Never Been Kissed Like That

NEVER BEEN KISSED LIKE THAT

Chapter Two:

"Cold Butt, Warm Coffee"

The first snowflakes began to fall over London in the third week of December. Hermione rubbed her hands over the stove, hoping it would unfreeze them. Looking through the window she could see how little by little the streets turned white, as wizards packed with Christmas presents came in and out of the shops in Diagon Alley.

"When are we going to have a decent stove?" she cried exasperately. "If I sit at this one,my butt will remain as frozen as now."

"Darling, you'll still have an iced butt no matter where you sit." A massive witch in purple robes smiled at Hermione from under a pile of parchment. Hermione directed her an annoyed look.

"What do you mean by that, Loretta?" Hermione frowned.

"Nothing at all. I only say that it'll do you no harm to have a little fun every now and then. You work too much."

"I'm just trying to do my job, you know. We're this near to win Fudge," she made a gesture with her fingernail and thumb. "If we could only get invited to the Ministry Anniversary Ball," she sighed, "I would make Fudge agree to the resigning of non-magical creatures restriction."

"Don't worry, Hermione, we'll manage to push some sense into his thick head. Besides, you've got contacts at the Ministry, why don't you try to get invited to the Ball?"

Hermione put on her gloves and wrapped herself in her woolen scarf. "I'll talk Harry into it. Now I need some hot coffee, I'm freezing."

She hurried down the street, snowflakes getting tangled in her curls. She had somehow become addicted to caffeine, and there was only one place where she would buy her daily supply, the Watercolors Café. It was a small cafe almost hidden in Linseed Alley, the turn at Diagon Alley where you can find most of the stuff for wizarding artists.

She inhaled the sweet smell of freshly made coffee when she entered the place. It was usually packed with people because it was a common meeting place for intellectuals and artists. Hermione was neither of both, but she loved the coffee the same. She took her place at the bar and waited for Molly to prepare her double expresso and Loretta's capuccino.

"Can I have some saccharine with the capuccino?" she smiled to the waitress."Thanks Molly,"

"Do you want sugar for your expresso?" the young girl asked Hermione.

"Oh, no thanks. I like it bitter."

"Watching your figure, Granger? Some sugar won't spoil it, you know," a voice said from behind her.

That drawl, she thought. I know that voice too well. Though deeper in pitch, she would have recognised it at once.

"Draco Malfoy," she said, turning to face the blonde man in front of her. If she had been a little younger, she would have blushed instantly. But now Hermione was no longer an innocent schoolgirl that got impressed by stunningly good-looking guys. And believe me, Draco Malfoy was stunning.

Harry was wrong, Draco Malfoy had changed in these years, changed for good. His features, once girly, had become sharp and manly. His silky blonde hair was no longer plastered to his skull with gel, but it hung loose smoothly, jaw-long, framing his face. His once lanky form had disappeared, and through his heavy cloak one could imagine a well-toned body and broad shoulders.

But there was one thing that remained from the spoiled brat he once was at Hogwarts. Now he was looking down at Hermione with the same smirk she had to endure during seven years there. It must be part of the inheritance he got from his father when he died. Some said it was him who killed Lucius during the war, but she knew better. Hary had told her Lucius Malfoy was killed by Voldemort himself when he tried to protect Draco. He might have been a bastard all his life, and even disowned Draco when he joined the Order, but in his last moments he found redemption.

"It's been a long time, Granger," he smiled at her. Smiled? Draco Malfoy smiling? Those years must have done a profound change in him, she thought.

"Yeah, a long time. I haven't heard of you since Graduation." Where the hell were her coffees? She wanted to leave from there right now!

"I've been abroad, training. I'm an auror now."

"Yeah, I know," she said. He looked at her curiously. "Harry told me," she explained.

"Um, Potter," he grunted. Hermione rolled her eyes, some things never change. Malfoy hating Harry and vice-versa was one of this everlasting guy hate things, she guessed.

"I believe you work together."

"We work in the same place, but that doesn't mean we work together, you know," he corrected her. Boys. Men. Gits. Whatever, they're so childish sometimes.

An uncomfortable silence passed them, and Hermione began tapping nervously at the bar.

"Do you usually come here, I mean, to this café?" Malfoy asked her.

She lifted her head, believing her ears were failing her. Draco Malfoy was trying to engage her in conversation. "Yes. I just found it six months ago." Molly was nowhere to be seen, and Hermione was getting impatient.

"I always used to come here. They have the best coffee in London, don't you think?" Hermione glared at Malfoy. What was he doing? Trying some small talk with her? What will be next, the weather?

"Here you have your coffees, Hermione," Molly interrupted her wanderings. "Sorry for the delay, but the machine got jammed somehow."

"Don't worry," she said, while looking into her purse for the correct change.

"Don't bother," Malfoy said, handing the waitress some Knuts with a wink. "Next time we meet, you'll pay."

Hermione was shocked. Next time? Who was he kidding? She was never coming back there. Not if there was a chance to meet the arrogant git again.

"All right," she heard herself saying. Perfect, when had her brains melted into pulp? Everybody said she was a clever witch, but now she was just acting stupid. She couldn't think with clarity, not with Malfoy around. She wanted to slap his stupid smirk off his face.

"Nice to see you again, Granger," he said. She was sure he was pulling her leg, but she wouldn't give in.

"Yeah, whatever." She turned on her heels and left before she suffered any more brain damage.

Hermione left the capuccino at Loreta's desk and resumed her place by the stove to drink hers. She had a mountain of work to do and there she was, fuming, thinking on none other than Draco Malfoy. Years had made him good, that was without question. She kicked herself mentally for having such thoughts.

Hermione separated a bit from the stove, not able to bear the heat. "What did you do to this?" she asked Loretta.

"I mixed a heating spell with a burning one, I hope we don't blow away."

"I hope so, but thanks, I really needed a bit of warmth. You are the best Lory!" She blew the other witch a kiss, and then it stuck her.

The kiss! Of course, how had she been so stupid. She was going to kill Harry. He must have teased Malfoy about the kiss. And now the proud git was feeling so important to have made such an impression on the bushy know-it-all. But she was no longer a little girl and wouldn't tolerate any bickering. Yeah, she would kill Harry... slowly. Defeating Voldemort would seem a picnic party compared to what she would do.

Hermione sat at her table and pulled some fresh parchment and quill.

"Dear Harry," she started. She left the quill on the table and teared the parchment in two. With narrowed eyes, she pulled another piece of parchment. This was no time for pleasantries.

Harry,

What the hell where you thinking? Didn't I expresely forbid you to tell Malfoy about the "Kiss"? I encountered him just a few moments ago and he tried to pull my leg, being nice and all.

I'll make your life miserable, Harry James Potter, be sure of that.

Hermione Granger

P.S. If it is not much a disturbance, I'd love it if you invite me to the Minisrty Anniversary Ball, will you? You're a heaven. Thanks.

Hermione folded the letter and attached it to Foxy, the orange-feathered owl from Loretta. Then she sat back at her table and sighed at seeing amount of paperwork that loaded her desk. She rolled up her sleeves and started working.

She was so concentrated on her things that Hermione jumped when something tapped at her window. A snowy owl was just outside, Hedwig, Harry's owl. She opened the window and let her in. After rewarding her with some treats, she unfolded the letter from Harry.

Dear Hermione,

What are you talking about? I want you to take this into your full-to-the-brim-with-nonsense head. I never, mark my words, NEVER, said a word of your disgusting saliva exchange with the anoying ferret, not even to him. It took me two memory spells to erase the very image from my mind. Really, Hermione, Malfoy? So stop with your unbased threats or I'll go up there and kick up your know-it-all arse.

P.S. Of course, I'll be delighted to take you to the ball with me. Only promise you won't be the whole evening stalking Fudge. Do you still fit into that low neck black dress you wore last Christmas?

Hermione stared at the parchment. Harry hadn't said a word of her 'secret'. Right. So Draco Malfoy had been polite with her on his own accord. Right. No, wait that was not right. If one thing, it was utter, terribly wrong.

Better that than being called 'Mudblood' at every turn. She shrugged and shook any thoughts of the blonde aside. Pulling some fresh parchment again, she prepared to write back to Harry.

Dear Harry,

Are you suggesting I cannot fit in my old clothes anymore? Because I can still hex you into...