Magnetic Attraction - Chapter Twelve

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Chapter 12: Tormented Contentment

Ginny watched as her brother’s face morphed into disgust and fury during breakfast as he sliced his eggs brutally. She really could have laughed. Apparently, she was no longer the only one to know of Draco and Hermione’s relationship, and it was only a matter of time before Harry would find out as well. Especially if he were to look up from his DADA textbook and see that Draco’s hand was lingering suspiciously on Hermione’s thigh. Ginny rolled her eyes; her boyfriend was so oblivious.

Hermione was thinking the same thing as she deliberately crossed her legs to get her skirt to rise up under Draco’s slender fingers. She suppressed a snicker as Ron glared at his plate. His clueless girlfriend Lavender was trying to talk to her about something pointless, and Hermione nodded politely with no idea what she was agreeing to. Her mind was on Draco and how he had an absolutely perfect poker face. That was part of the reason that only Ron had noticed where the blonde’s hand was so boldly located.

Her eyes flickered to Ginny, who was smirking. There was a chance that she knew as well; she had experience in these matters. Ginny winked at her. Hermione winked back.

Draco was supposedly reviewing his charms essay in his lap, but he was really just staring blankly at it, grinning inside. Take that Weasley! She’s mine now, all mine! He chanted to himself, moving his hand slightly to curl his fingers on the edge of her skirt, knowing Weasley was watching. He inched his hand up her skirt to press his palm on her inner thigh. She squirmed.

“Don’t push it too far,” she scolded in his ear, her face lurking by his several seconds longer than necessary. He didn’t look up, only pinched her skin between his thumb and forefinger. She hissed at him. Ron dropped his fork on his plate and stormed out, furious. When he was safely out of the room, the two of them and Ginny burst out into laughter. Harry looked up from his textbook, still oblivious.

“What’s so funny?” he asked his girlfriend, who shook her head. Draco calmed down fairly quickly and returned to his essay, but didn’t remove his hand from Hermione’s leg.

“Oh my god, did you see his face?” Hermione stammered, cackling maliciously. She earned a glare from Parvati and a shrug from Lavender, who was just as unbothered as Harry. Her breathing hitched as Draco’s hand grazed the edge of her underwear. “Stop it, he’s gone now,” she whispered anxiously in his ear. Without comment he did as he was told and took her hand.

“Good morning Mr. Malfoy, Ms. Granger,” greeted someone behind them. They turned on the bench to see Professor Dumbledore smiling sadly at them. Draco scowled, where as Hermione said happily,

“Good morning professor!”

“Mr. Malfoy, I just wanted to remind you that your mother’s funeral is this Saturday.” The smile on her face disappeared as Draco’s face hardened. “You and Ms. Granger should come to my office that morning and you can take the floo network.” Since Draco seemed to have frozen, Hermione answered for him, nodding her head. Dumbledore swept away, his light yellow robes sticking out like a beacon amid the black school uniforms.

“Let’s go to class, Malfoy,” she mumbled awkwardly, at a loss of what to do. He blinked and nodded, sliding his things back into his bag. Ginny watched as they left side by side, Hermione moving her hand to his lower back, pushing him forward. They were good together, she concluded. And god help Ron if he tried to break them up.

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“The Hate potion was first created in 1324 by Colére Joclousie when he tried to create Amortentia but confused his ingredients. He added Motley Snow snake eggs instead of what?” Hermione asked Draco from behind her potions textbook. Upon receiving no answer, she looked over the top of the spine to see him staring off into space, absentmindedly twirling a strand of his silky hair around his index finger. “Draco?”

“Huh?” he responded. With a sigh she realized his eyes were empty. He was grieving again.

“Never mind,” she said softly, looking back down at her book. “Ashwinder eggs,” she mumbled to herself. Hermione caught him like this occasionally, lost in his thoughts. His face would be blank, giving no sign as to what he was thinking, but it wasn’t hard to guess. No, it was better to leave him alone and let him accept what was happening to him. It would be better for him to mourn in private, rather than in front of the press at Narcissa Malfoy’s funeral.

Hermione cringed. She would have to go of course. The thought wasn’t pleasant, her a muggleborn, an attendant of a fancy pureblood burial? Rita Skeeter would have a field day and the Slytherin families would be disgusted. Sadly, she had to go. Draco would be there to say good-bye to his mother and save face for the public, and she would stand by his side and hold his hand.

Narcissa Malfoy couldn’t have been all bad. She was not a Death Eater like her sister Bellatrix, for when she had been taken in for questioning she had not borne the mark. Andromeda Black had turned out all right, perhaps Narcissa would have been like that had she not married Lucius? Surely she had been a good, loving mother, since once you got to know him her son was a sensitive and caring friend?

“Tell me about her,” Hermione asked as she closed her textbook, her voice gentle. Draco knew who she was talking about but didn’t say anything at first. Ten minutes later, after Hermione had returned to her text, he said,

“She was kind.” He let his words hang in the air as Hermione looked up and studied his face. To the untrained eye, he was unreadable, but she could see the insecurity that he carried his jaw with, and his frequent nervous glances to the floor. “And intelligent. I never had a tutor as a child, my mother taught me all she knew.” He settled back in his chair, careful not to lose contact with her foot under the table. His eyes sparkled as he was caught up in a memory. “And so full of surprises.”

“Like what?”

He began to smile as he responded, “Like I entered her study once during the summer to find her playing an acoustic Muggle guitar. Really well, might I add.” He laughed humorlessly as he added, “I don’t think my father knew either, they had a loveless marriage anyway.” She nodded sympathetically. “She taught me how to play too.”

“Really?” she asked, a little shocked. Draco Malfoy, closet guitar player? “When?”

“Over the summer, when she was in the hospital. She said it soothed her and that if I… If I wanted to survive the war I’d have to stay calm and ground myself somehow.” He looked down at his hands, fidgeting in his chair. Hermione reached out over the desk to clasp his hand. He looked up at her, his eyes showing his appreciation. “She was right, I guess. But I haven’t played since she went into her coma.” Narcissa had been ill for a long time before the final battle and had spent most of the end of Draco’s sixth year at St. Mungo’s.

“You should play, Draco, it would make her happy to know you’re okay,” she advised softly, but he scowled and shook his head, sweeping his hair across his stormy eyes.

“No, it wouldn’t be right. I couldn’t do that.” Knowing it would be pointless to push the subject, she looked back down at the open tome before her.

She’s right you know, his conscience drawled. Cissy always said that to trust someone you have to share everything with her.

I’m not ready, and she could still tell Potter and Weasley, he protested, looking at the girl still holding his hand.

Why would she tell them? She didn’t tell them about Diggory, she told you, it added smugly. She’s one of the only people who you could trust with your life, you could share this with her. He shrugged this off, watching Hermione’s eyes dart across her page.

When she falls in love with me I’ll play for her, he decided, fascinated suddenly by the stubborn strand of slightly curly hair that always came loose from her bun. He reached out and tucked it behind her ear, letting his fingers linger by her cheek. She looked up, surprised, but smiled back at him, before taking his hand again. She gave it a small squeeze before returning to her book. And she will fall in love with me, one of these days.

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Hermione Granger was a bookworm. She read a lot: before she went to sleep, when she woke up, as she ate. Now it’s safe to assume that because of her frequent reading that she got a lot of paper cuts. Of course since she had lived through the final battle she had a high threshold for pain and little paper cuts didn’t bother her much. But, since she had not been in any major pain for several months, getting a paper cut while lying in bed next to the protective Draco Malfoy, completely safe, would come as a shock.

“Damn,” she swore under her breath as she turned over her index finger to see that a shiny, swelling droplet of blood was emerging from her cut. Tears welling in her eyes, she sat up and immediately put the smarting finger in her mouth to suck on it. She closed her eyes and kicked the offending book off the bed, forgetting that her leg crossing over Draco’s was the only thing keeping the attraction at bay. However, she only fell backwards onto the dozing Draco’s chest, her head lightly hitting his chin. He blinked through her bushy hair and moved his hand to her shoulder to push her up. Hermione whimpered.

“What is it?” he mumbled, until he saw her finger in her mouth and the book lying on its pages on the floor. Laughing slightly at her pitiful ailment, he said, “Hermione, it’s just a paper cut. Come on and lie back down.” She opened an eye to glare at him, her eyelid twitching.

“It hurts,” she whined around her finger. Draco rolled his eyes and wrapped his hand around her wrist to pull it away. She let him, but clenched her jaw, scowling at the small cut.

“Look, see? It’s already started to heal itself,” he cooed, pointing to the little clots beginning to form. He moved her hand into his open palm, gently curving his fingers around it. She looked down at their entwined hands wide-eyed, both from the subtle pain and from his careful loving caress. “Want me to heal it for you?”

“No, I’ll get a Band Aid,” she said quietly, reaching for her wand on her bedside table, as he wondered what a Band Aid was. She accioed one from her bathroom while he rubbed his eyes with his free fist. As she wrapped the plastic bandage around her finger he lay back down on his back, and she too put her things on her table before blowing out her candle. She rested her head against his chest and sighed contentedly as his arms wound around her waist.

She didn’t dream of Cedric that night, only of a tall blond who usually held a silver and red guitar and a microphone for some obscure reason. Draco smiled peacefully as he lay awake, listening to her mumble something random. However, his smirk slipped away when she mumbled something along the lines of,

“I hate you.”

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