Between the Malfoy Brothers - Dramione

Chapter 9

Draco Malfoy stood on the footpath leading from the quidditch pitch to the castle, the crowds long dissipated, his heart racing from the jolt of hearing his name called out of the woody brush at his side. Hermione Granger was stepping toward him out of shade dim enough that she'd lit the end of her wand.

She wanted to speak with him, only she said she didn't. "What I need from you requires no talking," she said, extinguishing her light and shaking the broken twigs picked up from her hiding place out of her hair.

"What've you done to yourself?" he asked her, speaking anyway. "You look like you've been attacked by Professor Grubbly-Plank's bowtruckles."

She almost laughed. "Then help me. Get the ones in the back, would you?"

She turned her back to him. He watched his own hand reaching toward her without anger or fear or passion for the first time. Was this a movement toward normal, neutral friendliness -- a cooling off? Or was it a step closer together, a warming up?

Whatever it might be for her, he swallowed hard as he sunk his fingertips into her hair. Even though she'd thoroughly mauled his hair in the vanished room on the night of their kiss, thanks to the hood she'd been wearing, he'd never touched hers until now. Like a lot of curly hair, it was thick and wiry, completely different from his. It was all he could do not to coil it around his finger, holding it wound taut and silky against his skin, feeling it between his fingers like a bow string meant for a violin.

"No need to be so ginger, Malfoy. They're just twigs, not creatures," she said. "At least, I don't think they are. Sound an alarm if anything sprouts arms and tries to fight you."

He almost laughed, lifting the mass of her hair to check for twigs, forgetting it would bare the nape of her neck to him. No, this was definitely not a cooling off.

He dropped his hands. "You're clean and safe," he said. "Right. See you then."

By the time Hermione turned, he was already climbing back up the path. "Wait," she called after him. "I didn't stop you because I needed you for bowtruckle removal."

He faked an exasperated sigh. "Why did you stop me then, Granger? I've got a rucksack full of filthy sports equipment, and frankly, I'm a little self conscious of it and would like to get it back to the castle for cleaning. So, if you don't mind -- "

"Oh, don't worry. You smell fine," she said, blushing as soon as the words left her. She forced a cough. "Anyway, it's too bad about the match this morning. I mean, I'm happy for Ginny, winning her first time out and all but -- "

He dropped his rucksack next to his feet. "Granger, did you really stop me here to babble about a meaningless sporting event?"

Her brow creased, "Meaningless? It's been my experience that right after a match there's no point trying to talk to a quidditch player about anything other than the fine details of every play, whether it bores me to death or not."

He smirked. "Well, you haven't experienced all quidditch players, have you?" He stepped forward to pull one last tiny, crinkling leaf from her hair, over her ear. "Rehashing a game bores some of us to death as well. Not all of us play for the love of it. Some of us are there mostly to keep our fathers happy. That and to have a go at Potter. And if there's no Potter and Ronald can bring glory to the Malfoy family without me, what does it matter if I lose, right? I'm not bothered and I'll spare us both the post-game quidditch talk. Thanks all the same. I'll be off now."

"Malfoy," she called again, a little too loudly, as if she was alarmed to see him turning away. She began again, more quietly. "I'm sorry. I'm stalling, obviously. But it's just..." She took a huge breath, wringing her hands.