August 2002
The firewhisky burned brightly down her throat, and instantly the pounding of her heart eased slightly. The hot feeling of courage spread across her chest.
She tilted the bottle toward Draco, and he plucked it from her hand and took a swig of his own. His eyes were locked on hers until he lowered it. Then he glanced around the bare room they were in. Pulling his wand from a holster strapped to his right arm, he flicked it and conjured a loveseat.
Hermione gave him a look.
"I'm not scooting across a sofa every time we pass the bottle," he said. Then he added in a mocking tone, "I can conjure a courting bench if you require a barrier."
His eyes were taunting. He was still shirtless.
"Or you could have conjured some tumblers," she retorted, giving him a pointed look. She dropped down onto the small couch and waited for him to do the same.
He leaned down, resting his hand on the back of the couch behind her shoulder and leaned over her, sliding the bottle into her hand.
"Your turn. You've got a lot of catching up to do," he said in a low voice before seating himself beside her. He was much closer than he needed to be.
Hermione took another sip, and he watched her. When she tried to hand it back, he demurred and indicated that she continue.
"You'll regret it when I start crying on you," she said, growing suspicious once again about how drunk he was. She could already feel it starting to hit her. She'd picked at dinner and that had been hours earlier. A warm dulling sensation was beginning to creep over her.
"You didn't cry that much," he said, leaning back gingerly. Then, discovering that it didn't hurt, he sunk against the back the couch with an audible sigh. "I had no idea how much I missed leaning against things."
"Be careful for the next few days," Hermione said between sips. "If you're careless while they're setting, the skin might tear, and I'll have to redo parts. If you want-I can keep coming. If I keep treating them for a few days longer, you won't even be able to feel them. As least-not the physical aspect of them."
He smirked over at her and shook his head as though in disbelief.
"Is there anyone you don't feel responsible for?" he asked.
Hermione didn't answer the question, and she took another gulp of firewhisky. Tears suddenly pricked at the corners of her eyes.
"All my friends are out drinking tonight. They invited me, but I couldn't go," she said abruptly.
He was quiet for a moment.
"I'm sorry. We could have rescheduled," he said.
Hermione scoffed.
"Right. I'd just leave you with lacerations in your back for an extra day so I could go drinking. It's not as though I could even drink with them anyway. I'd probably get into some raging fight with Harry and Ron."
She burst into tears and cried for several minutes. While she was crying, Draco plucked the bottle from her fingers and set to draining it. When her sobbing finally eased to sniffling, he chuckled.
"You know," he said dryly, "if I ever had to interrogate you, I think I'd skip the torture and the legilimency and just pour a bottle of firewhisky down your throat."
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."
She stared at him in confusion.
"You're like a rose in a graveyard," he said, and his lips curved into a bitter smile. "I wonder what you could have turned into without the war."
"I've never thought about it," she said.
"That doesn't surprise me," he said, voice quiet. His hand reached over and he captured a curl that had come loose from her braids. "Is your hair still the same?"
She snorted. "Yes. Mostly."
"It's like it's you," he said, twisting the curl in his fingers so that it wrapped itself around his fingertip. "Tied in place, but still the same underneath."
Hermione stared at him for a moment, and then tears welled up in her eyes. His eyes widened.
"Oh god, Granger," he said hastily, "don't cry again."
"Sorry," she said withdrawing her hand and reaching up to wipe away the tears. She felt cold.
When she looked back up at him again, his expression was pensive.
She'd never seen him so expressive before. Everything had felt like a mask until then. With just the briefest flickers of something real coming through on occasion.
As they sat there, she almost thought she might be seeing the real him.
And he looked-
Sad.
Lonely.
Maybe even heart-broken.
"I told you I'd cry if you got me drunk," she said.
"I know. I don't mind. I just don't want to be the reason why tonight," he said, looking away from her and dropping his hand from her hair.
She gulped down another swig of firewhisky and then offered it to him. There was less than a quarter of a bottle left.
He took it and stared around the room. His expression grew bitter. The air around him abruptly grew cold.
Hermione recognized the shift. It was like her with crying. Something had occurred to him. Struck him. The alcohol had thinned his occlumency walls and he couldn't stop himself from feeling it.
Quiet. Angry. As he had said.
Without thinking, she reached over and took the hand closest to her. His left hand.
He looked over at her. She turned it over in her hands and ran her thumbs across the palm. Flattening it. She could feel the barest tremors from the cruciatus still in it.
"When did you become ambidextrous?" she asked.
He met her eyes, and she could see his surprise.
"When did you guess?" he asked after a moment.
"Your holster is on your right arm, but you've always used your right hand when dueling with me," she said. "And you have the same wand calluses on both hands. I noticed it the day I first worked on the runes."
"Clever," he said.
Hermione smirked. "Only figure that out now?"
He snorted. "Humble too," he added dryly.
She drew her wand and muttered the charms as she tapped the tip across his hand. Trying to relieve the last of the tremors.
"You don't have to keep healing me, Granger," he said after a moment. She felt herself blush under his gaze.
"Hermione," she said, reminding him again. "You looked sad. I didn'tknow if you'd want a hug from me. So I thought of this. I thought healing you, at least, is something you would want."
He was silent, and she continued massaging his hand. Running her fingers over and against his. He had long tapered fingers.
"And if I wanted something else?" he said. His voice was quiet but there was a pointed quality to the question.
Her hands stilled, and she looked up at him. It felt as though all the oxygen in the room had suddenly vanished. Her heartbeat tripled, and her chest abruptly felt hollow.
"What do you want?" she asked cautiously. She studied his face. His eyes were dark, but his expression was relaxed. Curious. His hair had fallen down over his forehead, softening his angular features. He looked young.
"Will you take your hair down? I want to see it," he said.
She blinked. "Really?" she asked, staring at him with disbelief.
He just gave a short nod.
She slowly reached up and pulled the pins out. The braids tumbled down and she pulled the ties off them and started slowly running her fingers through to unbraid each side. When she reached the top of her head, she dragged her fingers through once more and then dropped her hands into her lap.
"There. My mane."
He stared at her for several seconds in silence. "I didn't realize it was so long."
"The weight makes it more manageable," she said, glancing around; not sure where to look. She gathered the pins in her hands and pocketed them. The tip of a long curl brushed along her wrist, and she started slightly.
She wasn't used to having her hair down anymore. She normally only unbraided it long enough to shower and then had it tied back before it was dry. She felt almost Victorian, as though having her hair loose was revealing something deeply intimate about herself.
Draco leaned forward and laced his fingers into her hair along her temple. His expression was still curious. She shivered and her breath caught as she felt him slide his fingers through it down to her waist.
"It's softer than I expected," he said. His eyes were fascinated. She'd never had anyone take interest in her hair. The entire interaction has moved beyond her comfort zone, and she had no idea what she was supposed to say or do.
She stared at him and realised his eyes had become somewhat dazed looking. He was really, really drunk.
Suddenly his face was even closer. Just centimeters from hers. His hand slid up her neck and tangled into the curls at the base of her skull. It was so-
Vulnerable.
Intimate.
Sensual.
He wasn't looking at her hair anymore. His eyes were on her face. On her mouth.
They were so close.
"If you don't want me to kiss you, you should say so now," he said.
She felt the breath from every word against her lips.
Everything felt surreal. Like a dream. Blurred and full of sensations.
She could feel the weight of her life bearing down on her; crushing her until she could barely breathe from it. Until she could barely breathe from the loneliness.
But she could also feel Draco's hand in her hair. He was gentler than she had thought he could be. Warm to touch. Beautiful. So close she could feel him breathing.
He was looking at her like he saw her.
He was asking.
If she hadn't spoken to Harry that evening. If she hadn't been so drunk. If she weren't so lonely. If the evening's revelation hadn't been that Draco Malfoy was actually nice when drunk, she might have done something different.
But she didn't.
She kissed him.
A real kiss.
The taste of firewhisky was on each of their lips.
As soon as her mouth touched his, Draco took control. As though she'd sprung something loose in him. His hand in her hair tightened, and he drew her toward him, pulling her onto his lap.
She rested her hands on top of his shoulders as he deepened the kiss. He used his hold on her hair to arch her neck back and slid his other hand down her throat. He slipped his fingers over her skin; along her clavicles and shoulders and the dip of her throat as though he were taking a measurement of her.
She ran a hand along his jaw and into his hair. As her palm grazed along his cheekbone he pressed his face against it for a moment.
He was so starved for touch.
He traced along her body, and she leaned into the contact like a cat. She hadn't realised how much she longed to be touched.
That she was starved for it too.
He slid a hand along the hem of her shirt, grazing the skin of her abdomen before slowly slipping under her clothing and splaying his hand across the small of her back. Holding her against his stomach so that she had to arch her back to keep kissing him.
The kisses were unhurried. Curious. He used his hold on her hair to control the pace as he kissed her slowly. Lightly brushing his mouth against hers so that she shivered before he nipped her softly. Then the tip of his tongue flicked out against her lower lip. She gasped, and when her mouth opened, he deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue against hers.
He tasted like ice and firewhisky and sin.
She ran her hands over his shoulders, feeling him. Hard and pale as marble, but warm. He was so warm to touch. She tangled her fingers in his hair and tugged at it softly, arching against him as he caressed her waist and she shivered. A tension was beginning to pool inside of her.
She had never-
A voice in the back of her mind cruelly reminded her she wasn't supposed to mean any of it. She jerked slightly as if the thought had physically struck her.
Draco used his hold on her hair to draw her head back and expose her neck. Leaving her lips and kissing along her jaw and the column of her throat until she whimpered and clung to him.
She meant it.
She didn't know how to not mean it.
She cradled his face in her hands, and drew his mouth back to hers. Crushing her lips against his fiercely, she wrapped her arms around him. Trying to feel all of him.
Their chests were pressed against each other, and she wasn't sure if she was feeling her heartbeat or his. Perhaps they had the same tempo.
She was so tired of being alone.
She was so tired being reduced to her functions. Healer. Dark Arts Researcher. Potion Mistress. Liaison. Tool. Whore.
As though she'd become any of those things because she had wanted to.
She wanted to cry but couldn't. She just kissed Draco more fiercely, and he met it with equal fire.
His hands roamed further up her shirt, palming her breasts through her bra. He ran his thumb lightly over the tops of them so that she shuddered and arched.
She could hear him breathing as he drew away from her lips and started peppering kisses along her jaw, scraping his teeth lightly against the curving bone.
He slid a hand under her bra and grazed his thumb over her nipple. She felt it pebble under his touch and found herself aching for him. She bit her lip and keened softly as he did it again. She was clinging to his shoulders.
He shoved her bra up and squeezed her bare breast. His mouth was hot on the juncture of her neck and shoulder, and she felt him lightly sucking on her skin.
Her hand slipped over his shoulder, feeling the faint sensation of his scars. She stroked them lightly. She ran the fingers of her other hand over his chest, feeling all the dips and rises of his muscles. Memorising what he felt like. He pressed himself against her hand.
He groaned against her neck. Pleasure not pain. The vibration of the sound flooded across her chest, hotter than the burn of firewhisky.
She gasped as he continued to tease her breasts and kiss and suck along her shoulder.
She hadn't known she could feel so many things at once. That the sensations all swirled together and amalgamated in her body, growing into something that felt bigger than her.
She felt awash in sensation and emotions.
She hadn't known his hands and his breath, his lips and tongue, his hard body against hers, the brush of his hair against her skin would affect her emotionally.
She'd had no idea that hearing and feeling him react to her touch and her body could affect her the most of all.
She hadn't known it was like that.
No one had told her. No one had warned her.
She hadn't known she could affect him. She hadn't expected that he would like her physically. He'd never seemed inclined.
Scrawny. That was what he had called her after seeing her naked, that he'd wished he'd asked for someone else.
She shook.
Another unwanted thought came to her.
She could be anyone. He was just lonely, he'd want anyone who'd touched him.
A lump welled up in her throat, and she couldn't swallow it. Her hands stilled, and she fought to breathe without crying.
Draco noticed. He raised his head from her shoulder and stared at her expression. Then he smiled bitterly, pulled his hands away, straightening her clothes as he shifted her off of his lap.
"You should go now," he said.
His voice was cold. Hard. Clipped and to the point once more.
His mask had dropped neatly back into place.