Long Time in the Making

Having made an appearance, danced and snogged with Pansy “The Stalker” Parkinson and completely lost his bottle when a stunningly beautiful Mudblood floated elegantly down the main stairs to the Yule Ball, Draco made his escape to the dungeons to relieve the imperative throbbing in his trousers.

The intrepid Gryffindor made a last circuit of the Great Hall before spying her target. Tailored robes gave him away as he headed for one of the more deserted stairwells.

Alternately tripping and dropping the gown fabric she bunched in her hands, Hermione cast wordless silencing and door-locking charms in rapid succession; her quarry now hurried to nowhere.

Increasingly intense Alohomora spells merely sparked and sent painful shocks back up Draco’s wand hand and arm.

“Whoever you are, unlock this fucking door before I Avada your arse.”

“Not,” she panted, having finally caught up, “until I talk to you — and I don’t need an Unforgiveable to stop you.”

Cool eyes, neither blue nor grey, studied her.

“I have nothing to say to you, Mudblood”

Her infamous temper — the one that reconfigured his nose and led to another one-sided confrontation with his father — made no appearance, to his puzzlement.

“You saved me… At the Quidditch World Cup. You warned us — in that smarmy, arrogant way of yours — that your father and the other Death Eaters were attacking Muggle-borns. Harry and Ron would have fought to protect me and probably lost. I want to know why.”

The sneer returned.

“I thought you three would make better entertainment if you knew they were hunting you.”

“No need to be an arse, Draco. I don’t hate you; I hate the way you treat people… I wanted to know why, to see if you’d changed. But I guess I was wrong about you. Thanks, anyway. I didn’t relish being tortured like those Muggles were…” 

Her hand waving in mid-air caused the snap of lock-bolts to their unlocked position. Draco gaped in amazement at the power emanating from the witch’s fingertips without word or wand.

Hermione stunned him with abilities only pure-blood witches were supposed to exhibit.

Draco stunned her with his frankly appreciative look and the slow, genuine smile spreading across his face as he stared.

The blush climbing her exposed swan-like neck and pretty freckled face joined her embarrassed grin as she ascended the stairs — one tripping step at a time…