Never Been Kissed Like That

NEVER BEEN KISSED LIKE THAT

Chapter Eight:

"Aftermath"

Draco's eyes fluttered open, and he stared into the white ceiling of the bedroom, adjusting to the growing clarity. Images of last night kept flooding and flashing through his enormous headache. He had drunk too much. He had tried to drink his thoughts away, but they were still there, haunting his days as well.

Something stirred at his left, and out of the corner of his eye he could distinguish the blonde curls and body of a fast-asleep woman. Sliding carefully out of bed, he mad his way to the balcony, the fresh air of February cooling his warm silk pyjama bottoms. With a flick of his wand, he lit a cigarette, inhaling deeply at the magnificent sight of the Champs Elysées.

He had rushed hastily from the manor, cursing himself for what had happened under that damned table. He was supposed to come near Granger to take information from her, to get his hands on the binding agreement with the goblins, to use her to make his way up the Ministry ladder. But instead he had kissed her, and she had kissed him back.

"It is not the fact that you kissed her that annoys me. It's the fact that she still remembers." The echo of Potter's words had been haunting him for days. And it was wrong, terribly wrong. No matter if she was the green-eyed git's girlfriend or if he was working against her, he too remembered that bloody kiss five years before, for he had never felt anything similar again until last night.

"Draco?" A sleepy, French-accented voice came from behind. "Are you smoking? I think you'd quit that horrible vice of yours." There was a clear hint of annoyance in the words.

"I'm thinking," he said without turning back.

"At..." she reached for the alarm clock, "seven in the morning of a bloody Saturday? Mon Dieu, Draco, I'm freezing!"

He smashed the remainder of the cigarette on the rail and entered the bedroom, closing the balcony door behind him. The headache was pounding hard on his temples.

"What's up with you, cheri? You're acting strange lately." She sat on the bed, eyeing the blonde man with concern.

"It's nothing, Isabelle," he said curtly.

"But you were drunk yesterday, you came to the bed stumbling and stinking of firewhiskey. I know something's disturbing you," she pleaded. "Is it because you're going into politics? You don't need to worry, mon choux, you'll do it wonderfully. Father thinks..."

"Really, Isabelle, I don't give a damn what your father thinks. I wouldn't care less even if he were Merlin himself," he spat angrily.

The petite Frenchwoman pursed her lips in a pout and asked tentatively "Is it because of me?"

"No, it's not because of you. I'm all right, now go back to sleep." She threw the bed covers over her and did as directed, while Draco gathered his clothes and left for the kitchen to find a big jug of orange juice.

Isabelle Durand, twenty, was Jean-Jacques Durand's only daughter. She had been raised in the elite wizarding lyceés in Paris, attended Beaxbautons School and went to La Sorbona to study Languages for a year. She was rich, beautiful, refined and lively. The fact that her father was the French Minister of Magic was definitely a convenient asset to her person. She was the perfect girl to become Draco Malfoy's wife. Their engagement would be made public on Isabelle's birthday, on the 27^th.

Draco's stomach revolted. This was what he wanted; he had chosen his path. This was what he needed, to finally get rid of his ghosts. The pieces were starting to fit in the intricate puzzle he had planned for his life. He would finally commit to the expectations once placed on him; he wouldn't be a disappointment again.

But at the bottom of his soul, he knew there was a piece amiss, something he could not put his finger on. A warning that made him sick at the pit of his stomach every time he took a step further into his plan, a warning that flashed every time he remembered the warm breath of Hermione Granger against his mouth.

He gulped the orange juice and shook his mind away from those thoughts. He had made up his mind, and nothing or no one would take him away from his aim.

*****

"Ouch! That's going to leave a mark!" Hermione hollered after the retreating redheaded child giggling down the corridor.

She had finally decided to pay a visit to Ron and Luna's new house, near Ottery St. Catchpole. Both Luna and Ron's families lived in the same town, and they decided it was the best place to start a family of their own. The house turned out to be a lovely cottage that conveyed very much the homely air of the Burrow, though smaller and less crumpled. Ron's work as professional Keeper for the Cannons was paying quite well.

She rubbed the spot where Sam -or was it Erik? -had kicked her. It was Harry's great idea to bring some sweets to bribe the infamous twins into good manners, the poor innocent man. Now they were locked in a house with two hyperactive, nasty children, only now they also were on a sugar high. Limping slightly, she reached the kitchen, where Luna was preparing some Roast Beef for dinner.

"Here, you have the wine, Luna." Hermione left the bottle she had been carrying when assaulted by the shin-cracker twin.

"I can't really believe Narcissa Malfoy is helping you out with the WMCA," Luna said in her usual dreamy way. "Lucius might be turning over in his grave."

"Actually, it was her son who insisted on introducing me to her," Hermione mumbled through a carrot stick.

Luna's eyes were so wide Hermione feared they would just pop out of their sockets. "Draco Malfoy? That's certainly a revelation. Did you know that the Malfoys were suspected of having an illegal breed of Crumpled Horned..."

"Luna!" Harry interrupted, so she didn't notice Hermione rolling her eyes at her usual improbable fantasies.

"Could you possibly tell your kids to get off my legs? I just gave them all the sweets I had, but they won't leave me!" Sam and Erik were stubbornly clasped, one on each of Harry's legs, so he had difficulty with every single step.

"My darlings, if you don't leave Uncle Harry alone right now," she said sweetly, reaching for the large knife with which she was chopping the vegetables, "I'll chop you to bits and feed you to the Grindylows in the pond, see?" she smiled brightly at her sons, flashing the sharp knife's blade. This small chat had an immediate effect, for they freed Harry's legs, running out to the garden.

Harry was able to mutter a shocked "Thanks."

"I was not serious," Luna winked. "But they don't need to know. Feeding the Grindylows is the only thing that can put a stop to those two these days."

"Good to know," Hermione muttered, making a mental note to get some child psychology books for Luna's birthday.

*****

"So, how it's going with the YMCA?" Harry asked Hermione, while placing the plates on the table.

She threw him a dirty look. "W, Harry." He looked at her questioningly.

"Oh, forget it," she rolled her eyes, "we're doing fine." She continued folding the napkins and placing them at each of the plates' left.

"I heard a bit of your conversation with Luna in the kitchen."

"Eavesdropping now, are we?" she teased.

"Not really, I happened to come nearby. Yet I had the mad impression that Draco Malfoy was sort of helping you out." He looked at her with his brows raised, waiting for an explanation.

"No, he's not helping me out," she said warily.

"Of course, that would be ridiculous." Harry let out a light snort, for it was plainly stupid to think a Malfoy would help with her committee.

"In fact it's his mother, Narcissa, who's helping," she said through narrowed eyes. Her friend was standing before her, looking stunned. "Grow up Harry, Lucius was gone for good five years ago, and Narcissa Malfoy is not the woman you think. I won't hear anything more about it. I know you're biased by our school years, but it's over now, things are different, see?"

"Ok, I won't say anything more about it," he promised.

"And?" She walked to stand in front of Harry and looked up at him threateningly. Her height only reached to under his chin, but she could be a menacing sight nonetheless.

"And I'll try not to be so biased in the future?" He gave her a small smile, measuring if that was what she was expecting him to say. Good, her stare was softening.

"But you can't deny Malfoy's a gi... AAARGH!" Hermione had taken his ear and was turning it painfully. "Ok, Ok!," he pleaded, "he's a wonderful,charming person with a warm and tender heart."

"There's no need to exaggerate," she let the red ear free, chortling.

"You'll need to put one more plate at the table," Ron said from the dining room's doorframe. He had just returned from the village, where he had gone to buy some things. Next to him was Ginny, a shy smile playing on her lips as she took off her cloak.

Hermione looked from Harry to Ginny, finding identical goofy grins, glassy eyes and pink cheeks in both. They were practically drinking each other with their stares. It was so very evident; she wondered if they wouldn't just start snogging at the dining table if it wasn't for Ron.

"Ahem," she interrupted before that could happen. "I think dinner's ready. Harry, why don't you go find a plate for Ginny? Harry?"

"Eh?" Harry looked at his friend as if he had just noticed her for the first time. "Oh, sure, a plate."

The dinner was fantastic and copious, for it was the home of ever-hungry Ron Weasley. He had been capable of eating the entire bowl of mashed potatoes the twins had ruined with their play dough without even noticing. But it was a good thing he had been so occupied with the food; otherwise, he would have noticed the surreptitious glances between his best friend and his little sister. Everybody knew how sensible Ron was about his female sibling's love affairs.

"Tell me, how's the job, Gin?" Ron asked. "Guess working for Rita Skeeter is not what you expected when you got that post at the Prophet."

"She's quite an abusive boss, you know," she complained, "but at least I've learned lots about the journalist profession with her."

"Rita Skeeter tells nothing but lies, she's making my life hell with all the unwanted publicity she brings on me," Harry glared at her across the table.

"That won't last long, though," she retorted calmly. "'Cause she's planning to retire in two months' time; she's getting married to an Italian businesswizard. And wonder who's taking her post," she grinned.

"Hey Gin, that'll be fantastic!" Ron patted her back enthusiastically. "I'm going for some champagne to celebrate." He left for the kitchen, leaving the others to congratulate Ginny.

"So, how long have you been seeing each other?" Luna asked to Ginny and Harry, who instantly paled.

"What? Why do you...How did you know?" the redhead managed to utter.

"I might seem oblivious sometimes, but I'm not blind," Luna said dreamily, as if it was an understatement. "I just wonder what your brother might think once he discovers it." Harry chose that moment to turn to an unhealthy shade of green.

"Just don't tell him anything, please. I'm waiting for the right moment," Ginny smiled mischievously. "Oh, Harry, don't look at me like that," she reached for her boyfriend's hand. "He would know eventually, you know that. Besides, what do you think he would do?"

Before he could answer the question, Ron emerged from the kitchen carrying a bottle and five tall glasses. Harry instantly jerked his hand away from Ginny's and tried his best to look not really affected by the mental images of what Ron might do if he ever discovered the nature of his relationship with his younger sister.

Ron opened the bottle and poured the fizzy liquid in the glasses, while Hermione looked silently at the patterns the bubbles made in the golden liquid. She had woken up that very morning with a headache from the many bubbles consumed the day before at the tea party. From the bottle of champagne she had shared with Malfoy under a table with a pink tabletop. But they had shared more than that. He said it was wrong, that he didn't mean it to happen, that he couldn't do it. But then, why did it felt so right, so meaningful, and as if he had wanted it? Maybe she had forced him somehow to kiss her, or worse, she had launched into his arms. She was not sure of anything.

"For Ginny and her future as the Daily Prophet star journalist!" Ron's toast woke her up from her daydreaming.

"Aunty Ginny's gotta boyfreng!" One of the twins, Erik, chanted.

Ron glowered at his sister, who seemed lost for words. "I thought you were done with that prick from Flourish and Blotts," he said. Ginny had been going out for a year with Troy, a clerk from a Diagon Alley shop, whom she had found with another woman in bed. In her bed.

"I am, really," she blurted. "The kids are just playing nasty to their poor aunt," she laughed nervously.

"Good, because if I ever see that twit's face again... He thought he could play with you and then dump you for some, some scarlet woman!" Hermione rolled her eyes; Ron was so very old-fashioned about certain things. Not to mention that he was obviously blind to the fact that his sister was an independent woman of twenty-two, and not a helpless eleven-year-old girl anymore.

"If I ever happen to encounter the git who tries to lay his filthy hands on you, I swear I'll..." He didn't have to continue with his ramblings, for at that same moment the glass he was holding shattered into a million pieces from the pressure he was exerting on it.

Harry choked on his champagne and turned a shade of yellowish-green. The poor thing, Hermione thought, repressing a laugh. He was certainly lucky Ron happened to be the thickest the nearer the things were to him. She patted Harry's knee reassuringly from under the table. "You know he barks more than he bites," she whispered.

Luna cleaned up the mess before the twins could get hold of any of the glass bits, and the conversation turned back to normal.

"Hey, Harry, I forgot to ask you," Ron turned to his friend. "You seem quite happy lately. Has some witch finally got under your skin?"

Harry's expression was priceless, and Hermione found difficulty at repressing the new fits of laughter, resulting in incontrollable shakes. This was going to be a long, long evening.