Tomber Amoureuse

Tomber Amoureuse

by Eowyn, Lady of Rohan

You were late

How could I forget what you said -

that part about that

"Love taking over your life"

was not your plan...

***

If Hermione Granger was woken up by a phone call one more time in the next two days, she was sure she'd have Draco Malfoy's future children in a jar beside her bed. Preserving Potions are rather easy, I could whip one up in a hurry, she thought as she reached over, grabbed the receiver and grumbled a "What do you want?" into it. She didn't have the energy to yell tonight, nor was she sure she had the energy to even roll out of bed, shuffle to the kitchen and make some tea, for she was sure Draco wouldn't be able to stay at his house or wait until tomorrow for whatever the reason was for calling her at this ungodly hour.

"Congratulations, Granger, you get another visit from your favorite Slytherin," declared Draco on the other end.

"Can I just get a bullet to the head instead?" she sat up, pushing her hair from her eyes. "I'm really not in the mood, so if you have more files, you can just shove them up your arse until the morning, then I might let you bring them. Or you could just do us all a favor and bother Dumbledore instead - he wouldn't mind for the files."

"But he trusts you." With that, a click signaled the end of the conversation, and Hermione angrily slammed down her phone. She eyed the bathrobe she'd worn at their last late-night meeting and decided against it. She was too tired to care about changing out of what she'd fallen asleep in - a pullover hoodie and jeans. She heard the telltale pop in the kitchen before she even made it in there, and stopped in the doorway, having a small staring match with Draco. "You're well rested." He commented.

"You're a prick."

"Such a woman of many words. I admire that about you." She rolled her eyes and shuffled over to the stove, rinsing out the teapot to fill it with more water.

"Just come on with the files so you can leave me in peace."

"Oh, like you don't remember the last time we discussed Death Eater meeting files," he said, and she turned sharply to see that same look he'd had commenting on her bathrobe three nights ago - expression straight, eyes giving away nothing.

"Speaking of future children," she muttered, and he dropped the folder of files.

"Excuse me?"

"Don't get your knickers all in a twist," she smirked. "I was just thinking of different ways to torture you when I finally snap from lack of sleep." Draco waved a hand, and the files all sorted themselves back in order and swept back up into his hands. She turned away, heard the thump of him dropping the folder onto the table, and started to turn to walk to the table, when a warm body pressed against her back, his hands covering hers on the counter, warm breath tickling her neck. Her heart thudded against her ribs almost painfully, and she closed her eyes, not wanting to turn to face him anymore, wishing he would just go away, wishing she could just melt into a puddle and not have to deal with this. They hadn't spoken during the sex last time, but their silence had spoken volumes. Just as it was now.

This is wrong. We're going to get caught one day, and this is going to come back to bite us in the arse.

Let go of your pride, and just go with it.

Easy for you to say.

"I hate you," she whispered, and one of his hands came up to brush her hair from the side of her face, turning her head to look at him as her body turned against his so she could face him easily.

"Prove it." Her lips captured his in a hard, unforgiving kiss, an answer to his challenge, and she hated herself for it, but most of all she hated him for making her hate herself through this. Why had he come here? She didn't have to ask to know the answer, and as he nibbled at her lower lip, she felt her logic and reasoning escaping her to give way to passion and lust and hate, all rolled into one.

Their animosity for each other had paved the way for all the sexual tension heightening at an exponential rate. Typical. I'm snogging, well on my way of sleeping with for the second time, one of the most sought-after wizards of the age, and I'm thinking of exponential rates. His hands slipped under her jacket and the shirt underneath, his fingers icy against her warm skin, but she loved it. She loved the way he murmured her name as they kissed; she loved the way they forgot entirely about the files or the teapot of water she hadn't put on the stove just yet as they made their way blindly to her bedroom; she loved the way they weren't gentle, with any of the whisperings of love, amour, that she no longer wanted, preferring their near-silence; she loved the way she loved him.

Are you having regrets about last night?

Hermione didn't want to fall in love with Draco - it was too cliché. She was never one for cliché, but with him there was no other way. Love between a Slytherin and a Gryffindor was strictly forbidden, not by any written-and-enforced law, but by a code of ethics for every witch and wizard that Hermione had no choice but to follow since she was a Muggle-born. She hadn't chosen this way of life, nor had she necessarily wanted to; she became a witch and exceeded the expectations of everybody, but even with her recent acceptance into the Auror program, it hadn't gotten her where she'd wanted to be. And she wanted to be with Draco.

Oh, she was with him physically, in so many ways, their legs and arms entwining in a dance of blissful torture, of tension and release and mingled sweat and all the trappings of lust-then-love, but she wanted to wake up without the fear of falling for somebody so unapproachable. And as long as he coexisted with her, it wouldn't happen. As he collapsed on her and her eyes shut with the heaviness of sleep, she couldn't fathom what would happen in the morning, nor did she want to think about it. He'd left before she woke the other morning, and she didn't want him to now. She wanted to cling to him, hold on to this hope that she still hated him, loathed him with every fiber of her being, not loved him. It was so much easier to hate somebody than to love. Love meant giving yourself, your life, to this one cause, this one person, but hate - hate took so little energy. Hate was admitting you belonged to nobody.

Not even yourself.

***

Riiiiiiiiiiiiiing. Hermione groaned and for a brief moment, considered throwing the phone across the room, but instead did the civilized thing - picked it up and sighed heavily before speaking.

"Yeah, bring the files over."

"I'm in love with you, Hermione."

That was the last time they ever talked on the phone.

FIN (for now...)