Never Been Kissed Like That

NEVER BEEN KISSED LIKE THAT

Chapter seven:

"Under the Table"

Draco rested his head on his hands in frustration. "I told you, Fudge. That witch is more clever than you think."

The Minister eyed the blonde man with suspicion. "I hope you're not getting too fond of Miss Granger, Malfoy."

"Don't be ridiculous," Draco laughed half-heartedly. "This is just work." It had been more than six weeks since his first encounter with Hermione, and they had shared lots of coffees and interminable chats down at the Watercolours Café. He had managed to discretely get some useful information for Fudge, but at the same time, little by little, he was getting to really know her. The passion she brought to everything she did, the way her eyes sparkled when she talked about the WMCA, the smile that spread on her face when she referred to her friends. Draco felt a slight pang of jealousy, wondering when was the last time he had done something with such feeling. He had always gotten what he wanted, but this time was different. He wanted to feel, just like she did.

Fudge snapped him out of his reveries. "So how far did you get with your investigations? "

"I managed to break most of the protective spells, all but one. As I told you, she's a clever witch.

"Some seconds after I entered her flat, I became petrified. And this is not any kind of spell I know how to reverse." He remembered the embarrassment he had to endure when a neighbour had found him petrified on the doorstep of Hermione's apartment and thought he was having a heart attack. Helpfully, the old woman had taken him by the arms and left him lying on the corridor's carpeted floor. The worst part was that, by the time he recovered his movement capabilitu, the old woman's lips were firmly clasped around his mouth, performing CPR, and blowing her rotten garlic breath into his lungs. He had, of course, obliviated the woman, though he unluckily could not obliviate himself.

Ignoring Draco's face of disgust, Fudge continued. "We must hurry up. Grupnick the Elder is on his deathbed. You know, the chief goblin who signed an agreement with the WMCA to support their cause in every instance."

"If he dies, the document will be no longer valid.

That's good news," Draco said.

"Au contraire, my friend. Old Grupnick was not a fool. The agreement was magically sealed, and it established binding responsibilities to the successor in charge, the future chief goblin. He, and only he can ever break its binding spell."

"That is Brodik. I know for sure he'd be more than delighted to break it once it's in his hands," Draco pointed out.

"Sure he would, if only he could. Grupnik, though old, is not blind to the fact of where Brodik's loyalties lie. That's why he entrusted the agreement's only copy to the hands of the WMCA, to the hands of that Granger woman," he growled.

"She has them on a tight rein," Draco smirked. Hermione was no fool.

"Once we've got the contract, we'll grant a post for goblins in the Wizengamot. That'll shut up the public claims for magical creatures representation. Without the goblins' support, the WMCA is nothing. NOTHING!" he laughed in a very maniac fashion. Draco rolled his eyes; the Minister could be so theatrical sometimes.

"That ridiculous committee. I would never, by no means, give in to granting the rights to underbreds such as Centaurs or Werewolves. They're far too dangerous. About house-elfs, I don't really care, they're so insignificant, after all. I might grant them some liberties," he pondered. "Uhm, on second thought, I think I won't. Definitely, I won't give that annoying bushy-haired chit the pleasure." The monologue was starting to make Draco very anxious to leave the room. The old man surely was off his rocker.

"We must be careful, though. If any of this information sees the light, we're finished." He turned to Draco. "Both of us."

"But let's not think about that," Fudge said gleefully. "Once we get the bloody document, everything will be fine. Most importantly, we'll become immensely rich!" He was of course, referring to the generosity goblins had promised in exchange for the future Wizengamot post.

"I'm already immensely, stupidly rich, Fudge," Draco said lazily, as if it was a matter of no importance.

"Sure you are. But you are not here for the galleons, are you? You are the spitting image of your father. There's one thing a Malfoy wants more than wealth; Power. I'll give you an influential position inside the Ministry. After my retirement, I will recommend you as the next Minister of Magic!"

Malfoy rested his head back on the leather couch and smiled inwardly. Power would make him feel.

*****

It was past midday when Hermione drove her red Beetle^tm along the hardly visible path covered with snow. She checked again the strange note in which Malfoy had written down the instructions to get to the place where she would meet the potential fund-raisers. She stopped the car and looked around. Getting lost in a forest in the middle of Scotland was the same as getting lost in the middle of nowhere. Malfoy would regret it if this was a prank.

She exited the car and read the note one more time. She had followed the instructions correctly, she thought, for the path ended just there. Now she had to find an old oak tree resembling a snake. Typpical of Malfoy, she thought. But to her surprise, the oak was right in front of her, its core and branches twisted as a snake's head. It was amazing, though also a bit creepy. She approached the tree and reluctantly inroduced her hand into what must have been the snake's mouth, as the note commanded.

"Good morning. How can I help you?" A sudden squeaky voice came from the tree. Hermione jumped backwards, startled.

"I... I'm here for an appointment with Mister Malfoy," she said, unsure of where to direct her voice. "I'm Hermione Granger."

"Welcome, Miss Granger," the squeaky voice said. "Mister Malfoy will be informed of your arrival." And with that, to Hermione's astonishment, an enormous iron door materialized in front of her. Behind it, there was a path leading to the most splendid mansion she had ever set her eyes on. She locked the car and proceeded slowly to the house.

In the middle of the path she encountered a house elf, whom she supposed was there to walk her to the entrance.

"Hello, I'm Miss Granger," she ddressed the elf. "I'm sure you've heard of the activities of the committee I work for." For Hermione, no opportunity was bad to gain new allies.

The small elf let out a high-pitched giggle. "Every elf in the country knows who is you," it smiled. "I is going to inform Master Malfoy you is here."

Master Malfoy? Hermione glanced from the elf to the mansion. So this was Malfoy manor? She thought. In her imagination, she had pictured Draco's home as some kind of dark, gothic castle that never saw the sun. But this was the most charming of places, with the green ivy covering the stone walls and the snow-covered vast land and forest of the surroundings.

"Master Malfoy is by the lake," the elf said. So there is also a lake? Hermione wondered.

"Thank you, I will inform your master myself, if you tell me in which direction the lake is." The elf showed Hermione the path to the said place and left for the house.

When she reached the bend leading to the lake, a most appealing image caught her eye. Malfoy was ice-skating, dressed in black pants and a black wool sweater that contrasted nicely with his pale features. She simply stood there, leaning on a tree, mesmerized by his graceful movements. He seemed so relaxed, with the cool breeze gently whipping his silky hair, his cheeks and nose flushed from the cold. He rushed to the centre of the ice and started spinning round, standing on one skate. It was nothing very elaborate or professional, but Hermione thought he just looked so free, without the cloud that usually hung over his brow whenever they met. She couldn't take her eyes from him, from his silvery blonde hair, his straight and manly jawline, his grey eyes, looking piercingly into hers.

She gasped when she noticed that Malfoy had stopped skating and was staring at her curiously. Her cheeks flushed from embarrassment. In two long strokes, he was by the edge of the lake.

"Morning, Granger. Enjoying the sight?" he smirked.

"You have a wonderful estate here," she said. It was pretty clear he had not been referring to the Manor, but she was not in the mood for one of his let's-see-who's-smarter games. She had come there for business, and the knot forming in her stomach was only a product of the anticipation of meeting the rich fund-raisers. That was it, nothing more. It had nothing to do with the way his eyes sparkled, or the creamy texture of his... stop it! She kicked herself mentally.

"Want to try?" With a wave of his wand, a pair of skates appeared leaning on a fallen trunk.

"I don't know how to ice-skate," she shrugged.

"You spent seven years at Hogwarts, which has one of the most suitable lakes for ice-skating during winter, and you never tried?" Malfoy arched an eyebrow in disbelief. "Did you spend all your leisure time in the library, or what?" he laughed.

Hermione didn't answer and looked at her feet, embarrassed. Malfoy realised he had been right and stopped laughing, feeling quite stupid.

"I didn't mean it that way," he apologised. "I can teach you, if you like. There's enough time till the tea party. A very decent amount of suitable rich victims will be waiting for a cause to spend their husband's money on. I bet you can do with a bit of pre-hunting relaxation." He offered his hand to her, flashing one of his best smiles. That did it.

"I guess it's never too late to try new things," Hermione decided.

Malfoy proved to be a good teacher, for in less than ten minutes, she was sliding over the iced surface of the lake. She let him guide her movements, smiling all the way, her hand firmly clasped in his. It was quite a liberating experience, to let herself slide away while the cool breeze cut into her cheeks, making her feel alive.

At the count of three, he let go of her hand, and Hermione started skating by herself, her mirthful giggles echoing in the surrounding forest. His hand still kept the warmth of hers, and every time their eyes met, a prickly feeling grew in Draco's stomach. I must be hungry, he thought, checking the time on his watch.

"I think I've got the hang of it!" No sooner had Hermione said this than she slipped on the ice and fell backwards. Draco paled and rushed to where she lay motionless, thinking she might have hurt herself badly. Her eyes were closed and her brows furrowed, as if in deep pain.

"Hermione, are you Ok? Does it hurt?" Draco asked worriedly. Hermione nodded and remained silent. "Where?"

"In my ego," she said, opening her eyes. It was the first time Malfoy had called her by her first name, and it had caught her off-guard. "You saw me making a fool of myself. Now you will tease me endlessly for being so clumsy," she pouted.

Draco let out a sigh of relief; she was not hurt, after all. "You were not that clumsy, though you can do with a bit more of practice." Her reached for her hair and stoked one of her cinnamon curls, spread in the ice at odd angles. Her warm brown eyes fixed on his, and for a moment, he completely forgot breathing.

When Hermione felt his hand caressing her hair, a chill ran through her spine, though it had nothing to do with being sprawled on the frozen surface of the lake. Her stare moved from his bright greyish eyes to his mouth. Unconsciously, she parted her lips; her mouth had gone completely dry.

"Master Malfoy!" an elf squealed from the edge of the forest. Draco jerked his hand back from her hair and turned to the elf. "The party is ready. Your guests will be arriving in few minutes." Having said that, it disappeared down the path, leaving Draco and Hermione alone.

"We better get going," he said, helping her to stand up. The soft manners Draco had shown some seconds before had completely disappeared, the dark cloud set again in his brow.

Hermione followed him to the house in silence. There was no denying something had happened down in the lake, but had he felt it too? She wondered.

"Welcome to Malfoy Manor," Draco said solemnly as he opened the front door. Hermione stood still by the threshold, admiring the magnificence of the mansion.

"You won't turn to stone if you enter, you know," he said.

"I know I won't," she retorted confidently, pointing at her neck.

Draco's eyes widened at the sudden revelation, but he managed to conceal his glee. Hanging from a silver chain around her neck, there was a reddish-brown stone. He recognised it at once, a Perpetrus from the Nile. How cold had he been so daft as not to figure it out? The magical stone protected the bearer against any kind of petrifying spells or charms. She had handed him the key to enter her apartment.

A broad smile spread in his face. "Ready for the big heist?

"I'm always ready," she said, and they headed for the greenhouse where the party was being held.

*****

It had only taken one hour for Hermione to discern three things about tea parties in Malfoy manor.

First, the tea hadn't shown up yet. It seemed thatrich ladies' delicate palates were only satisfied with the finest French champagne. In bucketloads. Literally, they were the hardest drinkers Hermione had met in her life. And that was saying something after attending the celebrations when the Cannons won the British Quidditch Cup for the first time in eighty years last October. High society witches' lives had to be really boring, she thought through her third glass of the fizzy liquid.

Second, about the party thing itself, this seemed for the most part one of those Muggle New Year's Eve macroparties, for there were at least sixty witches in there. The greenhouse turned out to be an enormous glass-panelled building, provided with the most luxurious delicatessen, placed in large buffet tables surrounding the exotic plants.

And third, she would have realised all of it in less time had it not been for the amount of champagne she had gulped to socialize with the party of alcohol-proof witches.

"I'd like to introduce you to the President of the Social Affairs Committee, Granger. She is an outstanding lady among these witches, and if you obtain her sympathy, the funds will be granted for sure." Draco led Hermione towards the big palm tree in the centre of the greenhouse.

"I'll put on my best smile to bring another old drunkard bat to the cause," she grimaced.

Draco eyed her thoughtfully, as if to make a remark, but decided against it. When they reached the spot, he put a hand on the shoulder of a blonde woman clad in lilac silk robes, who turned to face them.

"Mother," he paused for effect, "I'd like to introduce you to Miss Granger, responsible for the Welfare for all Magical Creatures Association." Hermione's jaw dropped to her feet. She had not called Malfoy's mum an old drunkard bat, had she? She winced.

"Narcissa Malfoy, President of the Social Affairs Committee," the woman said, offering her hand. "Pleased to meet you, Miss Granger." Hermione shook hands with her and turned to Malfoy. He had fled, leaving the two women alone. Nasty trick, she thought.

"So, Social Affairs Committee's President," Hermione said nervously, cursing Malfoy under her breath.

*****

As it turned out, Narcissa Malfoy was a very intelligent and charming woman, far away from the image Hermione had of her. She had married Lucius Malfoy very young and boldly confessed that the most remarkable thing her husband had done in his whole life was dying to save Draco. As a practical woman, she had never seen the point in all the obsolete pureblood's prejudices that had brought so many disgraces to the wizarding world.

Therefore, it turned out that Hermione had Narcissa's total support before even asking for it. They would work on an informative campaign for the WMCA and other fund-raising events. Malfoy had been right; with her support, Hermione would reach the most select and influential of the wizarding society. When Narcissa left to greet Mrs. Parkinson, Hermione found herself alone again in the midst of a sea full of unknown people.

She scanned the greenhouse for Draco, but he was nowhere to be seen. She couldn't blame him, for she would have disappeared long ago too. A solitary bottle of champagne lay unopened in a far table, and Hermione decided she could adopt it for good. After all, she had succeeded with her goals, and it called for some celebration.

The most curious sight met her eyes as she took the bottle and a crystal glass. A solitary hand with no visible owner was searching the table until it found a tray of smoked salmon and crackers, took it, and disappeared with it under the table. Hermione blinked twice, wondering if she had consumed enough alcohol to suffer from hallucinations. She walked decidedly to the other side of the buffet, checking that no one noticed her as she lowered down under the table.

"Gotcha!," she startled the young man crumpled under the pink mantelpiece.

"Gone into hiding?" she asked.

"It seems so. I hate tea parties," Draco shrugged.

"I don't blame you. Can I join?" He nodded and magically enlarged the place for them to fit comfortably, without changing its outer appearance.

Under the table, hidden from the rest of the world, they ate salmon and drank champagne in celebration. The only difference was that, while Hermione toasted for the success of the WMCA, Draco did it for the ultimate downfall of it, and the beginning of his political career. It was strange that, though things were going as planned, he still had the strange feeling that there was something wrong with it, though he could not put his finger on it.

They sat Indian-style and made fun of most of the party attendees, both agreeing they were the most boring bunch of witches in the whole of England.

"Your mother seems quite different from them all," she said honestly.

"She is different," he smiled.

"Just like you." Hermione could not believe she had just said that aloud. "I mean, you're not the standard type. Kind of... well..." This was not getting better. When did I became sixteen again? She scolded herself.

Draco sat still in front of her, amusement clear in his eyes. The tingling sensation was back at the pit of his stomach, and it definitely was not hunger.

"It's that you look just like her, for the beautiful blonde hair and... urgh, I mean..." Ok, now shut your big mouth up, Hermione thought. She blushed deeply and concentrated on her feet. She needed more champagne, right now.

Hermione reached for the bottle while Draco leaned in with the same intention. Their hands clasped around it at the same time, and Draco could only think of how soft and warm her skin was against his hand. Before he could stop himself, he sputtered, "I think you've got a beautiful hair, too." She looked at him in amazement with her almond-shaped cinnamon eyes.

Everything became very still at once, their rhythmic breathing the only present sounds. As if attracted by a force stronger than gravity, they felt themselves pulled forwards, colliding into each other's mouths in a shattering kiss. Hermione's mind reeled at the touch of his soft lips, a surge of electricity shaking her whole body.

Draco was devoid of all thought; he only concentrated on the sweetness of her mouth as he deepened the kiss. His heartbeat accelerated as she emitted a soft moan. Just then, he came to his senses and ended the kiss abruptly, jumping back as if burned by a fire. She sat right in front of him, caught off balance at the sudden reaction.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..." he started.

"Uh, oh, it's ok." She was still confused and dizzy from the sensation of his lips on hers.

"No, listen. I didn't mean this to happen. This is not... right." Hermione's heart sank with his words. "I can't do this. I'm sorry, please accept my apologies."

"Erm, don't worry, Malfoy, it was nothing," she lied, "just a product of too much champagne." Let him have it his way, she thought. She wouldn't pine after someone obviously not interested, least of all Draco Malfoy. She might be a cold ass, but no doubt you could freeze hell in Malfoy's.

"We better get going," he said, avoiding her gaze. He was acting stupid with the person that was standing between him and his dream. But the way his heart had raced at the mere contact with her skin had scared him out of his wits.

*****

Narcissa had invited Hermione to spend the night at the manor, but she refused because Crookshanks might be crawling the walls with hunger that late. She did agree, however, to Floo home, for she was not in the best condition to drive her car. Her red Beetle^tm would appear parked at her building door in London the very next day.

The incident under the table was silently agreed to remain unmentioned from that point onwards, though it was far from forgotten. It was what one might call an agreed and conscious denial. Draco left before sunset, for he had a Portkey booked to Paris.

"It seems your son is missing his life in France," Hermione commented. She knew Malfoy had been travelling almost weekly to Paris during the weekends, for they had shared impressions about the city that she had known in her holidays.

Narcissa eyed the younger woman with a playful smile spread on her face. "Well, that's not the main reason for his continuous trips. He's got certain commitments there."

Not knowing what the woman had meant with commitments, Hermione threw a pinch of Floo powder in the fireplace and stepped inside. She waved Mrs. Malfoy goodbye, and the next moment she was in her apartment, greeted by a hungry ginger cat.