Take a risk
His words were always quick to cut, mouth twisted into a scowl as he spat vitriol in her direction. But she noticed what others did not.
What he seemed so eager to dole out, he prohibited from others. If Crabbe stuck a leg out in her path, Malfoy was quick to intercede with some distraction of his own. When she overheard Parkinson’s unkind descriptions about her appearance, she was surprised by his quick follow up putting the pug-nosed girl in her own well of shame.
It didn’t take an idiot to figure out that Draco Malfoy loathed her, but what he loathed more was anyone else taking his place as her sole tormentor. And while she shed her tears and hit back at him with her own scathing retorts, she also realized Malfoy paid more attention to her than he did to anyone else, friend or foe.
The notice trod dangerously close to curiosity, eventually going so far as to become indistinguishable from fascination. She obviously intrigued him, but the boy who denied himself nothing refused to acknowledge her.
Hermione always liked a challenge.
She found him Saturday night deep in the stacks long after most other studious students had departed. Head buried in a tome, he flipped the pages oblivious to her presence.
“Interesting reading material.”
He nearly dropped the book as he spun around to face her. One hand flicked down to his pocket as if to reach for his wand, but her relaxed stance and amused smile gave him reasons to pause.
“What do you want, Granger?” He spat, snapping the book shut and hiding it behind his back.
Maintaining her smile and eye contact, she stepped closer, just slow enough to give him time to retreat if he desired. He didn’t move. They stood a mere step or two apart, not close enough to be inappropriate, but near enough that anyone who saw them would double back at the odd pairing.
“I haven’t seen you around much lately.”
“You should consider yourself lucky. I have more important things to care about right now.”
“Like researching magical artifacts and relocation charms?”
He sucked in a sharp breath at her question, shoulders stiffening at the edges. With one secret in the open, there wasn’t any point hiding the book in his hands now.
“It’s none of your bloody business.” His voice shook, hands fisting on the cover he now clutched to his stomach.
Hermione took her time looking him over, and he shuffled in discomfort. For all his bluster and gained height over the past year, he looked gaunt and almost ghostly in complexion. “Are you okay, Malfoy? You don’t look well.”
Scoffing in disbelief, he shot back, “And you care because?”
“I just do.”
He looked baffled at her confession, lips parting in surprise and posture loosening. She had her foot in the crack and just needed to pry the door open now.
She raised one hand slowly, much like her movement before, letting him see the motion and gauging his response. He was tall now, much taller than her, and she had to reach up to touch his face. Fingertips brushed along the nape of his neck to cup behind his ear and delve into his hair, just as soft as she had always imagined. He remained frozen and she took that as encouragement to continue, stepping into his frame now and pressing her other hand into his chest above his heart. Here there was movement, a frantic beating beneath the cloth betraying his emotions.
Leaning up, she applied pressure to the back of his neck to bring him down to meet her. The edges of the tome between them pressed painfully into her stomach, but she welcomed its reminder of the risk she took. She could see the flutter of his lashes, watched as they closed in defeat before lips brushed together once, twice. She smelled mint and the barest hint of bergamot. As she pulled away and dropped to her heels, he leaned forward as if to chase her, only to meet air as she stepped back.
“What was that for?” His voice was husky in a way she’d never heard before, but now wanted to hear again.
“Consider it a bid for peace.”
His mouth tightened as he considered her proposal, eyes lingering on her lips he now knew the taste of and whose touch he preferred infinitely more than their lack. “And what makes you think I need the distraction?”
“Distraction, or respite?”
He tried to cover his chuckle with a cough, but she heard it regardless. “I don’t exactly have time for games.”
“I’m not a player.”
She retreated a step and adjusted the bag strap on her shoulder. She wouldn’t push too hard now. Hermione might not play Wizard’s Chess as well as Ron, but she knew when to retreat, when to press forward, and, like now, when to wait.
“I’ll see you around, Malfoy.”