Heat Wave

There should be more synonyms to the word "look". It's far too common and overused. And necessary.
And wizarding words should be added to Microsoft dictionaries. I hate adding them one by one just so I don't have to see the little red squiggly lines under all the "malfoy's" and "Gryffindors"...
PS - if you see any glaring mistakes, please let me know via review. Not only will it get my hopes up that you love me, but I could actually change it and you will feel better knowing you might be more perfect than me.
;-)


~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It was like nothing she had ever felt before. Was this how Draco had been all semester? All throughout their years at Hogwarts? To know that she was the one that made him smile like he hadn’t before and she was the one whom everyone was talking about, but they didn’t know it was her. It was better than the Yule Ball with Viktor. Better than making Lavender jealous over Ron. There was no Rita Skeeter, or Ron, or Cormac ruining her moment. Not now, because nobody knew. And school was ending soon, by then no one could care without seeming petty. Her parents would only care that their little girl was heading towards a serious relationship. They didn’t know that his father was an evil man. They knew Draco picked on her, just like Ron and Harry had in first year. Her parents would smile to themselves and say “opposites attract” or “they’ve finally grown-up.” No resistance would come from anywhere, for the time being.

Everyone else’s ignorance was her bliss.

She kept sighing to herself in class. She tried, so hard, to pay attention to NEWTs. One word, just one little word, and the train of thought took her to so many different places. He always seemed to do this to her during finals times. First at Christmas, now the nastily exhausting tests. If the feeling wasn’t so novel, she could actually pretend that she was worried about the distraction. And she couldn’t help reminding herself of what she’d felt when he told her, and when he kissed her – properly kissed her. Merlin help her, she’d even giggled in the middle, much to Draco’s dismay. But they had needed to move from the middle of the library; anyone could see them and then the bliss bubble would surely pop. For the past week now it was down to covert glances, and little notes stuffed in her bag with dirty words and suggestions that he couldn’t whisper in her ear, not yet.

Hermione Granger was on the verge of exploding from frustration, and Draco Malfoy kept pushing her buttons without even touching her.

It wasn’t just him. Hermione was actually putting effort into being desirable. Just little things to make him tick, on purpose. Her skirt would find a way to rest higher on her thigh in class. Her robes were buttoned tighter around her waist, and her posture when carrying her books and sack seemed straighter. Even her hips swayed just a little with a confident strut. She pulled her hair out of her face and smiled when she talked to others. She laughed loudly to catch his attention, but not cackling, or grating like Pansy’s (at least, so she hoped). She even started checking her reflection on glasses and in trophy case doors. After an hour of studying herself in her room, Hermione decided she was beginning to look like a woman.

~*~*~

By the weekend before exams, rumors about Draco Malfoy were halted because of students finally choosing to study. The library was full, at the moment. Common rooms were quiet, tense, and crowded. For once in her life, Hermione actually felt prepared for her exams and was more than willing to sneak away with Draco while everyone else was preoccupied.

She hadn’t seen him since Friday’s classes. It was now Saturday evening, and she was fidgeting excessively in the Gryffindor common room. Harry and Ron were on the couch next to her arm chair pouring over the notes she had let them borrow. One leg was curled under her, while the other foot tapped…tap-tapped…tap-tap-tapped…

“It’s too loud in here!” She stood up suddenly and pushed Crookshanks unceremoniously off her lap.

Harry and Ron looked up, confused.

“Hermione,” Harry whispered, “the only noise’s been your foot,” he inclined his head. Ron had scrunched up his eyebrows, and was looking at her like she’d uttered a foul word.

“No…no, I can’t concentrate in here…I’ll be back soon…” She started gathering her books and parchments, distracted and ignoring the boys’ pleas to let them keep the papers, just for one more chapter. She shuffled to the portrait door, oblivious to the number of Gryffindors who were staring at her desperate departure.

She had seen him fly past the tower window.

Hermione was sure it was him. Quidditch was over, and the professors had finally put cooling charms inside the school to encourage the students to stay in and study; no one else would venture outside, not even on a weekend. Plus, the last note he’d sent her was a tantalizing fantasy using the stands at the quidditch field and something about a broom she hadn’t been able to make out.

Once out of the Fat Lady’s direct eye-sight, she broke into a run. Skipping stair steps, skirting hallways that seemed to have been visited by Peeves, disregarding Moaning Myrtle’s moans, and impatiently waiting for the door at the entrance hall to slowly swing open for her, Hermione finally made it to the Quidditch field. She went to stand at the center of the oval and looked up at his floating figure as he made his way luxuriously down to her. He let his toes skim the grass, but didn’t dismount.

She looked at him, determined and expectant. “Well? Aren’t you going to kiss me?”

He scrutinized her openly: hairs had escaped from her ponytail and were curled up like little horns around her forehead, some were stuck to her face by the sweat that had formed during her race to see him. Her face itself was red and splotchy, a far cry from the angry flush that came when she was being argued with.

“No Granger, I don’t think I will.” She smiled despite the refusal.

“Can I kiss you?”

“No.”

This time she actually reeled back. No? Was he insane? Teasing her all week, and then saying no?

“Why not Malfoy?” she spat, “Had enough of me in classrooms by yourself?”

He circled her lazily on his broom. “Absolutely not. I have wonderful endurance. And I happen to love myself enough to keep going all summer if necessary.” Hermione crossed her arms and huffed, not able to do much more while being orbited. “But if you keep acting like a girl in love, I’m going to have to just…” He shrugged noncommittally.

“In love?!” she shrieked, “I have been more desperate this week than seven years in this place to have someone –”

“Someone do what?” He swung abruptly to face her, still hovering above ground. His teeth were bared in what could be construed as a smile, but was no where near as nice as how he’d smiled at her in the library. She went red and felt that feeling again, but kept on going.

“To have someone do all those things you wrote about.”

“You’re acting like you’ve already been had.” He continued in his path around her and ignored her sputtering. “You’re just like every girl now. Every girl who thinks she knows something no one else does. Except maybe for that Weasley girl. Must be too much testosterone…” he mused as he circled a little bit higher, and higher.

She didn’t want that much. She could read his notes if she just wanted that. But she did want him to kiss her. She needed to get his attention back.

“Are you bored of me, you spoilt child?” Hermione yelled up – he was almost two stories high now. “Are you bored of me because they’re bored of you?!”

Even from where he was, he could see her stance becoming more firm, more stubborn. She was no longer floundering and confused. He grinned to himself and reclined back on his broom to soak in the last rays of the sun and listen to her scream herself hoarse. She went on for a few minutes, hurling over used insults at him while he lay in the sky, undeterred. About the time she should have stopped, something wafted up to him that made him turn his head, then grab the handle under him to keep from falling twenty-five feet.

“Look at me Draco Malfoy!”

She had thrown back her robes and was standing in the middle of the quidditch field in a plain white camisole and black shorts. She’d taken her hair out of the pony tail and it was poofed even more than ever.

He came down, steep, and stopped before the broom hit her nose. She squinted up at him and asked again “Do I look like every other girl now?”

The right answer was yes, she did. She had hair, her face was still rounded, she had breasts, a stomach that was poochy despite her attempts to pull it in. Her waist came in a little, and her hips went out even less, and her legs were pale. She looked like a girl at Hogwarts. But he knew better than to give the right answer. Or to say that that was exactly what he’d pictured her as being and how it didn’t bother him in the least that she was less than perfect. He could say that she’d lost weight since Christmas, but he wasn’t supposed to have seen anything in the first place.

When he didn’t say anything, Hermione started losing her nerve. The night was coming and nights were never as warm as the day. Her camisole wasn’t going to cover anything should she get a chill…

She knelt to pick up her robe, avoiding eye contact at all cost. When she rose and went to turn back to the castle, Draco caught her upper arm and pulled her towards him.

“Leave your window open. It’ll be hotter tonight, and classrooms were getting terribly uncomfortable.”

He pushed her away gently to where she was heading to anyway and spiraled off to where Hermione couldn’t see.