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Draco wasn’t sure how he’d found himself locked in a broom closet with Hermione Granger, but he was sure his luck was about to run out.
It had started out simple enough. He was supremely annoyed when Theo dragged him from bed and demanded he join him and their friends in the common room. He had been promised a good time, complete with revealed secrets, strong whiskey and if he was lucky- mischief the likes of which Hogwarts had never seen before.
Draco had his doubts.
He’d seen neither hide nor hair of anything promised- save the Firewhisky, and even worse; the Gryffindors had been invited.
Draco didn’t understand Theo‘s obsession with the crimson and gold. He suspected it had something to do with a bespectacled wizard, who thought more highly of himself than Draco did.
There wasn’t anything that Draco wouldn’t give to see that the Dark Lord remained dead, but there were times, in the back of his twisted mind that wondered what an alternate universe would have looked like if it hadn’t been Boy Wonder hadn’t been the one to defeat the darkest wizard this world had ever known. He didn’t care that he’d been a baby. Harry Potter was single-handedly the most annoying, self-important wizard he’d ever met.
And that was saying something.
Draco knew he was lucky, entitled and spoiled, but he had class. He liked to think that he strutted around in a posh, dignified, quiet kind of way. Potter was nearly the opposite, loud, obnoxious and crude- just like his adopted parents, his cousin Sirius and Professor Lupin who taught their Defense classes.
Which brought up a whole other tirade that Draco was sure if he ever breathed the words, “it’s unfair,” his parents might write him out of the Malfoy line.
Not that he’d ever admit it aloud, but Potter was a deft hand at Defense and could begrudgingly admit that Lupin was a fair and considerate professor. He didn’t seem to favor his son, and Draco wished he would just so he could go to Dumbledore with a tangible complaint.
Not that it would stick- he’d tried.
Ultimately, he supposed he should thank the stars he was named after, that he didn’t have to spend the holidays with them. Sirius, having been written off by the Black’s years ago, didn’t seem to push the boundary of familial obligation after the war.
Not that his mother and father tried either.
Draco was curious about his cousin and behind his parent’s back sent owls to Sirius every now and again. He’d gotten to know Sirius fairly well in the last few years, but he’d never received an invitation to visit or for anything farther that the owls. He suspected Potter and Lupin weren’t privy to their correspondence, but he was comfortable where their relationship was for now.
But that was neither here nor there for him, he was sure he’d always despise Harry Potter and wish that someone else had taken his spot.
Like Longbottom, for example.
A revelation in the Prophet years ago that there had been a prophecy that spoke of dual wizards who would bring around the end to Voldemort. It had been chalked up to the trite nonsense opinion of an over-worked, desperate Seer who sought fame and notoriety. It had seemed that she had, but not for the reasons she’d expected.
Sybil Trewlany had been so overcome with despair and fear, that’d she’d stormed the Ministry in a manic craze and been promptly admitted to the Janus Thickey ward of St. Mungo’s. When it had come out after Voldemort’s downfall that it hadn’t been a muggle drug that caused hallucinations, and that the witch had actually been speaking truth, she’d been promptly released and into none other than Albus Dumbledore’s care and given a job as the Divination teacher at Hogwarts.
Many years later, after being kicked off the Board of Governors for even suggesting Trewlany seek employment elsewhere, and for the assorted Death Eater allegations which had been thoroughly researched and suspended, Lucius Malfoy had not gone quietly and still fought with the school and its decision.
“That school of yours, Draco, has gone to the dogs,” his father had remarked over tea one morning in Draco’s fifth year, and he almost agreed, but stopped himself when he realized he didn’t.
She was absolutely bonkers, and a crackpot most of the time, spouting off odd things and making very little sense, but Draco quite liked the teacher. It might have a little something to do with the Outstanding’s he received in her classes, but that was also neither here nor there. He truly liked her. He could trace a finger back the moment he began to revere the woman, and it had been in third year when she’d told Potter that he was going to shit himself at the end of year.
On brand for her, Potter had disproved her Sight once more, but Draco would give every last Knut in his vault to see the look of horror on Potter’s face once more.
At least Neville Longbottom would have taken his rise to fame graciously. Draco didn’t believe for one moment that Neville’s ego would have inflated to such large proportions that it threatened to pop and strutted around with a puffed chest. The poor sod could barely tell the difference between a flobberworm and a blast-ended skrewt, so how he was qualified enough to end a dark wizard in the first place would forever be a mystery.
But Potter, on the other hand, was in one word: insufferable.
Matters were only made worse that every witch and wizard in London revered the boy and took no pains in showering The Boy Who Lived with compliments, thanks and gift. By the time he grew out of nappies, he’d received every honor imaginable and within his first stepping foot on Hogwarts grounds, he’d caught an errant flying snitch the Weasley twins, Fred and George, had managed to let loose as a prank on Filch, the schools caretaker. His reward for flying a broom around the Great Hall? Seeker- as a first year.
That had been the catalyst for year’s worth of resentment for Draco.
So, after being forced from his warm bed and book, to find the Golden Boy in their midst- Draco had been less than pleased.
He turned from the besotted Theo escorting Potter around their damp, muted common room and found Ginny and Ron Weasley in the corner speaking to Blaise and Pansy. It seemed odd how many Slytherin’s were now chummy with Gryffindors, but he couldn’t blame them. Despite their apparent lack of fashion sense and decorum, they were quite enjoyable to be around.
He’d die before he ever admitted it to either of them.
A commotion drew his attention from the four just in time to watch a priceless suit of armor, rumored to have been owned by Salazar Slytherin himself, fall to a crashing heap next to the elaborately carved fireplace. The helmet was the last to hit the marble and he tracked its spinning progress, finding its way into the enchanted fire. Greedy phantom hands lurched from the fiery depths and grasped the helmet, dragging it into the molten center and began to melt down the metal. He spied a small brown, oddly shaped object rolling the opposite direction of the collapsed suit.
“Oh, for the love of Morgana, please tell me that is retrievable.”
Unbidden, chills wracked his spine and gooseflesh erupted over his heating skin. He turned in a half circle to face the quiet, lilting voice that had spoken behind him. He met whisky-colored eyes, deeply set with remorse and fear. He wanted to smooth the furrowed skin between her brows and take her into his arms and soothe the guilt, surely beginning to eat away at her.
He watched her teeth pull her plump bottom lip between them, and he wanted nothing more than to reach for her and replace hers with his own. He’d kiss away her guilt until nothing, but desperate want and longing remained.
But he couldn’t and he never would. So, he shoved his hands into his pockets and dropped his voice low, spitting familiar venom between them.
“Unfortunately, no, Granger, we cannot and now a small piece of our school’s history is now forever ruined and lost to whatever lunacy overcame you to lob a gobstone at a priceless suit of armor.”
He had to hand it to her. Granger made a great impression of a fish, opening her mouth and closing it before heat rose high on her cheeks, illuminating the brush of freckles along the drive of her nose and the apple of her cheeks. Her fists clenched and the wand trapped in the clutches of her wrath sparked with its master’s emotion. He was surprised the delicate piece of wood didn’t snap.
He’d done his job well, and his heart sank to deeper depths than the Black Lake that surrounded them as she regained composure and shut down completely. She shot him one more nasty look before spinning on her heel and strode for Theo and Potter.
His stomach flipped with excitement and wanting as she threw up a hand and flipped him a finger over a shoulder. He smiled wanly before setting the suit of armor back to rights.
***
“Alright folks, pick your poison!”
Theo stood above three cauldrons, each smoking and shielded to mask the smells and appearance.
After Granger had stomped her way to the pair, Theo had flashed a nasty sneer his way before the snapping his fingers and declared it was time for a game. It was a truly pitifully masked ruse for his friend to attempt to charm Boy Wonder, but Draco had rolled his eyes and fell in line all the same.
Goyle, Crabbe, Susan Bones, Lavender Brown and a few Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs Draco was barely ashamed to admit he didn’t know their names, sat in a circle around the cauldrons. Curiosity piqued each and every one of them, and Theo’s smug smile grated on his senses. He didn’t like being on the outside looking in. It unnerved him not knowing what was in the cauldrons and choosing one was not something he was looking forward to in the slightest.
Theo had spent too much time watching Muggle movies and shows in an attempt to bond with Potter over them and spent more time chatting Draco’s ear off than he did actually talking to Potter.
Draco didn’t mind it half the time. He was curious about the Muggle world, and there were times his broken knowledge had come in handy. Like now.
The game was simple enough: there were two dice, and you were to roll them. Whichever number was rolled was how many times you pass the cauldrons before landing on one. Once your cauldron was chosen, you’d tip a drop from a vial into a cup of pumpkin juice and consumed. From there, the person to their left could ask truth or dare.
It didn’t escape his notice that him and Granger were forcibly sat next to each other with her to his left. The witch sat as far away from his as she could on the tiny cushion Theo had spaced around the circle. He tried not to stare at that bit of skin her skirt was revealing, and he threw his eyes away from her.
He was acting like a rabid dog, frothing at the mouth for a sliver of attention from her, not that she had deigned to ever give him anything. He had to survive off the minimal scraps of their few interactions.
Draco never did anything unless there was well and truly a chance of winning. Anything could be in those cauldrons. What if it was Polyjuice and he was stuck being Potter for an hour? What if it was Veritaserum and he was forced to spill his darkest fears and most treasured secrets? He wished their positions were flipped. His only saving grace was that Granger didn’t seem to be curious enough to learn more about him save what she already knew.
The thought was nearly enough to force his legs to unfurl and leave the circle. She was vindictive enough to dare him to kiss Weasley on the mouth before she ventured into the truth of his mind. The thought churned the anxiety sitting deep in his stomach along with the contents of the second tumbler of Firewhisky.
But he wasn’t leaving.
He wouldn’t run from this chance. Maybe there was Felix Felices in one of these cauldrons. Maybe he’d score a false sense of luck, and all of his dreams would come true.
Draco was torn from his errant thoughts by Theodore, who still stood in the center of the circle, who graciously went first, rolling his dice and tapping out a three. A small ball of blue appeared from the end of Granger’s wand and bounced three times before landing on the first cauldron. Theo smiled, thanked her, and plucked a tiny vile from a small basket before the cauldron. He tipped a drop into his juice, raised the cup in salute and chugged its contents.
He sat the cup down and found his unclaimed cushion, conveniently situated next to Potter. It seemed Theo had his own mischief hidden up his sleeve this evening.
The wizard smiled sweetly at Potter who regarded him much like an artist would a painting, trying to seize answers from nothing. He frowned, coming up empty before he finally sighed and said, “truth or dare.”
“Truth,” Theo spoke just on this side of too quickly.
“Okay,” Potter mused aloud. “Who in the circle do you fancy?”
“You of course,” Theo said quietly, his face flaming red.
So, there was Veritaserum in the cauldron.. he was fucked. They all were. How did Theo manage it? It was such a highly regulated potion there was so no way he’d managed to get his hands on a little, let alone brew an entire cauldron of it. He’d have to corner his friend and demand answers later.
Or, not.
The Nott’s were notorious for their back-alley black market buying and selling. Perhaps Theo stole the ingredients from his father. For Theo’s sake, he hoped he hadn’t.
Draco snuck a glance at Granger surprised to find intrigue and was that begrudging admiration for their friend? He’d expected her to go full swot on Theo and demand that he rid them of the cauldron, but if anything, it looked like she was settling in for the fun.
It threw him for an unexpected loop. He didn’t want to admit that he had been hoping she’d default to her duties as Head Girl to end this game. But now it appeared he had no choice but to see it through.
He caught the tail end of a tender look between Theo and Potter before the cauldrons lifted from their stands on the rug and spun in a tight circle before settling back into place. They’d move so quickly that Draco hadn’t been able to keep track of the cauldron with the truth telling potion and he was on edge and shaky all over again.
Everyone turned to look at Theo who smiled broadly and said, “your turn, Harry.”
***
They’d quickly ran out of pumpkin juice, and Theo’s great idea of a replacement was a seemingly endless store of Firewhisky. Everyone was drunk or well on their way to being drunk and the circle was quickly becoming bolder by the minute.
Draco, who had been pretending to sip his drink, was more sober than he liked, but he didn’t want to let his guard down. A losing game seeing as he’d landed on Veritaserum the two times it had been his turn.
He chose truth each time, fear gripping his heart, but it had been in vain. Granger had been lackluster in her choices, forcing him to reveal the sum of his family’s vault (an exorbitant amount that had a few spitting into their cups and earning him an eye roll from the witch) and forcing him to reveal how long he spent on his hair in the morning (thirty minutes, thank you very much).
But the energy in the room shifted slightly right after his third potion choice.
Granger had barely looked his way when she asked him for a truth. He’d barely heard her mumble the question about his grades and if he cheated because he was relieved by the lack of magic forcing him to reveal an answer. He in fact didn’t cheat for his grades, but she looked unconvinced and ripped the dice from his grip.
Sparks shot up his arm and his eyes flicked to her face to find hers open wide and trained on him. Their fingers remained touching, and he ached to shift his pinky to stroke a line down her own. They were frozen in time, locked onto each other, both equally shocked.
A loud choking laugh from behind him broke the spell and she snatched her hand away, pink flushing her neck and rolled the dice. He watched lost in the space of his own mind as the game progressed, their friends drinking more and each becoming bolder and choosing dare as the new option of the night.
The dice had made their trek back to his hands and he blew out a breath before raising his fist to throw them on the rug.
“Wait!”
Draco startled, the dice falling from his hands and landed before him, a duo of threes staring up at him. He’d rolled doubles and annoyed, he flicked his gaze to Theo, hoping his roll hadn’t just royally fucked him.
Theo, who now stood up on his knees, his arms out the sides like he was trying to take flight, had an evil glint in eyes as he appraised the players.
“I just had an idea,” he announced clapping his hands and rubbing them against each other excitedly. Draco had a hard time believing he just had the idea and felt his friend was simply waiting for the right moment to spring the update on them.
“I saw in a movie once, a game called seven minutes in heaven.” Draco’s heart clenched, then stopped and re-started at a runner’s pace. Theo went on to explain the logistics of the game, and he commended Theo for his thinly veiled attempt at giving the group a more eventful evening
“...So, if you roll a double you can choose to continue with truth or dare, or, take seven minutes in the broom closet over there.” He pointed at the unused closet no one’s opened in years. “Which means, our first choice goes to my dear friend Draco.”
All eyes shifted to him, and he refused to look at the witch beside him, who had turned her amused gaze to him. He firmly kept his own on Theo who was ignoring the daggers Draco was shooting him.
Not to be outdone, Draco leaned back from his dice and smirked, his lips turning up on one side. “I hate to inform you, but the dice had already settled before your decree therefore I have to abide by your original rules.”
Theo’s eyes glittered even as they tightened. “Well, you do have a choice, but if you didn’t want to take someone into the closet; that’s all you had to say.”
“It’s not that, my friend,” Draco said between clenched teeth. “I am beholden to the rules of the game.” He flicked his wand and held his breath as the bouncing ball of the blue bell flame and stopped above one of the rearranged cauldrons. He floated the vile over to him and tipped a drop into his drink and tipped it back.
“Dare,” he spat at Granger, whose brow’s had risen.
“I dare you to take another drop of that potion,” she challenged, with barely an ounce of hesitation.
Easy enough, he thought, and tipped back another mouthful. Warmth settled in his face and a shiver trickled down his spine and up again settling in his chest. The room around them brightened and he smiled at Granger, big and bold and he sat up straighter, scooching closer on his cushion. He gripped her hand with one of his and scooped up the discarded dice and placed them gently in her palm.
“You turn,” he murmured, relishing the small victory he won in touching her without her wrenching herself away in a violent huff. She looked flustered and despite herself, excited.
Draco was elated.
He and Granger didn’t associate with each other. In their seven years at the school, they’d battled back and forth for marks, each toppling the other’s grades like a Jacob’s ladder and battled relentlessly, verbally sparring much to the chagrin of their friends.
They weren’t friends.
They would never be friends.
Whereas the rest of the group had slowly begun integrating one another slowly until a solidified unit formed- they simply hadn’t fit. Separately, sure, but together? They were much too alike, but at the same time not. They acted as if they were the same end of a magnet constantly pushing each other until one was shoved away, violently spinning into the other room- one shouting obscenities while the other scowled and hid their laughter.
It was childish to be sure. But somewhere down the line of years, Draco had started to feel less and less annoyed by the Golden Girl.
Hermione Granger was wickedly brilliant, witty and confident. She wasn’t afraid to state her opinion, and defended those who had no voice and couldn’t stand up for themselves. She was endlessly kind, generous and fiercely loyal. Sure, she was beautiful, but that was low on a long list of admirable qualities the witch possessed.
And Draco Malfoy was hopelessly in love with her.
Granger regarded the pieces of wood in her hand as if they might grow fangs and bite into her. She seemed hesitant to roll the dice and hesitated before loosing a breath and tossed them to the rug.
He studied her watching the dice roll, ripping and shifting on their many sides with such fierce concentration he thought she may snap. One die stopped on the five side her mouth turned down in frown.
An idea formed and it was truly a brilliant move on his part. A simple shifting of his fingers; a brilliant showing of wandless, silent magic. Severus had been teaching him for years now along with Occlumency and Legillimency. Not that any of his friends knew.
Underneath his robes, he manipulated the last die to fall on the five and bit his lip to hide the grin threatening to risk his ruse. Granger’s brows rose before she leaned back, glaring at the dice as if they personally offended her.
He watched bemused as her calculating eyes lifted around the circle. It was convenient for him that everyone was paying attention. It meant it was less likely she’d figure out it was him.
She started with Weasley next to her, and they flicked to each of their friends, her eyes shrewd and calculating. On and on they moved as she eliminated each suspect, and he busied himself with the seam of his robes, trying for all the world to see innocent. He must not have been playing the part convincingly enough because when he lifted his eyes, they clashed with her own menacing gaze.
Her brows were furrowed, eyes narrowed in suspicion, and then, in a blink; they widened with surprise. Another second and all of the emotion was replaced by cool indifference as she lifted her chin and haughtily addressed the group.
“Draco.”
He couldn’t identify the tone in her voice because she’d said his name for the first time. He could only recall moments after moments of her spitting his last name out of her perfect mouth like it tasted bad on her tongue.
The Ravenclaw’s and Hufflepuff’s look bored, but the Gryffindor’s and Slytherin’s alike both looked around at one other, similar looks of curiosity and apprehension, and Draco didn’t blame them.
He wasn’t going to last these seven minutes. He wasn’t going to heaven- he was already in hell and being stuck in a closet with Hermione Granger was the perfect kind of torture.
***
The door clicked shut behind them and it was pitch black. He could hear the deep breaths Granger took through her nose.
Neither spoke, and both of them were more than adequate spell casters. They could light a lumos, but in true fashion, neither budged an inch.
Her breathing quickened and Draco was ashamed as true fear trickled down through his veins like icy rain. She was predictable at the best of times, a menace at the worst. He didn’t know which version of her he’d get.
Draco surreptitiously moved his hands, one to cup his groin, the other his nose
The tempus charm that Theo had cast over them indicated they had six and a half minutes left and so far, this was the most disappointed he’d ever been. He didn’t know what to expect, he hadn’t even thought it would be him she’d ever choose.
At this point, he thought it best to just stand there in silence.
A minute later and he almost caved and reached out to touch her, but she cleared her throat quietly before he could open his mouth.
Did she sound nervous?
Draco liked to think that he was above looking into her mind. He’d had the training, and he always had his own defenses up while he was in the castle. It had been second nature for years now. They were safe within wards, but it had been ingrained into him from an early age to do so. A by-product of the war and an ever-present paranoia from Snape he supposed. He didn’t think it necessary seeing as the most trouble he’d ever been in was when Theo had dared him to break into Severus’ personal potions closet and Filch had intercepted them.
His godfather had seethed and ranted to appease the crochety old caretaker, and when Filch was satisfied- he left. Severus dismissed Theo with a look, and his friend ran like the coward he was.
His relationship with the potions master wasn’t highly publicized, the only people that knew within the castle were Dumbledore and McGonagall.
Filch leaving him alone with his godfather hasn’t truly been a punishment.
Until he had been given cauldron cleaning duty sans magic for a month and received a very disappointed letter from his father.
The latter he could give a damn about, it was the scrubbing and scraping and sore back that he loathed the most.
Theo hadn’t received a punishment, that being the third strike Snape dealt him. He should have known better was all he’d said and left.
Now, he wished more than anything he was in that damp dungeon with the cauldrons again rather than dealing with this moral dilemma of searching her thoughts or simply walking out of the closet.
They had five minutes left. He could distantly feel the ticking around his left wrist where the spell had been cast.
His heartbeat in time with it. Tick, tock, tick, tock.
What did she want? Why was he here?
Perhaps it was the too many glasses of Firewhisky or maybe it was the close proximity to the which he never in his wildest dreams thought he stood a chance with, but Draco simply could not think straight.
The was no logical reason Hermione Granger should be locked in a closet for seven minutes of heaven with him. True, he’d played the dice, but had it been him? They had to have been forced together magically, that was the only conclusion he found that made sense.
What if the potions Theo gave out were spiked with love potions? With Theo, one could never be too careful. Perhaps Granger consumed some. But would the potion then be contaminated? Would it negate both potions’ qualities?
Why had she chosen him? What if Felix Felices was in the cauldron he’d sipped from? He hadn’t noticed anyone else exhibiting any seemingly lucky qualities. Is that something he would have noticed? In fact, it had only really been an extremely truthful game. Did Theo have two cauldrons of Veritaserum? Was one a decoy?
If his double shot had been the luck potion, it would make sense why she was here; he’d forced the die to land on a five. But that wasn’t luck, that was his own doing. But it couldn’t force her to be here, maybe that’s where his luck came in, her choosing him. And if she was here, it meant she wanted to be…
Draco’s brain was hurting from forcing the logic of it all, and he mentally shook himself. He didn’t feel off. He felt himself and he wasn’t an especially lucky fellow. Would he know?
“Stop thinking so hard, I can hear the gears grinding in your head and I’m afraid one is going to break off and injure you.”
Draco froze, the tempus telling him they only had four minutes now. She was talking to him, and was that concern for his well-being? He couldn’t waste this chance with her more than he already had. Hope attempted to bloom sweet and new in his chest, but he tamped it down lest she was there to chew him up and spit him out.
“Well, I suppose we can write this down as the most boring seven minutes in history.” He placed his hands in his pockets and leaned back against the door. He could hear her shifting where she stood, brushing hair off her face or adjusting her sweater. Regardless, he wished he could see her.
“It depends on who you’re asking. For them out there, this might be the most exciting event that’s happened second to Gryffindor beating Slytherin for the Quidditch Cup this year.” He could hear the vestiges of smile in her words, and he grinned too. She was brutal bringing up the Cup, but she was also right. He could imagine the gossip that would circulate after they emerged from the closet- that was surely already being shared.
“I’m sure they’re betting on whether we emerge whole or in pieces,” he muttered. Granger snorted out a small laugh, and he tucked this moment away. Perhaps he’d acquire a Pensieve to replay it for life.
“We can’t go disappointing our fans, now, can we? Should we draw blood? I could punch you in your perfect nose.” Draco stood up and nearly cast the small room in light. He was desperate to see her face, to watch her mouth form compliments, even violent in nature.
They had two minutes left.
“Why am I in here, Hermione?” He relished her intake of breath, and he stepped forward an inch. He wondered if hearing her name on his lips affected her as much as she saying his had.
He was done with this game, he decided, and he was going to push his luck- artificial or not.
“Out of everyone in that circle, you chose me to join you in here, the man you so adamantly despise, and I want to know why?” With each word he uttered, Draco strode forward until he could feel her right in front of him. He could feel her chest rising with each rapid breath she fought for, her breasts just barely brushing his abdomen with each inhalation.
Despite the war waging inside of him, he fought the urge to reach forward and trace her face. He wanted to feel her skin alight with heat. He could picture the flush on her cheeks, could clearly see in his mind’s eye her dilated eyes wide with emotion, probably fear but hopefully lust, her lip trapped between her teeth as she fought to give in.
Thirty seconds left.
“Tell me, Hermione.”
Silence for a beat and then another before, “I.. I”
The door handle rattled just as the tempus on his wrist vibrated violently, signaling the end of their seven minutes. He growled unintelligibly under his breath and spun, whipping his wand from his robes and hoped he was aiming accurately. He shot a delayed release sticking charm to the door, granting them at least another seven minutes.
Damn the gossip, and fuck Theo for ruining whatever she’d been about to say.
Draco turned back to Hermione and stuck his wand back in a pocket. He thought briefly about casting a lighting charm, but the cover of darkness emboldened him, made him feel as if nothing could touch them here.
“You were saying,” he prompted. He swore he could hear her rolling her eyes.
“The game is over. We should go back to the group before they really start talking.”
“Are you ashamed? Embarrassed to have mindless drones spitting lies and truths about us around the castle? Does it even matter if it’s not what actually happened here? Only we will know the truth. That has to count for something.”
He couldn’t help the bitter edge that crept into his words. They’d danced around each other enough these past years, and he took the small breadcrumbs she threw his way, but he was tired- exhausted of being the pathetic dog trailing after her in the hopes he’d earn his reward, he’d be damned if he didn’t get the answers to the questions he sought.
“It’s not that, Draco. I could care less what people say about me. They all talk anyway. It’s just…” She trailed off and he stepped even closer, eliminating all space between them. He could feel the heat of her skin through their thin white button-ups. He wanted to rip off their robes so he could envelope himself within her warm embrace.
“It’s what, Hermione?”
Something snapped within her and he sensed the moment of hesitation she valiantly granted herself before glorious, beautiful words spilled like rivers of honey from her mouth.
“It’s you!” she seethed. “Gods, every time I am around you it takes all I have just to remember how to think. For years now, my thoughts have been scrambled like an egg and all of my senses are in upheaval. I can’t breathe, think or function in your presence and it’s infuriating!”
Stunned, he let her push him back as he stared slack jawed into the blackness.
“The whole summer before this school year started, I vowed to myself to get a grip and focus on my studies, it’s N.E.W.T.S. this year after all and my education is paramount to anything else. But of course, you had to step off that damned train with muscles and a new hair style and tailored robes and I was back where I started.
“But you treated me so coldly, spewing words that cut and treating me just as aloofly as you do most others, and I just knew I wouldn’t ever be on your radar. You hate me, you’ve made that abundantly clear, so I vowed to treat you just as you treat me. But then you manipulated the dice.”
She’d stopped the minimal pacing she could achieve in the closet, and her voice had lowered, now more vulnerable than he’d ever heard. It broke the spell she’d placed him under with her words. How could they both have gotten it so wrong? How were they both so brilliant, yet so blind, that they couldn’t have connected the dots that led to one another? How long could this charade they’d been playing have ended, and they could have been speaking truths under hidden alcoves, trading secrets and gods, he could have been kissing her all this time.
He couldn’t take it anymore.
“Lumos.”
He squinted against the light, harsh on their eyes after the darkness, but he spied her shrunk against the corner of the closet with a hand up to shield her eyes. He closed the gap between them and gripped her waist, pressing her ever closer and captured her mouth.
Draco greedily swallowed her gasp of surprise, but didn’t move his lips, waiting for her to gain her bearings and decide if this was what she wanted. Seconds ticked by and he felt her relax and tentatively brush her lips across his.
It lit a fire within him.
He slanted his mouth over hers and devoured her hungrily. He was a man starved, desperate for sustenance after months of deprivation. He groaned when she wrapped her arm around his neck and pulled him closer. Like everything else they did, it was a competition for dominance as they nipped, sucked and pushed. Instead of words, their weapons were lips, teeth and tongues, each battling a war they’d been preparing years for.
Desperate for air, Draco drew back and rested his forehead against Hermione’s. She was so beautiful beneath him, chest heaving, eye closed and lips swollen from his kisses.
“I have never hated you,” he murmured. Her deep amber eyes flicked open to his, a small smile lifting the corners of her mouth. “I thought you hated me, Hermione, and I never thought you’d ever give me the time of day. You disguised your feelings so thoroughly, that I was truly convinced you wished me harm most days. So, I reciprocated in an attempt to protect myself. I see now that you were doing the same.”
She planted a lingering kiss on his lips before circling his face, softly brushing her mouth across his nose, cheeks and brow before drawing back to stare at him.
“I didn’t want to want you, Draco. I suppose there was pressure from all of our friends to date Ron, but I’ve never seen him as more than a brother and you were all Quidditch enemies. In retrospect, it seems so juvenile a reason, but I don’t know, I suppose I convinced myself that it couldn’t happen. Loyalty and all that.” He laughed and kissed her, wedging a knee between her legs and lifting her to pin her against the wall.
“You could have been sorted into Slytherin. We’re loyal, but selfish and almost always get what we want.” He trailed kisses down her throat, and she sighed brealthily against him.
“Perhaps I should have been considering this whole night was my idea.” Draco froze and pulled back to find her mischievous eyes alight with a cunning fire he hoped he’d see for a lifetime.
“I saw you looking at Theo in surprise when he sipped from the Veritaserum. Noticed you looked to me like you hoped I’d shut that ridiculous game down. That was when I knew I had you. Your ego wouldn’t allow you to leave the circle and I’m actually very curious how you believed Theo procured that all on his own, but that’s a conversation for another time.”
She laughed at surely the horror she saw painted on his face, and it was again the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard.
“So, you sitting next to me was a calculated move on your part?’
“It was,” she admitted with a wink. “I’m assuming you’ve figured out what the other cauldron held by now?”
The minx, he thought, his mind whirring as it re-calculated everything that had transpired the whole night. The inane questions, the double serving of the Felices; the seven minutes in heaven. This witch had thought of everything, even down to the ruse, posturing Theo and Potter into the nights entertainment when he’d been a bug caught in her spider’s web all evening.
Merlin, if he hadn’t loved her before, he surely loved her now.
“Potter and Theodore?” he hedged.
“Just an added bonus of the night,” she revealed. “Much like another couple I know, those two have been gravitating around one another for the last year, each unknowingly placing me in the middle of their plight. I was fed up, so I might have convinced Theo this could be a two birds one stone situation.”
Brilliant, calculating, wicked, charming and beautiful, but most importantly: his.
He hadn’t ever been more grateful for Harry Potter in his life, and he supposed he should thank Theo for where he currently was, but it was ultimately Boy Wonder who deserved it. Not that he’d ever hear those words from his lips, but he’d thank him silently, and who knows- maybe they could be friends one day.
Draco highly doubted that but never say never.
“I think I love you, Hermione Granger.” Her eyes widened slightly before she squinted at him.
“You think, Malfoy, or do you know?”
“Oh, I definitely know I do, I just didn’t want to scare you away lest this was all a very good dream on its way to being a nightmare.”
“It’s not a dream, Draco. This is very much real and just in case you were wondering- I think I know I love you too.” Her eyes brimmed with un-spilt emotion, and he could feel a tightening in his chest. soon.
“Thank gods,” he said before re-capturing her lips with his.
The door ripped open, and more light flooded the small closet, brighter than the small ball above them.
“About fucking time,” a loud voice shouted, and clapping erupted from the common room behind them. Draco slid Hermione down his knee, a promise of more to come in his eyes before he turned his head and glared at Theo in the doorway.
“Theodore Nott, I’ve been waiting three years to get this witch right where I have her. If you don’t close that door right this minute so I can snog her senseless, I’ll make sure Potter never remembers you exist.”
His friend had the gall to look unimpressed, but held his hands up in surrender, before winking at them and closing the door. Draco heard the lock engage, before he looked back at Hermione, who had a hungry look on her face.
“Right, where were we?”