Disclaimer: We've been doing this for 9 chapters and things still haven't changed. I still don't own Draco or any of the wizarding world...it all belongs to JKR.
A/N: Sorry I haven't updated! I've started university again and I've spent most of my time grumpy once more...to think I have endless years of this ahead of me...just makes a girl want to drop out and take up creative writing instead.
A feeling almost akin to guilt clawed at Hermione's raw throat as she nursed a sore head and a somewhat unsettled stomach. Clutching a wrinkled copy of the Prophet in one hand and armed with several gossip rags in the other, she walked resolutely up the broad, winding drive of Malfoy's Wiltshire manor. Behind her, the heavy wrought iron gates clanged almost silently shut, giving her a sensation of safety as well as isolation.
As the paved cobblestones clicked beneath her modest heels, Hermione juggled the items in her hands and shoved them precariously under one arm in order to brush her cool fingers through her curls. The breath whispered from between her lips, hissing occasionally through her clenched teeth as a wave of anxiety engulfed her.
Useless though it was, Hermione reassured herself repeatedly. How angry could he possibly be? It was a simple dinner between diplomatic colleagues with a similar agenda…He couldn't possibly misinterpret it! Sure, the media had made something of a purely professional occasion but Draco would be smarter…wiser…and…
…Typically male…
…And obviously very prone to jealous rages.
Hermione found that out minutes later as she stood in an opulently appointed parlour while Malfoy rested his forehead against the cool pane of the glass window, staring fixatedly out at the rolling greens of his estate. The heat and fight seemed to have drained from him and what was left was simply a shimmering ball of cold rage, silent in its nature and all the more disconcerting than his vocal rage before.
"Diplomatic colleagues." He repeated; a statement rather than a question.
"Yes. Malfoy…Draco, the media twists these things, they're looking for a story, nothing more."
"Diplomatic colleagues." He repeated again in that dead voice. Draco remained motionless as she remained silent. After several moments, he straightened and turned to face her at last; smoothing his robes, he met her eyes steadily and smiled. It didn't reach his eyes as he walked forward and pulled her into his arms. His arms were as cold as his eyes, making Hermione shiver as his embrace tightened almost crushingly around her smaller body.
"Yes. Of course." Draco muttered into her hair. "Forgive me, my love."
Hermione squirmed at the use of the affectionate statement but forced herself to stand still as his grip tightened.
"I can be so irrational sometimes, can't I?" Draco repeated quietly as his hand traced the length of her form, coming to rest at the curve of her breast. He lifted his body away from hers slightly and allowed the hand to wander further until he cupped her fully, unrepentantly kneading and pinching until he heard her small gasps. It was then that he pulled away, a small benign smile hovering about his lips.
His eyes were ice cold.
Hermione drew in a deep calming breath and forced her body to cease its traitorous sway towards his. She lifted her head proudly despite the flush which stained her creamy cheeks and met his eyes unflinchingly.
"For what it's worth, I am sorry." Hermione repeated her earlier words, the only ones she had managed before that intense anger had exploded from his form and china and glass had begun shattering around them, showering Hermione with what had been undoubtedly expensive, historical pieces.
