noticed she used 'didn't instead of 'don't'. Presumptuous chit.
"Not liking you had nothing to do with wanting to bend you over the nearest stair railing."
Her eyes widened. "I see. And how long have you felt that, er, way?"
Draco snorted. He stopped her before they reached the entrance to the pub. "What makes you think I still feel that way?"
She seemed to be weighing her words carefully. "Your passions arewe' ll they' re not dainty. I can sort of feel them because of the spell, but I reckon I'd noticed without Fida Mia."
The girl was once again fishing for a declaration. Well she could fish all she wanted, he wasn't about to lay his head on the executioner's block for the likes of her.
He rolled his eyes. "Compared to Weasley, for example? That boy might get his fill groping under a school skirt in the bushes, but I should think you know where my inclinations lie." His voice had taken on a soft, languorous tone.
She blushed to the roots of her hair. He could see it, even in the failing light. Hermione Granger was the most ridiculous combination of practicality and school girly-ness he had ever encountered. He wanted to make her blush some more.
"I'm trying to make sense of what exactly this spell has done to us. Where we end and where it starts."
He decided to be blunt. "You mean you want to know if I' ve wanted to fuck you for some time now or if it's just a recent development?"
Hermione looked away, mortified. "I can't believe we're having this conversation"
"Hey, you asked."
She sucked in a calming breath and then turned to glare at him. "Yes, but do you have to be so deliberately provocative in answering?"
He humoured her. "You bring out the worst in me. I' ll acknowledge that. Before Fida Mia, wanting you was confined to daydreams in History of Magic. After Fida Mia" he gave her a pointed look, though there was less warmth in his stare now. "I've always had a collector's eye."
"I see," she said. She paused for a moment, and then said, "What happened when Dumbledore summoned you to his office that afternoon the Mark was sighted?"
That was the last thing he had been expecting her to ask. He didn't like it. For a short while, he had forgotten. He narrowed his eyes at her. "You don't get to ask about that."
"Why not? Don't you trust me?" she asked. "I trust you, despite what you think."
"Then you give your trust too easily."
"Like that afternoon in the Prefects' Bath?"
"That was a mistake which I have already apologised for," he cut in. This was getting out of hand. She was a like a bear looking for honey. "Have you finished your questions? We're going back now."
"Wait."
"Enough," he said, in a soft, threatening manner. She was blocking the entrance. "We're going to be late."
Hermione groaned. "Why is it that we can't ever seem to maintain a conversation without you storming off in a huff?"
He rounded on her, insulted. "I am never in a huff!"
She had worked herself up into a right lather. Her hand was on her hip and her brown eyes were spitting fire at him. "You might find this hard to believe, but most people don't find me intolerable."
"You're tolerable enough when you keep your mouth shut," he told her. "I can think of a few, pleasant ways to achieve that end." He stared at her mouth.
She shifted uncomfortably. "Stop that."
"Stop interrogating me and get out of the way before I pick you up and carry you through that door."
Hermione gave him a long, speculating look. "Your parents really did a number on you, didn't they?
Draco wasn't entirely sure what that meant, but he felt the correct response was to hit below the belt. "No more than Potter's."
It didn't work. She just looked more determined to draw him into an argument.
"Harry's parents are dead."
"It could be argued that mine are as well."
Granger threw her hands up in the air. "Draco, you don' t have to go through life acting like a reflecting pool for their mistakes. Don't you ever get tired of being so bloody tortured all the time! Let some sunlight in before you shrivel up and die from all this angst!"
She didn't just cross the line, she'd vaulted over it. He grabbed her by her shoulders and lifted her up off the ground, shaking her like a wayward puppy. Her sandaled feet dangled three inches from the floor. The expression on