Never Been Kissed Like That

NEVER BEEN KISSED LIKE THAT

Chapter Fourteen:

"F.E.E.L.I.N.G. C.A.L.L.E.D. L.O.V.E."

Draco ran his hand through his soaked hair nervously. A small pool was forming at his feet from all the rainwater dripping from his clothes. He stood still in the carpeted corridor, in front of A-1, Hermione's door.

He was cold, terribly cold. But that was not the reason he wasn't moving. A thousand questions were still pounding in his mind.

Was he giving up? Was he giving up so effortlessly after all this time? For what, a Muggle-born witch? Was he throwing away his political career? For someone who would probably hate him after he told her everything?

Yes.

As simple as that, he was going to throw away all his carefully planned life. And why? Because it was right, and he knew it. He'd always had that damned voice in his head, nudging him to do things, even if sometimes it pissed him off. Some people might call it a conscience, but Draco preferred to refer to it as 'the annoying little voice'.

That same voice was telling him that this was what he wanted. Not what was right, or what should be expected of him, or what others had wanted for him. He wanted this.

He lifted his fist to knock, couldn't make himself do it, and let it fall. He'd have to explain everything to her, from Fudge's plans to him entering her apartment. Besides, he would have to deal with the Minister himself, for he was a cracked, dangerous man that wouldn't stop his craving for power even if Draco turned against him. But that confession was not the one terrifying him.

He'll have to tell her about his feelings for her.

He gulped and, with a final air of resolution, lifted his arm again. He never managed to knock.

*****

Hermione turned off the TV and tightened the quilt around her.

The room is cold and has been like this for several months.
If I close my eyes I can visualise everything in it right down
Right down to the broken handle on the third drawer down of the dressing table.
And the world outside this room has also assumed a familiar shape
The same events stuffed in a slightly different order each day.
Just like a modern shopping centre.
And it's so cold - yeah it's so cold.

Crookshanks moved, rubbing past her on the couch to the front door. He turned to his owner and started meowing and scratching the wooden surface of the frame.

"Crook, I can't let you out. Not tonight. It's pouring outside," she said, pointing at the rain-washed window. The cat kept meowing incessantly in protest, pacing up and down in front of the exit.

"All right, but don't think I'm letting you in if you come back all soaked and dirty." She went to the cat and lifted its ginger body in her arms. "Take a walk in the corridors, and I'll get you a tin of tuna for breakfast, hm?" She petted its furry head and opened the door, and then all coherent thought fled from her mind.

Draco Malfoy was standing by her door, one arm raised, as if he was about to knock.

*****

He stood motionless, his arm still up, his eyes locked on the girl in front of him.

"D-Draco?" It was not a question, but a confirmation that she was not imagining him standing by her door.

All the rehearsed speech he could have prepared in his mind faded; he would have been lucky to remember his own name. Every possible meaning and explanation was in front of him, in the form of Hermione Granger.

Crookshanks leapt from her arms unnoticed and rubbed at Draco's feet, purring. The young man watched as the cat disentangled itself from his legs and walked gingerly down the corridor, disappearing round a corner.

"You're soaked to the bones." She opened the door the rest of the way and let Draco in, before disappearing into another room.

She was barefooted, Draco noted, wearing only white silk pajama bottoms and a cotton t-shirt. He closed the door behind him and waited for her, standing in the sitting room.

And as I'm standing across this room
I feel as if my whole life has been leading to this one moment.

She reappeared, carrying a fluffy towel that she rudely threw to him. Her first shock at finding him at her door was slowly disappearing, only to be replaced by a boiling anger.

"What are you doing here?" she asked curtly.

The towel lay limply in his hand, and he made no attempt to use it to dry himself. He swallowed hard and calmed his nerves. "I... I lied."

Hermione arched her brow, surprised by this blatant declaration. He was doing it again, turning her world upside down, but this time she wasn't going to let him. "Ok, you lied. Good, you've said it, you can go now." She couldn't meet his eyes as she said these words, or her resolution would disappear.

"I want to stop running." He didn't know why he had said that, but it made sense anyhow.

She lifted her head and eyed him curiously. "And what are you running from?"

"Myself," was his answer.

"Oh." For the first time since he had entered her apartment, she looked at him, really looked at the man standing in front of her. There was a different air surrounding him that hadn't been there before. His stormy eyes were pleading desperately for her to listen to him. She was so mesmerized by this sudden aura that she could not bring herself to speak.

Her silence encouraged him to continue. "You were right. I've been lying to myself, and what is worse, I've been lying to you."

And as I touch your shoulder tonight this room has
become the centre of the entire universe.
So what do I do? I've got a slightly sick feeling in my stomach,
like I'm standing on top of a very high building, oh yeah.

His words made her knees weak, while her stomach turned with anger and nerves. She couldn't let herself get lost in this game. "What are you playing at? Do you think you can come here and tell me you've been lying to me and then everything would be all right? Was that what you expected?"

"No. I just want you to listen to what I have to say." His grey eyes were so intense they bored holes into hers. Her brown pools made him want to drown and trust her with his deepest fears and desires.

"All right, explain," she stood defiantly. "And when you're finished, I want you to leave."

"I understand," he nodded, and searched in his mind for the words he needed to say in order to tell her everything. It was blank, completely blank. Being so close to her made him unable to gather any coherent thought. To hell with the rehearsal speech; he had to do this from inside his heart, not his mind. He let his eyes wander through the dimly lit room, to finally settle on the windowpane, rattling with the heavy rain. When he started to talk, he didn't know where the words were coming from or why, just that it was something he desperately needed to tell her.

"I was destined to be the improved version of Lucius Malfoy," his voice was calm and distant, and she felt a shiver run down her spine.

"When I was a child, I used to think he was a kind of god; powerful, respected... feared. Then I grew up and started seeing things from a different perspective; my own. Of course, he immediately despised any point of view different than his, so troubles started. I couldn't bring myself to live up to his expectations.

"The day I discovered I would always be a failure in his eyes, no matter what I did, was the day I stopped trying. I made my choices without considering the consequences. I didn't realise then that turning against him would place us at opposite ends of a life-or-death battle.

"The day Lucius died." Draco stopped, closing his eyes to the pulsing hurt, for memory is pain, trying to resurrect itself. "The day my father died," he continued, "something died inside of me, too. He sacrificed his life for me, the son that had disappointed him, the son that he had claimed was no longer his."

Hermione regarded him with misty eyes. She could tell it was the first time he was voicing all these things, and that it was painful for him. Though she could not comprehend why he had chosen her to spill his heart out to, or what it had to do with their situation, she listened to him in silence.

"I started running away from the feeling that pressed down on me since I saw my father fall in front of my eyes. It was of no use, of course, for guilt is not something you can hide from." Draco let his gaze shift to his hands, avoiding Hermione's stare.

"As there was no point in running away from it, I decided to succumb instead. To prove his sacrifice hadn't been to an unfaithful son, I decided to become the man my father always wanted me to be. I had to wash my guilt away becoming powerful, respected..." His forehead was just above Hermione's, drops of water falling from his hair into her face as she closed her eyes. "... Cold," he continued, "heartless."

"Draco, I don't understand..." she trailed off.

"I couldn't, Hermione, I couldn't. I tried to, but I couldn't," he whispered into her hair. "But it's all right because now, I understand. Lucius didn't give up his life in hopes of changing me; he just did it because he loved me. Love was the only reason valid to fight for then. It is the only reason ever."

He dropped the towel he was holding and took her hands in his. "In that respect, I guess I'm more like him than I ever knew. I'm not such a failure, after all." He felt each and every one of his words were the truth, a truth he hadn't reached till that very moment, a truth that filled his heart with hope.

Hermione could hear her heart beating in her ears; there was some implied meaning in his words she couldn't grasp. "Draco, why are you telling me this? Why have you come here?" she managed.

He looked into her eyes with a fierce passion glowing in them. "Because... because I don't want to run anymore, I don't want to be someone I'm not, and I don't want to lie anymore, Hermione. And... and because I... I'm in love with you."

The rattling in the window seemed to be the only sound echoing across the room. But no, there was also the rhythmic sound of two hearts beating with the same rhythm, quick and hard, as two pairs of eyes remained locked in a silent conversation.

"Are you?" she asked softly, her heart pounding hard in her chest.

He just nodded, as shocked with his admission as she was. He was still clasping her hands, very aware of the warmth her skin emitted against his. She was making no attempt to pull back, so he leaned in instead, slowly, lowering his lips to hers. He stopped a millimetre from her mouth, their breath mingling and sending shivers down his spine, as their lips barely brushed. A little push farther and he was kissing her. He was kissing Hermione Granger for the first time, slowly, deliberately, nothing like the harsh and spontaneous encounters they had shared before. This was something more, and something definitely better.

She felt light-headed as he pulled her close to him, holding her by the waist. There was no chance now that either of them would walk away from this. She deepened the kiss, reaching for the nape of his neck to bring him even closer, entangling her fingers in his wet hair. With her tongue, she explored every corner of his attentive mouth, obtaining a deep grunting sound from him. They broke off, gasping for air, only to start kissing again, desperately feeding the hunger for each other.

He sucked her lower lip gently and started planting kisses down her jaw to the sensitive skin under her earlobe. She gasped and dug her hands deeper into his hair; electric bolts running from that spot to every one of her pores.

"Draco," she moaned.

A rush of passion overwhelmed him at hearing her saying his name while he continued to lick and nibble his way to her cleavage, tasting every bit of her skin. Her hands had disentangled from his hair and were slowly tracing their way down his neck, his shoulders, to his chest. In an instant, she pushed his soaked cloak open, and he disengaged himself for a moment to let it fall to the floor. The white t-shirt he was wearing underneath was also slick and clung to his body, framing his every contour.

All the stuff they tell you about in the movies
but this isn't chocolate boxes and roses.

They stood in front of each other, panting, eyes dark from desire. She slowly raised her hands to his chest, rubbing at the slick cotton covering it. Then she trailed them downwards, never breaking eye contact, and she tugged at the hem of his shirt. Draco lifted his arms and let her slide it off, discarding it next to the cloak. He could feel heat emanating from her body and reached out a hand to cup her cheek, rubbing his thumb over the surface of her swollen lips. When they kissed again, it was wild and frantic, as if neither could get enough from the other.

It's dirtier than that, like some small animal that only comes out at night.

In one swift movement, he bent forwards and slipped an arm behind her knees, lifting her from the floor. She slid her arms around his shoulders and let him carry her in to her bedroom.

Once there, he set her down, trailing feathery kisses down her shoulders. He moved a hand to her navel, gently rubbing the skin exposed there, tracing the hem of her pants. He grabbed at the fastening strings holding them in place and tugged at them, looking back at her for confirmation. She bit her lip and slowly nodded, feeling the silk pyjama bottoms slide down and puddle at her feet.

She felt her world shifting to horizontal when, without breaking their kiss, he gently laid her on the bed, his body firmly pressed to hers. Propping his weight on one hand, he allowed himself a view of her beauty in the dim light. His other hand caressed her creamy skin, tracing her curves with his fingertips.

And I see flashes of the shape of your breasts and the curve of your belly
And they make me have to sit down and catch my breath.

He memorized each of her features, his mouth slightly open, forming a silent word. The faint light coming from the streetlamps outside was enough for him to make out the glint in her eyes, bright and intense, focused on Draco.

What is this feeling called love.
Why me, why you, why here, why now ooh.

"What?" Hermione asked.

He leaned closer to her, the tip of his nose almost resting on hers. "When you look at me like that, I feel I cannot breathe," he whispered.

"I Love you," she whispered back, and he felt as if he would explode from within.

It doesn't make no sense no. It's not convenient no.
It doesn't fit my plans no.
It's something I don't understand oh. .

Those three words held the essence of his whole existence, for he knew that if she loved him, everything would be all right.

They melted into a heated kiss, discarding the rest of their clothing carelessly on the floor, losing themselves into that feeling called love.

F.E.E.L.I.N.G. C.A. double L.E.D. L.O.V.E.
Oh what is this thing that is happening to me.

Oh. What is this feeling called love.
Why me. Why you. Why here. And why now ooh.

It doesn't make no sense no. It's not convenient no.
It doesn't fit my plans but I got that taste in my mouth again oh.

F.E.E.L.I.N.G. C.A. double L.E.D. L.O.V.E.
What is this thing that is happening to me.
Oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah.

*****

Draco traced small circles with his thumbs on the soft curve of her hips. Her hair was spread out on the pillow, her face turned from him, her breathing slow and rhythmic in sleep. He was lying next to her, his head resting on his open palm, watching the curve of her right shoulder rise and fall with each breath. It was still night, and the light filtering from the window tinted her white skin silver, like moonlight.

"Beautiful," he said softly.

She shifted and opened her eyes, turning sleepy eyes at him. "Is it day already?" she asked groggily.

"No, it's only four," he said as he rested his head back on the pillow, facing the ceiling.

"You're not tired?"

"Is that a proposition?" He shifted his body to face her, his eyebrows arching suggestively. She giggled as a pink flush covered her cheeks. "You don't fool me anymore with that know-it-all appearance, Miss Granger; I know that underneath, you're really a wildcat," he said in his best imitation of Snape, muffling her new fit of giggles with kisses.

After a minute, she pulled back to catch her breath.

"Uhm, Draco."

"Mhmmm?"

"I've been wanting to ask you something for a while."

"Yeah?" He could feel the slightest hint of apprehension climb into his chest. He knew he would have to tell her everything but couldn't make himself start and break this perfect moment.

"Do you remember our seventh year at Hogwarts?"

"Mhmmm," he smiled, knowing where the conversation was leading. He could postpone their talk to later, the following morning at least.

"You remember that day, in the library, the first time you kissed me?"

"Sure. Potter very pleasantly brought that memory back to me some months ago."

"Oh, did he, really? How very nice of him" she said, not in the least delighted, while she made a mental note to beat Harry to a pulp for breaking his promise. "Oh, well, what I really wanted to ask you is... why? Why did you kiss me?"

He smirked proudly in a very Malfoyish way. "Got your knickers in a twist, did it?"

"Oh, you're a big-headed arrogant prat, you know?" She punched him playfully on the arm.

"Yes, and isn't that exactly why you like me?" He pinned her beneath him and kissed her soundly on the lips.

"Yeah, sure, but you haven't answered my question."

He tilted his head back and sighed. "All right, if you want to know, I kissed you because it was wrong." At her questioning look, he proceeded, "I was in a rebellious period, turning against everything about the way I was raised. It was wrong that I didn't want to support Voldemort, it was wrong that I didn't want to be a Death Eater, it was wrong that I refused to marry Parkinson..."

"Can't blame you for that," Hermione murmured.

"...It was wrong that I chose to fight for the light, and it was wrong to be so devilishly handsome and irresistible." The last statement earned him a roll of eyes from Hermione. "I was challenging the expectations everybody had for me."

"And was I wrong, too? Was I a product of your teenage rebellion?" She asked teasingly.

"Well, it's not as if I had planned it. At first, I just wanted to piss you off; I would have never thought I was going to enjoy it. And it was wrong, you know, terribly wrong. A Slytherin and a Gryffindor, and sworn enemies, to begin with."

"So you kissed me because it was wrong," she trailed off, looking into his bright, greyish eyes.

"Basically, yeah. I was a fool, though, because it really turned out to be the only right thing," he smiled. "Speaking of which, if my memory doesn't fail me, you never got to rate my kiss."

"Ooooh," she scrunched up her face in concentration, "it was sooo long ago, I don't think I can remember. Maybe you should refresh my memory."

"I've learned some new tricks since seventh year, you know," he smirked, and leaned toward her to prove it.