with an air of someone making a great discovery. “You are clearly so smitten with me that you constantly try to catch my attention by starting these fights with me…how very pathetic and heart-wrenching indeed.”
Hermione began to splutter indignantly. “I-I…n-no, of course not, that’s completely…what are you…”
“Interesting,” Malfoy grinned as he got up from the loveseat and walked over to her with all the cunningness and sinuousness of a deadly snake. “What’s wrong, Granger? I’ve never seen you at a loss for words before.”
He began to circle her slowly, and Hermione couldn’t help feeling that she was somehow becoming an easy prey for him, standing as if transfixed by his voice.
She started breathing deeply in an effort to keep calm and tranquil. “I-I don’t know what you’re trying to say or prove, Malfoy, but whatever it is, you’re wrong! I don’t feel anything for you other than a deep and thriving hatred.”
He was at her back now and chuckled softly at her defiant words. Leaning in towards her ear, he softly breathed, “So this doesn’t affect you at all?”
Hermione felt his breath on her neck and then her ear, and desperately tried to squelch the shiver that was threatening to run up and down her spine. She didn’t know how or why she was reacting like this…after all, she hated this boy! She hated him with all her guts and she knew that he felt the exact same way about her. He was just toying with her now; he was just trying to push her into submission like every other girl he’d ever met. Well, she had news for him: Hermione Granger was NOT going to back down.
Malfoy finished circling her and was now standing right in front of her, and unless she wanted to stare into the hollow of his neck, (something that would not go down well, she was sure), she would have to lift her head a little to look at his face. Hermione saw him coolly appraising their six inch height difference, and then to her dismay, watched as he took a step closer so that she would have to incline her head even more.
“Tell me, Granger,” he drawled as he casually ruffled his hair. “Since you’re so obsessed with me and such a fixated bookworm at the same time, I’m sure you must have oodles of notes and records about my stunning physique. So now you’re going to have to tell what you think about my features…ah, let’s see. What do you think about my hair?”
That it looks like the most expensive and softest silk you’d ever find in a market, she thought privately before voicing something completely different. “It looks like someone smashed a peeled banana on a bunch of toothbrush bristles.”
Malfoy snorted lightly before continuing. “All right, Granger. Moving on. What do you think of my nose?”
Straight and regal… “Honestly, Malfoy, I don’t know what to think of your nose. Do you remember your mum ever slamming your face into a door or something?”
“Oh, for Merlin’s sake,” he muttered. “Fine, Granger, say what you like about my nose and hair, but what do you think about my lips?” He gave her a bigger smirk as if trying to show how far his lips could stretch.
Damn, that Linda’s Lip Lover really does work! They’re so soft and smooth-looking…NO, NO, NO, Hermione Jean Granger, you are SO not thinking stuff about his lips! Hermione widened her eyes a little just to give a small element of shock before fake-examining his lips and exclaiming, “Hello! So that’s where the sausages disappeared to from Ron’s plate! Jesus, Malfoy, you ought to get rid of those before Fang sees you and jumps on you to chew your lips off for breakfast!”
She saw him give a slight shudder as the gory image probably passed through his mind, and smiled, satisfied.
But apparently, Malfoy wasn’t done yet, because this time, his face was hard and he grabbed her shoulders and glared at her. “That’s it, Granger. This is one thing you can’t possibly denounce! My eyes!”
The gray whirlpools swirled around as Hermione tried to get her bearings. And although the feeling of his hands clamped down on her shoulders didn’t give her as much grief as it should, she nervously analyzed the irritation gathering in his eyes. But hey, she was Hermione Granger, and as everyone knows, she always wants to have the last word and the final blow.
Your eyes are torrid storms that make me want to stare into them all day and night. “You know what your eyes remind me of, Malfoy? Frozen peas with holes in the middles. Almost like a worm’s tunneled through them or something. And you know what,” she said as she twisted out of his grasp and walked over to the portrait door. “I’m not sure what you wanted me to admit through this question and answer session. As far as I could tell, honest answers don’t seem to please you very much, so maybe this whole discussion was moot anyways, huh? In fact, why don’t you go run off to one of your little whores so she can soothe you and kiss away your bad dreams of Big Bad Granger? Then, when you feel up to it again, you can start fucking her like there’s no tomorrow!”
She walked out and slammed the door on his shocked and livid face, and was just about to walk away when a final thought entered her head. She reopened the door and saw that Malfoy was still standing there with the same expression.
“Oh, and by the way,” she said nonchalantly. “I accept your truce.”
And this time, she winked at him before slamming the door shut.
Draco strode out angrily on the Quidditch field alongside Blaise who was glancing at his friend worriedly.
“Come on, mate,” Blaise cajoled. “You’ve been acting surly all day, and you won’t even tell me what happened. Listen, you can tell me. You know I wouldn’t disclose it to anyone, if you didn’t want me to.”
Draco didn’t say anything at first, and just mounted his Firebolt before shooting off to get a good overview of the playing area and his team. A second later, Blaise was beside him.
“Draco, just –”
His words were cut off by Draco who bellowed down, “Oy, Nott! I see you straggling back there! Get up to your goalposts and stay there like you’re supposed to!”
“Ok, look, can you just –”
“Roberts, the Quaffle goes through the big yellow circles, not underground! Get back to the other side and do the shot again!”
“Honestly mate, not saying anyth –”
“Morris, pick up the pace! I’ve seen butterflies put on more speed than you!”
Blaise sighed in brief defeat before zooming off on his own Firebolt to practice with the other Chasers. Draco watched him leave with his forehead rumpled in aggravation before putting on a burst of speed on his broom in order to get to the glinting gold ball hovering on the other side of the field.
After practice ended, all the players went into the changing room murmuring about the year’s first match just two days away. Draco was sitting on the bench looking over a few diving strategies that he’d felt would be useful, when a little creaking sound to his left announced someone else’s presence.
It was Blaise.
Draco sighed and put the strategy sheets to the side. “Look, Blaise. There’s nothing wrong, all right? I’m just a bit stressed about the match, that’s all.”
Blaise looked skeptical before shrugging and saying, “I don’t know, Draco. Even before a match, you’re not always this mopey, so I’m not sure that this is all just stress. But,” he added after seeing Draco open his mouth to argue some more, “I won’t bother you about it anymore now. Still, if you feel like letting me know, I’m open.”
Blaise got up and left the room with the other guys while Draco sat on the bench thinking. Draco knew that he was being petty and foolish by acting so petulant with everyone, but the reason he was feeling so disagreeable was all Granger’s fault!
I mean, honestly, he thought crossly. How many girls have insulted me like that before? And she fucking slammed the door in my face! Really, who the hell does she think she is? And what the hell was wrong with me as well?! I was circling her and trying to get a satisfactory reaction out of her, but no, Prudish Granger just has to be all stoic and stony and just stand there not doing anything!
But then, Draco remembered seeing her tense for a half-second when he’d whispered into her ear, so perhaps all hope was not lost after all. He didn’t really want to tell Blaise the real reason he was upset: that he had been slighted by the Gryffindork Prude because she didn’t bow down to him like all the other females he’d ever faced.
And what had it been that she’d said? Oh yes, “Why don’t you go run off to one of your little whores so she can soothe you and kiss away your bad dreams of Big Bad Granger? Then, when you feel up to it again, you can start fucking her like there’s no tomorrow!”
How lovely. She was most definitely the epitome of femininity…not .
Draco got to his feet and tossed his shirt on without buttoning it. Not feeling up to much anything else other than a nice long shower, he trudged up to the common room, preparing himself for another fight with Granger.
But she wasn’t there. Then he realized that it was a nice afternoon, and that even people with seemingly no lives would have the sense to stay outside and make the most of it. He glanced out the window and saw them, the Golden Trio, with their trousers rolled up and their legs immersed in the lake water. He watched as Potter and Weasley shared identical mischievous looks on either side of Granger, who was sitting in the middle, before putting their hands on her back and pushing her into the water.
She screamed as the cold water soaked her before reaching up and pulling Weasley and Potter into the water as well. They all began laughing and splashing water on each other, and Draco watched as Granger let her hair loose and tipped her head back to laugh. The sun was setting and as the golden rays shone down through the sparse clouds, her hair was suddenly aflame, almost looking as if there were sparks flying from it. And as she heaved herself back onto the grass and dropped to the ground with her eyes closed, Draco found himself examining her toned arms and legs, and the way her neck curved when she tilted her head.
Suddenly aware of himself, he jumped away from the window and shook his head rapidly as if to rid the memory of what he’d just seen. And then, as the sky became streaked with reds and purples and oranges, he turned his back on the beauty of a sunset, and entered the bathroom to take a long, cold shower.
On the day of the match with Slytherin against Gryffindor, Draco could feel the energy pumping through his veins as he haughtily strode out on the playing field along with the rest of the team. Although the supporters of Slytherin were not as much as compared with Gryffindor’s, Draco knew that when, (not “if”), Slytherin won this match, it would immediately have another fourth of the school groveling at his feet.
And so began a testy match that would have both Draco and Harry struggling to improvise on new tactics and strategies, anything that would get his own team through to the victory. While Draco’s Beaters (Crabbe and Goyle) were surprisingly effective and good, Harry’s weren’t too shabby either as they matched blow for blow from the Slytherin side and forced many formations to break.
Theodore Nott, Slytherin Keeper, was also working hard to guard his posts, and he’d saved about five of the last eight shots from Gryffindor Chaser, the Weaselette. Draco’s Chasers were rushing around trying to find possible openings to free players, and Morris and Roberts had each gotten in two shots each.
But needless to say, it was Draco and Harry who were doing the fanciest and most difficult work of all: chasing after a golden ball that could sit in the palm of your hand while your opponent raced towards it right beside you with murder in his eyes. The two boys swerved and rolled and dove and rose, all to no avail. The damn thing was just too fast.
All of a sudden, the red figure next to him had disappeared, and Draco looked frantically around to see where Potter had gone. Then his eyes landed on scarlet robes fluttering madly in the wind under him, and without hesitating, Draco leaned forward and shot into a full dive towards the sandy ground. Within a few seconds, he was level with the ground and was speeding after the ball with Potter’s outstretched arm right beside him. They both tried to knock each other off track, but just as Draco’s fingers opened to grab the little ball, Potter leapt off of his broom and caught it while falling.
Draco knew what had just happened, but in his fury, didn’t stop going. He pulled the front of his broom up and flew higher and higher, over the trees and the tops of Hogwarts, higher and higher until the sounds of the cheers and screams were lost in the wind.
* * * * * * * * *
After about forty-five minutes of random flying, Draco slowly flew back to the Quidditch field and landed in the middle of it. By then, it had started pouring buckets, and the stands were empty, except for one lone figure. Draco tried to make out the person’s face through the heavy rain, but it was no use. At first, all he could tell was that the figure was female, but it was only until she was directly in front of him did he recognize her.
Granger.
She was drenched as well, and she looked up anxiously at him, taking in his angry and forlorn appearance.
“Malfoy,” she said a little loudly so that he could hear her over the rain. “Malfoy, where have you been? I’ve been looking for you and waiting here for so long! Are-are you all right?”
He didn’t know why he was standing out here in the pouring rain, speaking with someone he supposedly hated, but he was feeling tired and defeated, and didn’t want to face the rest of the school just yet.
“We lost,” he mumbled, his pride fading away into shame.
“I know,” she replied softly. “I was watching.”
Draco felt his shoulders slouch and also felt a single tear escape his eye. He wasn’t exactly sure why he was crying, but he knew that there was some truth to the saying, “The bigger they are, the harder they fall.”
She had seen the tear spill over from his eye, and unconsciously grazed his face with her fingers to wipe it away. The moment she did so, she dropped her hand from his surprised face and whispered, “Sorry.”
Then, Draco did something he’d never done before.
“Hermione.”
She froze for a heartbeat before slowly rotating her head back towards him. Draco stepped forward, and gently lifted her face up to his before whispering her name one more time, and then leaning down and kissing her.
Hermione relented for a second or two before giving in and rising on her tiptoes to wrap her arms around his neck. He responded by putting his arms around her waist and holding her close to him.
They stayed that way long before they realized that it had stopped raining.
Reviews would be nice. Anything you want to say, just blurt it out. I have to tell you though, I’ve never written a sex scene before, so in case you’re holding your breath for it, I just want you to know that it’s gonna come a LOT later if it ever even comes at all. ;)
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