Manacled

Chapter 40

Hermione started laughing through her tears.

"Oh god, you're right," she said huffing and wiping her eyes.

He handed the bottle back to her, and she sipped it for several minutes in silence.

"Thank you, Granger," he said quietly after a while.

The corner of her mouth curved into a small smile. "I thought you said if I drank with you that you'd call me Hermione."

"Hermione," he said. She looked over at him. His eyes were hooded; he was staring over at her intently.

"Yes?"

He didn't say anything; he just kept staring at her until she started to blush. It was distracting to look back at him when he didn't have a shirt on. Her eyes kept dropping, then lingering, and then she'd catch herself and look up and find he was still looking at her.

"I thought you said you were angrier when you were drunk," she finally said nervously.

"I normally am," he said. "Last time I got drunk, I warded myself in and wrecked the room."

"You don't seem drunk," she said. She was beginning to feel really drunk. Her head felt heavy, and she had an overwhelming desire to both laugh and cry and curl up on the couch.

"I'm not a relaxed person."

"I've noticed. And you scold me," she said severely. She felt her face make a more exaggerated expression than she'd meant to.

He laughed under his breath. "My tension doesn't interfere with my dueling. I bet I could still beat you in a duel even now."

"You probably could," Hermione said with a sigh. "I've been exercising though. I thought I would hate it, but it's actually nice."

He smirked, and it was loose and crooked. Hermione blushed.

"You should put a shirt on," she finally said, her voice jumping. "You must be cold."

Suddenly her hand was in his, and he had pressed it against his chest. She gasped faintly with surprise and felt her heart rate begin rapidly increasing.

"Do I feel cold?" he asked in a low voice. He'd sat up and they were suddenly very, very close. So close Hermione could feel his breath against her neck. A shiver rolled down her spine.

"N-no," she whispered, staring at her fingers splayed across his chest. She'd spent hours touching him as she treated his runes, but being face to face made the physical contact suddenly intimate. She could feel the faintest sensation of his heartbeat under her index finger. Without thinking, she stroked his skin lightly.

He breathed in sharply, and she felt the shudder of it under her hand. His hand was still over hers, but he wasn't holding hers in place any longer. She drew her thumb across his pectoral and felt him shiver under her fingers.

Hermione felt like she were barely breathing; that if she were to inhale or exhale too sharply, something in the air would snap.

The moment—the tension between them—felt like the wings of a butterfly. Delicate. Breathtakingly fragile.

She looked up at him. His face was inches from hers. His eyes dark as he studied her face.

He was startlingly handsome.

She'd hardly let herself notice it. But somehow, drunk and feeling his heartbeat under her fingers, she saw it. The coldness of his persona had faded; his skin was warm, and his breath against her skin was warm, and he was beautiful to look at.

She couldn't remember when she had stopped being afraid of him.

"I must admit," he said in a low voice as though it were a confession, "if anyone had told me that you'd become so lovely, I would never have come near you. I was rather blindsided when I first saw you again."