Magnetic Attraction - Chapter Nine

0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0

Chapter 9: Remembering

Draco woke up on Sunday morning thinking today was any other day. The sun was streaming through the windows, his hair was ruffled lightly, and there was a girl in bed next to him. He must have had a good night, but he didn’t really remember, he was still half asleep.

But looking down at the girl whose face was pressed against his stomach, he saw a fan of brown hair spreading across the red comforter. Red comforter? Brown bushy hair? Hermione stirred as he looked down at her, bewildered. She turned over to look up at him, her eyes still glazed.

“Morning Draco,” she whispered softly, her voice slightly gravely from sleep.

“What the hell am I doing in here, Granger?” he hissed, his eyes narrowed. She raised her eyebrows.

“Excuse me?”

“How’d you trick me in here?” He shook his head back and forth, “You know what? It doesn’t matter. I’ll just go back to my room and we’ll pretend nothing ever happened.” Draco shoved the covers off them and nudged her head off his chest, before sliding out of the bed. He barely made it to the door before the attraction made it self known and they both were dragged back toward each other. She landed on her back on the carpet while he stumbled backwards before doing the same. They landed side by side as she grabbed his elbow. She sat up and glared at him.

“What are you, stupid? Did you just magically forget about the past three days?” With a groan he remembered, his cheeks turning pink.

“Sorry.” Hermione rolled her eyes and leant her back against the side of the bed. He slid his hand down to hers and sat up, crossing his legs. “I guess it just, you know, slipped my mind.”

“Do you just assume that ever girl wants to have sex with you, Draco? You open your eyes and see you’re not alone and you just assume something happened?” she spat, causing him to cringe.

“No! I just want this to be over so much that I just wrote up in denial!” he fired back. A hurt expression marred her face. That wasn’t what he’d meant to say. “Wait, that came out wrong!”

“No, that’s just fine Malfoy. I understand,” she answered curtly, averting her eyes. Hermione stood up, still holding his hand.

“No you don’t understand Mya!” he yelled, pulling her back to him as she attempted to walk away. He got to his feet and looked down at her pleadingly as she glared defiantly up at him.

“What don’t I understand Malfoy?” He faltered slightly, getting lost in her frustrated eyes. “Explain it to me!”

“You don’t understand that I want the attraction to be over, not you. I don’t want to lose you.” He raised his hand to touch her cheek and let it slide down to her neck. “You shouldn’t accuse me of jumping to conclusions.” Hermione’s face softened noticeably. A small smile crept across her face and she suddenly pulled him into a tight hug, resting her head on his shoulder. He didn’t resist and slid his arms around her waist, letting out a sigh of relief.

“Oh, I’m sorry Draco. This is just really stressful and I panicked,” she told him, thankfully not crying. He smelled the top of her head automatically. Apparently she had found a way to alter the scorgify charm to make it perfumed. She smelled like summer.

Ha ha, you’ve got it bad, his conscience observed as he protectively pulled her closer, aided by the attraction which wanted as little space between them as possible. You’re turning into a lovesick Hufflepuff! ‘I don’t want to lose you!’ That’s kind of an understatement, don’t you think? He ignored he little voice to the best of his ability.

“Don’t worry about it, Mya. What would you like to do on the last day of the weekend, hm? Anything you want.” He relinquished his grip on her and she stepped back, holding his hand. With a nervous glance at the floor, she asked,

“Can we go fix up the Shrieking Shack like I asked yesterday?” He grinned.

“Riiiiiight. Yeah, I’ll just go and ask the Bloody Barron if he has any spare wallpaper.” She giggled lightly as he smirked.

“No, but seriously! I really want to!” His smirk faded into a perplexed smile.

“Should I stand here like an idiot and wait for you to explain why?” He asked softly as she bit her lip.

“Ok, what I’m about to tell you probably contains nothing you don’t already know, but promise me it goes straight in the vault, right?” He nodded. “Do you remember Professor Lupin?” He looked up in thought as if tracing through all of his past professors.

“Third year, right? The werewolf?” He finally asked, wondering what he had to do with the decrepit house. She stiffened slightly.

“Yeah. Well, he went to Hogwarts as well when he was younger, and every full moon he snuck through a secret passage and into the Shrieking Shack to transform.” Clearly things were beginning to click in his head. “The spirits people heard were just Remus during his transformation.” He nodded, and then gradually began to smirk. “What?”

“I just remembered something Snape told me about his school days. He didn’t mention names but he said he got bitten. It was some dumb ass prank of Sirius’.” He raised an eyebrow, his smirk fading.

“And by Sirius I assume you’re referring to Sirius Black?” She nodded. “Well that explains a lot, Snape always hated him.”

“The feeling was mutual. Anyway, I’ve always wanted to fix up the shack as a memorial to Sirius and his friends. Remus would really appreciate it.” He shrugged, before yawning wildly and stretching his arms above his head, pulling her arm up with him. She didn’t object, as she was painfully reminded that Draco was shirtless. Her reluctance to look at him while he was half naked did not go unnoticed, and he took a tiny step towards her. Predictably, she shuffled backwards, looking determined away from him. Needless to say, he found it remarkably amusing. Draco took another step, as did she in he opposite direction.

“Mya, if you don’t feel comfortable with me now, how are we going to spend our lives together, if a cure isn’t found that is?” He drawled with only a hint of humor. She jerked her head up, surprised.

“I’m comforta- oof!” He’d backed her into the wall. She took a deep breath, doing her best to retain her dignity, even though she was in a fairly compromising situation. Thrusting out her chin, she said, “I am comfortable with you.” Although his judgment screamed for him not to, his thirst for her grew as she blinked up at him.

“Is that so?” She nodded. “Would you still be comfortable if I do this?” His voice was slow and almost teasing, but sent shivers down her spine all the same as he took his free hand and rested it on her shoulder, his thumb sliding under her spaghetti strap. Then, knowing it would make her melt, he released the hand he was holding and placed his palm protectively on her hip. Predictably, she began to lean on the wall, sighing in comfort. “What if I do this?” he asked seductively as he slid his thumb just under the edge of her tank top, stroking her skin. Grinning with satisfaction, he stepped a little closer, so that his foot rested on the inside of hers. “Are you still comfortable?” She didn’t answer, her eyes drifting closed. He gently slid his hand up the back of her shirt until it rested on her lower back above her bra. Then, ever so slowly to draw it out, he lowered his lips to her neck, nipping at her skin. “I won’t hurt you,” he whispered into her ear, the side of his head pressed against hers. “Just tell me when you aren’t comfortable.”

It had been a long time since he had messed around with Pansy, and even then that had been powered solely by lust, so now it was all he could do not to leap on Hermione now. Her staggered breathing reminded him that this was all painfully new for her, and that he must take it slowly, so as not to frighten her. For once it was strangely more satisfying to hear her enjoying herself than to be panting himself. That made it easier for him to settle with just sucking lovingly on her neck. Draco began to drift his kisses upwards as his hand strayed further down, his lips toughing her ear, then her cheek, then her jaw, before finally catching hers. She didn’t fight him off, allowing him to take the lead. His hand stopped to rest on the waistband of her shorts, though he made no move to do anything further to them. The attraction pushed him closer to her, shoving her lightly against the wall. Draco had only one thought, take it slowly.

He reluctantly pulled his head away, leaving her breathless and shocked, eyes still closed. “Is this okay?” She nodded as he moved his hand palm down on her stomach, pressing it gently on her skin. Hermione shuddered. See, this was fun. And yet serious. Draco had never done anything like this before, deliberate, hesitant, and meaningful. He couldn’t screw this up, he wouldn’t. Though he wasn’t sure what had actually happened between Hermione and Cedric Diggory, but he was sure that she was about as pure as fresh driven snow, and that she hadn’t been touched or kissed like this for years, if ever.

She wasn’t frozen now, he became aware, and she was timidly pressing her own hand against his bare chest, not to push him away but to steady herself. He grinned, sliding his tongue cleanly into her mouth. He’d had enough of self-loathing lately; he wouldn’t restrict himself from having fun. Here he was, free from his father, free from the dark lord, on a Sunday morning, snogging the girl he loved. “Don’t let others steal your happiness, Draco. We Malfoys do what we like, so never let anyone restrict you,” his mother had told him once. He adored his mother, and had never done otherwise. Sure, the quote had a sinister undertone, but what else would you expect from the wife of Lucius Malfoy?

He snaked his hand further up the front of her shirt, making her breathing hitch. Knowing it was the gentlemanly thing to do, he mumbled against her lips, “Just tell me when to stop.” She just pulled him back down to kiss him feverishly. Their eyes stayed closed, Draco’s out of bliss, hers out of reluctance to meet those gray eyes, so painfully familiar. Just forget about Cedric, she begged herself. Move on, be with Draco! But at the same time there was Dumbledore’s voice, “Remember Cedric. Remember what happened to a boy who was good, and kind, and brave, because he strayed across the path of Lord Voldemort. Remember Cedric Diggory.” She had to, if she didn’t no one else would. To most he was a statistic or just another fallen hero, popular and smart and respectful. But no one would really remember who he was, how startling his gray eyes looked when they reflected moonlight, or how he had been five minutes late to the Champion’s tent before the third task.

If she didn’t, who else would? No one. She was forced to carry his memory, since she was the only one who really knew him. She knew him better than Cho had; she had been his confidant, his best friend. They had never mentioned the tournament, except for that one time, that one night. Their friendship wasn’t about the tournament; it was about trust and support. And now Draco was sliding into the role of her support, just like how Cedric had replaced Ron and Harry. Hermione didn’t know what she was doing, her fingers were in his hair, his hand was rising up under her shirt. As it reached the fabric edge of her bra and skimmed the skin underneath, her eyes flew open to see his own gray pupils watching for her reaction.

“Stop,” she whispered softly, her voice ragged as she remembered those gray eyes staring blankly upward. His face had been frozen in shock and confusion, his skin paper white and his eyelids not blinking.

“If anything happens to me in that maze, promise me you’ll move on,” he’d begged her, his face serious and stony. She’d smiled and took his larger hand in her own.

“Don’t say that, nothing’s going to happen to you,” she’d assured him. He hadn’t backed down. He never had.

“Really, Hermione. I mean it. On the teeniest, tiniest chance that I do die today, please go on without me. You shouldn’t spend your life wasting away in that dusty library. You can’t give up like you did on Christmas.”

“You’ve gone pale, May, are you alright?” Draco asked, removing his hand to hold onto her wrist loosely. “I didn’t scare you did I?” She shook her head, looking down. Seeing the sudden melancholy sweeping over her, he drew the right conclusion. “You had another Diggory flashback.” It was a statement, not a question, so she provided no response.

Draco resisted the urge to yell, ‘He’s dead for Merlin’s sake!’ and instead sighed. There were two ways to distract Hermione Granger. Seeing as the first was kissing, he ruled that out. She would start crying. The second wasn’t appealing on a Sunday morning, but he saw no other option.

“Alright Mya, lets just go to the library and find some construction spells for your little shack, eh?”

0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0