Deny

Hermione sat huddled up in the small armchair inside the study. The door was closed so she wouldn't disturb Draco. She closed her eyes and focused on the lights, trying to turn them off. When it didn't work, she became frustrated. How had she managed to do it when Draco had told her to? And how had she managed to create that barrier to keep him where she wanted him? None of it made sense.

If her subconscious had been controlling her magic just as Draco had said it was, she believed that she'd being doing more magic than what she was at present. If she'd been able to do it because of her connection to Draco, then why couldn't she do it now? They'd kissed twice and admitted attraction to one another, so their connection should be stronger than ever right now. Why couldn't she do what she wanted to do?

She nearly cried from the frustration - not only from her inability to control her magic, but also because of her inability to communicate to Draco exactly how much she'd come to need him in the few days he'd been there. She might be the one who was supposed to be taking care of him and protecting him, but he was the one who had gotten her to start eating again, and he'd made her feel like a real, live person again. Something about arguing with him always started a fire in her veins. It used to be that she had hated the way that he made her feel with his comments, but now things were different.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes again, concentrating as hard as she could on turning the lights off. When they flickered but didn't go out, she gasped. She'd done something! And she'd been thinking of fighting with Draco... that was very interesting. Could it be the rush of adrenaline she felt when sparring with him that gave her the power to do something?

She paused for a moment in thought. When she'd magicked the frying pan away, she'd been mad because the grease had popped out and burned her. When she'd created the barrier, she'd been angry that Draco was going to leave without finishing their argument. When she'd turned the lights on, she'd done it at Draco's behest - while they were fighting.

Gods, was that the connection he'd been talking about? She pressed cool palms to her flushed cheeks, trying to calm the thoughts that were racing through her mind. Memories of every time she and Draco had ever clashed came rushing, unbidden, to the forefront of her mind. She felt the moment the adrenaline flooded through her body, and she closed her eyes. Suddenly, the lights went out.

She screamed.

It was one of the most wonderful moments of her life, when she solved a puzzle. All of the pieces were falling into place. She bounced up and down happily before closing her eyes and trying to hold on to the rush she'd felt. When it started to fade, she remembered slapping Draco in third year, and suddenly, the lights were back on. She screamed again.

Draco came barreling into the room, his eyes wide and looking generally disheveled. He didn't appear to have been asleep, but she dismissed that thought quickly.

"What happened? Were you attacked?" he asked, his eyes darting around the room.

"I can control it!" she squealed, launching herself at him. She wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug, not missing the fact that even though he had proclaimed that he didn't care about her, he responded in kind. His bare arms went around her and held fast.

"What?" he asked, her words sinking in. He pulled away and held her at arms' length. "You've figured out how to control it?"

"Yes," she nodded, her eyes sparkling.

"Well? What are you waiting for? Tell me!"

"It's you!" she declared. He froze for a moment, and his eyes darkened as his arms dropped to his sides.

"That's funny," he said tonelessly. "You had me going there for a minute."

"I'm not kidding," she said, her expression sobering. "It's you. Or, more accurately, it's how angry you make me." His eyebrows shot up.

"What's this?"

"Well, I was in here trying to turn the lights off, and it wasn't working."

"What?" His eyes widened. "I told you that you weren't strong enough for that yet! You could have been hurt!"

"Are you going to listen, or not?" she huffed, her eyes still sparkling. He clamped his lips together. "I got to thinking, and couldn't figure out why I was able to create that barrier or how I'd turned the lights on when you asked me to."

"Told you to, you mean," he said, smirking. She rolled her eyes.

"Whatever," she said, waving her hand dismissively. "But then I started thinking about how when we fight, it's not always a bad thing... and I remembered the feeling I get when we fight, and the rush that comes with it - and I concentrated on that feeling, and I did it!"

"What did you do?"

"I turned the lights on and off!"

"Try it again. Show me." He took several steps backwards.

"I can't," she said, gesturing helplessly. "I'm too excited. I could only control it when I was angry."

"I can make you angry," he offered, his eyes glittering. She frowned at him.

"I'm sure you could."

"Do you need me to help now? You were doing just fine without me in here."

"Say something," she said, taking a deep breath, and closing her eyes. "Something that you know would make me angry."

"What, that you're totally inept without me?" Her eyes flew open and focused on his smirk, and instantly her temper flared.

"I most certainly am not!" she countered. "I am a competent witch, and I don't need you here to get anything done!" The air around them crackled with emotion, and Draco was acutely aware of the smell of power. He leveled a glare at her.

"Shut the door."

"Don't tell me what to do!" she shrieked, unaware of the door slamming behind her. Draco maintained his composure and didn't take his steely eyes off of hers.

"Turn the lights off."

"You're always so arrogant, just assuming that people can't live without you!" The lights went off, and they were plunged into darkness. She gasped. "What did I do?"

"You didn't feel yourself doing it?" he murmured, his voice completely calm.

"No, I didn't."

"You closed the door and turned the lights off."

"You're closer to the switch, can you turn the lights back on?"

"I would, except that I don't think you used the switch when you turned them off. It's still in the on position."

"Damn it," she swore softly, fumbling around in the dark. "I can't remember where I put the candles, either."

"Summon them," he said impatiently. "You don't need to remember where they are."

"Nonsense. I can't allow myself to get lazy just because of this."

"You won't be being lazy, you'll be practicing." He could almost hear her turning this over in her mind in the silence.

"Fine," she sighed. "Just let me sit down for a moment before I do it again - my head is spinning a bit." She reached out with her arms, feeling around for the armchair. Instead, her hands collided with warm, bare flesh. She could feel her cheeks burning, and was immediately glad that he couldn't see her face.

"You seem to be lost," he said, his voice low. "Let me help you." She felt his arm circle her waist and turn her around, where he guided her slowly to the chair she'd been looking for. Instead of sitting down in it, though, she turned in his arms and touched her hands to his chest. She was painfully aware of the quick breath he sucked in at the contact.

"I didn't mean what I said," she whispered.

"You did."

"I didn't. Don't tell me what I do and don't mean, Draco!" Suddenly he groaned. She felt him bend over and stand back up, and he chuckled.

"Well, here's the candles, but what about the matches?"

"What?" she asked, surprised. "But I didn't mean to-"

"Seems it doesn't take much to get you angry," he commented.

"Not from you, anyway," she muttered, still facing him. They weren't touching anymore.

"Why do you let me get under your skin like that?" he asked, not bothering to hide the curiosity in his voice. "You know that half the time I'm only doing it to agitate you, anyway. Why give me the satisfaction?"

"I-I don't know," she admitted. "I suppose it's hard for me to back down when I'm confronted."

"True enough," he conceded. "I've never seen you back down from anything in your entire life."

"Except when you got here," she said, lowering herself gently into the chair. "I'd pretty much given up on living, and you called me on it. It made me mad that you were the one who snapped me out of my stupor."

"You make it sound as though it were a long time ago, when it was really only a few days ago," he commented, amused. "If I upset you so much, why have you been so accommodating to me?"

"You can say nice, Draco. It won't kill you, I promise."

"The world may never know." She could hear his smirk. He grunted again. "Would you quit that?" She heard rustling as he moved around. "I mean, I know I'm annoying you, but damn! You don't have to hit my head with everything you summon."

"Why not? It's not like you actually feel it," she retorted. To her surprise, he laughed. In the next moment, he'd struck a match and lit the two candles in his hand. He put both of the candles on the table next to her and sat on the footstool in front of her chair.

"You like arguing with me, don't you?" She averted her eyes, trying not to notice how attractive he was when he leaned forward like that. His elbows rested on his knees as he studied her intently. She wanted nothing more than to reach forward and brush the white-blonde wisps of hair out of his face, but she restrained herself by weaving her fingers tightly together. The action did not go unnoticed, although Draco found himself very surprised by it.

"I like debating on topics I'm familiar with," she said. He grinned.

"That's not what I asked, and you know it."

"I don't enjoy arguing with you, contrary to what you may believe. No, I don't enjoy it."

"You're lying because it embarrasses you. It's okay to like it. I find that the most interesting things happen after a good knock-down, drag-out fight - whether it's verbal or physical." She screwed up her face.

"You're disgusting."

"I'm honest," he corrected her. "And you know the difference."

"I sometimes enjoy being able to discuss intelligent topics with you, yes," she said, her cheeks burning again. "But that does not mean that I like the constant bickering that we do."

"Please," he said, shaking his head. "You're lying again! How can you lie like that?"

"What do you mean?"

"That kiss that happened earlier?" he asked, gesturing towards the living room. She looked away from him. "It happened because we were both emotionally charged from arguing. Like it or not, you know that."

"Then why doesn't it happen every time we argue?" she challenged.

"I don't think it would have happened then, if I hadn't broken the ice and kissed you once before that," he said, his eyes fixed on her face. "We've gotten into some pretty heated arguments in the past, and afterwards I'd always have to find some sort of release."

"I don't need to hear about it," she said, closing her eyes.

He ignored her and pressed on. "I would either hex the hell out of one of my housemates, or I would go out to the Quidditch Pitch and work it off. Release is therapeutic, you know. What did you do for your release? I know that you did something, because if you'd been walking around with all of those feelings inside, you would have imploded." She laughed, despite herself.

"You're insane if you think I'm telling you," she said.

"I told you what I did."

"You have no shame."

"You're mistaking shamelessness for not having an ounce of pretention in my body."

"I'm sure you have more than an ounce," she said doubtfully. "Fine, if you must know. Sometimes I meditated in the study room in the library, and sometimes I transfigured things into you and smashed them." He blinked in surprise.

"Really?"

"I took great pleasure in doing that," she said, nodding. "Although no one ever knew about it... until now, anyway," she added.

"I find it rather telling that you thought about me so much."

"What?" She frowned. "I hated you!"

"Like I said before, hate, love - it's all passionate." He shrugged nonchalantly, and she felt the sudden desire to slap the smirk off of his face. She reached forward to do it, but before her palm could come into contact with his cheek, he grabbed her wrist. He held her there, with her face mere inches away from his.

"Let me go," she breathed, her chest heaving erratically.

"I also find it interesting that you keep putting yourself in such close proximity to me. Always trying to touch me in one way or another, aren't you, kitten?" Her eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Don't call me that. I wanted to slap you, nothing else."

"So do it."

"I can't- you're holding my wrist. Let go."

"Make me."

"You know you really are a child?" she gasped, trying to wrench free of his grasp.

"You like me this way."

"You're aggravating as hell," she denied. His free hand on her other wrist made her freeze, and her breath caught in her throat.

"You are, too, you know. You're just like me."

"I'm nothing like you," she whispered, her pulse racing as his face moved towards hers. "I thought you didn't want this."

"I don't," he agreed softly.

"Then why are you doing it?"

"I can't seem to help myself. You're just too damned irresistible when you get fired up like this."

"Draco," she breathed. His eyes locked with hers.

"Hermione." Her lower lip began to tremble just before his lips slid against hers. Still keeping his grip on her wrists, he leaned her back against the armchair as he kissed her. His mouth trailed across her jawline and down her throat, and finally he released her wrists so his hands could explore on their own.

She let go of the anger and trepidation she'd been feeling only moments before, and surrendered to him, floating away on a ribbon of desire.