By The Book

By The Book

He stepped forward, dust and sunlight streaming before him. Sharp ears perked as a lone figure began to whistle, a slow, sad tune he didn’t recognize. A shadow danced at the back of the library, the slim slip of black belying the figure’s identity.

She was arranging books on the shelves, brow furrowed, lips pursed, enshrouded in a cloud of dust. There was a slight tug on the corners of his mouth as he watched her nose wrinkle. He snuck up behind her, content to simply stare at the waterfall of brown hair that cascaded over her back. But the longing to touch her proved too strong for him. Gently he placed his hands on her waist, the grip tightening as she started in surprise. She whipped around, chocolate eyes round and wide. A smile spread over her full lips as her gaze fell upon the handsome face looming over hers.

“Do you need a book?” she whispered, half out of courtesy for Madame Pince, and half out of the fear-tainted emotion that blossomed within her. He smiled softly, running his long white fingers through her hair. She shivered at the gentle pull on her scalp, fiery tingles running races across her skin. He leaned in and pressed his lips against her forehead.

“It can wait,” he grinned, pulling her closer to him. He brushed the river of hair from her shoulders, raw emotion flooding his face. She put her hands on his cheeks and tilted his head down so that they were gazing directly into each other’s eyes. Silver frost melted into the warm chocolate, and a sigh passed his lips.

He knew he didn’t deserve her, knew that beauty as fine as hers came at a steep price—one he would have to one day pay. Her friends would find out sooner or later, and then it would be his head. But it didn’t matter now—not when her breath was fluttering against his neck, and her hands were so firmly pressing him into a bookshelf, sharp wood digging into his back. Not when her eyes were so bright, yet so clouded; not when their fingers were entwining and their heartbeats matched.

She smiled then, a sweet smile traced with poison, leaning closer and closer, until the tips of their noses were brushing together. Passion so thick it was palpable hung between their lips, begging for them to close that distance and give in to desire. His breath caught in his throat, his hands reaching out for her, desperate to feel her flesh beneath his palms. She caught the hands in her own, wrapping one about her slim waist, and gently laying the other low on her shoulder. His fingers tingled as he brushed aside the sleeve of her dress, reveling in the fetching raspberry blush that rose high on her cheeks at his touch. With a tapered white pointer he traced a line from her neck to her collarbone, teasing out shivers as the finger traveled back up, feather light, and came to rest on her mouth.

Her breathing hitched, lips parting slightly beneath the pressure. The chocolate eyes were half lidded with anticipation. He pulled her close to him and—

“Hermione? Where did you go?” a childish voice whined. Her brown eyes flew open, meeting his grey ones with a shocked gasp.

“Ron, I think she had to write an essay about ancient Egyptian symbols—maybe we should check the History section.”

“Nah, that stuff’d be in the Runic section, I think.”

Footsteps met their perked ears, the crashing sound nearly drowned out by the disharmonious thudding of their erratic heartbeats. Silently he squeezed her hand, offering a fleeting sense of comfort. A brief smile passed between them, and they smothered their passion, storing it deep within themselves, to take it out at a more convenient time.

“Love you,” he whispered into her hair, before turning around and walking away. He didn’t look back.

Almost immediately his place was taken by Ronald Weasley and Harry Potter, both looking windswept and excited as they rushed over to her. She quickly rearranged her face to make it appear like she was happy to see them.

“Hermione,” Ron gasped. “There you are!”

“We’ve been looking for you all over the library,” Harry chimed in. “We never thought we’d find you in the Romance section.” She blushed furiously, remembering the romantic moment that had almost happened a few seconds ago. Harry grinned at her. “Need a little lovin’, huh?”

Fear flit through her eyes momentarily, nearly betraying her, before she hastily crushed it. A mask, porcelain white, fell over her face, covering the emotions and unwanted blush. This skill, which enabled her to lie through her magically corrected teeth, was something she picked up from her secret boyfriend—if you could call him that. He was a secret, no doubt about that, but she wasn’t sure what to call him in terms of a relationship.

“What?” Hermione said sharply. “Me? Are you serious?” She waved her hand dismissively at her two best friends. “I have far more important things to worry about than petty schoolgirl romances.” Harry shrugged.

“Sorry. No need to lose your rag about it.”

Hermione stuck her nose in the air and walked away, heart hammering loudly. She had to get away from them as soon as possible, or else her mask would fall. She wasn’t as good at keeping secrets as her snog-buddy, and therefore couldn’t keep it up as long as he could. When she had finally passed from her friends’ sight, she began running, all the way to an abandoned classroom on the sixth floor, where her ‘boyfriend’ was waiting for her.

He sat, legs crossed, atop a dusty crate, eyes locked on the door. The second she stepped in the room he leapt up, shoving her up against a wall with a fevered glint in his silver eyes. She barely had time to close her eyes before his lips descended on hers.

His mouth was hot on hers, skirting breath teasing her flesh as their mouths melded together in passion. His hands rested gently on her shoulders, the soft pressure of his weight pressed against her making the room spin. Her fingers found themselves tangled in his silver-spun hair, tugging softly at the feathery locks as his tongue flicked at her mouth. Eagerly she parted her lips, but instead of deepening the kiss, he pulled away with a soft, almost longing sigh.

He laughed softly at her swollen red lips, giving them a swift peck. Hermione let loose a small moan, pulling him closer to her by the front of his shirt. He had a way of always leaving her wanting more; she could never get enough of him. She gave him a very wicked, very un-Hermione smile. “Draco Malfoy, where did you learn to kiss like that?”

*

Harry looked at Ron. Ron looked at Harry. Finally, they both spoke.

“We need to get her a boyfriend,” they said in unison. Identical grins danced on their faces as they walked back to Gryffindor tower, listing possible guys.

“Neville would be cute with her,” Harry mused. Ron shook his head.

“Nah, too clumsy. And not smart enough for her, either.”

“Terry Boot?”

“Too smart. Invasion of territory, man.”

“Lee?”

“Too old.”

“Ernie?”

“Too pompous.”

“How about Seamus? He’s a nice guy.” Ron stopped on the stairs, giving Harry a disgusted look.

“Are you kidding?” he said, outraged. “Hermione hates blondes!”