23. Will You, Won't You

Eight and Eighth—Chapter 23—Will You, Won't You

Potter looked momentarily confused. "What?"

"I said I'll do it." Draco was, quite frankly, aghast at his own resolve, but that didn't stop him from adopting a sudden air of confidence. Reckless confidence, that was.

Potter squeezed his eyes shut before opening them again, but apparently this wasn't a dream. "You know Ron'll kill you, right? It's suicide."

"Which is why I'm trusting you," Draco nearly clapped him on the shoulder but thought better of it, "to prevent homicide." He grinned cheekily. "And I must say, I appreciate the concern. Touching."

"It's not concern; it's befuddlement! Do you really like Hermione?" he asked in confusion.

"Can you think of any other reason for me to agree?" Draco quipped. "I thought not," he added, watching Potter's face morph through a series of contorted expressions.

"Weird day."

"I'll say."

Potter gave him one more skeptical look before shaking his head and going down the spiral staircase, muttering something to himself.

So this was it, Draco realized. He'd made a potentially life-altering decision just now. He never thought he'd make a life-altering decision in a former toilet while holding a piece of chicken in his hand, but there was a first time for everything.

He collapsed onto the couch, looked dubiously at his chicken, and decided that it had seemed much more appealing ten minutes prior when his biggest concern had been to get away from Greengrass.

Now he just had to figure out how he was going to go about this. If he were going to "do things properly," then he'd need to make sure that Granger said yes. That was certainly more easily said than done. Hmph. If he wanted to be horribly cliché, he could go ahead and wait the two weeks that were left until Valentine's Day. However, he'd already spent so much of his time sending her flowers lately that one more saccharine act of the warm and fuzzies was bound to send him to Mungo's in order to seek psychiatric help.

So that was out the window. He'd rather not have to wait that long, anyway. If he acted quickly, he'd be more likely to keep his resolve. There was also the added plus that Granger probably already had him weighing in quite heavily in her thoughts. Why not strike while the proverbial iron was still proverbially hot?

What exactly was the definition of a proverb, anyhow?

There was a small dust bin in the corner of the room, and he threw away the remnant of his dinner. It was time to brainstorm.

O

Hermione had not failed to notice the fact that Harry had left about twelve seconds after Malfoy, but Ginny had. Truthfully, Hermione did not have very many girlfriends. This had bothered her from time to time, but for the most part she'd been able to do without. Ginny, she figured, probably was her best female friend here at Hogwarts, though the younger girl did have her own girlfriends her own age. Luna, for example. And so Hermione wondered, belatedly at that, if she shouldn't inform her best girlfriend of the recent and surprising occurrence in her love-life.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Ginny asked, one red brow raised.

Hermione blinked. "Like what?" she asked stupidly. She hated asking things stupidly.

"Like you're about to sneeze on me but haven't quite made your mind up about it yet. Something the matter?"

Hermione sighed and rubbed her temples. "Can I talk to you about something? Not here, though," she added, looking wistfully at Dean, who looked confusedly back at her, fork halfway to his mouth.

Ginny stood, patting down her skirt. "Of course. Sorry, Dean," she added teasingly. Hermione had almost forgotten that the two of them had dated two years prior.

"Ignore me. I'm used to it," he replied, and he went back to his conversation with the Gryffindor Quidditch captain.

"So," Ginny said as they left the Great Hall and headed down the usual route to Gryffindor Tower, "what might this be about? I haven't done anything else to lead Harry to believe that I want to get engaged, have I?"

"No… not this time," Hermione replied, trying to keep the tone light but getting the feeling that she was failing.

"Good to know." Ginny smiled then and waved her House Crest ring in the light, letting it refract against the fake ruby. "Well, then, what could it be? Ron? August? NEWTs?" Her face twisted in disgust. Hermione mumbled something low under her breath. "Falroy?" Ginny asked. "What's falroy?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, Malfoy," she corrected.

"Oh." Ginny stopped. "What's he done this time?"

What hadn't he done this time? The hall looked vacant enough, and so Hermione took a big breath before making her confession, and then promptly froze up. In retrospect, she was actually genuinely surprised that she'd told Harry. Telling anyone… saying anything, it made it all so much more real.

"Are you okay?" Hermione shook her head no, and Ginny's frown deepened. "What did he do? Should I send a bat bogey hex after him?"

"No," Hermione said reluctantly. Her face was starting to feel feverish.

"Should I… guess?" Ginny prompted, looking concerned, confused, and bemused all at once.

Hermione shook her head again and tried to clear her throat. "Somewhere a little more private." With that, she hooked onto Ginny's elbow, and they made the rest of their way to Gryffindor Tower and ultimately into the Seventh Year girls' dorm. She took a seat at the end of Vicky Frobisher's bed, moving a charmed stuffed bear—which kept changing from Grizzly to panda to polar bear—out of her way as she did.

"He didn't…." Ginny looked as if she were about to suggest something much worse than the truth, so Hermione interrupted.

"We kissed," she said, point-blank.

For a long moment it didn't look as if Ginny would react at all. "Really?" she said after a half-minute's pause.

Hermione coughed. "Yes."

"When?" If anything, Ginny looked puzzled. Not so much shocked, just… puzzled.

"During Amorell's class. We went out to collect mistletoe." Certainly that was enough information to make it dead clear how it had come about, even if there was the added detail about how she'd literally fallen into his arms. At least she hadn't fallen head over heels.

"And you didn't hex him because…?"

Now it was Hermione's turn to be puzzled. "Well, for one, we had to leave our wands in the classroom," she pointed out.

Ginny shook her head. "Oh… oh, yeah. I forgot about that. Did he overpower you, then?" Ginny was looking less perplexed now. Honestly, like she had to hex him if he tried to kiss her!

"Um." Now she actually had to come up with an answer to that one. "He didn't force me, if that's what you mean, though I did try to squirm away at first."

And Ginny looked confused again. "So… you could have gotten away. You let him, then?"

"You don't really have to make me feel any worse about it than I already do!" Hermione pointed out, a sudden crop of sweat building at the base of her spine.

Ginny adopted a look that was one part Molly, one part Percy, one part Ron. "Easy, Hermione. I'm just trying to get things sorted. Did you kiss him back, then?"

"Probably."

"Probably?"

"I wasn't doing a whole lot of thinking. And really, what does that even mean? Did I move my lips? If that's your qualifier, I'm not sure you could say I've ever kissed anyone back, since I usually don't get the chance!"

Ginny's nose curled. "No wonder you gave up on Ron, then. Bleh. Alright, if given the opportunity and the clearness of mind, would you have moved your lips?"

"With whom?"

Ginny looked like she wanted to slap her own face. "Malfoy! I don't really want to know about you and Ron!"

Hermione groaned. "Wouldn't I like to know!"

"About you and Ron?"

"No! Ugh, I'm sorry, Gin, but I can't dissect this any further for now. I just thought you should know. I already told Harry, so I've already gotten it off my chest, and—"

"So, wait a minute! You already told Harry? What? Hermione, you know what you're doing, don't you?"

Hermione stopped. "What? What am I doing?"

"It's like you're bloody preparing us in case this… persists!" Ginny looked dumbstruck. "You fancy him!" she accused.

Hermione's mouth widened. "No, I don't!" Did she?

"Yes, yes you do!"

"No, I don't!"

"Yes, you do!" This could go on for awhile.

"Define fancy!"

"Yes, you—oh. Um, you're the one who likes books and vocabulary so much! You define fancy!"

Hermione groaned, wanting to kick her feet and pound her fists. "You're not exactly helping much," she pouted.

"Hermione," Ginny said, calming her tone and sounding much more like the Head Girl she was meant to be, "I'm trying to help you. I am. Look, if he tries to kiss you again, do you think you'd let him, or would you curse him into the next century like you might have if you'd had your wand?"

Hermione found herself envisioning that day at the bottom of the stairwell again. Her shoes in one hand, her bag in the other, and Malfoy's thumb rolling over and over her lips. Only this time, when he moved to replace his thumb with his mouth, she didn't duck into her room.

Would it always be as nice as it had been this morning? Malfoy'd been gentle, almost sweet in an oxymoronic sort of way. She'd enjoyed the kiss. There was no question about that. She wouldn't mind receiving another. It was just that he was the one giving it to her.

Why did it have to be him, of all people? She didn't want to like him. She didn't want this… this mouth-watering feeling she got when she thought about his arms wrapping around her in an embrace. She shouldn't be feeling anything remotely similar to lust towards Draco Malfoy, and this feeling of belonging was probably worse.

When he held her, she felt like she was meant to be there. She couldn't explain it.

"I don't know," Hermione finally said, her voice soft with just a faint crust of ache.

In all honesty, she would have liked nothing more than to feel his arms around her at that exact moment.

Why did his hug suddenly seem equal to one her father might give her?

O

Where was she? Draco'd been sitting in the Common Room, waiting for her to get back for the last—he checked his watch—hour and a half. Moon and Abbott had come in and twittered in front of him for far longer than any two Hufflepuffs should ever dare.

Girls were nuisances. Life would be much simpler without them, if it weren't for the whole lack of continuation of the human race bit.

They'd finally shoved off when he'd threatened to throw a shoe at them, though they had asked, far too boldly, why he didn't shove off himself.

He hadn't answered.

Like he said, nuisances.

Sitting here was making him antsy, and what was worse… he had no plan. None. Where was his Slytherin cunning now?

If she'd just bloody well show up, he'd just ask her, straightforward, and see what the answer would be. The coward in him almost wanted her to say no just so he could escape Weasley with all of his limbs intact.

What? He rather liked his arms exactly where they were, thanks.

There was a creak and a groan from outside the Common Room door, and Draco found himself sitting up straighter than he'd ever sat before. If it were Patil, he'd probably throw something at her.

The door opened, and, unfortunately, it wasn't Granger. It wasn't Patil either, so the cushion he'd been ready to seize was forgotten. "Malfoy," Ron Weasley mumbled. "Great."

He looked awful, was the first thing Draco thought to himself, and that was saying something considering whom he was thinking about. Weasley was covered with mud from head to foot, had a limp, and was missing both front teeth. Pomfrey could regrow them in a matter of hours, but still.

"Did a giant ask you to dance?" Draco asked before he could stop himself.

"No!" There was a whistling sound as air escaped through the tooth hole. Weasley sent him a glare. "Mind your own biffnith." He hobbled down the stairs, a trail of mud falling onto the floor behind him.

Draco was still staring at the mat of red and brown-streaked hair that was disappearing down the spiral when the door opened again, a riot of brown hair peeking into the room. "Oh," she said, and she let the door close behind her. "Did I just see…?"

"He went downstairs already," Draco said, nodding toward the corner of the room.

She nodded, looking distractedly at the clods of dirt on the tile floor. "Well, good night, then," she said, and she started toward the stairs.

Draco stood. "Wait." And she stopped, her shoulders tensing. "I wanted to talk to you, if you wouldn't mind."

She bit her lip—why did she always have to draw attention to her lower lip?—and stepped forward to sit on the chair beside the sofa. He'd have preferred if she'd sat next to him, but a start was a start. She looked expectantly at him, her hands clasping her knees. "Well?" she prompted after he hadn't said anything for half a minute.

"Well…." He twisted in his seat to face her better. "I—"

"Ow!"

"Come on, Ron!" Both of their heads swiveled toward the staircase, where Weasley reemerged, being pulled—surprisingly strongly—by Moon. She scowled at him as soon as she'd cleared the landing. "You know what he did? He got clobbered by not one bludger, not two, but five of them! Some idiot was trying to jinx them in order to cheat and accidentally multiplied them instead!" Moon harrumphed, grabbed Weasley by the arm, and forcibly pulled him toward the door. He winced, gritting his holey teeth.

"You didn't haff to tell dem!" Weasley frowned, turning his attention from his girlfriend to them. "Why're you togeffer?"

Before Draco could think of a suitable riposte, Granger jumped to her feet. "Are you okay?" she asked, running a hand through her hair. "Did you break your nose, too?"

Moon shook her head, rolling her eyes. "It's just the teeth." Weasley scowled at her. And Draco thought he and Granger made a dysfunctional couple—or at least they would if they were ever left alone long enough for him to ask her. In which case….

"Maybe you should go to the Hospital Wing." Arguably, that was probably the nicest thing he'd ever said to Weasley. Ever. At least he had an ulterior motive.

He really needed to pick on a First Year. He was being far too mild lately.

Unsurprisingly, the red rodent sent him a look. "Maybe you should."

"Well, someone should!" Moon ranted. "Come on, Ron!"

Granger had been looking contemplative for the last several minutes. "Why would someone jinx the bludgers to cheat if it were a practice? They didn't have a game on a Monday, did they?"

"Two words," Moon said. "Cannons. Idiot." She poked Weasley in the rib.

"Ow! Stop dat!"

Moon rolled her eyes, grabbed a chunk of orange Quidditch uniform, and yanked the both of them out of the Common Room, more mud falling on the way out.

O

The door closed with a click, and Hermione felt the tension return to her as she turned to face Malfoy again. Alone. Why were they "togeffer," anyway?

"You might want to cast a silencing charm," he suggested, almost blandly.

"Why?"

"Just a conversation of a private nature, is all." He flashed her a quick, nervous smile. But it was a smile, nonetheless. Not a smirk, but a smile.

In other words, she was doomed.

She felt a sudden tension in her chest, below her heart but above her stomach. He patted the empty space beside him on the sofa, and she sat down cautiously after she'd cast her Silencio. Her wand felt funny in her hand, and she wasn't sure whether to grip it tighter or let it fall freely into her lap.

He took a moment to cast a reflexive glance over her shoulder into the fireplace before looking directly at her. "Did you mean it?" he asked.

Hermione was startled. "Excuse me?"

"Back on the day of the dance party, you said that it wasn't me, exactly. It was just that you couldn't, and I quote if I'm not mistaken, 'let that cow win.' Did you mean it?"

Hermione's brain was in a flutter trying to remember that conversation. Had she said that? "I… suppose?"

"So, then, now that we've established that you wouldn't be letting Trelawney win because there are holes in the prophecy—"

"Malfoy," she stopped him. Her heart was starting to race now, and she couldn't even tell why. What was he getting at? "You don't honestly think we're going to fall in love, do you?" Had she just said what she thought she just said?

He leaned back against the arm of the sofa, surveying her. "There's only one way to find out. I'm just suggesting we try it." There was a teasing lilt to his tone.

"What are you suggesting?" she asked, her suspicion peaked.

"That we date," he said, sounding so casual, he might have been asking her a question about their test in Runes tomorrow.

Hermione's mouth went dry. "That we what?" she squeaked.

"Date. And I do mean the verb and not the fruit."

"That was a horrible joke," she murmured.

"I know." He looked more serious now.

"So…" she asked, trying to regain her bearings, "what? You want to sneak about the castle and… snog?" She'd actually said that, too, hadn't she?

He smirked slightly. "Yes, just without the sneaking, if you wouldn't mind." He walked his fingers across his knee, coming close to but not quite reaching her hand. He squeezed his hand into a fist.

"So… no sneaking? You mean… when you say date, you actually mean—"

"Boyfriend, girlfriend, hold hands on the way to meals, doe eyes at one another on occasion—more so on your part, I'd imagine—and, yes, snogging would be very much appreciated. You're quite good at it, you know." Another teasing smile, though he did look noticeably nervous.

Hermione felt herself gulp. "Oh?"

He actually did reach for her hand now, and she jerked when he slipped her fingers between his. "In my opinion." He kissed her knuckles.

Hermione felt like her brain, body, and senses were all about to combust, her cheeks, neck, and forehead heating up.

"I need to think," she gasped. Was the fire consuming all the air in the room or were her windpipes collapsing?

"All right," he agreed. She grappled to regain her grip on her wand—and her cognizance—and stood. He followed, rising to his feet. She took a step toward the staircase, and he followed. Heaven help her, he was following her down. She could feel his eyes on the back of her head like an actual touch as they spiraled downward and into the darkened stairwell. "But—" his voice was oddly small now—"a goodnight kiss?"

She could only see the outline of him as he traced his left thumb over her lips, one at a time. His thumb fell into the dip above her chin, his lips brushing hers only briefly before he disappeared into the boys' dorm.

When Hermione finally fell asleep, she dreamt of thumbs.

O

A.N. Happy New Year! I am so sorry that this took so long! I'm afraid the next chapter will probably take an equally long time. You wouldn't throw fruit at me, would you? Perish the thought—please!