novelraw Chapter 126: The Boy Who Is Two-Faced
Chapter 126: The Boy Who Is Two-Faced
Ginny Weasley sat on the slouchy sofa before the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room, stroking Crookshanks's fur, her eyes fixed intently on the doorway.
"Want some Canary Creams?" George said, walking over and asking his little sister, who was engrossed in her vigil, with a grin.
"I won't eat them!" Ginny refused outright. "Who doesn't know there's something dodgy about those biscuits?"
As soon as she finished speaking, in a corner at the other end of the common room, a student suddenly sprouted feathers all over his body. The students who'd gathered around burst into laughter, with Fred laughing the loudest.
"Ginny, who are you waiting for?" George asked with interest. "Harry?"
"No, I'm waiting for Hermione!" Ginny said. "Seriously, during the Christmas holidays, who else but her would disappear first thing in the morning and not even sleep in?"
"Oh—" George said, chuckling, recalling the Slytherin boy he'd bumped into earlier that morning—carrying the Marauder's Map—rushing into the library. "Then you'll have to wait rather longer."
Ginny wrinkled her nose, gently rubbing Crookshanks's chubby cheeks, and asked him irritably, "Tell me, who did she go to see, leaving us all to the side?"
Crookshanks felt comfortable being touched by her, stared at her with his bright yellow eyes, and lazily meowed.
Ginny didn't see Hermione until Crookshanks got impatient with her touching, jumped from the sofa, and ran away along the wall.
The people in the common room, having had their fill of the excitement caused by the Canary Creams, had long since dispersed. Freed from the constraints of schoolwork, the students, like scattered seeds, were dispersed freely throughout the castle by the joyful hand of holiday celebrations.
A girl with a flushed face drifted against the flow of people, floating like a ghost into the portrait hole past the Fat Lady, where she bumped into Ginny, whose eyes were sparkling. Ginny rushed over joyfully, jumping and skipping before the girl like a puppy finally waiting for its owner to come home. "Hermione, someone invited me! I can go to the ball!"
"Who?" Hermione asked, still dazed.
"Your classmate, Neville Longbottom," Ginny said, blushing slightly. "He was worried about not having a dance partner, and I was worried about not having anyone to invite, so we hit it off immediately."
"Given up on Harry?" Hermione finally came to her senses and asked in a low voice.
"This has nothing to do with giving up! I don't think he's even close to being enlightened yet! Besides, he's already found a dance partner, hasn't he? He's even busy finding a dance partner for my brother Ron," Ginny said, snorting coldly. "'Liking' doesn't mean I have to shut down the possibility of exploring the world, nor does it mean I don't have the freedom to choose others."
"I like your idea. Go and enjoy the ball. To be honest, I don't think Harry enjoys dancing that much, nor is he very enthusiastic about finding a dance partner. The look on his face when he asked for a partner was exactly the same as when he was forcing himself to do his Divination homework for Professor Trelawney..." Hermione said, sitting on the sofa and comforting her until Ginny smiled.
"That's right—let's think of something else. Mum bought me a new dress, and I'm planning to dance to my heart's content!" Ginny said expectantly. "I hope Neville's dancing skills are good enough he won't step on my feet."
"Yes," Hermione said. Her tone was hesitant, her mind clearly not on Neville's dancing. She spoke softly, "There's something I wanted to ask you. Just now... well, never mind, it's nothing..."
Ginny looked at her suspiciously, then quickly realized what she meant.
"Something's wrong. Hermione, what happened? Your face is abnormally red! Your lips are a strange red too! And why is your collar all wrinkled?" Ginny said, her eyes widening. "Wait—where have you been?"
She leaned closer to Hermione, studying her slightly swollen, strikingly red lips, her blushing expression, and her hair, which should have been neatly tied but was now slightly disheveled, and said with ill intent, "Oh dear, you didn't... just... get intimate with someone, did you?"
Hermione's eyes widened.
"How—how did you know?" she stammered.
"Oh, Percy and his girlfriend Penelope—after they've been intimate—that's the sort of pathetic couple they are. I've seen them a few times outside empty classrooms," Ginny said matter-of-factly. "Look at you now! Blushing, lovesick, and rather distracted... just like Crookshanks who'd accidentally torn your *Spellman's Syllabary* yesterday—all guilty."
Oh—the *Spellman's Syllabary*—the culprit that had caused all this chaos! Hermione buried her face in her hands and sighed.
"Is it Malfoy or Krum?" Ginny said, chuckling slyly, her voice rather grating.
"Ginny! Stop making fun of me..." Hermione said, peeking at her through her fingers, burying her face even deeper, and letting out a long, drawn-out hum.
"Well, I knew it was that Malfoy rascal. I had a feeling something was off about him! That forehead kiss, tsk—I knew I wasn't wrong!" Ginny said, observing her guilty look and speaking calmly. "Let's congratulate Mr Draco Malfoy on finally having his first intimate moment with Miss Hermione Granger in the open, without having to sneak around."
"Ginny, keep your voice down!" Hermione said, grabbing a cushion and burying her slightly flushed cheeks in it, not wanting to emerge anymore.
"What are you shy about? If you dare do it, you should dare admit it! Tell me now! Where did you two get intimate? If it was an empty classroom, that's so unoriginal," Ginny pressed.
"The library—" Hermione whispered, feeling like a bad student caught by Professor McGonagall.
"Wow, the most sacred and romantic place in the hearts of all the bookworms at Hogwarts—" Ginny said with a mischievous grin. "Isn't this the ideal date spot you told me about before?"
Hermione didn't say anything but just buried her head under the cushion again.
"How's his kissing skill?" Ginny said, leaning closer and whispering curiously in her ear.
"Not bad... In fact, rather good... as far as I can tell..." Hermione's voice came faintly from under the cushion.
"Was it a light, fleeting kiss, or a deep, passionate one?" Ginny's voice was full of endless teasing; her questions seemed never-ending.
"The latter," Hermione said, curling up on the sofa—still feeling rather weak in the knees—she hadn't recovered from the aftereffects of that passionate kiss.
"That's something new. Speaking of which, does he even know how to kiss?" Ginny said, deliberately contradicting her and trying to provoke the evasive little Porlock. "You know, girls all think he's cold and doesn't know how to be gentle with girls. They think he's probably terrible at kissing and they all want to teach him—"
"I think he knows what he's doing!" Hermione finally poked her head from under the cushion and said angrily.
Then she saw Ginny's composed face and her "I knew it" expression.
"Looks like you're quite satisfied?"
"I thought it was rather good..." she muttered. That kiss still dazzled her to this day.
That kiss. Her first kiss. His kiss with her. She'd liked the kiss, but she was also rather flustered.
Why had no one ever told her a kiss could bring such a wonderful feeling? An irresistible pull to get closer, an overwhelming joy, a tremor that ran through the soul, an intoxicating greed, and a feeling of being subtly out of control.
She'd seemed to no longer belong to herself but had slipped into a remote, untouched valley. There, he was the controller, the taker, and simultaneously the worshipper.
He'd seemed to hold her in his hands, gently yet forcefully taking her lips, while also showing a sort of careful tenderness.
"Putting aside the issue of kissing skills, I seriously doubt you'd be satisfied no matter how he kisses you," Ginny said dismissively, a teasing look on her face. "The problem is, do you still think he sees you as a sister? Just a friend? A casual friend from the next House? A study partner in some lesson? Who said they wanted to be content with the status quo and didn't want any more trouble?"
Hermione's face immediately burned. "I didn't expect this either. Plans never go as expected," she said. She hugged the cushion to her chest and muttered softly, "I only realized this morning when he kissed me he might not want to treat me like a sister."
"The truth's finally out. I was right from the beginning! He never had sisterly feelings for you!" Ginny said, laughing triumphantly.
Like a discerning judge, she delivered her final verdict on Hermione's long-standing emotional entanglement: "Hermione Granger, who thought she was in unrequited love, is just a spoiled little fool. Case closed!"
Hermione pursed her lips and smiled faintly at her, a little bubble of joy rising in her heart.
"Did he confess his feelings to you?" Ginny asked expectantly. "What did he say?"
"Oh, actually, we hadn't even had a chance to discuss it. He just kissed me out of the blue—it was all so sudden," Hermione said, blushing under Ginny's meaningful gaze.
"I understand—you're too busy kissing to talk about anything else," Ginny chuckled.
"Ginny, don't make fun of me," Hermione said. Her inner turmoil began crumbling, leaving behind ripples of anxiety. "Honestly, I'm rather confused."
"Why?" Ginny asked. "I thought you'd be happy! You like him, and now he likes you too—isn't that wonderful?"
"Of course I'm happy. But what if it was just a momentary impulse? What if it wasn't? How am I supposed to face him then? He—he always manages to easily confuse me," Hermione said, troubled. "The kiss was the same. It was so sudden for me, just like he said I was like his sister. I wasn't prepared at all—I wasn't even in the moment. I didn't know how to face him—he's so unpredictable—I just ran away."
"Oh, Hermione—" Ginny said, looking at the girl before her who seemed so anxious and uncertain, not knowing what to say.
"For a long time, I've tried convincing myself he's just a friend. I've got used to interacting with him as a friend, carefully maintaining a delicate balance. It's not easy for me. It often leaves me feeling exhausted. But now that balance has been abruptly broken. It's not that I'm unhappy he likes me, or that I don't like his kisses," Hermione said slowly. "But I feel like my life's losing its original sense of order. I'm always so easily swayed by his every move."
"Oh, I get it. We can't let that git Malfoy lead us by the nose and do whatever he wants to us, can we? We need to have our own opinions. Especially now, we should take control of our own lives," Ginny said seriously. "I support you, sister. Whether you like him or not, whether he likes you or not, you should first make yourself comfortable; give your tired brain a few days off—you can think things through slowly. No one needs you to make any major life decisions right away."
For the next few days, Hermione stayed in the Gryffindor common room doing her homework.
She didn't even dare go to the library, given that Draco could always pinpoint her location with the Marauder's Map—that cunning Slytherin!
She didn't even dare eat in the Great Hall. He'd always appear across the table with a cold expression, then smile smugly at her the moment he looked at her, as if he were about to come over and talk to her at any moment.
Speaking to him before everyone—that wasn't a good idea! What would he say to her? And what should she say to him?
She should carefully consider his attitude and thoughts toward her. She should look for significant evidence and a timeline in the subtle clues from their past interactions that "he regarded her as a sister" had transformed into "he liked her"; or she should consider another terrible possibility—he might not understand what a kiss meant—that the kiss might just be his incredibly strong desire for control at work.
But she couldn't make sense of it at all. As she thought about it, her mind would often wander back to that cedarwood-scented kiss he'd given her while holding her tightly. Then she'd start giggling like the most pathetic, infatuated female student.
She simply couldn't think clearly about what she wanted, nor could she figure out what she should say to him.
Hermione was incredibly shy. She desperately wanted to see Draco again; she thought about him countless times every day, always recalling that suffocatingly passionate kiss. Yet she was also afraid to see him, afraid he'd kiss her again without warning. Then she might be drawn to him again, led by the nose, and no longer have the energy to delve into the meaning behind the kiss.
Ginny faithfully carried the food from the Great Hall table to Hermione's table three times a day on a large silver tray, eating with her in the common room. But even a loyal friend like Ginny eventually grew tired of Hermione's seclusion.
That day, Ginny once again placed the overflowing tray on the round table before her and finally couldn't help speaking. "Hermione, what have you decided? I just ran into Malfoy in the Great Hall, and he glared at me like I owed him a mountain of Galleons!"
"Oh, how does he look?" Hermione asked her softly.
"Nothing different from usual—still that arrogant and aloof attitude," Ginny said, rolling her eyes. "He ostentatiously put up a sign before his seat that read, 'Not available.' Well, that completely shuts down any chance of girls approaching him."
Hermione couldn't hide the slight upturn of her lips.
"He said he's not available? Not unavailable?" She couldn't help adopting a smug tone, suddenly realizing she didn't need to look for evidence of "whether he's different from her." "That's not very smart of him, is it?"
("Not available" referred to a permanent state of unavailability; while "unavailable" referred to a temporary state of unavailability.)
"Whether he's smart or not is another matter, but I see you're quite satisfied with this," Ginny said, looking at the corner of her mouth and thinking she was completely hypocritical. "Loads of girls think he's a git—they think they should at least get a decent verbal response, instead of him arrogantly tapping the sign and not even giving them a glance."
"He does have some attitude problems," Hermione said, recalling his poor attitude toward Krum. "He's sometimes not very polite to people, which I don't think is a good habit."
"Only sometimes? I think you're rather delusional. You're downplaying it. He's like that with everyone—except you? Look at Harry—he's friendly to everyone. Compared to that, Malfoy is really—" Ginny said, glancing at Hermione and deciding to give her some face and not pursue the topic further. "So what are you thinking? How long are you going to avoid him?"
"I haven't decided yet..."
"Have you even thought about this properly?" Ginny said irritably. "I'm telling you to take your time thinking about it, but that doesn't mean you should keep running away from reality or giving up treatment!"
"Then think about Harry—why don't you ask him to be your dance partner?" Hermione said, cleverly shifting the focus of the argument.
"Fine, fine, go ahead and run away—it doesn't matter how long you run away," Ginny said, immediately raising her hands in surrender.
On the morning of the Hogsmeade weekend before Christmas, Hermione's escapism came to an end. A somewhat familiar eagle owl perched on the window of the girls' dormitory, politely tapping the glass with its beautiful beak, gazing at Hermione with the same patient and gentle look as its master.
Hermione opened the window and welcomed her in, wanting to stroke her feathers. Just then, the girl noticed a small roll of parchment tied to the eagle owl's leg—written in Draco's beautiful cursive—saying he wanted to meet her at the Three Broomsticks to discuss the Yule Ball.
"—You said you wouldn't hide from me. You have to keep your word." He'd cunningly added this sentence at the end of the letter, leaving her with nowhere to run.
He'd checkmated her.
She had to go, otherwise she'd become the sort of witch who didn't keep her word, while Hermione Granger was always very trustworthy.
Besides, the Yule Ball was just around the corner—they were definitely going to be dance partners—she still had to see him, and even dance with him.
She couldn't escape.
Hogsmeade village was decorated like a festive Christmas card: cottages and shops were covered with a layer of soft snow, Christmas wreaths made of holly and other materials adorned every door, and strings of enchanted candles hung from the trees. Passersby often carried large piles of colorful decorations or gifts, and their faces were usually covered with smiles.
The girl hurrying past clearly paid no attention to any of this. A blush gradually crept onto her fair face—both from the cold weather and from her nervousness; as she approached the Three Broomsticks, her face turned even redder—Draco's slender figure stood quietly at the pub's entrance, his platinum hair shining brightly against the snow.
The weather was unusually clear. His hands were casually in his pockets, his eyes downcast, staring blankly at the mistletoe decorating the pub entrance. For some reason, Hermione suddenly noticed a pale vulnerability in his profile, which made her instantly forget all her own inner turmoil and hesitation.
She suddenly wanted to do something to soothe his vulnerability, anything at all.
Her pace quickened. Draco heard her footsteps. He looked up and saw her; his indifferent gray eyes curved slightly, and a bright smile gradually appeared on his previously downturned lips.
"You've come," he said, gazing at her, his ears turning slightly red.
His girl concealed her curves in a black coat and a long, scarlet and gold scarf embroidered with Gryffindor patterns. Her brown hair shone with a captivating luster in the sunlight, and her black beret made her skin appear as white as snow.
"I'm here," Hermione said, glancing up at him furtively, but when he caught her gaze, she quickly looked down.
Draco smiled, said nothing, and casually opened the pub door for her, leading her inside. A few students were already seated at the table by the entrance. Several younger girls, who'd been huddled together whispering, looked up, saw him, and began murmuring amongst themselves with interest, bursting into silly laughter.
Thanks to her roommate Lavender's enthusiastic introductions in the dormitory every day, Hermione, while not an expert on the tricks to attracting boys, had at least heard of them.
At this point, the girls' laughter usually worked to some extent. Most boys couldn't resist their curiosity and wanted to see who'd made the noise—at least they'd give the source of the laughter a look—a common tactic used by gossipy groups of girls hoping to get the boys' attention.
However, Draco seemed oblivious, nodding to Madam Rosmerta behind the counter before walking straight into the depths of the pub without even glancing sideways. The girls sighed in disappointment at his cold attitude.
Hermione suddenly felt a surge of joy. For the first time, she thought his coldness was a good thing. Hiding her smile in her thick scarf, she followed him through the noisy crowd and stopped at a reserved table in the corner by the fireplace.
The reserved table was cleverly arranged. Beside it stood a huge Christmas tree decorated with snowflakes, mistletoe, and holly berries, completely blocking any view of the table.
"Is this all right?" he asked, turning to look at her.
"It's fine," she said, sitting at the table with him.
The pub was stuffy, the fireplace blazing brightly enough to make anyone forget it was a freezing winter day outside. Hermione took off her thick scarf, revealing her bare neck.
"I've already ordered Butterbeer," the boy across the table said, his gaze lingering on the exposed skin of her neck as he handed her the menu standing on the table. "Would you like something else?"
"I'm not hungry," she said, fidgeting, didn't take the menu, and her eyes seemed to be boring a hole through the table. "Let's leave it at that for now."
"Then order again whenever you're hungry," he said understandingly, slowly placing the menu aside.
At that moment, Madam Rosmerta's arrival broke the awkward silence. She greeted them warmly and brought them two steaming, frothy Butterbeers. Hermione smiled gratefully at her and saw her wink at them with an "I understand" look.
"This is a lovely spot," Madam Rosmerta said, reminding them meaningfully. "At least four or five couples wanted to sit here, but I politely declined them all—someone had already booked it in advance."
"We are not—" Hermione tried clarifying, but Draco said almost simultaneously, "Thank you, ma'am. Are you satisfied with the booking fee?"
"Very satisfied. You know, I can never refuse a generous guest," Madam Rosmerta said, chuckling. She placed the wooden plaque that read "Reserved" on the table into the empty tray, humming a popular Weird Sisters love song, and left happily.
Now things seemed even more awkward. Hermione blushed, trying not to think about what Madam Rosmerta, with her knowing smile, had been speculating about, just as she was trying not to think about why Draco hadn't corrected the lady's misunderstanding of their relationship.
They stared at the foamy beer, neither of them taking a sip.
"It's really not easy to see you, Hermione Granger," Draco said, casting a verbal Stunner to break the silence, looking at her through the steam rising from the Butterbeer with a half-smile. "Now that you're on holiday, you don't want to go to the library anymore, and you're even skipping meals? What treasures in the Gryffindor common room are worth lingering over?"
"I—I just want to enjoy my holiday and relax for a few days!" she said, her face flushed. "Nobody says I can't sleep in, do they?"
"Oh? So the food Ginny Weasley takes from the table every day has nothing to do with you?" Draco said, his teeth itching, recalling the two little dots that were often beside each other on the Marauder's Map. "Aren't you two glued together all the time?"
"No one says students can't eat in the common room, and it doesn't violate any school rules," she said. Her face turned even redder, which made his fingers twitch slightly. He wanted to pinch that stubborn face.
"I understand. You definitely didn't disappear to avoid me," Draco said softly, scrutinizing her as she tried justifying herself.
"Of course not. I have the freedom to decide where I eat and with whom I eat! I have the right to choose!" Hermione said, her voice rising eight octaves. She was eyeing Draco's expression intently—his look was uneasy—as if she'd cast a Memory Charm on him if he dared object or expose her.
Draco glanced at her, assessed the situation—and sensed she might be rather annoyed—and quickly changed the subject. He said lazily, "Fine, that's your prerogative. I respect your right to eat with anyone, anywhere."
Hermione snorted, half smug and half annoyed.
"Listen, I asked you out to ask if you'd like to find a place to practice dancing beforehand," he said in a casual and calm tone.
"I practiced, sometimes with the girls in my dormitory—" Hermione said defiantly. "Sometimes with Ginny."
"Excuse my frankness, but even if we have no technical problems, we still need to practice our coordination," he said. He carefully chose his words, afraid of touching a nerve. "The lead needs to be proactive, and the follow needs to be able to respond. At the very least, we need to establish some signals to indicate when to start dancing, exchange steps and patterns, who moves forward and who moves backward, turns, and so on..."
"Oh, that makes sense," she said. Her temper subsided, and she was no longer so aggressive.
"They always talk about practicing the physical coordination between dance partners. The dance that day won't only include the part where you dance together but also the part where you touch and separate your hands. This requires coordination and adaptability between partners, as well as a shared understanding of the rhythm of the music. We—shouldn't we have that coordination?" he asked seriously, looking straight at her.
"I suppose so," Hermione said, fidgeting with the Butterbeer glass, too embarrassed to look back at him.
After all, they'd done something as intimate as kissing... their physical intimacy... must exist, mustn't it?
In recent days, in an effort to gather evidence he cared about her, Hermione had been constantly recalling their past interactions in the minutiae of reality. At this moment, she suddenly realized they'd always had considerable physical contact—more than just friends.
She recalled she always seemed to unconsciously move closer to him. And he, in turn, seemed quite close to her, never distancing himself from her—never being as indifferent to her as he was to other girls—his attitude was almost too enthusiastic.
This boy, who wouldn't even bother glancing at anyone, would always stare at her, get close to her, and touch her.
Yes, he always treated her differently from others! He always did things that made her blush and her heart race, which was why she'd gradually fallen for him until she could no longer take her eyes off him.
So had he been planning this all along?
"Well then, let's find a place and practice a bit, shall we? We can't just dance around like headless chickens, can we?" Draco said, toying with his wand with an inscrutable expression, deciding to learn from the ferret and show some weakness to his wary and sharp-eyed prey. "You know, I'm afraid I'm not skilled enough and I'll need your help."
"Oh, I see. Then let's get to know each other rather better," Hermione said in a daze, glancing at him before taking a large gulp of Butterbeer.
The rich, creamy buttery flavor combined with the refreshing, pleasant aroma of beer malt finally relieved her of the freezing cold outside. A warm feeling filled her stomach, easing her tension. Hermione sighed contentedly and smiled.
Hermione Granger—this was how she usually ended up after her first sip of Butterbeer, Draco thought, studying the shape of her lips. White beer foam playfully clung to her lips, but she seemed oblivious, or perhaps simply didn't care.
She was such a free and easy person, living passionately and fearlessly, unafraid to express her true likes and dislikes.
Draco couldn't help chuckling softly. The anxiety he'd felt for days suddenly seemed less important—at least not as important as the conspicuous ring of foam on her lips. He habitually pulled a napkin from the long wooden holder on the table, leaned forward slightly, and reached out to wipe her lips, just as he often did.
Hermione didn't have time to back away. His movements were too fast, and she was lost in her own thoughts, completely unable to react.
He wiped slowly and cleanly. The pressure and warmth of his fingers traveled through the thin napkin, tracing a circle around her slightly surprised lips. Memories of lips from the library were suddenly amplified by this intentional or unintentional touch—she still clearly remembered how he'd treated her lips.
So much so that she felt nervous because of his fingers through the napkin and involuntarily let out a whimper like a small animal.
Would he remember that kiss? Would he like that kiss as much as she did? Would he want to kiss her now? She gripped her beer glass nervously, and unrealistic guesses and expectations suddenly popped into her mind.
Yes, Draco desperately wanted to kiss her—Hermione's whimper had completely ruined his plans.
Ever since he'd truly kissed her, the beast within him had never been satisfied in his dreams.
It longed for her. It longed for a more real touch. It longed to kiss her again.
But after that kiss, she'd disappeared for days. Draco was at a loss and even started having wild thoughts.
Was she simply shy, or had she not enjoyed his kiss? Did she—hate it? With growing worries, he became increasingly restless and impatient.
He didn't want to waste a single moment longer—he desperately wanted to know what she was thinking. He'd used up many sheets of parchment before finally writing a decent letter, determined to meet the girl hidden behind the portrait of the Fat Lady and see how that clever and complex mind worked.
At least he needed to be sure she didn't dislike him.
His plan had been flawless. In a public place—her favorite Three Broomsticks—he'd found a secluded spot, neither so private as to make her uneasy nor so public as to attract attention.
He'd try putting her at ease with her favorite Butterbeer and then have a serious talk about dancing; if she wasn't so shy, perhaps they could talk about the kiss; if she was still shy, then they could talk about something else.
He was open to talking about anything—he'd had dozens of topics in mind—as long as she didn't avoid him. He'd maintain a gentle smile, remain calm and polite during the conversation, and would never make any rash moves that would frighten her into running away.
He'd planned everything perfectly, but he hadn't expected her whimper—it was exactly the same sound she'd made when they'd kissed that day. His self-control immediately crumbled, and he couldn't hold back any longer.
Draco couldn't help noticing one thing—the girl's face flushed crimson. She was unconsciously biting her lower lip, the spot he'd lightly bitten last time.
He swallowed hard, slowly crumpled the damp napkin into a small ball, and tossed it onto the table, hoping this action would calm his impulse. But the movement of her lips only made things worse; he couldn't help noticing her soft, bud-like lips.
To make matters worse, her cheeks flushed again, and she was staring at him with that innocent, bewildered look—the light in her pupils was hazy and soft.
Damn Butterbeer foam! And that bewildering look! Draco cursed inwardly, tossing his carefully crafted list of conversation topics into Merlin's rubbish bin. He leaned forward irresistibly, his long, slender hand cupping her chin, and gently kissed her again.
That's the feeling—he sighed inwardly, tenderly cradling her flushed cheeks. His other hand slid down to the back of her head, grasping the nape of her neck through her vibrant, thick hair. He kissed her like he was tasting treacle tart, savoring the faint Butterbeer flavor in her mouth.
Hermione was breathing rapidly.
What was this? What were they doing? Why were they suddenly kissing again?
However, his lips were already pressed against hers, and her lips had their own thoughts—happily parting slightly—to welcome him, not to drive him away.
In an instant, all those complex and tangled concerns and thoughts fell to the ground in pieces, never to be picked up again.
She simply closed her eyes, oblivious to his kissing.
Good heavens, he wanted to devour her whole. He wasn't indifferent at all; he was like fire. He was as passionate as the flames dancing in the fireplace, enveloping a piece of raw wood yearning to be burned. His tongue brushed past her teeth, probing deeper, as if exploring her soul.
Hermione's heart pounded. Her hands gripped the corner of the table tightly, once again mesmerized by his kiss. She caught a faint whiff of his cedarwood scent, a fragrance that sent shivers down her spine.
That was it. His lips. His kiss that left her utterly defenseless. She was lost in his gentle yet greedy demands, feeling completely blissful.
The cold-hearted bad boy was kissing her passionately. The thought filled her with a sense of smug satisfaction.
Draco, this two-faced boy, she thought sweetly, and all the girls who thought he was cold or bad at kissing were sorely mistaken—he knew exactly how to kiss.