novelraw Chapter 128: Flames Under the Mistletoe
Chapter 128: Flames Under the Mistletoe
Draco Malfoy stormed from the Great Hall and strode aggressively down the Entrance Hall corridor.
The biting draft did nothing to quell his anger. He hurried along, trying to find a bathroom to wash his face and cool down his urge to punch Viktor Krum.
The corridor ceiling was haphazardly decorated with mistletoe, holly, and even some large red lanterns. Hogwarts had gone to great lengths to display all the festive elements, attempting to create a lively and diverse atmosphere.
However, the once cheerful corridor was now deserted—everyone at Hogwarts was dancing in the Great Hall, including Mr Filch and his cat.
Draco paid no attention to the festive elements. He glanced restlessly at the tapestries on the corridor walls decorated with the emblems of the four Houses of Hogwarts, as well as Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, and suddenly felt abandoned by the entire school, and couldn't help feeling rather lonely.
Just then, hurried footsteps shattered the deathly silence in his heart. The crisp sound of high heels came chaotically from behind him, and he couldn't help glancing back—it was Hermione.
The girl was hurrying toward him, lifting the hem of her gown. Her face was flushed with the afterglow of a dance, and her brown eyes, like sparkling jewels, shimmered with a captivating light that would make any boy who met her gaze unable to look away.
But at this moment, what Draco least wanted to see was her looking so radiant.
Her radiance at that moment was due to Viktor Krum, not because of him.
Thinking of this, he felt unbearable bitterness in his heart.
Draco turned back, sighed dejectedly, and continued walking forward, trying to stop his bitter and lost heart from being consumed by this cruel girl and suffering such torment.
"Draco, Draco!" Hermione said, catching up and grabbing his sleeve.
His white shirt was elegant and luxurious, making him look like an unruly nobleman, or perhaps a foreign prince who'd been exiled. The prince turned back to look at her, his face ashen with rage.
"Don't go!" Hermione exclaimed in surprise, grabbing him hurriedly. "Draco, what's wrong? Why are you angry? Let's go dance, all right?"
Draco stopped and turned away, trying not to look at her again.
"I think you know perfectly well why I'm angry. I need an explanation," he said coldly, suppressing his resentment.
"I'm sorry, Draco," Hermione said anxiously, grabbing his arm. "I—I forgot to tell you. He was very disappointed when I rejected him, so I promised him I could dance with him once more... This happened before you got me the *Spellman's Syllabary*..." A blush rose to her cheeks as she said this.
She sincerely hoped he'd turn around and look at her again, even just once.
Draco, however, kept his neck stiff and refused to look at her—afraid her expression would hurt him again—and failed to catch the blush on her face.
Hermione was extremely nervous. She floated up to him, looking up at his expression like a kitten yearning for affection, and said haltingly, "Later, I got distracted by other things... I was busy going to see you at the Three Broomsticks... busy practicing dancing with you... I completely forgot what I'd promised him..."
At that time, she'd focused all her attention on "him kissing her."
Draco's anger subsided by half upon hearing her explanation. However, he still kept a straight face, staring at a nearby tapestry, looking utterly dejected.
"Draco, you have to understand this. When I agreed to him, we were still having a row..." She shook his hand and said in an almost pleading tone, "I—I don't know what was wrong with me back then, really."
"Perhaps you really like him—who couldn't?" he said slowly, his expression indifferent.
He recalled how she and Krum had led the opening dance in his past life; it had been the first time in his life he'd felt jealous of his idol.
At that time, they'd been radiant, a perfect match, dancing together. He could only steal glances at her from outside the crowd, his heart pounding with awe at her beauty that no one had ever seen before. In the end, he'd forced a smile and said, "...Lucky man."
That had been the first time he'd clearly felt anger toward himself—not toward others. That night, something had been off with him. He hadn't gone looking for trouble with her or approached her to humiliate her as he'd planned.
He'd been utterly shameful, his gaze constantly following her, unable to look at any other girl—he simply couldn't take his eyes off her—it had been completely illogical.
At that time, he'd been too busy watching her to think about why he was angry, or why he was continuing to do such irrational things in his anger. Only when she was alone had he dared sneak up to her with a hint of smugness, hoping to exchange a few words with her.
At that time, she'd never liked him or cared about him. She'd been unwilling to look at him or talk to him.
Perhaps it would be the same in this lifetime.
What exactly were her feelings for him now? She was always reluctant to talk about their relationship, their kisses. She always rushed to avoid discussing it. He always had to carefully probe to find out even a hint of her thoughts.
She'd even once refused his hand before everyone. She'd broken free from him, resisted him, and quarreled with him because of Krum.
Perhaps, even in this lifetime, she didn't like him as much as he thought.
Draco pulled himself from his bitter memories, closed his eyes briefly, and said coldly, "You liked him from the very beginning—"
"Krum had nothing to do with this from the very beginning!" Hermione said, annoyed. "It was you from start to finish!"
"Nonsense! The day he arrived at Hogwarts, at the welcome feast, you kept looking at him—" He spoke harshly, but his hardened heart began softening, and he couldn't help glancing at her.
"I was looking at you sitting beside him! I was worried you wouldn't sleep well at the bottom of the Black Lake because you're afraid of water, so I was studying your dark circles!" She was so angry she almost jumped on the spot and shouted at him.
Draco was stunned.
He'd never imagined anyone would discover his fear of water. He'd thought he'd hidden it well.
How did you know—
"You always looked like you were sleep-deprived back then—don't you remember?" Hermione said, glaring at him as if he were the biggest idiot in the world. "I asked you so many times if you had insomnia, but you always brushed me off! Don't you remember?"
Draco was speechless. He had indeed forgotten—he hadn't been having trouble sleeping lately.
Ever since that kiss with Hermione in the library, he'd been very eager to go to bed every night.
He'd loved lying in bed, savoring their kisses. He'd loved meeting her in his dreams. There, his imagination always ran wild.
He could always derive countless versions of the story from that kiss in the library. Most of these stories ended with "they knocked over the ink bottle on the mahogany table, smearing each other with ink"; in some endings, the victims were a row of rickety bookshelves and the books on them that shook and fell to the ground, which Madam Pince would never have liked.
In short, his recent, overly fantastical dreams had rendered his previous bedtime ritual of "the Black Lake water won't overflow into the dormitory" completely unnecessary.
She kept appearing in his dreams, kissing him passionately, opening herself to him without any defenses, being played with and tasted by him in his fantasies... Who would remember whether that lake water was frightening or not?
"But you were really into him when you watched the Quidditch World Cup!" Draco said, staring at her alluring lips, suppressing the urge to do something to her, and racking his brains to pull out the bittersweet feeling of resentment in his heart. "You even started researching how many players Quidditch has!"
"That's because of you! Have you forgotten something? There's more than one Seeker in Quidditch! Long before I knew him, I already knew the best Seeker in the world—or at least I thought it was—and that was you! Is it surprising I studied Quidditch? Which of your Quidditch matches have I missed?" Hermione said incredulously, practically bursting with anger. "Draco Malfoy, how could you be so oblivious?"
Draco abruptly shut his mouth, which was about to utter a harsh word. He studied Hermione's expression.
She met his gaze sincerely, bravely and fearlessly, without flinching.
He suddenly realized she was telling the truth.
Now, like a balloon Hermione had casually popped, the last bit of resentment in his heart gradually dissipated.
"Ah...perhaps. I might be mistaken," Draco said. He felt a mix of emotions—a mixture of disbelief, surprise, and pleasure. "You never talk about our kisses—I thought—"
He'd have been overjoyed to learn of her feelings at any other time.
But now he couldn't even manage a relaxed smile for her. He tried his best but could only manage a weary, desolate smile. He guessed he looked dreadful.
"However, I think he's ruined tonight—completely ruined it," he said listlessly.
Hermione Granger was almost in tears.
She'd messed everything up! She shouldn't have acted impulsively and felt sorry for Krum's dejected look; nor should she have accepted someone's invitation just because she'd been angry with Draco...
She'd wanted to demonstrate the friendliness and politeness of Hogwarts students toward international students; but she'd forgotten to ask herself if this might cause anyone unforgettable harm.
She'd deeply hurt Draco.
She'd known all along he was particularly sensitive to Krum's reactions.
She'd long known his controlling and possessive nature was outrageous—which, given the unclear state of their relationship at the time, had triggered her dissatisfaction and rebellious emotions—so she'd ruthlessly done something to provoke him.
She felt incredibly stupid! She'd minded that he flirted with her but treated her like a younger sister, minded that girls queued to see him, minded his female friends who'd grown up with him, and she'd been extremely jealous.
She'd wanted him to experience what jealousy felt like. She'd wanted to use his jealousy to find evidence he cared about her.
But now Hermione regretted it. He wasn't just jealous; he was heartbroken. She'd tasted this sort of heartbreak countless times during the past six months of self-denial and self-avoidance; she could imagine how painful it must be for him now.
She dug her nails into her palm, wanting to say something to break the silence. But when she looked into Draco's quiet, desolate gray eyes, she froze, unable to think of any words to soothe his sorrow.
Oh God, what should she do? The handsome young man before her was slowly putting on his hard shell again, not even sparing her a genuine smile. Her heart ached at his bitter expression.
She couldn't let him leave like this. She couldn't let him freeze back into ice; she'd finally managed to rekindle the flame burning in his heart, confirming his passion for her!
In the boundless silence, mistletoe climbed and grew on the ceiling above, emitting the slow, soft rustling sound characteristic of plants sprouting new shoots. Hermione looked up at the mistletoe; on its tender green branches, tiny white flowers were blooming one after another, like starlight suddenly illuminating a dark sky.
Hermione suddenly had an idea.
She reacted swiftly, grabbing the boy who was about to turn and leave, and said quickly, "Not yet! It hasn't been destroyed tonight! Draco, not yet!"
Draco hesitated and stopped, looking at her with a sorrowful gaze, his pale face devoid of color.
"Listen to me!" She stood on tiptoe, wrapped her arms around his neck, pulled his head down, and whispered frantically and urgently in his ear, "The night isn't over yet—what else can we do to make this night beautiful... We have mistletoe blooming above us—you can't refuse me!"
After Hermione finished speaking with feigned bravado, filled with immense unease, she resolutely pressed her lips against his pale ones.
She was really afraid he'd just leave like that.
She had to catch him.
Use every means possible.
Her worried eyes peered closer at him, trying to find a trace of the joy she knew so well in his lifeless eyes.
Draco was taken aback by her bold actions.
Did she even know what she was doing? Merlin, did she even know how thin and light her gown was?
—So thin he could feel everything: the intoxicating softness suddenly covering his chest, the impact both gentle and fierce, leaving him in a state of utter confusion.
The radiant heat emanating from her skin seeped into his shirt, warming his once icy soul.
How could he still be angry? Her smooth arms wrapped around his neck, sliding innocently; her petal-like, gentle lips pressed against his, blindly, clumsily, and without any strategy, striking his lips with a muffled thunderclap, a drumbeat, or a snapping sound of reason breaking in his mind.
And then there was her fragrance—the scent emanating from her hair, neck, and lips—which lingered and entwined his heart, driving him mad!
He'd wanted to for a long time—he'd wanted to kiss her fiercely, taste her, even devour her. He'd held back and held back, trying desperately to suppress his impulse—but she was determined to ignite the fire.
This time, she'd practically delivered herself to his door!
The dark gate in his heart, tightly locked by countless heavy iron chains, was opened by her light kiss.
Hermione, do you know what sort of beast you're about to unleash? If you don't stop now—
Draco remained expressionless and didn't make any rash moves, but his drooping hands clenched tightly.
He tried remaining patient, but inside he was screaming, wavering, and on the verge of madness; and she added fuel to the fire, tentatively touching him with her lips again and again.
Hermione tentatively touched his lips several times, but instead of finding joy in his eyes, she unexpectedly saw something else. His misty eyes gradually cleared, becoming increasingly dark and deep, capturing her flustered gaze.
This unfamiliar look made her stop what she was doing and feel rather lost; she moved her head away slightly, trying to see his whole facial expression except for his eyes.
However, before she could react, before she could get away from him, his arm suddenly wrapped around her waist and held her tightly.
Hermione parted her lips slightly in surprise, as if to say something; but he couldn't wait any longer and returned her kiss deeply.
It wasn't a fleeting glance, nor a perfunctory greeting. Without any build-up or transition, from the very first second he responded, his strikingly red lips forcefully captured hers, kissing her with a fierce, furious intensity, his breath heavy and hot.
This was a powerful attack Hermione hadn't anticipated.
She tried leaning back to dodge him and ask what was wrong, but his other hand was already pressing down on the back of her head, leaving her no way to escape. They were pressed tightly together, like a desperate spark licking dry, withered wood, suddenly igniting into a towering flame.
Draco—he suddenly shed his calm and restrained shell and became extremely domineering.
She was flustered, shocked, and at a loss. All sorts of emotions came rushing over her with that kiss.
Hermione didn't have time to close her eyes. She opened them and watched him kiss her with his brows furrowed—his face held a hint of painful vulnerability, yet also a resolute determination that filled her with both worry and confusion.
At that moment, she suddenly discovered his intense and unusual feelings for her, feelings that were different from anything she'd ever experienced before.
This shocked her, made her hesitate, and for a moment she forgot to refuse his plunder.
That one second of hesitation turned into her tacit approval of his actions.
With her tacit approval, he became even more unrestrained and utterly irrational. He kissed her greedily, letting her heart pound wildly where his own heart was.
Hermione was trembling involuntarily.
Perhaps it was because of the biting cold draft blowing through the room, and her gown was thin; perhaps it was because of his sudden change of mood, which caught her off guard; perhaps it was because of his overly possessive and passionate kiss, which made her soul tremble.
The boy noticed her trembling. She could feel them moving, but she didn't know how he did it. He kissed her passionately, as if guiding her to dance, and in a few turns, they hid behind a silver-green tapestry with a Slytherin pattern against the wall of the corridor, where there seemed to be an inconspicuous alcove in the wall.
With a flick of his wrist, he lifted the tapestry and decisively pressed her into the alcove, a powerful momentum carrying him with it. The tremor felt as if he were trying to penetrate her very soul.
Hermione's heart pounded. She was afraid of the uneven alcove behind her—yet she suffered no pain at all—he shielded her from the rough, hard stones of the wall behind her with one arm.
She didn't know whether this angry yet passionate Slytherin boy was gentle or violent. The hand on his arm gently supported the back of her head, as if afraid she'd be hurt; but the other hand gripped her waist with burning heat, almost pinching her hard.
"Draco—" she called his name softly, wanting to ask him what he was going to do behind the tapestry, but she had no time to say another word. He suddenly leaned in and kissed her hesitant lips.
The corridor was quiet and deserted.
Only the hanging tapestry witnessed the passionate kiss between the young boy and girl.
In this confined and narrow environment, his cedarwood scent filled the air, enveloping her completely.
Just before the thick tapestry was put back in place, she saw his dark, gleaming eyes, which held a stubbornness, determination, and untamed wildness.
In the dim and quiet environment, Hermione blinked.
How could an elegant young man like Draco possibly possess a wild side? She must be mistaken.
She tried seeing his expression again. But the light here was dim, unlike the brightly lit corridor.
She simply closed her eyes and focused intently on feeling him, feeling his kiss, feeling whether he was experiencing intense emotions.
That's right—he stopped being reserved and instead became wild.
He was a painter driven mad by his fantasies, meticulously and boldly depicting her lips, as if trying to imprint their shape firmly in his mind.
The soft touch, the fiery breath, the rapid heartbeat. She was captivated by the bold strokes of the brush.
The painter had captured her turbulent soul. For a moment, her soul swayed—Hermione even forgot she needed to breathe. All her attention was on his lips, as he spoke his heart.
In that kiss, fantastical colors flashed across her retina. He'd painted not just silvery-green Slytherin but a more complex tapestry of colors.
The feeling of lonely alienation was black. The feeling of melancholy tranquility was silver-gray. The feeling of insane jealousy was emerald green. The feeling of intense possessiveness was red. The feeling of domineering control was platinum.
In this lonely, dark world, she felt his passion, comparable to that of Gryffindor; within his calm, silver-green soul, there seemed to be a blazing, scarlet and gold flame.
She sensed he was creating a completely irrational painting, bright and damp, using a tempestuous mood as paint, thickly applying it to her lips to conceal the flames rolling within his cold soul.
In the sudden storm, she felt like a paper doll, weak and limp from being soaked by the intense rain. She wanted to slip away, just as she'd done in the library, sliding down the bookshelves or along the walls.
But she couldn't escape. Only then did she realize his cunning. His thigh pressed between her legs, wedging her into the alcove in the wall, rendering her immobile.
This damned alcove—it was like it had been made just for her! She twisted her legs uncomfortably, trying to break free; but he took the opportunity to pinch her waist, making her arch upward, and used his legs to push her to a higher position, reducing the height difference between them.
Her entire focus was now on him. Now she could no longer control anything; instead, she was completely controlled by him.
"Draco Malfoy! That's a foul!" The little voice in her head screamed, but a few weak, embarrassing moans escaped from her nose.
He's so bad, she thought to herself as he kissed her.
Her sheer gown was pressed against her by his legs as Hermione writhed, the novel, wondrous, and complex sensation overwhelming her. She felt as shy and embarrassed as an open book. Moreover, she was stuck on tiptoe, being relentlessly kissed by a lecherous Slytherin, utterly powerless to resist.
He was so mean. She let out a few resentful groans and clutched his shirt tightly. He suddenly bent his legs, creating a sudden sense of pressure and friction, which elicited a gasp of undisguised pleasure from her; he, in turn, let out a vengeful chuckle.
Oh yes, Hermione Granger, I know exactly what you're up to—you're not getting away, Draco thought wickedly, turning the kissing into a nibble.
He's so wicked, Hermione thought, on the verge of tears. He was a cheetah who didn't hunt for food; he bit his prey only for play and amusement, not out of necessity.
His teeth fiercely grazed across her lips. The cheetah didn't bite hard but merely let her feel the danger of a bite, a subtle tearing sensation, while simultaneously tightening his grip on the back of her neck. This made the already panicked girl even more uneasy and panicked.
She wanted to voice her objections, to argue whether these actions were in accordance with humanitarian principles, but she couldn't speak. He wouldn't give her a chance, given his own insatiable hunger.
Hermione had nowhere to retreat. She whimpered, her arms moving unconsciously around his slender waist and back, trying to grab some support or find a point of balance she could control.
She'd no idea how the undulating touch through his shirt would affect him.
Draco trembled as that hand caressed him.
Unconscious touches, movements, and even small scratches, transmitted through his tactile nerves in all directions, were tearing, crushing, and churning his heart and torso.
The beast within him was poised to strike. This dangerous cheetah, with its beautiful markings, stared intently at its beloved prey, waiting for the perfect moment to deliver the fatal blow.
It tilted its head, watching him steal the air from her lungs in the darkness, destroying her ability to think, and taking her warm, soft, innocent red lips into his mouth to taste them wantonly, leaving her no possibility of rebuttal.
At this moment, Draco formally merged his obsessions from his past life with his delusions in this life.
His manners, elegance, and gentlemanly demeanor be damned.
All right, he admitted—back in his past life, when he'd seen her come down the steps and put her hand in Krum's arm, he'd damn well wanted to do this.
And now, the kiss she'd offered him filled him with immense satisfaction. Countless memories flooded his mind in an instant; those dreamlike illusions were no longer mere bubbles but reality.
Genuine sweetness. Unparalleled satisfaction. He was completely captivated. He couldn't resist.
Like savoring a green apple, he tasted the tip of her tongue, the flavor he'd been longing for all night, and nothing could stop him from tasting it.
However, this wasn't the end. She kept emitting soft, pitiful moans, her legs wriggling restlessly on his. A warm, moist sensation gradually seeped through the thin gauze and the fabric of his trousers, causing his lurking beast to raise its head and glare angrily at the place where they were pressed together.
He gasped, his face burning. He was grateful for the darkness created by the tapestry, which allowed him to adjust his position without her noticing his overly vivid fantasies and unbearable desires.
For Hermione, every little movement of his was an undeniable pressure, a heart-wrenching grinding, a rubbing through the fabric.
Good heavens! He's so wicked! She sensed some danger and moaned softly, both unbearable and ashamed. But the sound didn't elicit any sympathy from the stubborn boy; instead, it ignited an even fiercer fire within him.
So Draco pinched her soft, delicate waist hard and kissed her even more deeply.
He robbed her of air in the darkness, he destroyed her ability to think, and he held her warm, soft tongue in his mouth.
And so it continued—sucking, gnawing, tearing, in an endless, insatiable cycle.
Hermione's mind felt like it was filled with loose, shy cotton.
This jealous and possessive bad boy was setting the cotton on fire, trying to burn it into a pile of bright, absurd debris.
This kiss was completely different from what she'd originally planned—she'd intended to give him a light kiss, just once.
He'd once been so calm and indifferent, like a statue made of ice, appearing to have no desires or wants.
She'd wanted to melt his stern face with a gentle kiss, to make him smile at her sincerely, nothing more.
But what she hadn't expected was that beneath the icy shell lay a fierce flame, which swept toward her like wildfire.
This is wrong! The little voice in her mind struggled to tear a crack in the precarious pile of cotton, where tiny flames flickered, and shouted a warning to the girl who was immersed in ecstasy.
If she continued down this path, she seemed to be getting one step closer to some alluring abyss.
"I... can't breathe..." Her weak, kitten-like voice escaped from between his lips. This was the only resistance her feeble willpower could offer at this moment.
However, to his ears, it sounded more like a pitiful plea for mercy, or a veiled compliment.
Draco heard her pleas. He knew he had to stop. But the beast within him roared indignantly, saying it wasn't enough, far from enough—she was already as soft as water, or fine silk, or even something else precious and fragilely alluring.
He couldn't quite figure out what she'd become. He suddenly had the urge to roughly knead her, to crush her. The beast roared in his mind that it wanted to bite her, that it wanted her.
"Go back!" he said rudely to the beast. "I'm not done yet."
He hadn't yet extinguished the raging fire of jealousy within him.
He temporarily released her lips, lingering by her ear, whispering his mad, delirious thoughts into her ear. "You are mine, only in my palm, my dance partner... You are mine—only I can kiss you... Hermione Granger, you are mine—do you understand..."
He admitted he'd always been very, very jealous of Krum.
Because of her, he was consumed by jealousy, and he'd lost control once again.
He always lost control because of her. He only lost control because of her.
He even became unlike himself. He'd abandoned all reason, indifference, and composure, seemingly no longer the silent, desolate, and heartbroken Draco Malfoy, but a Draco Malfoy with a raging fire burning in his heart—a truly naïve, childish, unreasonable, and foolish boy who couldn't resist her.
The boy's slightly hoarse voice filled her ears, sending shivers down Hermione's spine. The scent of his cedarwood made her soul float away, bypassing all the bumps and curves of her brain, and fly from the back of her head. His words, however, were like barbed arrows, piercing her chest, almost hooking her flickering heart.
She trembled at his possessive words. His legs pressed against her relentlessly, forcing her to acknowledge her desire. She tried tightening her grip but only pressed herself more closely against his trousers.
Amidst her fragmented thoughts and the chaotic, humid heat, Hermione struggled to recall where her usual calm, composed, elegant, and proud mask had gone. It seemed to have shattered into pieces.
Tonight he was so unusual she wanted to scream—he was almost shameless in his capriciousness and almost a bastard in his domineering nature.
He seemed like a snake with a frozen soul, desperately approaching the only source of heat behind the tapestry—coiling around her without a care—trying to squeeze out her warmth and warm his icy heart.
She was held passionately in the boy's arms, and her whole body was burning with excitement.
His fleeting madness made her incredibly shy.
At the same time, she was surprised to find she didn't hate this abnormal madness.
His unusual behavior was somewhat charming.
Very charming.
Disordered, chaotic, and fascinating.
"Yes...yes...I am your...your dance partner...in your palm..." Finally, she surrendered, repeating his words in a murmur, overwhelmed by his voice, smell, and words, her fingers creating wrinkles on his shirt.
Tapestry—she'd never imagined it would have such a wonderful use. It wasn't winter but a warm spring day, and she was happily playing in the private castle he'd built, untouched by the chilly winds.
The scenery here was exceptionally beautiful, with gentle ripples and a fragrant aroma.
She was the first snowflake to fall on Christmas Eve, melting under his captivating warmth, leaving a damp spot on his suit trousers.
Draco, stop torturing me.
I admit it.
"I am yours...only you can kiss me..." she murmured, not having time to think about whether his words made sense.
All she knew was he'd put her in a dilemma, one from which she couldn't resist.
His lips, palms, breath, words, even his legs... were all bewitching her.
Draco wouldn't give up, kissing her earlobe, rubbing it mischievously, and repeating in a seductive whisper, "Yes, sweet girl, you're mine... only mine..."
"Yes... I am yours... only yours..." In a daze, she repeated his words in a trembling voice.
Her reason had completely died.
She couldn't keep kissing... or perhaps she could kiss rather longer... She thought to herself, her mind constantly shifting between the soft humming of their breaths and the lingering heat on her earlobe.
In this way, Draco Malfoy successfully made Hermione Granger, who loved logical thinking, abandon her rationality.
His kisses were bewitching.
Hermione would even be willing to absurdly admit whatever he said was the absolute truth, as long as he stopped rubbing those alluring, unsettling lips against her earlobe and stopped making her private parts so shy.
"Only yours... I only kiss you... I only give myself to you... I only let you control me..." In a daze, she trembled, her fingers creating more wrinkles on his white shirt.
Like the call of a Siren, her voice was as tender as a fledgling.
Draco sighed happily. His deepest desire for control and possession was temporarily satisfied by her boundless promise.
He was a traveler in the desert who'd finally found the oasis in his heart. He greedily craved more, kissing her from her sensitive ear to her sweet lips. His hand, resting on the back of her head, tightly held a strand of her hair, as if grasping the center of the world.
The embrace was tight and intimate. The kisses were deeply moving. The sounds of their breaths filled the air.
Then he craved hearing more of her tender voice, hoping she'd make more promises that crossed the line. He released his hand from her waist, wanting to try exploring downward with it, taking the opportunity to create more noise for her.
At that moment, the voices and footsteps coming from the corridor awakened what little reason he had left.
"Severus, wait—" he heard someone say urgently in the corridor; it was Igor Karkaroff's voice.
Draco jolted awake.
Merlin! What had he done? What had he done to her behind the tapestry in the corridor...? Her voice sounded so weak... Had she been frightened by him? He forced himself to stop his demanding lips and hands.
His loss of control just now became so sinful in an instant.
The brain shut-off technique applied to Hermione had completely failed.
Then he remembered everything... the Dark Lord... the Death Eaters... and what Bellatrix had done to her.
"Did I go too far? Are you all right?" He could no longer think about romantic feelings and instead asked her in a trembling voice.
He suppressed all his violent emotions. He supported the swaying, unsteady girl, her limbs weak, and in the dark, sweltering atmosphere, he anxiously tried understanding her current state and thoughts.
"It's all right..." Hermione murmured, her whole body damp and warm, limp in his burning arms as if she had no bones.
She clung to him tightly and passionately, fitting him as realistically as his favorite silk pajamas, which made Draco feel dizzy.
He was burning with desire because of her. He subtly adjusted his posture, afraid she'd discover his true thoughts.
The girl seemed oblivious to his wicked intentions. She continued resting her head on his neck, gently sniffing him, and whispering in his ear in a soft, kitten-like voice that she was feeling rather dizzy, that she loved his hugs and his kisses.
"I don't want to talk about kissing, not because I hate it, but because I'm shy—" she whispered. That soft whisper sent a tingling, numbing sensation through him.
The flame in his heart flickered with a mixture of joy and contradiction. He closed his eyes with difficulty, trying to embrace her with a pure heart.
But this behavior was still a unique sort of stimulation for Hermione; his cool nose was brushing against her cheek, and his hot breath was warming her neck.
His allure to her only grew stronger.
She shifted naïvely and uneasily, bumping into something in the confusion, which stirred his breath in the dim light. "Don't move—let me hold you for a while, please..."
There was a certain meaning in his voice that made her sense a hidden danger. So she dared not move again and obediently let him hold her affectionately, listening to his heavy sigh.
After a long, long time, when the breathing behind the tapestry had completely calmed and she was able to stand firmly on her own, Draco finally had the heart to let her go.
Through the faint light filtering through the edge of the tapestry, the girl, whose heart was pounding, gradually saw everything clearly.
She saw his eyes were frighteningly bright.
"You're not allowed to look at other boys anymore, at least not tonight," he said. His eyes, filled with desire, were fixed on her as he coaxed her softly into agreeing. "Remember, you're mine—you'll dance with me for every single dance from now on."
The girl nodded shyly. Her regained rationality was once again shattered into pieces by his deep gaze.
Immediately afterward, they peeked from behind the tapestry to see what was happening outside, then slipped back into the candlelit corridor.
"Look what you've done—" Hermione said, complaining and blushing as she looked at a strand of hair that had fallen onto her shoulder. "My hair's all loose."
Draco looked at her disheveled hair and gave a mischievous, wicked smile—the sort of smile Hermione had hoped to see when she'd first kissed him under the mistletoe.
Now she was finally certain his jealousy had been extinguished and his bitterness had vanished.
"That naughty boy who started this mess!" She frantically covered her disheveled hair, completely absorbed in her predicament, and gave him a reproachful glance.
"Let me help you," he said. His smile widened, becoming somewhat childlike. He leaned closer to her, picked up the strand of hair, and gently fiddled with it in her hair bun.
His soft breath brushed against her forehead. Hermione looked up at him, mesmerized by his bright eyes and radiant smile. She forgot her anger and whispered, "I love your smile."
"I love you," Draco said softly. He finally wrapped the strand of hair back around her bun, securing it firmly, and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead.
Her face turned red again.
His Hermione. She'd said she was his. She was still as beautiful and noble as ever, but her eyes were watery, her lips were red, her chest was heaving, and her originally fair skin was covered with a faint pink hue.
A bubble of joy rose in Draco's heart. Tonight she was his—no one could take her away.
"Let's go back to dancing," he said, taking her hand.
"Yes, dancing..." Hermione repeated his words, her mind wandering as he pulled her along.
The reconciled dance partners walked back down the corridor and found only a few people scattered in the Entrance Hall. As Draco led Hermione back into the Great Hall, they heard someone whistle at them. Blushing, they hurried through the doors, neither turning back to see who this teasing fellow was.
The dance floor in the Great Hall was still crowded, the lights were dimmed, and the atmosphere became more lively as the Weird Sisters began singing a high-energy song. Ron was still sitting in his original seat, having just finished the last sip of his drink.
"Oh, you're finally back. You made up rather quickly this time! I was planning to keep this robe if you hadn't come back," he said. He yawned, tossed the robes to Draco, and strode toward the refreshment table where Harry had been.
Draco grabbed the robes flying through the air and turned back to smile triumphantly at Hermione.
Hermione was still reeling from the passionate kiss. Her face flushed as she watched him put his robes back on over his white shirt, the movements fluid and graceful, exuding a subtle yet powerful aura.
A sense of oppression... She blushed and her heart pounded, quickly banishing the word from her mind.
She continued looking at him... She'd never known he could be so charming even with his outer robes on.
Then Draco grabbed her hand, determined not to let go no matter who tried taking her away. He held her contentedly, continuing to enjoy the joyous night, and led his little witch to the very center of the dance floor.