And he looked—
Sad.
Lonely.
Maybe even heart-broken.
“I told you I'd cry if you got me drunk," she said.
“I know. I don't mind. I just don't want to be the reason why tonight,” he said, looking away from her and dropping his hand from her hair.
She gulped down another swig of firewhisky and then offered it to him. There was less than a quarter of a bottle left.
He took it and stared around the room. His expression grew bitter. The air around him abruptly grew cold.
Hermione recognized the shift. It was like her with crying. Something had occurred to him. Struck him. The alcohol had thinned his occlumency walls and he couldn't stop himself from feeling it.
Quiet. Angry. As he had said.
Without thinking, she reached over and took the hand closest to her. His left hand.
He looked over at her. She turned it over in her hands and ran her thumbs across the palm. Flattening it. She could feel the barest tremors from the cruciatus still in it.
“When did you become ambidextrous?” she asked.
He met her eyes, and she could see his surprise.
“When did you guess?” he asked after a moment.
“Your holster is on your right arm, but you've always used your right hand when dueling with me,” she said. “And you have the same wand calluses on both hands. I noticed it the day I first worked on the runes.”
“Clever,” he said.
Hermione smirked. “Only figure that out now?”
He snorted. “Humble too,” he added dryly.
She drew her wand and muttered the charms as she tapped the tip across his hand. Trying to relieve the last of the tremors.
“You don't have to keep healing me, Granger,” he said after a moment. She felt herself blush under his gaze.
“Hermione,” she said, reminding him again. “You looked sad. I didn'tknow if you'd want a hug from me. So I thought of this. I thought healing you, at least, is something you would want.”
He was silent, and she continued massaging his hand. Running her fingers over and against his. He had long tapered fingers.
“And if I wanted something else?” he said. His voice was quiet but there was a pointed quality to the question.
Her hands stilled, and she looked up at him. It felt as though all the oxygen in the room had suddenly vanished. Her heartbeat tripled, and her chest abruptly felt hollow.
“What do you want?” she asked cautiously. She studied his face. His eyes were dark, but his expression was relaxed. Curious. His hair had fallen down over his forehead, softening his angular features. He looked young.
“Will you take your hair down? I want to see it,” he said.
She blinked. “Really?” she asked, staring at him with disbelief.
He just gave a short nod.
She slowly reached up and pulled the pins out. The braids tumbled down and she pulled the ties off them and started slowly running her fingers through to unbraid each side. When she reached the top of her head, she dragged her fingers through once more and then dropped her hands into her lap.
“There. My mane.”
He stared at her for several seconds in silence. “I didn't realize it was so long.”
“The weight makes it more manageable,” she said, glancing around; not sure where to look. She gathered the pins in her hands and pocketed them. The tip of a long curl brushed along her wrist, and she started slightly.
She wasn't used to having her hair down anymore. She normally only unbraided it long enough to shower and then had it tied back before it was dry. She felt almost Victorian, as though having her hair loose was revealing something deeply intimate about herself.
Draco leaned forward and laced his fingers into her hair along her temple. His expression was still curious. She shivered and her breath caught as she felt him slide his fingers through it down to her waist.
“It's softer than I expected,” he said. His eyes were fascinated. She'd never had anyone take interest in her hair. The entire interaction has moved beyond her comfort zone, and she had no idea what she was supposed to say or do.
She stared at him and realised his eyes had become somewhat dazed looking. He was really, really drunk.
Suddenly his face was even closer. Just centimeters from hers. His hand slid up her neck and tangled into the curls at the base of her skull. It was so—
Vulnerable.
Intimate.
Sensual.
He wasn't looking at her hair anymore. His eyes were on her face. On her mouth.
They were so close.
“If you don't want me to kiss you, you should say so now,” he said.
She felt the breath from every word against her lips.
Everything felt surreal. Like a dream. Blurred and full of sensations.
She could feel the weight of her life bearing down on her; crushing her until she could barely breathe from it. Until she could barely breathe from the loneliness.
But she could also feel Draco's hand in her hair. He was gentler than she had thought he could be. Warm to touch. Beautiful. So close she could feel him breathing.
He was looking at her like he saw her.
He was asking.
If she hadn't spoken to Harry that evening. If she hadn't been so drunk. If she weren't so lonely. If the evening's revelation hadn't been that Draco Malfoy was actually nice when drunk, she might have done something different.
But she didn't.
She kissed him.
A real kiss.
The taste of firewhisky was on each of their lips.
As soon as her mouth touched his, Draco took control. As though she'd sprung something loose in him. His hand in her hair tightened, and he drew her toward him, pulling her onto his lap.
She rested her hands on top of his shoulders as he deepened the kiss. He used his hold on her hair to arch her neck back and slid his other hand down her throat. He slipped his fingers over her skin; along her clavicles and shoulders and the dip of her throat as though he were taking a measurement of her.
She ran a hand along his jaw and into his hair. As her palm grazed along his cheekbone he pressed his face against it for a moment.
He was so starved for touch.
He traced along her body, and she leaned into the contact like a cat. She hadn't realised how much she longed to be touched.
That she was starved for it too.
He slid a hand along the hem of her shirt, grazing the skin of her abdomen before slowly slipping under her clothing and splaying his hand across the small of her back. Holding her against his stomach so that she had to arch her back to keep kissing him.
The kisses were unhurried. Curious. He used his hold on her hair to control the pace as he kissed her slowly. Lightly brushing his mouth against hers so that she shivered before he nipped her softly. Then the tip of his tongue flicked out against her lower lip. She gasped, and when her mouth opened, he deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue against hers.
He tasted like ice and firewhisky and sin.
She ran her hands over his shoulders, feeling him. Hard and pale as marble, but warm. He was so warm to touch. She tangled her fingers in his hair and tugged at it softly, arching against him as he caressed her waist and she shivered. A tension was beginning to pool inside of her.
She had never—
A voice in the back of her mind cruelly reminded her she wasn't supposed to mean any of it. She jerked slightly as if the thought had physically struck her.
Draco used his hold on her hair to draw her head back and expose her neck. Leaving her lips and kissing along her jaw and the column of her throat until she whimpered and clung to him.
She meant it.
She didn't know how to not mean it.
She cradled his face in her hands, and drew his mouth back to hers. Crushing her lips against his fiercely, she wrapped her arms around him. Trying to feel all of him.