Bad Medicine

Chapter Six

Draco was quite pleased with his new sport. Actually, Granger-baiting was an old sport with him, but this version was far better than the old one. The old game had involved insults, pranks, and several variations of sneering gazes. The new game combined all of that with the delicious follow-up of teaching her to dance, which opened up vistas of torment. He knew she hated him, but he also knew she was attracted to him. How could she not be? It was obvious in the way her breath caught in her throat when she looked at him. It was plain by the way her heartbeat raced whenever he gripped her wrist and pulled her into position for a dance. It was clear by the way she would bolt when their lesson was finished and by the way she dropped things in class whenever he was near. He was ruthless to her in public and laughed whenever her eyes sparkled at him in purest rage. In private he was even more ruthless, but on a completely different scale.

He held her far too tightly when they danced. He loved the way her back trembled beneath his hand and the way her fingers tugged at his, begging for release. He whispered instructions breathily into her ear, and brushed his lips against her skin just to feel her shudder. He dressed as provocatively as possible. He knew which clothes looked good on him and he wore them mercilessly. White shirts with pirate-like lacing; black jumpers that defined his muscles and hugged every curve; silver shirts that made his eyes look like platinum; and tight black pants that never varied. She would often take in his appearance and close her eyes with a pained expression.

Their dance lessons were commonplace now, scheduled when Potter and Weasley were at Quidditch practice so she wouldn't be missed by the other lemurs. She demanded daily that they be discontinued. She hadn't quite descended into begging.

"I taught you all the muggle dances you wanted," she snapped. "You taught me how to waltz, and foxtrot, and quickstep, and polka. More dances than I will ever need to know."

"You need to know how to tango."

"I do not need to know how to tango!" He loved to bring up Latin dances. So far she had utterly refused to learn them. He wasn't sure why, but assumed the blatant eroticism of them made her avoid them like the plague. "I don't need to learn any more. I am quitting our lessons as of right now."

"Pity," he said simply.

She froze and her eyes bored into his.

"So. That's it, then?" she asked warily. For some reason, the little Gryffindor simply refused to trust him. Suspicious creature, she was.

"Yes."

Her shoulders sagged in relief. Or was it disappointment? Probably a large dose of both. She gathered her things and started for the door.

"Before you leave, would you like to see the sketch I drew up?"

"What sketch?"

"For the painting I've commissioned."

She blanched. She walked forward with such trepidation that Draco nearly chuckled with glee. She snatched the proffered paper from his hand and gasped aloud.

"This... this..."

He enjoyed the show. Her lips thinned into the whitest line of rage he had ever seen.

"What do you mean 'commissioned?'"

"It should be finished next week."

For a moment he thought she was going to hyperventilate. He snatched the drawing back as if offended and examined it closely.

"What's wrong with it? It's lovely. A bit seductive, perhaps, and while I've never actually seen you sit that particular way I know you have it in you... I even bribed a photo of you from that camera-happy little Gryffindor weasel Creavey in order to get your face exactly right."

"This is low, even for you. What do you want?" She was actually shaking with fury. He put a hand on his wand, just in case she completely lost control.

"I just want to teach you to tango. You love to dance, so what's the problem? What are you afraid of?"

"I know you are doing this to torture me."

He said nothing, just raised a silvery brow at her and waited.

"I'll tango, damn you to hell. But I want the painting. And there had better be no copies and no others commissioned."

He grinned broadly, victorious. She stormed out.

Hermione was livid. She felt like blasting a hole in the outer wall and throwing herself through it.

How in the name of all that was holy had she gotten herself into this predicament? She made it partway down the first set of stairs and then sat down hard on a step. She rested her forehead on her knees and crossed her arms over her calves. When would it end? How many more demands would he make before he tired of her? She heartily debated going back on her promise. It might be worth an endless amount of guilt to be free of him. She could probably Obliviate his memory. She had studied the theory. She might be able to do it without permanent damage... Damn it, she couldn't do it. Not even to him.

Despair washed over her. Oh God, she had agreed to let him teach her to tango. How would she ever survive that with her sanity intact? She could barely handle waltzing with him; his viselike grip on her waist; his hands burning her flesh even through those damnable gloves he wore; the soft whispers in her ear that sent shivers down her spine; and his wretched silver eyes upon her every instant... Her ability to resist him was eroding and the most maddening thing was that he wasn't even trying to affect her!

God help her if he ever really tried to seduce her. Her vaunted willpower would collapse like a house of cards simply because of bloody animal attraction. It was just a physical reaction, for crying out loud! Why couldn't she control it? She choked back a sob. She would just have to find the strength to fight it. She couldn't let him win.

She had taken every precaution to remain aloof. No revealing outfits--she wore her school uniform whenever they met. He smirked each time he saw it, but never commented. She had tried to pull her hair back into a demure bun or horse's tail, but Draco had simply snapped the band with a spell and insisted her hair be loose so she could "better judge the speed of her spins." She knew it was drivel, but the last time he had fluffed her hair with his hands and sent tingles charging across her scalp so strongly that she vowed never again to give him the opportunity to touch her hair.

Draco was remorseless outside their secret room, showering her with insults, ruining her potions, knocking supplies out of her hands... yet in their room he was the soul of politeness. He never called her mudblood and even the way he said "Granger" was calculated to send chills down her spine.

She heard footsteps behind her and stiffened, but it was too late to flee.

"Tired, Granger?" Draco asked mellifluously when his steps halted beside her. Hermione cringed. He was in torment-her-with-kindness mode.

"Very," she said shortly. He sat down next to her, too close, of course. His hip pressed against hers. She would have shifted over, but she was already touching the stair rail. He would merely have followed her, anyway.

She felt his fingers brush her hair gently and then he grasped her shoulders and pulled her into a normal seated position. She sighed and wondered what wicked game he was playing now. He tucked her head back against his shoulder and rested his chin upon her hair. He kept his hands on her shoulders. She reflected wryly that she had sat this way dozens of times with Harry or Ron, relaxed and enjoying their company with no complications.

Sitting next to Draco was far different. She was so tense she thought her spine would snap if she moved too quickly. She could feel the slow thud of Draco's heartbeat and the warm draft of his breath on her hair. She suppressed a shiver.

"Relax. I'm not going to hurt you," he said softly.

"I hate it when you're nice to me."

"You hate it when I'm mean to you, also. In fact, I think we've established that you hate me all of the time."

"You work so hard to make sure of it!"

He was quiet and she bit her lip. She wasn't in the mood to argue with him. It was pointless and never seemed to make her feel any better. She expelled a breath and forced herself to relax against him. She let herself pretend, just for a moment, that he was a human being instead of a demonic incubus creature. She drank in his warmth and sighed when his hands slid down her arms to wrap around her waist.

"Why are you being nice to me, now?" she asked even though she was reluctant to shatter the respite. "So you can be twice as vicious to me tomorrow?"

"Probably. Or maybe you just caught me in a moment of weakness."

"You have no weakness."

His arms tightened for a moment.

Draco pondered her words. He began to fear that he did have a weakness, one that he had acknowledged only moments before.

Seeing her huddled on the stairs in a miserable ball had not filled him with his usual satisfaction. In fact, he had felt something bloody uncomfortable and it had taken him a long moment to put a name to it. Remorse. He actually felt sorry for tormenting her. He had the urge to comfort her. He almost wanted to apologize, which was astounding because he could not recall apologizing for a single thing in the past... decade?

He sat down next to her and tried to pry her out of her shell. She did not thaw easily. He had done his work well; she would not trust his simplest action and she was ever alert for ulterior motives. He supposed it was for the best. He had worked hard to keep the fires of her hatred burning bright. God help him if she ever looked at him with anything other than loathing. He'd never be able to keep his hands off of her. He was having a hard enough time at the moment.

She relaxed against him suddenly and he caught his breath in surprise. He slid his hands down to her waist and breathed in the heady scent of her hair. Did she always have to smell so damned good? His thumbs caressed her ribs in a barely discernable movement. He had held her before, while dancing, but never like this, when she was so docile and... yielding? Was she? What would she do if he leaned her back and exposed her face, forced her to look at him? What if he bent down and touched his lips to hers? His heart rate quickened with anticipation and he raised his right hand. His fingers moved to her neck and cupped her jaw. Her skin was warm and soft. He shifted slightly.

"No gloves? Won't you be poisoned?" she asked scornfully. The words hit him like ice water. If she had used any other tone he might have ignored it, but the cold reminder of her contempt instantly deflated his passion. What the hell was he doing?

He stood up so quickly she nearly banged her head on the stone step.

"You'd better run along, Granger, before I do something we both regret."

She glared at him with an odd mixture of puzzlement and annoyance.

"I'm glad I'll never understand you," she said.

"Just go." He pushed a hand through his silver hair and watched her disappear down the stairs. Damn.

Hermione stared up at the dark wood of the ceiling and shifted her head slightly on her pillow. Her roommates were all asleep, but she lay wide awake. Her mind kept going over her last encounter with Draco. His words haunted her. Run along... before I do something we both regret. Do what? His tone had been so serious, not his usual disdainful sneer, nor the teasing tone he used when they danced. Both of those were calculated to set her teeth on edge, but this... He had meant it. For the first time, she contemplated something that hadn't occurred to her before. Why did he insist on continuing their dance lessons? She had thought it was because he enjoyed controlling her; that he loved forcing her to do his bidding. Now she wondered if there was more to it than that. Maybe he was actually attracted to her? Perhaps she wasn't the only one affected by their close association?

She bit her lip thoughtfully. She was tired of being on the defensive. Maybe it was time to take the war to him.