Chapter 128: Flames Under the Mistletoe
Draco Malfoy stormed out of the Great Hall and strode aggressively down the foyer corridor.
The biting draft did nothing to quell his anger. He hurried along, trying to find a restroom to wash his face and cool down his urge to punch Viktor Krum in the face.
The corridor ceiling was haphazardly decorated with mistletoe, holly, and even some large red lanterns. Hogwarts had gone to great lengths to display all the festive elements, attempting to create a lively and diverse atmosphere.
However, the once cheerful corridor was now deserted—everyone at Hogwarts was dancing in the Great Hall, including Mr. Filch and his cat.
Draco paid no attention to the festive elements. He glanced restlessly at the tapestries on the corridor walls decorated with the emblems of the four houses of Hogwarts, as well as Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, and suddenly felt abandoned by the entire Hogwarts, and couldn't help but feel a little lonely.
Just then, hurried footsteps shattered the deathly silence in his heart. The crisp sound of high heels came chaotically from behind him, and he couldn't help but glance back—it was Hermione.
The girl was hurrying towards him, lifting the hem of her skirt. Her face was flushed with the afterglow of a dance, and her brown eyes, like sparkling jewels, shimmered with a captivating light that would make any boy who met her gaze unable to look away.
But at this moment, what Draco least wanted to see was her looking so radiant.
Her radiance at that moment was due to Viktor Krum, not because of him.
Thinking of this, he felt unbearable bitterness in his heart.
Draco turned back, sighed dejectedly, and continued walking forward, trying to stop his bitter and lost heart from being consumed by this cruel girl and suffering such torment.
"Draco, Draco!" Hermione caught up and grabbed his sleeve.
His white shirt was elegant and luxurious, making him look like an unruly nobleman, or perhaps a foreign prince who had been exiled. The prince turned back to look at her, his face ashen with rage.
"Don't go!" Hermione exclaimed in surprise, grabbing him hurriedly. "Draco, what's wrong? Why are you angry? Let's go dance, okay?"
Draco stopped and turned away, trying not to look at her again.
"I think you know perfectly well why I'm angry. I need an explanation," he said coldly, suppressing his resentment.
"I'm sorry, Draco," Hermione said anxiously, grabbing his arm. "I—I forgot to tell you. He was very disappointed when I rejected him, so I promised him I could dance with him a second time… This happened before you got me the Dictionary of Runes…" A blush rose to her cheeks as she said this.
She sincerely hoped that he would turn around and look at her again, even just once.
Draco, however, kept his neck stiff and refused to look at her—afraid that her expression would hurt him again—and failed to catch the blush on her face.
Hermione was extremely nervous. She floated up to him, looking up at his expression like a kitten yearning for affection, and said haltingly, "Later, I got distracted by other things... I was busy going to see you at the Three Brooms... busy practicing dancing with you... I completely forgot about what I promised him..."
At that time, she focused all her attention on "him kissing her".
Draco's anger subsided by half upon hearing her explanation. However, he still kept a straight face, staring at a nearby tapestry, looking utterly dejected.
"Draco, you have to understand this. When I agreed to him, we were still having a fight…" She shook his hand and said in an almost pleading tone, "I—I don't know what was wrong with me back then, really."
"Perhaps you really like him—who could not?" he said slowly, his expression indifferent.
He recalled how she and Krum led the opening dance in his past life; it was the first time in his life he had felt jealous of his idol.
At that time, they were radiant, a perfect match, dancing together. He could only steal glances at her from outside the crowd, his heart pounding with awe at her beauty that no one had ever seen before. In the end, he forced a smile and said, "...Lucky man."
That was the first time he had clearly felt anger towards himself—not towards others. That night, something was off with him. He didn't go looking for trouble with her or approach her to humiliate her as he had planned.
He was utterly shameful, his gaze constantly following her, unable to look at any other girl—he simply couldn't take his eyes off her—it was completely illogical.
At that time, he was too busy watching her to think about why he was angry, or why he was continuing to do such irrational things in his anger. Only when she was alone did he dare to sneak up to her with a hint of smugness, hoping to exchange a few words with her.
At that time, she never liked him or cared about him. She was unwilling to look at him or talk to him.
Perhaps it will be the same in this lifetime.
What exactly are her feelings for him now? She's always reluctant to talk about their relationship, their kisses. She always rushes to avoid discussing it. He always has to carefully probe to find out even a hint of her thoughts.
She even once refused his hand in front of everyone. She broke free from him, resisted him, and quarreled with him because of Krum.
Perhaps, even in this lifetime, she doesn't like him as much as he thinks.
Draco pulled himself out of his bitter memories, closed his eyes briefly, and said coldly, "You liked him from the very beginning—"
"Krum had nothing to do with this from the very beginning!" Hermione said, annoyed. "It was you from start to finish!"
"Nonsense! The day he arrived at Hogwarts, at the welcome dinner, you kept looking at him—" He spoke harshly, but his hardened heart began to soften, and he couldn't help but glance at her.
"I was looking at you sitting next to him! I was worried you wouldn't sleep well at the bottom of the Black Lake because you're afraid of water, so I was studying your dark circles!" She was so angry that she almost jumped up and down on the spot, and shouted at him.
Draco was stunned.
He never imagined anyone would discover his fear of water. He thought he had hidden it well.
How did you know—
"You always looked like you were sleep-deprived back then, don't you remember?" Hermione glared at him as if he were the biggest idiot in the world. "I asked you so many times if you had insomnia, but you always brushed me off! Don't you remember?"
Draco was speechless. He had indeed forgotten—he hadn't been having trouble sleeping lately.
Ever since that kiss with Hermione in the library, he's been very eager to go to bed every night.
He loved lying in bed, savoring their kisses. He loved meeting her in his dreams. There, his imagination always ran wild.
He could always derive countless versions of the story from that kiss in the library. Most of these stories ended with "they knocked over the ink bottle on the mahogany table, smearing each other with ink"; in some endings, the victims were a row of rickety bookshelves and the books on them that shook and fell to the ground, which Mrs. Pince would never have liked.
In short, his recent, overly fantastical dreams have rendered his previous bedtime ritual of "the black lake water won't overflow into the dormitory" completely unnecessary.
She kept appearing in his dreams, kissing him passionately, opening herself up to him without any defenses, being played with and tasted by him in his fantasies... Who would remember whether that lake water was frightening or not?
"But you were really into him when you watched the Quidditch World Cup!" Draco stared at her alluring lips, suppressing the urge to do something to her, and racked his brains to pull out the bittersweet feeling of resentment in his heart. "You even started researching how many players Quidditch has!"
"That's because of you! Have you forgotten something? There's more than one Seeker in Quidditch! Long before I knew him, I already knew the best Seeker in the world—or at least I thought it was—and that was you! Is it surprising that I studied Quidditch? Which of your Quidditch matches have I missed?" Hermione said incredulously, practically bursting with anger. "Draco Malfoy, how could you be so oblivious?"
Draco abruptly shut his mouth, which was about to utter a harsh word. He studied Hermione's expression.
She met his gaze sincerely, bravely and fearlessly, without flinching or flinching.
He suddenly realized that she was telling the truth.
Now, like a balloon that Hermione had casually popped, the last bit of resentment in his heart gradually dissipated.
"Ah...maybe. I might be mistaken." Draco felt a mix of emotions—a mixture of disbelief, surprise, and pleasure. "You never talk about our kisses, I thought—"
He would have been overjoyed to learn of her feelings at any other time.
But now, he couldn't even manage a relaxed smile for her. He tried his best, but could only manage a weary, desolate smile. He guessed he looked terrible.
"However, I think he has ruined tonight—completely ruined it," he said listlessly.
Hermione Granger was almost in tears.
She messed everything up! She shouldn't have acted impulsively and felt sorry for Krum's dejected look; nor should she have accepted someone's invitation just because she was angry with Draco...
She wanted to demonstrate the friendliness and politeness of Hogwarts students towards international students; but she forgot to ask herself if this might cause anyone unforgettable harm.
She deeply hurt Draco.
She had known all along that he was particularly sensitive to Krum's reactions.
She had long known that his controlling and possessive nature was outrageous—which, given the unclear state of their relationship at the time, triggered her dissatisfaction and rebellious emotions—so she ruthlessly did something to provoke him.
She felt incredibly stupid! She minded that he flirted with her but treated her like a younger sister, minded that girls lined up to see him, minded his female friends who had grown up with him, and she was extremely jealous.
She wanted him to experience what jealousy felt like. She wanted to use his jealousy to find evidence that he cared about her.
But now, Hermione regretted it. He wasn't just jealous; he was heartbroken. She had tasted this kind of heartbreak countless times during the past six months of self-denial and self-avoidance; she could imagine how painful it must be for him now.
She dug her nails into her palm, wanting to say something to break the silence. But when she looked into Draco's quiet, desolate gray eyes, she froze, unable to think of any words to soothe his sorrow.
Oh God, what should she do? The handsome young man in front of her was slowly putting on his hard shell again, not even sparing her a genuine smile. Her heart ached at his bitter expression.
She couldn't let him leave like this. She couldn't let him freeze back into ice; she had finally managed to rekindle the flame burning in his heart, confirming his passion for her!
In the boundless silence, mistletoe climbed and grew on the ceiling above, emitting the slow, soft rustling sound characteristic of plants sprouting new shoots. Hermione looked up at the mistletoe; on its tender green branches, tiny white flowers were blooming one after another, like starlight suddenly illuminating a dark sky.
Hermione suddenly had an idea.
She reacted swiftly, grabbing the boy who was about to turn and leave, and said quickly, "Not yet! It hasn't been destroyed tonight! Draco, not yet!"
Draco hesitated and stopped, looking at her with a sorrowful gaze, his pale face devoid of color.
"Listen to me!" She stood on tiptoe, wrapped her arms around his neck, pulled his head down, and whispered frantically and urgently in his ear, "The night isn't over yet, what else can we do to make this night beautiful… We have mistletoe blooming above us, you can't refuse me!"
After Hermione finished speaking with feigned bravado, filled with immense unease, she resolutely pressed her lips against his pale ones.
She was really afraid that he would just leave like that.
She had to catch him.
Try every possible means.
Her worried eyes peered closer at him, trying to find a trace of the joy she knew so well in his lifeless eyes.
Draco was taken aback by her bold actions.
Does she even know what she's doing? Merlin, does she even know how thin and light her gown is?
—So thin that he could feel everything: the intoxicating softness suddenly covered his chest, the impact both gentle and fierce, leaving him in a state of utter confusion.
The radiant heat emanating from her skin seeped into his shirt, warming his once icy soul.
How could he still be angry? Her smooth arms wrapped around his neck, sliding innocently; her petal-like, gentle lips pressed against his, blindly, clumsily, and without any strategy, striking his lips with a muffled thunderclap, a drumbeat, or a snapping sound of reason breaking in his mind.
And then there was her fragrance—the scent emanating from her hair, neck, and lips—which lingered and entwined his heart, driving him mad!
He had wanted to for a long time, he had wanted to kiss her fiercely, taste her, even devour her. He had held back and held back, trying desperately to suppress his impulse—but she was determined to ignite the fire.
This time, she practically delivered herself to our door!
The dark gate in his heart, tightly locked by countless heavy iron chains, was opened by her light kiss.
Hermione, do you know what kind of beast you're unleashing? If you don't stop now—
Draco remained expressionless and did not make any rash moves, but his drooping hands clenched tightly.
He tried to remain patient, but inside he was screaming, wavering, and on the verge of madness; and she added fuel to the fire, tentatively touching him with her lips again and again.
Hermione tentatively touched his lips several times, but instead of finding joy in his eyes, she unexpectedly saw something else. His misty eyes gradually cleared, becoming increasingly dark and deep, capturing her flustered gaze.
This unfamiliar look made her stop what she was doing and feel a little lost; she moved her head away a little, trying to see his whole facial expression except for his eyes.
However, before she could react, before she could get away from him, his arm suddenly wrapped around her waist and held her tightly.
Hermione parted her lips slightly in surprise, as if to say something; but he couldn't wait any longer and returned her a deep kiss.
It wasn't a fleeting glance, nor a perfunctory greeting. Without any build-up or transition, from the very first second he responded, his strikingly red lips forcefully captured hers, kissing her with a fierce, furious intensity, his breath heavy and hot.
This was a powerful attack that Hermione had not anticipated.
She tried to lean back to dodge him and ask what was wrong, but his other hand was already pressing down on the back of her head, leaving her no way to escape. They were pressed tightly together, like a desperate spark licking dry, withered wood, suddenly igniting into a towering flame.
Draco, he suddenly shed his calm and restrained shell and became extremely domineering.
She was flustered, shocked, and at a loss. All sorts of emotions came rushing over her with that kiss.
Hermione didn't have time to close her eyes. She opened them and watched him kiss her with his brows furrowed—his face held a hint of painful vulnerability, yet also a resolute determination that filled her with both worry and confusion.
At that moment, she suddenly discovered his intense and unusual feelings for her, feelings that were different from anything she had ever experienced before.
This shocked her, made her hesitate, and for a moment she forgot to refuse his plunder.
That one second of hesitation turned into her tacit approval of his actions.
With his tacit approval, he became even more unrestrained and utterly irrational. He kissed her greedily, letting her heart pound wildly where his own heart was.
Hermione was trembling involuntarily.
Perhaps it was because of the biting cold draft blowing through the room, and her clothes were thin; perhaps it was because of his sudden change of mood, which caught her off guard; perhaps it was because of his overly possessive and passionate kiss, which made her soul tremble.
The boy noticed her trembling. She could feel them moving, but she didn't know how he did it. He kissed her passionately, as if guiding her to dance, and in a few turns, they hid behind a silver-green tapestry with a Slytherin pattern against the wall of the corridor, where there seemed to be an inconspicuous groove in the wall.
With a flick of his wrist, he lifted the tapestry and decisively pressed her between the grooves, a powerful momentum carrying him with it. The tremor felt as if he were trying to penetrate her very soul.
Hermione's heart pounded. She was afraid of the uneven grooves behind her—yet she suffered no pain at all—he shielded her from the rough, hard stones of the wall behind her with one arm.
She didn't know whether this angry yet passionate Slytherin boy was gentle or violent. The hand on his arm gently supported the back of her head, as if afraid she would be hurt; but the other hand gripped her waist with burning heat, almost pinching her hard.
"Draco—" she called his name softly, wanting to ask him what he was going to do behind the tapestry, but she had no time to say another word. He suddenly leaned in and kissed her hesitant lips.
The corridor was quiet and deserted.
Only the hanging tapestry witnessed the passionate kiss between the young boy and girl.
In this confined and narrow environment, his cedar scent filled the air, enveloping her completely.
Just before the thick tapestry was returned to its original position, she saw his dark, gleaming eyes, filled with stubbornness, determination, and untamed wildness.
In the dim and quiet environment, Hermione blinked.
How could an elegant young man like Draco possibly possess a wild side? She must be mistaken.
She tried to see his expression again. But the light here was dim, unlike the brightly lit corridor.
She simply closed her eyes and focused intently on feeling him, feeling his kiss, feeling whether he was experiencing intense emotions.
That's right, he stopped being reserved and instead became wild.
He was a painter driven mad by his fantasies, meticulously and boldly depicting her lips, as if trying to imprint their shape firmly in his mind.
The soft touch, the fiery breath, the rapid heartbeat. She was captivated by the bold strokes of the brush.
The painter had captured her turbulent soul. For a moment, her soul swayed, Hermione even forgot she needed to breathe. All her attention was on his lips, as he spoke his heart.
In that kiss, fantastical colors flashed across her retina. He had painted not just silvery-green Slytherin, but a more complex tapestry of colors.
The feeling of lonely alienation is black. The feeling of melancholy tranquility is silver-gray. The feeling of insane jealousy is emerald green. The feeling of intense possessiveness is red. The feeling of domineering control is platinum gold.
In this lonely, dark world, she felt his passion, comparable to that of Gryffindor; within his calm, silver-green soul, there seemed to be a blazing, golden-red flame.
She sensed that he was creating a completely irrational painting, bright and damp, using a tempestuous mood as paint, thickly applying it to her lips to conceal the flames rolling within his cold soul.
In the sudden storm, she felt like a paper doll, weak and limp from being soaked by the intense rain. She wanted to slip away, just like she had done in the library, sliding down the bookshelves or along the walls.
But she couldn't escape. Only then did she realize his cunning. His thigh pressed between her legs, wedging her into a groove in the wall, rendering her immobile.
This damned groove, it's like it was made just for her! She twisted her legs uncomfortably, trying to break free; but he took the opportunity to pinch her waist, making her arch upwards, and used his legs to push her to a higher position, reducing the height difference between them.
Her entire focus was now on him. Now, she could no longer control anything; instead, she was completely controlled by him.
"Draco Malfoy! That's a foul!" The little voice in her head screamed, but a few weak, embarrassing moans escaped from her nose.
"He's so bad," she thought as he sucked on her.
Her sheer dress was pressed against her private parts by his legs as Hermione writhed, the novel, wondrous, and complex sensation overwhelming her. She felt as shy and embarrassed as an unclosed book. Moreover, she was stuck on tiptoe, being relentlessly sucked by a lecherous Slytherin, utterly powerless to resist.
He was so mean. She let out a few resentful groans and clutched his shirt tightly. He suddenly bent his trousers, creating a sudden sense of pressure and friction, which elicited a gasp of undisguised pleasure from her; he, in turn, let out a vengeful chuckle.
Oh yes, Hermione Granger, I know exactly what you're up to—you're not getting away. Draco thought wickedly, turning the sucking into a nibble.
He's so wicked. Hermione thought, on the verge of tears. He's a cheetah who doesn't hunt for food; he bites his prey only for play and amusement, not out of necessity.
Its teeth fiercely sliced across her lips. The cheetah didn't bite hard, but merely let her feel the danger of a bite, a subtle tearing sensation, while simultaneously tightening its grip on the back of her neck. This made the already panicked girl even more uneasy and panicked.
She wanted to voice her objections, to argue whether these actions were in accordance with humanitarian principles, but she couldn't speak. He wouldn't give her a chance, given his own insatiable hunger for his ideals.
Hermione had nowhere to retreat. She whimpered, her arms moving unconsciously around his slender waist and back, trying to grab some support or find a point of balance she could control.
She had no idea how the undulating touch through her shirt would affect him.
Draco trembled as that hand caressed him.
Unconscious touches, movements, and even small scratches, transmitted through his tactile nerves in all directions, are tearing, crushing, and churning his heart and torso.
The beast within him was poised to strike. This dangerous cheetah, with its beautiful markings, stared intently at its beloved prey, waiting for the perfect moment to deliver the fatal blow.
It tilted its head, watching him steal the air from her lungs in the darkness, destroying her ability to think, and taking her warm, soft, innocent red lips into his mouth to taste them wantonly, leaving her no possibility of rebuttal.
At this moment, Draco formally merged his obsessions from his past life with his delusions in this life.
His manners, elegance, and gentlemanly demeanor impressed Merlin.
Okay, he admits, back in his past life, when he saw her come down the steps and put her hand in Krum's arm, he had damn well wanted to do it.
And now, the kiss she offered him filled him with immense satisfaction. Countless memories flooded his mind in an instant; those dreamlike illusions were no longer mere bubbles, but reality.
A genuine sweetness. Unparalleled satisfaction. He was completely captivated. He couldn't resist.
Like savoring a green apple, he tasted the tip of her tongue, the flavor he had longed for all night, and nothing could stop him from tasting it.
However, this was not the end. She kept emitting soft, pitiful moans, her legs wriggling restlessly on his. A warm, moist sensation gradually seeped through the thin gauze and the fabric of his trousers, causing his lurking beast to raise its head and glare angrily at the place where they were pressed together.
He gasped, his face burning. He was grateful for the darkness created by the tapestry, which allowed him to adjust his position without her noticing his overly vivid fantasies and unbearable desires.
For Hermione, every little movement of his was an undeniable pressure, a heart-wrenching grinding, a rubbing through the fabric.
Good heavens! He's so wicked! She sensed some danger and moaned softly, both unbearable and ashamed. But the sound did not elicit any sympathy from the stubborn boy; instead, it ignited an even fiercer fire within him.
So Draco pinched her soft, delicate waist hard and kissed her even more deeply.
He robbed her of air in the darkness, he destroyed her ability to think, and he held her warm, soft tongue in his mouth.
And so it continued, sucking, gnawing, tearing, in an endless, insatiable cycle.
Hermione's mind felt like it was filled with loose, shy cotton balls.
This jealous and possessive bad boy is setting the cotton on fire, trying to burn it into a pile of bright, absurd debris.
This kiss was completely different from what she had originally planned—she had intended to give him a light kiss, just once.
He was once so calm and indifferent, like a statue made of ice, appearing to have no desires or wants.
She wanted to melt his stern face with a gentle kiss, to make him smile at her sincerely, nothing more.
But what she didn't expect was that beneath the icy shell lay a fierce flame, which swept towards her like wildfire.
This is wrong! The little man in her mind struggled to tear a crack in the precarious pile of cotton balls, where tiny flames flickered, and shouted a warning to the girl who was immersed in ecstasy.
If she continued down this path, she seemed to be getting one step closer to some alluring abyss.
"I... can't breathe..." Her weak, kitten-like voice escaped from between his lips. This was the only resistance her feeble willpower could offer at this moment.
However, to his ears, it sounded more like a pitiful plea for mercy, or a veiled compliment.
Draco heard her pleas. He knew he had to stop. But the beast within him roared indignantly, saying it wasn't enough, far from enough—she was already as soft as water, or a fine piece of silk, or even something else precious and fragilely alluring.
He couldn't quite figure out what she had become. He suddenly had the urge to roughly knead her, to crush her. The beast roared in his mind that it wanted to bite her, that it wanted her.
"Go back!" he said rudely to the beast. "I'm not done yet."
He had not yet extinguished the raging fire of jealousy within him.
He temporarily released her lips, lingering by her ear, whispering his mad, delirious thoughts into her ear, "You are mine, only in my palm, my dance partner... You are mine, only I can kiss you... Hermione Granger, you are mine, do you understand..."
He admitted that he had always been very, very jealous of Krum.
Because of her, he was consumed by jealousy, and he lost control once again.
He always loses control because of her. He only loses control because of her.
He even became unlike himself. He abandoned all reason, indifference, and composure, seemingly no longer the silent, desolate, and heartbroken Draco Malfoy, but a Draco Malfoy with a raging fire burning in his heart, a truly naive, childish, unreasonable, and foolish boy who couldn't resist her.
The boy's slightly hoarse voice filled her ears, sending shivers down Hermione's spine. The scent of his cedarwood made her soul float away, bypassing all the bumps and curves of her brain, and fly out of the back of her head. His words, however, were like barbed arrows, piercing her chest, almost hooking her flickering heart.
She trembled at his possessive words. His legs pressed against her relentlessly, forcing her to acknowledge her desire. She tried to tighten her grip, but only pressed herself more closely against his trousers.
Amidst her fragmented thoughts and the chaotic, humid heat, Hermione struggled to recall where her usual calm, composed, elegant, and proud mask had gone. It seemed to have shattered into pieces.
Tonight he was so unusual that she wanted to scream—he was almost shameless in his capriciousness and almost a bastard in his domineering nature.
He seemed like a snake with a frozen soul, desperately approaching the only source of heat behind the tapestry—coiling around her without a care—trying to squeeze out her warmth and warm her icy heart.
She was held passionately in the boy's arms, and her whole body was burning with excitement.
His fleeting madness made her incredibly shy.
At the same time, she was surprised to find that she did not hate this abnormal madness.
His unusual behavior was somewhat charming.
Very charming.
Disorder, chaos, and fascinating.
"Yes…yes…I am your…your dance partner…in your palm…" Finally, she surrendered, repeating his words in a murmur, overwhelmed by his voice, smell and words, her fingers creating wrinkles on his shirt.
Tapestry—she had never imagined it would have such a wonderful use. It wasn't winter, but a warm spring day, and she was happily playing in the private castle he had built, untouched by the chilly winds.
The scenery here is exceptionally beautiful, with gentle ripples and a fragrant aroma.
She was the first snowflake to fall on Christmas Eve, melting under his captivating warmth, leaving a damp spot on his suit trousers.
Draco, stop torturing me.
I admit it.
"I am yours…only you can kiss me…" she murmured, not having time to think about whether his words made sense.
All she knew was that he had put her in a dilemma, one from which she could not resist.
His lips, palms, breath, words, even his legs... were all bewitching her.
Draco wouldn't give up, kissing her earlobe, rubbing it mischievously, and repeating in a seductive whisper, "Yes, sweet girl, you're mine... only mine..."
"Yes... I am yours... only yours..." In a daze, she repeated his words in a trembling voice.
Her reason has completely died.
She couldn't keep kissing... or maybe she could kiss a little longer... Amidst the humming of her breath and the lingering heat on her earlobe, she thought to herself, her mind constantly shifting.
In this way, Draco Malfoy successfully made Hermione Granger, who loved logical thinking, abandon her rationality.
His kisses were bewitching.
Hermione would even be willing to absurdly admit that whatever he said was the absolute truth, as long as he stopped rubbing those alluring, unsettling lips against her earlobe and stopped making her private parts so shy.
"Only yours... I only kiss you... I only give my body to you... I only let you control me..." In a daze, she trembled, her fingers creating more wrinkles on her white shirt.
Like the call of a siren, her voice was as tender as a fledgling bird.
Draco sighed happily. His deepest desire for control and possession was temporarily satisfied by her boundless promise.
He was a traveler in the desert who had finally found the oasis in his heart. He greedily craved more, kissing her from her sensitive ear to her sweet lips. His hand, resting on the back of her head, tightly held a strand of her hair, as if grasping the center of the world.
The embrace was tight and intimate. The kisses were deeply moving. The sounds of their breaths filled the air.
Then he craved to hear more of her tender voice, hoping she would make more promises that crossed the line. He released his hand from her waist, wanting to try to explore downwards with it, taking the opportunity to create more noise for her.
At that moment, the voices and footsteps coming from the corridor awakened what little reason he had left.
"Severus, wait—" he heard someone say urgently in the corridor; it was Igor Karkarov's voice.
Draco jolted awake.
Merlin! What has he done? What did he do to her behind the tapestry in the corridor...? Her voice sounds so weak... Was she frightened by him? He forced himself to stop his demanding lips and hands.
His loss of control just now became so sinful in an instant.
The brain-blocking technique applied to Hermione's part has completely failed.
Then he remembered everything… the Dark Lord… the Death Eaters… and what Bellatrix had done to her.
"Did I go too far? Are you alright?" He could no longer think about romantic feelings, and instead asked her in a trembling voice.
He suppressed all his violent emotions. He supported the swaying, unsteady girl, her limbs weak, and in the dark, sweltering atmosphere, he anxiously tried to understand her current state and thoughts.
"It's okay…" Hermione murmured, her whole body damp and warm, limp in his burning arms as if she had no bones.
She clung to him tightly and passionately, fitting him as realistically as his favorite silk pajamas, which made Draco feel dizzy.
He was burning with desire because of her. He subtly adjusted his posture, afraid that she would discover his true thoughts.
The girl seemed oblivious to his wicked intentions. She continued to rest her head on his neck, gently sniffing him, and whispering in his ear in a soft, kitten-like voice that she was feeling a little dizzy, that she loved his hugs and his kisses.
"I don't want to talk about kissing, not because I hate it, but because I'm shy—" she whispered. That soft whisper sent a tingling, numbing sensation through him.
The flame in his heart flickered with a mixture of joy and contradiction. He closed his eyes with difficulty, trying to embrace her with a pure heart.
But this behavior was still a unique kind of stimulation for Hermione; his cool nose was brushing against her cheek, and his hot breath was warming her neck.
His allure to her only grew stronger.
She shifted naively and uneasily, bumping into something in the confusion, which stirred his breath in the dim light. "Don't move, let me hold you for a while, please..."
There was a certain meaning in his voice that made her sense a hidden danger. So she dared not move again, and obediently let him hold her affectionately, listening to his heavy sigh.
After a long, long time, when the breathing behind the tapestry had completely calmed down and she was able to stand firmly on her own, Draco finally had the heart to let her go.
Through the faint light filtering through the edge of the tapestry, the girl, whose heart was pounding, gradually saw everything clearly.
She saw that his eyes were frighteningly bright.
"You're not allowed to look at other boys anymore, at least not tonight." His eyes, filled with desire, were fixed on her as he coaxed her softly into agreeing. "Remember, you're mine—you'll dance with me for every single dance from now on."
The girl nodded shyly. Her regained rationality was once again shattered into pieces by his deep gaze.
Immediately afterwards, they peeked out from behind the tapestry to see what was happening outside, then slipped back into the candlelit corridor.
"Look what you've done—" Hermione complained, blushing as she looked at a strand of hair that had fallen onto her shoulder, "Your hair is all loose."
Draco looked at her disheveled hair and gave a mischievous, wicked smile—the kind of smile Hermione had hoped to see when she first kissed him under the mistletoe.
Now she was finally certain that his jealousy had been extinguished and his bitterness had vanished.
"That naughty boy who started this mess!" She frantically covered her disheveled hair, completely absorbed in her predicament, and gave him a reproachful glance.
"Let me help you." His smile widened, becoming somewhat childlike. He leaned closer to her, picked up the strand of hair, and gently fiddled with it in her hair bun.
His soft breath brushed against her forehead. Hermione looked up at him, mesmerized by his bright eyes and radiant smile. She forgot her anger and whispered, "I love your smile."
"I love you," Draco said softly. He finally wrapped the strand of hair back around her hair, securing it firmly, and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead.
Her face turned red again.
His Hermione. She said she was his. She was still as beautiful and noble as ever, but her eyes were watery, her lips were red, her chest was heaving, and her originally fair skin was covered with a faint pink hue.
A bubble of joy bubbled up in Draco's heart. Tonight, she was his—no one could take her away.
"Let's go back to dancing." He took her hand.
"Yes, dancing…" Hermione repeated his words, her mind wandering as he pulled her along.
The reconciled dance partners walked back down the corridor and found only a few people scattered in the foyer. As Draco led Hermione back into the Great Hall, they heard someone whistle at them. Blushing, they hurried through the doors, neither turning back to see who this teasing fellow was.
The dance floor in the auditorium was still crowded, the lights were dimmed, and the atmosphere became more lively as the eccentric sisters began to sing a high-energy song. Ron was still sitting in his original seat, having just finished the last sip of his drink.
"Oh, you're finally back. You made up pretty quickly this time! I was planning to keep this robe if you hadn't come back." He yawned, tossed the robe to Draco, and strode towards the beverage station where Harry had been.
Draco grabbed the robe that was flying through the air and turned back to smile triumphantly at Hermione.
Hermione was still reeling from the passionate kiss. Her face flushed as she watched him put his robe back on over his white shirt, the movements fluid and graceful, exuding a subtle yet powerful aura.
A sense of oppression... She blushed and her heart pounded, quickly banishing the word from her mind.
She continued to look at him... She had never known that he could be so charming even with his outer robe on.
Then Draco grabbed her hand, determined not to let go no matter who tried to take her away. He held her contentedly, continuing to enjoy the joyous night, and slid his little witch to the very center of the dance floor.