Legilimens [Dramione]

Privacy

A few drinks later Draco re-entered the Manor with fogged vision and confused thoughts. Hermione had agreed to see him. Just for one lesson, but... Knowing Hermione Granger, maybe that would be enough. He hoped so.

He brought a hand to his forehead, admonishing the alcohol circulating in his veins for his thoughts. Fuck, he'd really admitted it: Theo was right. Granger was beautiful. She was hot.

She had always been right in front of his eyes, yet he hadn't noticed it before these days. Maybe because he had never really looked at her before. Now that he had started, though, he wondered if he would be able to stop.

Something bumped against his window, saving him from his thoughts. He got up from the sofa and reached with uncertain steps the little brown owl that carried a rolled-up parchment in its beak.

Bleecker street 23, London. Monday, 9 p.m. H.G.

Forty-eight hours. That was the time Hermione had given him to prepare a lesson that would miraculously make her get immediate results in one of the hardest magical subjects. Great.

He put the parchment away and headed for the basement, where, among the shelves of his potions lab, there was a hangover potion and some energizing serums.

It was going to be a long night.

***

After watching it for thirty long minutes, the clock finally struck 9 p.m. His hands were steady as he took the floo powder and headed for the fireplace, but he was nervous.

When the green flames turned off, he looked around holding his breath.

This wasn't what he was expecting to see. He thought Hermione would have dragged him to a library, or some ministry conference room. The small living room where he had landed looked far too intimate for a former enemy. Was this really… Was he really in Hermione's apartment?

Thinking back he remembered vividly how, staggering on her heels and pointing her finger, she had threatened him not to tell a soul about their meetings. She seriously wanted to keep her interest a secret, and he couldn't help the curiosity to know more about it from flowing to his veins. Why? Why did it matter so much that she had allowed nothing less than a former death eater into her own home?

If she had spoken openly about this interest of hers, she would have obviously found a teacher, albeit probably one of dubious quality.

But judging by the way she had been skulking around Diagon Alley buying those books, his snake instincts suggested there was something more going on. Hermione Granger was hiding a secret, and he knew at that moment that he was condemned to think about it for the nights to come.

But right now he needed to stay focused. This wasn't the reason he was here. She needed his help and he needed her influence, it was as simple as that. A mutual exchange, after which they could go back hating each other as if nothing had ever happened.

His eyes runned across the room, searching for her. She was on the sofa, her eyes looking at him. She was probably wondering why he was standing there like an idiot.

Not a good start.

***

Hermione forced herself to not get up as soon as he stepped out of the fireplace. This wasn't a formal meeting and she wasn't greeting a friend. She looked at him with her butt firmly against the cushions.

He was wearing a simple black turtleneck and a pair of pants of the same color, which contrasted sharply with the pallor of his skin and his obscenely straight, perfect hair. His entire presence, rigid and elegantly composed, seemed so out of place in her small muggle apartment that it was almost comical.