Chapter 126: The Boy Who Is Two-Faced
Ginny Weasley sat on the slouchy sofa in front of the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room, stroking Crookshanks' fur, her eyes fixed intently on the doorway.
"Want some canary cookies?" George walked over and asked his little sister, who was engrossed in her studies, with a grin.
"I won't eat it!" Ginny refused outright. "Who doesn't know there's something fishy about these cookies?"
As soon as she finished speaking, in a corner at the other end of the lounge, a student suddenly sprouted feathers all over his body. The students who had gathered around burst into laughter, with Fred laughing the loudest.
"Ginny, who are you waiting for?" George asked with interest. "Harry?"
"No, I'm waiting for Hermione!" Ginny said. "Seriously, during the Christmas holidays, who else but her would disappear first thing in the morning and not even sleep in?"
"Oh—" George chuckled, recalling the Slytherin boy he'd bumped into earlier that morning—carrying the Marauder's Map—rushing into the library. "Then you'll have to wait a while longer."
Ginny wrinkled her nose, gently rubbing Crookshank's chubby cheeks, and asked it irritably, "Tell me, who did she go to see, leaving us all to the side?"
Crookshan felt comfortable being touched by her, stared at her with his bright yellow eyes, and lazily meowed.
Ginny didn't see Hermione until Crookshank got impatient with her touching him, jumped off the sofa, and ran away along the wall.
The people in the common room, having had their fill of the excitement caused by the canary biscuits, had long since dispersed. Freed from the constraints of schoolwork, the students, like sesame seeds, were scattered freely throughout the castle by the joyful hand of holiday celebrations.
A girl with a flushed face drifted against the flow of people, floating like a ghost into the portrait of the Fat Lady, where she bumped into Ginny, whose eyes were sparkling. Ginny rushed over joyfully, jumping and skipping in front of the girl like a puppy finally waiting for its owner to come home. "Hermione, someone invited me! I can go to the ball!"
"Who?" Hermione asked, still dazed.
"Your classmate, Neville Longbottom," Ginny said, blushing slightly. "He was worried about not having a dance partner, and I was worried about not having anyone to invite, so we hit it off immediately."
"Give up on Harry?" Hermione finally came to her senses and asked in a low voice.
"This has nothing to do with giving up! I don't think he's even close to being enlightened yet! Besides, he's already found a dance partner, hasn't he? He's even busy finding a dance partner for my brother Ron." Ginny snorted coldly. "If that's the case, why can't I find someone else? 'Liking' doesn't mean I have to shut down the possibility of exploring the world, nor does it mean I don't have the freedom to choose others."
"I like your idea. Go and enjoy the ball. To be honest, I don't think Harry enjoys dancing that much, nor is he very enthusiastic about finding a dance partner. The look on his face when he asked for a partner was exactly the same as when he was forcing himself to do his Divination assignment for Professor Trelawney…" Hermione sat on the sofa and comforted her until Ginny smiled.
"That's right, let's think of something else. Mom bought me a new dress, and I'm planning to dance to my heart's content!" Ginny said expectantly. "I hope Neville's dancing skills are good enough that he won't step on my feet."
"Yes." Hermione's tone was hesitant, her mind clearly not on Neville's dancing. She said softly, "There's something I wanted to ask you. Just now… well, never mind, it's nothing…"
Ginny looked at her suspiciously, then quickly realized what she meant.
"Something's wrong. Hermione, what happened? Your face is abnormally red! Your lips are a strange red too! And why is your collar all wrinkled?" Ginny's eyes widened. "Wait—where have you been?"
She leaned closer to Hermione, studying her slightly swollen, strikingly red lips, her blushing expression, and her hair, which should have been neatly tied up but was now slightly disheveled, and said with ill intent, "Oh dear, you didn't... just... get intimate with someone, did you?"
Hermione's eyes widened.
"How—how did you know?" she stammered.
"Oh, Percy and his girlfriend Penelope—after they've been intimate—that's the kind of pathetic couple they are. I've seen them a few times outside empty classrooms," Ginny said in a matter-of-fact tone. "Look at you now! Blushing, lovesick, and a bit of a wandering eye… just like Crookshanks who'd accidentally torn your Spellbook yesterday, all guilty."
Oh—the Dictionary of Runes—the culprit that caused all this chaos! Hermione buried her face in her hands and sighed.
"Is it Malfoy or Krum?" Ginny chuckled slyly, her voice a little grating.
"Ginny! Stop making fun of me…" Hermione peeked at her through her fingers, buried her face even deeper, and let out a long, drawn-out hum.
"Well, I knew it was that Malfoy rascal. I had a feeling something was off about him! That forehead kiss, tsk—I knew I wasn't wrong!" Ginny observed her guilty look and said calmly, "Let's congratulate Mr. Draco Malfoy on finally having his first intimate moment with Miss Hermione Granger in the open, without having to sneak around."
"Ginny, keep your voice down!" Hermione grabbed a cushion, buried her slightly flushed cheeks in it, and didn't want to come out anymore.
"What are you shy about? If you dare to do it, you should dare to admit it! Tell me now! Where did you two get intimate? If it was an empty classroom, that's so unoriginal," Ginny pressed on.
"The library—" Hermione whispered, feeling like a bad student caught by Professor McGonagall.
"Wow, the most sacred and romantic place in the hearts of all the bookworms at Hogwarts—" Ginny said with a mischievous grin, "Isn't this the ideal date spot you told me about before?"
Hermione didn't say anything, but just buried her head under the pillow again.
"How's his kissing skill?" Ginny leaned closer and whispered curiously in her ear.
"Not bad… In fact, pretty good… as far as I feel…" Hermione's voice came faintly from under the cushion.
"Was it a light, fleeting kiss, or a deep, passionate one?" Ginny's voice was full of endless teasing; her questions seemed never-ending.
"The latter." Hermione curled up on the sofa—still feeling a little weak in the knees—she hadn't recovered from the aftereffects of that passionate kiss.
"That's something new. Speaking of which, does he even know how to kiss?" Ginny deliberately contradicted him, trying to provoke the evasive little Pomlock. "You know, girls all think he's cold and doesn't know how to be gentle with women. They think he's probably terrible at kissing and they all want to teach him—"
"I think he knows what he's doing!" Hermione finally poked her head out from under the pillow and said angrily.
Then she saw Ginny's composed face and her "I knew it" expression.
"Looks like you're quite satisfied?"
"I thought it was pretty good..." she muttered. That kiss still dazzled her to this day.
That kiss. Her first kiss. His kiss with her. She liked the kiss, but she was also a little flustered.
Why had no one ever told her that a kiss could bring such a wonderful feeling? An irresistible pull to get closer, an overwhelming joy, a tremor that runs through the soul, an intoxicating greed, and a feeling of being subtly out of control.
She seemed to no longer belong to herself, but had slipped into a remote, untouched valley. There, he was the controller, the taker, and simultaneously the worshipper.
He seemed to hold her in his hands, gently yet forcefully taking her lips, while also showing a kind of careful tenderness.
"Putting aside the issue of kissing skills, I seriously doubt you'd be satisfied no matter how he kisses you," Ginny said dismissively, a teasing look on her face. "The problem is, do you still think he sees you as a sister? Just a friend? A casual friend from the next college? A study partner in some class? Who said they wanted to be content with the status quo and didn't want any more trouble?"
Hermione's face immediately burned. "I didn't expect this either. Plans never go as expected." She hugged the cushion to her chest and muttered softly, "I only realized this morning when he kissed me that he might not want to treat me like a sister."
"The truth is finally out. I was right from the beginning! He never had sisterly feelings for you!" Ginny laughed triumphantly.
Like a discerning federal judge, she delivered her final verdict on Hermione's long-standing emotional entanglement: "Hermione Granger, who thought she was in unrequited love, is just a spoiled little fool. Case closed!"
Hermione pursed her lips and smiled faintly at her, a little bubble of joy rising in her heart.
"Did he confess his feelings to you?" Ginny asked expectantly. "What did he say?"
"Oh, actually, we hadn't even had a chance to discuss it. He just kissed me out of the blue, it was all so sudden." Hermione blushed under Ginny's meaningful gaze.
"I understand, you're too busy kissing to talk about anything else," Ginny chuckled.
"Ginny, don't make fun of me." Hermione's inner turmoil began to crumble, leaving behind ripples of anxiety. "Honestly, I'm a little confused."
"Why?" Ginny asked. "I thought you'd be happy! You like him, and now he likes you too, isn't that great?"
"Of course I'm happy. But what if it was just a momentary impulse? What if it wasn't? How am I supposed to face him then? He—he always manages to easily confuse me," Hermione said, troubled. "The kiss was the same. It was so sudden for me, just like he said I was like his sister. I wasn't prepared at all, I wasn't even in the moment. I didn't know how to face him—he's so unpredictable—I just ran away."
"Oh, Hermione—" Ginny said, looking at the girl in front of her who seemed so anxious and uncertain, not knowing what to say.
"For a long time, I've tried to convince myself that he's just a friend. I've gotten used to interacting with him as a friend, carefully maintaining a delicate balance. It's not easy for me. It often leaves me feeling exhausted. But now, that balance has been abruptly broken. It's not that I'm unhappy that he likes me, or that I don't like his kisses," Hermione said slowly. "But I feel like my life is losing its original sense of order. I'm always so easily swayed by his every move."
"Oh, I get it. We can't let that jerk Malfoy lead us by the nose and do whatever he wants to us, right? We need to have our own opinions. Especially now, we should take control of our own lives." Ginny said seriously. "I support you, sister. Whether you like him or not, whether he likes you or not, you should first make yourself comfortable; give your tired brain a few days off, you can think things through slowly, no one needs you to make any major life decisions right away."
For the next few days, Hermione stayed in the Gryffindor common room doing her homework.
She didn't even dare go to the library, given that Draco could always pinpoint her location with the Marauder's Map—that cunning Slytherin!
She didn't even dare to eat in the auditorium. He would always appear across the table with a cold expression, then smile smugly at her the moment he looked at her, as if he were about to come over and talk to her at any moment.
Speaking to him in front of everyone—that's not a good idea! What will he say to her? And what should she say to him?
She should carefully consider his attitude and thoughts towards her. She should look for significant evidence and a timeline in the subtle clues from their past interactions that "he regarded her as a sister" had transformed into "he liked her"; or, she should consider another terrible possibility—he might not understand what a kiss means—that the kiss might just be his incredibly strong desire for control at work.
But she couldn't make sense of it at all. As she thought about it, her mind would often wander back to that cedar-scented kiss he gave her while holding her tightly. Then, she would start giggling like the most pathetic, infatuated female student.
She simply couldn't think clearly about what she wanted, nor could she figure out what she should say to him.
Hermione was incredibly shy. She desperately wanted to see Draco again; she thought about him countless times every day, always recalling that suffocatingly passionate kiss. Yet, she was also afraid to see him, afraid he would kiss her again without warning. Then, she might be drawn to him again, led by the nose, and no longer have the energy to delve into the meaning behind the kiss.
Ginny faithfully carried the food from the Great Hall table to Hermione's table three times a day on a large silver tray, eating with her in the common room. But even a loyal friend like Ginny eventually grew tired of Hermione's seclusion.
That day, Ginny once again placed the overflowing tray on the round table in front of her and finally couldn't help but speak up, "Hermione, what have you decided? I just ran into Malfoy in the Great Hall, and he glared at me like I owed him a mountain of Galleons!"
"Oh, how does he look?" Hermione asked her softly.
"Nothing different from usual, still that arrogant and aloof attitude." Ginny rolled her eyes. "He ostentatiously put up a sign in front of his seat that read, 'Not available.' Well, that completely shuts down any chance of girls approaching him."
Hermione couldn't hide the slight upturn of her lips.
"He said he's not available? Not unavailable?" She couldn't help but adopt a smug tone, suddenly realizing she didn't need to look for evidence of "whether he's different from her." "That's not very smart of him, is it?"
("Not available" refers to a permanent state of unavailability; while "unavailable" refers to a temporary state of unavailability.)
"Whether he's smart or not is another matter, but I see you're quite satisfied with this." Ginny looked at the corner of her mouth and thought she was completely hypocritical. "A lot of girls think he's a jerk—they think they should at least get a decent verbal response, instead of him arrogantly banging on the sign and not even giving them a glance."
"He does have some attitude problems," Hermione said, recalling her poor attitude towards Krum. "He's sometimes not very polite to people, which I don't think is a good habit."
"Only sometimes? I think you're a little delusional. You're downplaying it. He's like that with everyone—except you? Look at Harry, he's friendly to everyone. Compared to that, Malfoy is really—" Ginny glanced at Hermione, deciding to give her some face and not pursue the topic further, "So what are you thinking? How long are you going to avoid him?"
"I haven't decided yet..."
"Have you even thought about this properly?" Ginny said irritably. "I'm telling you to take your time to think about it, but that doesn't mean you should keep running away from reality or giving up on treatment!"
"Then think about Harry, why don't you ask him to be your dance partner?" Hermione cleverly shifted the focus of the argument.
"Fine, fine, go ahead and run away—it doesn't matter how long you run away." Ginny immediately raised her hands in surrender.
On the morning of Hogsmeade's open house before Christmas, Hermione's escapism came to an end. A somewhat familiar eagle owl perched on the window of the girls' dormitory, politely tapping the glass with its beautiful beak, gazing at Hermione with the same patient and gentle look as its master.
Hermione opened the window and welcomed her in, wanting to stroke her feathers. Just then, the girl noticed a small roll of parchment tied to the eagle owl's leg—written in Draco's beautiful cursive—saying that he wanted to meet her at the Three Broomsticks tavern to discuss the Christmas ball.
"—You said you wouldn't hide from me. You have to keep your word." He cunningly added this sentence at the end of the letter, leaving her with nowhere to run.
He checkmated me.
She had to go, otherwise she would become the kind of witch who didn't keep her word, while Hermione Granger was always very trustworthy.
Besides, the Christmas ball is just around the corner—they're definitely going to be dance partners—she still has to see him, and even dance with him.
She can't escape.
Hogsmeade Village is decorated like a festive Christmas card: cottages and shops are covered with a layer of soft snow, Christmas wreaths made of holly and other materials adorn every door, and strings of enchanted candles hang from the trees. Passersby often carry large piles of colorful decorations or gifts, and their faces are usually covered with smiles.
The girl hurrying past clearly paid no attention to any of this. A blush gradually crept onto her fair face—both from the cold weather and from her nervousness; as she approached the Three Broomsticks tavern, her face turned even redder—Draco's slender figure stood quietly at the tavern's entrance, his platinum blonde hair shining brightly against the snow.
The weather was unusually clear. His hands were casually in his pockets, his eyes downcast, staring blankly at the mistletoe wreath decorating the tavern entrance. For some reason, Hermione suddenly noticed a pale vulnerability in his profile, which made her instantly forget all her own inner turmoil and hesitation.
She suddenly wanted to do something to soothe his vulnerability, anything at all.
Her pace quickened. Draco heard her footsteps. He looked up and saw her; his indifferent gray eyes curved slightly, and a bright smile gradually appeared on his previously downturned lips.
"You've come." He gazed at her, his ears turning slightly red.
His girl concealed her curves in a black coat and a long, gold-red scarf embroidered with Gryffindor patterns. Her brown hair shone with a captivating luster in the sunlight, and her black beret made her skin appear as white as snow.
"I'm here." Hermione glanced up at him furtively, but when he caught her gaze, she quickly looked down.
Draco smiled, said nothing, and casually opened the tavern door for her, leading her inside. A few students were already seated at the table by the entrance. Several lower-grade girls, who had been huddled together and whispering, looked up, saw him, and began to murmur amongst themselves with interest, bursting into silly laughter.
Thanks to her roommate Lavender's enthusiastic introductions in the dorm every day, Hermione, while not an expert on the tricks to attracting boys, had at least heard of them.
At this point, the girls' laughter usually works to some extent. Most boys can't resist their curiosity and want to see who made the noise—at least they'll give the source of the laughter a look—a common tactic used by gossipy groups of girls hoping to get the boys' attention.
However, Draco seemed oblivious, nodding to Mrs. Rosmerta behind the counter before walking straight into the depths of the tavern without even glancing at her. The girls sighed in disappointment at his cold attitude.
Hermione suddenly felt a surge of joy. For the first time, she thought his coldness was a good thing. Hiding her smile in her thick scarf, she followed him through the noisy crowd and stopped at a reserved table in the corner by the fireplace.
The reserved table was cleverly arranged. Next to it stood a huge Christmas tree decorated with snowflakes, mistletoe, and holly berries, completely blocking any view of the table.
"Is this alright?" he asked, turning to look at her.
"It's fine," she said, sitting down at the table with him.
The tavern was stuffy, the fireplace blazing brightly enough to make anyone forget that it was a freezing winter day outside. Hermione took off her thick scarf, revealing her bare neck.
"I've already ordered a butterbeer," the boy across the table said, his gaze lingering on the exposed skin of her neck as he handed her the menu standing on the table. "Would you like something else?"
"I'm not hungry." She fidgeted, didn't take the menu, and her eyes seemed to be staring a hole through the table. "Let's leave it at that for now."
"Then, order again whenever you're hungry," he said understandingly, slowly placing the menu aside.
At that moment, Mrs. Rosmerta's arrival broke the awkward silence. She greeted them warmly and brought them two steaming, frothy butterbeers. Hermione smiled gratefully at her and saw her wink at them with an "I understand" look.
"This is a great spot," Ms. Rosmerta reminded them meaningfully. "At least four or five couples wanted to sit here, but I politely declined them all—someone had already booked it in advance."
"We are not—" Hermione tried to clarify, but Draco said almost simultaneously, "Thank you, ma'am. Are you satisfied with the booking fee?"
"Very satisfied. You know, I can never refuse a generous guest." Mrs. Rosmerta chuckled. She placed the wooden plaque that read "Reserved" on the table into the empty tray, humming a popular, quirky sisterly love song, and left happily.
Now, things seemed even more awkward. Hermione blushed, trying not to think about what Lady Rosmerta, with her knowing smile, had been speculating about, just as she was trying not to think about why Draco hadn't corrected the lady's misunderstanding of their relationship.
They stared at the foamy beer, neither of them taking a sip.
"It's really not easy to see you, Hermione Granger." Draco cast a stun spell to break the silence, looking at her through the steam rising from the butterbeer, and said with a half-smile, "Now that you're on vacation, you don't want to go to the library anymore, and you're even skipping meals? What treasures in the Gryffindor common room are worth lingering over?"
"I—I just want to enjoy my vacation and relax for a few days!" she said, her face flushed. "Nobody says I can't sleep in, right?"
"Oh? So the food Ginny Weasley takes from the table every day has nothing to do with you?" Draco said, his teeth itching, recalling the two little dots that were often next to each other on the Marauder's Map. "Aren't you two glued together all the time?"
"No one says students can't eat in the common room, and it doesn't violate any school rules." Her face turned even redder, which made his fingers twitch slightly. He wanted to pinch that stubborn face.
"I understand. You definitely didn't disappear to avoid me," Draco said softly, scrutinizing her as she tried to justify herself.
"Of course not. I have the freedom to decide where I eat and with whom I eat! I have the right to choose!" Hermione's voice rose eight octaves. She was eyeing Draco's expression intently—his look was uneasy—as if she would cast a forgetfulness spell on him if he dared to object or expose her.
Draco glanced at her, assessed the situation—and sensed she might be a little annoyed—and quickly changed the subject. He said lazily, "Fine, that's your prerogative. I respect your right to eat with anyone, anywhere."
Hermione snorted, half smug and half annoyed.
"Listen, I asked you out to ask if you'd like to find a place to practice dancing beforehand," he said in a casual and calm tone.
"I practiced, sometimes with the girls in my dorm—" Hermione said defiantly, "sometimes with Ginny."
"Excuse my frankness, but even if we have no technical problems, we still need to practice our coordination." He carefully chose his words, afraid of touching a nerve. "The male partner needs to be proactive, and the female partner needs to be able to follow. At the very least, we need to establish some signals to indicate when to start dancing, exchange steps and patterns, who moves forward and who moves backward, turn, and so on..."
"Oh, that makes sense." Her temper subsided, and she was no longer so aggressive.
"They always talk about practicing the physical coordination between dance partners. The dance that day will not only include the part where you dance together, but also the part where you touch and separate your hands. This requires coordination and adaptability between the partners, as well as a shared understanding of the rhythm of the music. We—shouldn't we have that coordination?" he asked seriously, looking straight at her.
"I guess so." Hermione fidgeted with the butterbeer glass, too embarrassed to look back at him.
After all, they've done something as intimate as kissing... their physical intimacy... must exist, right?
In recent days, in an effort to gather evidence that he cared about her, Hermione had been constantly recalling their past interactions in the minutiae of reality. At this moment, she suddenly realized that they had always had a lot of physical contact—more than just friends.
She recalled that she always seemed to unconsciously move closer to him. And he, in turn, seemed quite close to her, never distancing himself from her—never being as indifferent to her as he was to other girls—his attitude was almost too enthusiastic.
This boy, who wouldn't even bother to glance at anyone, would always stare at her, get close to her, and touch her.
Yes, he always treated her differently from others! He always did things that made her blush and her heart race, which is why she gradually fell for him until she could no longer take her eyes off him.
So, was he planning this all along?
"Well then, let's find a place and practice a bit, shall we? We can't just jump around like headless flies, can we?" Draco toyed with his wand with an inscrutable expression, deciding to learn from the weasel and show some weakness to his wary and sharp-eyed prey. "You know, I'm afraid I'm not skilled enough and I'll need your help."
"Oh, I see. Then let's get to know each other a little better," Hermione said in a daze, glancing at him before taking a big gulp of butterbeer.
The rich, creamy buttery flavor combined with the refreshing, pleasant aroma of beer malt finally relieved her of the freezing cold outside. A warm feeling filled her stomach, easing her tension. Hermione sighed contentedly and smiled.
Hermione Granger—this is how she usually ends up with her first sip of butterbeer, Draco thought, studying the shape of her lips. White beer foam playfully clung to her lips, but she seemed oblivious, or perhaps simply didn't care.
She is such a free and easy person, living passionately and fearlessly, unafraid to express her true likes and dislikes.
Draco couldn't help but chuckle softly. The anxiety he'd felt for days suddenly seemed less important—at least not as important as the conspicuous ring of foam on her lips. He habitually pulled a tissue from the long wooden box on the table, leaned forward slightly, and reached out to wipe her lips, just as he often did.
Hermione didn't have time to back away. His movements were too fast, and she was lost in her own thoughts, completely unable to react.
He wiped slowly and cleanly. The pressure and warmth of his fingers traveled through the thin tissue, tracing a circle around her slightly surprised lips. Memories of lips from the library were suddenly amplified by this intentional or unintentional touch—she still clearly remembered how he had treated her lips.
So much so that she felt nervous because of his fingers through the tissue, and involuntarily let out a whimper like a small animal.
Will he remember that kiss? Will he like that kiss as much as she did? Will he want to kiss her now? She gripped her beer glass nervously, and unrealistic guesses and expectations suddenly popped into her mind.
Yes, Draco desperately wanted to kiss her—Hermione's sob had completely ruined his plans.
Ever since he had truly kissed her, the beast within him had never been satisfied in his dreams.
It longed for her. It longed for a more real touch. It longed to kiss her again.
But after that kiss, she disappeared without a trace for several days. Draco was at a loss and even started to have wild thoughts.
Was she simply shy, or did she not enjoy his kiss? Did she—hate it? With growing worries, he became increasingly restless and impatient.
He didn't want to waste a single moment longer—he desperately wanted to know what she was thinking. He used up many sheets of paper before finally writing a decent letter, determined to meet the girl hidden behind the portrait of the fat lady and see how that clever and complex mind worked.
At least we need to be sure that she doesn't dislike him.
His plan was flawless. In a public place—her favorite Three Broomsticks pub—he found a secluded spot, neither so private as to make her uneasy, nor so public as to attract attention.
He would try to put her at ease with her favorite butterbeer and then have a serious talk about dancing; if she wasn't so shy, perhaps they could talk about the kiss; if she was still shy, then they could talk about something else.
He was open to talking about anything—he had dozens of topics in mind—as long as she didn't avoid him. He would maintain a gentle smile, remain calm and polite during the conversation, and would never make any rash moves that would frighten her into running away.
He had planned everything perfectly, but he hadn't expected her sob—it was exactly the same sound she made when they kissed that day. His self-control immediately crumbled, and he couldn't hold back any longer.
Draco couldn't help but notice one thing—the girl's face flushed crimson. She was unconsciously biting her lower lip, the spot he had lightly bitten last time.
He swallowed hard, slowly crumpled the damp tissue into a small ball, and tossed it onto the table, hoping this action would calm his impulse. But the movement of her lips only made things worse; he couldn't help but notice her soft, bud-like lips.
To make matters worse, her cheeks flushed again, and she was staring at him with that innocent, bewildered look—the light in her pupils was hazy and soft.
Damn butterbeer foam! And that bewildering look! Draco cursed inwardly, tossing his carefully crafted list of conversation topics into Merlin's trash can. He leaned forward irresistibly, his long, slender hand cupping her chin, and gently kissed her again.
That's the feeling—he sighed inwardly, tenderly cradling her flushed cheeks. His other hand slid down to the back of her head, grasping the nape of her neck through her vibrant, thick hair. He sucked on her like he was sucking on a jelly pudding, savoring the faint butterbeer flavor in her mouth.
Hermione was breathing rapidly.
What is this? What are they doing? Why are they suddenly kissing again?
However, his lips were already pressed against hers, and her lips had their own thoughts—happily parting slightly—to welcome him, not to drive him away.
In an instant, all those complex and tangled concerns and thoughts fell to the ground in pieces, never to be picked up again.
She simply closed her eyes, oblivious to his sucking.
Good heavens, he wanted to devour her whole. He wasn't indifferent at all; he was like a fire. He was as passionate as the flames dancing in the fireplace, enveloping a piece of raw wood yearning to be burned out. His tongue brushed past her teeth, probing deeper, as if exploring her soul.
Hermione's heart pounded. Her hands gripped the corner of the table tightly, once again mesmerized by his kiss. She caught a faint whiff of his cedarwood scent, a fragrance that sent shivers down her spine.
That's it. His lips. His kiss that left her utterly defenseless. She was lost in his gentle yet greedy demands, feeling completely blissful.
The cold, bad boy was kissing her passionately. A surge of smugness rose within her at the thought.
Draco, this two-faced boy, she thought sweetly, and all the girls who thought he was cold or bad at kissing were sorely mistaken—he knew exactly how to kiss.