I don't like it
Hermione could feel the burn of his stare in her back from the moment she’d sat down. How that could be true despite several rows of students between them as they all practiced their tortoise to trumpet transfiguration, she wasn’t sure, but the ever-pressing stare was there in between her shoulder blades like a hot knife sliding into the slotted space.
She refused to turn around and meet the steely-eyed gaze with her own. She focused entirely on her tortoise as it happily munched on a strawberry. She beamed with pride as Headmistress McGonagall praised her silver trumpet in front of the rest of the class. She even managed a few toots on the mouthpiece for good measure.
“Please bring your work to the front of the class. Three rolls of parchment discussing the theory and application of this spell are due next week, including special emphasis on your own work today as an example. Make sure to evaluate every angle of the process that resulted in your final product.”
As Hermione dropped off her instrument and turned to gather her belongings, she finally crossed paths with Malfoy as he walked up with his own silver trumpet in hand. Of the entire class, theirs were the only ones matching in color and quality, the rest being variations of gold, bronze, and tortoise-shell.
She couldn’t help the slight rise in her brows, and his lip twisted up in acknowledgement.
“Meet me after class,” he muttered in a voice just low enough for only her to hear as they brushed by one another.
The fluttering in her stomach turned into outright flips as she struggled to keep her composure.
This was new.
She lingered as she stacked her books and carefully slipped her quill and ink jar into her stationary pouch. Each move was painstakingly slow as she waited for the classroom to empty.
“Good show today, Ms Granger,” Headmistress McGonagall said fondly as she, too, walked out, a trail of trumpets floating in her wake.
By the time Hermione flipped her bag strap onto her shoulder and turned to follow, only her and Malfoy remained. He looked to have been ready for a while, sitting as he was on top of his desk and flipping his wand in lazy twirls.
The eyes of the two golden cat statues flanking the doorway seemed to watch as she approached him one step at a time, silent as she’d learned to be when on the run. Despite her efforts, her breathing sounded heavy in her own ears. Desperate.
She didn’t stop until her hands brushed his hip. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath—pine, woodsmoke, a hint of fog.
She let it all out as a touch, almost too light to be felt, traced her jawline to her lips.
Her eyes opened to find him directly facing her and coming in closer.
She could step away. She could stop him with a hand to his firm chest.
She could…let him.
His lips brushed softly against hers, as tentative as his fingertips had just been, but then pressed more insistently when she fisted his sweater. Their heads tilted and mouths slanted against one another, finding purchase and drinking each other in with gasps and a sliding of tongues.
The flipping in her stomach had stilled, and now Hermione simply felt warm, as if she’d been floating aimless and finally touched down onto the earth, only Malfoy was her landing pad. He grounded her in a way she’d never expected, but now craved with a voracity that left her twisting in her sheets at night.
He broke their kiss with a hand clenching the curls at the base of her neck, twisting just so until she panted up at him, her dark eyes wide in anticipation.
“I don’t like it, Granger,” he muttered, eyes roaming her face, an indecipherable expression contorting his features.
The fluttering was back, nervousness clawing her insides. “You don’t like what?”
“Waiting.”
This time it was her turn to blanche as she tried to pull away. His fist tightened, and she grunted at the force keeping her in place.
“What do you want to change, then?” she forced out behind gritted teeth.
Please, please don’t say you want to end whatever the hell this is.
Silence filled the space between them as his brow furrowed and his pretty pink lips parted.
She readied herself with bated breath for his ultimatum. This little thing of theirs had started suddenly without any premeditation on her part. One moment, they’d been yelling at each other in a deserted corridor, and the next they’d been entwined, snogging and rutting like animals in heat. He’d brought her to orgasm pinned against the stone wall, then left her alone to smooth down her skirt and catch her breath.
She thought it had been a one off.
Then it happened again, and again.
Before she knew it, they were sneaking off a few times a week. Always in secret. Never in sight of others. In public, they acted like they always had—sniping at one another every chance they could, unless they were ignoring one another.
Hermione slept better at night than she had in the months leading up to their return to Hogwarts. Her nightmares were mostly gone unless something triggered their return. She knew he felt the same, if the disappearance of the circles underneath his eyes was any indication.
She didn’t want to stop meeting him.
“I want more.” He basically snarled the words into her face, eyes flashing. He maintained his grip on her hair, but the other hand came around to roughly grip her hip and pull her up against him.
“So you want to fuck? Is that it?”
They hadn’t actually gone that far…yet. They always stopped just short, and she’d been fine with that until today.
At her words, his hold loosened and he simply held her in place with his palms open against her. The scowl disappeared, and the lines wrinkling his brow smoothed out.
“That’s not what I mean.”
She could almost throw up with how forcefully her innards twisted in on themselves. Was it terror or hope tossing her into disarray like this?
“Then what do you mean?” she asked.
“When I said ‘I don’t like it’, I was referring to the way you and I sneak around. It was exciting at first, but I’m over keeping how I feel about you a secret. I want to touch you like this wherever and whenever I please.”
Hope, it was definitely hope filling her to the brim, with perhaps a thin layer of fear.
“Does that include your house mates?” He shrugged at her question. “What about your parents?”
The hand at her hip moved up and he cupped her face gently in both hands, bringing his forehead down to press against her own.
“As far as I’m concerned, they no longer have a say in what I do or don’t do. Not after everything. Not ever in regards to you.”
She didn’t resist when he kissed her so sweetly that she felt tears welling up beneath her lids. She allowed herself to be wrapped up into his arms, clutching the soft wool of his sweater and not wanting to ever let go.
She thanked the stars above for whoever it was that had decided to send them all back for a final school year. It had seemed pointless, at first, someone’s optimistic attempt at rewinding time and expecting the pieces to fall into place. It hadn’t at all been peaceful at the start.
She wasn’t sure when it started, but as the structured days passed—filled with classes, coursework, individual and group therapy sessions, and encouraged co-mingling of houses—that optimistic attempt became reality. People exploded, yes, like she had with Malfoy, but they seemed better for it afterward.
If she had refused the mandate, had accepted the Ministry’s offer to begin work and ventured out on her own, then she very likely would still be alone.
Instead, she was here with Draco Malfoy, and she wanted to stay that way.
“Okay.”