upper thigh, travelling down her leg and running into the nerves at the soles of her feet. Either her leg was about to go numb, or the silver dragon at her hip had suddenly decided to come alive.
The latter was much too scary to think about without a library at her disposal.
"Can't you have a conversation without putting me into some kind of wrestling lock?" she spat out at him, digging her fingernails into his forearm.
Draco took hold of her chin to force her eyes up to meet his. This was the closest he had gotten to her since their tussle at the hotel room that morning. Quite suddenly, Hermione found herself looking directly into eyes that were as clear as a mountain spring, for all that they were spitting venom at her.
"Listen, you stupid slag," he began, obviously not liking her flippant attitude, "in two weeks, I receive enough of my inheritance from my grandfather to never have to come back to this place. I'll admit that you're not entirely to blame for this disaster but if you get in the way of what I'm due, you'll be sorry."
Now this was news. Hermione stared at him, her mind turning over and picking at this new information. "My God, you really do hate Lucius as much as anyone else."
His brows snapped together, and for a second, he looked flustered. "You don' t know what it is to hate, Granger. True hate makes your blood boil. It makes you see AK green."
"I hate you," she said, and was startled to realise that she meant it at that time. Draco cocked his head to the side and gave her a long, measuring look. "No," he decided, shaking his head in a contemplative manner. "Not really." And then he smiled, a slow Cheshire cat grin that was all even, white teeth and dubious agendas.
It was the smile he had given her when she had accepted his invitation to leave the graduation party. As such, Hermione was instantly suspicious.
It was like being caught in an icy breeze, brisk and startling, but not altogether unpleasant. Especially if one was partial to cold weather.
But then an odd thing happened. His gaze began to gradually thaw, until it nearly matched the great heat of his body that was seeping through the thin material of his shirt. The warmth in his eyes was something very new, something Hermione hadn't experienced from him before.
Transfixed and tremendously curious, she brought her hand up to touch the thin red welt over his cheekbone. She frowned as she ran her thumb across the small, clean cut before looking up at him, not knowing why her eyes were so keen to offer an apology for his injury.
His lashes lowered slightly, and it seemed that he was inhaling deeper than he was exhaling. He moved his hand up from her chin to run his knuckles over her own cheek. It didn't seem possible that he could move any closer to her, but he managed it.
It was summer, and it was hot, granted, but all of a sudden the heat between their bodies became nearly overwhelming. The top half of his shirt was wet from his hair, and was fairly plastered to his body. The material was rendered nearly transparent, revealing the curve of his collarbones, and the lightly muscled, contours of his chest.
Hermione's heart pounded like a war drum as she watched his injured lips slowly part, only inches away from her.
Clearly, whatever was about to happen was going to be something the both of them were likely to regret later. Not to mention the fact that they were currently in the immediate vicinity of a very angry, potentially unstable, Lucius Malfoy. A small movement of her head, a slight shove against his chest or a sharp rebuke might have stalled the descent of his mouth.
"Master Draco," the small, tremulous voice of Toolip interrupted. The elf was standing not two feet away from them. "I is supposed to be taking the Miss to her room now."
Draco stiffened against her. For a moment, Hermione didn't think he would release her. But then he nodded. The small movement clearly marked the end of their strange interlude.
"I guarantee that you'll hate me after we're through," he promised her, in a whisper. Feeling rooted to the ground, Hermione watched as he stepped away from her, taking his bipolar stare, his warm body, and the kiss that was destined not to be.
"You're an evil bastard," she told him,