in These Dreams of Eternity
folder
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Draco/Hermione
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
7
Views:
6,334
Reviews:
16
Recommended:
1
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Draco/Hermione
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
7
Views:
6,334
Reviews:
16
Recommended:
1
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, and no money is being made from this work of fanfiction.
The Fifth Task, Interlude
Chapter Five: The Fifth Task, Interlude
000
Three Weeks Later
They were a little tipsy.
Hermione was, at least. She suspected Malfoy was flat-out drunk.
Congratulations were in order. They had escaped Shangri-La with the nectar from the Sacred Fig of nirvana. Getting into Shangri-La actually hadn’t been that bad - a steep, exhausting two-day hike up the Himalayas, avoiding the nasty Bulgarians again – but it was getting out that was the true challenge.
Who would want to leave a place that made you that happy?
Malfoy, it seemed.
“So Malfoy, are you really that grumpy or are you just immune to all happiness and laughter?”
“You know who’s really immune to happiness and laughter – those bloody Bulgarians.” Malfoy said, his tone vengefully amused.
Hermione giggled. “Did you see their faces when the monks wanted them to the kata of eternal happiness? They were terrified. Except for when Andrei was looking at my breasts. Again. Bloody pervert. We have to do something about those blokes. They’re… not right.” She wondered how concerned she should be that other than Neville and Luna, it was the Bulgarians they tended to run into most often. Shuddering, she drained the last of her fairy wine. Putting thoughts of creepy Bulgarians out of head, she peered at the bottle intently; she determined that there was enough for another glass. Humming to herself happily she poured the rest into her glass and told herself that she would stop before she got too drunk.
Draco leaned on the back of his chair heavily, a picture of languid elegant ease, sipping firewhiskey. It had become sort of a ritual, she supposed. These post-quest celebrations were still awkward, but surprisingly enjoyable. When he wasn’t being a prejudiced, insensitive git, Draco was actually quite entertaining. Funny and quick, he often had Hermione in tears with his droll observations.
But she still hated him. Of course.
Yet it was a soft, malleable hatred, tinged at the edges with amusement and a growing respect.
“I can’t believe Neville let Luna lead him into that cave.”
“I can,” Draco said, “He may be able to deliver when the chips are down, but he is, and always will be, a Longbottom.”
“A thousand-legged Sporkle,” Hermione snorted as she shifted in her chair, drawing Draco’s eyes to her breasts as her black tank tightened. “What a joke. At least they had their wands when that avalanche hit - scary stuff that.”
“I’m not afraid or anything,” Draco boasted as he took another shot of Ogden’s.
Hermione snorted into her wineglass. “And here I thought you were afraid of snakes.”
“There were five giant snakes guarding that tree! Five! Each at least the size of a Basilisk. Just because you knew some Muggle tale about apples and snakes does not give you the right to be an uppity cow about it. Will you ever forget it?” Draco said, his shot glass spilling liquor onto the table with every gesture. His grey eyes were slightly glassy, but somehow he still made the haughty sneer convincing.
“Never!” Doing her best to imitate his posh drawl, Hermione mocked, “Granger, stop telling me that Muggle rubbish! You’re useless! Oh, Granger save me from the snake that you knew would be in the forest!” Hermione dissolved into giggles.
“You’re not as funny as you think you are, you know.” His expression was strange; his face set in a haughty sneer, but his eyes were warm, and almost… happy… behind the fever-brightness of the liquor.
“Oh, you know I am Malfoy,” Hermione said, taking another long chug of wine. “I am hilarious. Yoooou,” Hermione grinned cheekily and leaned forward, unknowingly giving him another good look down her shirt into impressive cleavage, “Think I’m hysterical.”
Hermione yawned and stretched widely– and noticed Malfoy goggling at her curves. She did look nice tonight, in her opinion. Her figure was shown off well by a trim sports tank and close-fitting shorts. Ankle boots and an elaborate golden bracelet (a Christmas gift from Ginny) completed the outfit, showing off her toned arms nicely. He couldn’t even say anything bad about her hair - it was controlled in a tight braid going down her back, only a few tendrils escaping to frame her face.
She thought she looked sexy. And she felt rather adventurous. Draco was probably drunk, which would make even a cow look sexy. And he hadn’t exactly been around anyone else of the female persuasion recently, had he? Between the two, it offered a very plausible explanation for why he kept watching her mouth and the little quirk of his mouth that appeared at the oddest moments.
Should I give him a show? Hermione smiled a little drunkenly and lifted her arms over her head in an exaggerated stretch. His expression morphed from one of haughty disinterest to one of drunken intent as soon as her short top rose to bare her trim waist. Let him see what he’s missing!
Hermione smirked at his pole-axed look on his face. Leaning towards him, and giving him a slow, seductive smile, she said, “Night Malfoy. Don’t sail us into any monsoons, if you please, I need my sleep.”
As she left the table, weaving her way to the bathroom, she wondered if maybe she didn’t hate him so much after all.
000
Three Weeks Later
They were a little tipsy.
Hermione was, at least. She suspected Malfoy was flat-out drunk.
Congratulations were in order. They had escaped Shangri-La with the nectar from the Sacred Fig of nirvana. Getting into Shangri-La actually hadn’t been that bad - a steep, exhausting two-day hike up the Himalayas, avoiding the nasty Bulgarians again – but it was getting out that was the true challenge.
Who would want to leave a place that made you that happy?
Malfoy, it seemed.
“So Malfoy, are you really that grumpy or are you just immune to all happiness and laughter?”
“You know who’s really immune to happiness and laughter – those bloody Bulgarians.” Malfoy said, his tone vengefully amused.
Hermione giggled. “Did you see their faces when the monks wanted them to the kata of eternal happiness? They were terrified. Except for when Andrei was looking at my breasts. Again. Bloody pervert. We have to do something about those blokes. They’re… not right.” She wondered how concerned she should be that other than Neville and Luna, it was the Bulgarians they tended to run into most often. Shuddering, she drained the last of her fairy wine. Putting thoughts of creepy Bulgarians out of head, she peered at the bottle intently; she determined that there was enough for another glass. Humming to herself happily she poured the rest into her glass and told herself that she would stop before she got too drunk.
Draco leaned on the back of his chair heavily, a picture of languid elegant ease, sipping firewhiskey. It had become sort of a ritual, she supposed. These post-quest celebrations were still awkward, but surprisingly enjoyable. When he wasn’t being a prejudiced, insensitive git, Draco was actually quite entertaining. Funny and quick, he often had Hermione in tears with his droll observations.
But she still hated him. Of course.
Yet it was a soft, malleable hatred, tinged at the edges with amusement and a growing respect.
“I can’t believe Neville let Luna lead him into that cave.”
“I can,” Draco said, “He may be able to deliver when the chips are down, but he is, and always will be, a Longbottom.”
“A thousand-legged Sporkle,” Hermione snorted as she shifted in her chair, drawing Draco’s eyes to her breasts as her black tank tightened. “What a joke. At least they had their wands when that avalanche hit - scary stuff that.”
“I’m not afraid or anything,” Draco boasted as he took another shot of Ogden’s.
Hermione snorted into her wineglass. “And here I thought you were afraid of snakes.”
“There were five giant snakes guarding that tree! Five! Each at least the size of a Basilisk. Just because you knew some Muggle tale about apples and snakes does not give you the right to be an uppity cow about it. Will you ever forget it?” Draco said, his shot glass spilling liquor onto the table with every gesture. His grey eyes were slightly glassy, but somehow he still made the haughty sneer convincing.
“Never!” Doing her best to imitate his posh drawl, Hermione mocked, “Granger, stop telling me that Muggle rubbish! You’re useless! Oh, Granger save me from the snake that you knew would be in the forest!” Hermione dissolved into giggles.
“You’re not as funny as you think you are, you know.” His expression was strange; his face set in a haughty sneer, but his eyes were warm, and almost… happy… behind the fever-brightness of the liquor.
“Oh, you know I am Malfoy,” Hermione said, taking another long chug of wine. “I am hilarious. Yoooou,” Hermione grinned cheekily and leaned forward, unknowingly giving him another good look down her shirt into impressive cleavage, “Think I’m hysterical.”
Hermione yawned and stretched widely– and noticed Malfoy goggling at her curves. She did look nice tonight, in her opinion. Her figure was shown off well by a trim sports tank and close-fitting shorts. Ankle boots and an elaborate golden bracelet (a Christmas gift from Ginny) completed the outfit, showing off her toned arms nicely. He couldn’t even say anything bad about her hair - it was controlled in a tight braid going down her back, only a few tendrils escaping to frame her face.
She thought she looked sexy. And she felt rather adventurous. Draco was probably drunk, which would make even a cow look sexy. And he hadn’t exactly been around anyone else of the female persuasion recently, had he? Between the two, it offered a very plausible explanation for why he kept watching her mouth and the little quirk of his mouth that appeared at the oddest moments.
Should I give him a show? Hermione smiled a little drunkenly and lifted her arms over her head in an exaggerated stretch. His expression morphed from one of haughty disinterest to one of drunken intent as soon as her short top rose to bare her trim waist. Let him see what he’s missing!
Hermione smirked at his pole-axed look on his face. Leaning towards him, and giving him a slow, seductive smile, she said, “Night Malfoy. Don’t sail us into any monsoons, if you please, I need my sleep.”
As she left the table, weaving her way to the bathroom, she wondered if maybe she didn’t hate him so much after all.