Tango * dramione

Chapter 20

Chapter 20: andate

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Andante: MUSIC

adjective & adverb

1.

(Especially as a direction) in a moderately slow tempo.

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(scene cont.)

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There it was—the underlining problem separating Draco from his obligations. He'd kissed Hermione Granger, and worse? He liked it. More than liked it, in fact. He loved it. Her mouth had felt like a perfect fit against his own, and she'd tasted of spearmint—smelled of fresh ink and starlight. Or, at least, he imagined it was starlight, because he could almost see it behind his eyelids the moment their lips touched. She was intoxicating, breathtaking, and completely, utterly not his. Not even remotely.

And the final nail in his perpetual coffin? He was the taken one—not emotionally, but physically. He'd yet to break it off with Astoria officially, and here he was, snogging it up with someone other than his betrothed.

"Hermione," he whispered, but she was already gone out the bathroom door. Something inside of Draco snapped, and he lurched forward, yanking the door open and tearing down the hall. "Hermione!"

He found her retreating down the staircase, heading toward the thick, French doors that would allow her to cross the border into Apparation territory. Once that happened, she'd be gone, and he'd be destroyed.

"Granger!" he shouted firmly, his hand gripping the top of the banister. Her arm was outstretched to one of the doors, but she paused, turning around to face him. There was a moment of quiet tension between them before Draco realized he might actually want to speak. "...Don't go."

"I've already told you," she said, "you need to talk to Astoria."

"I will," he agreed at once.

She seemed to consider his words, but her hand stayed on the doorknob. "Will you?"

"I said I will," he nearly growled, frustrated. "What more do you want from me?"

Something in her eyes betrayed her next set of words. "Nothing." Her arm shook - the one extended toward the door. "You shouldn't have-"

"I know."

"I know what Astoria did with Ron was awful, but-"

"I know, Granger-"

"Do you?" she snapped. "I will not be some...some pawn!" Her eyes cut deep into his soul.

"Is that what you think you are?" he asked, utterly flabbergasted. He wished he could sober up quicker, but this wasn't his home, and freshly brewed sobering-elixirs weren't at his disposal. His fingers clung to the banister for dear life, and he knew he couldn't dare attempt a walk down these steps without falling flat on his face. Admitting defeat, he wobbled down to sit his arse at the top of the staircase and peer down at her.

"Wasn't that what that was?" Her voice held so much doubt - nearly as much as the doubt he felt about how this talk could possibly end on a good note.

"If I fancied a rebound shag, don't you think I could have done it with someone less...prude?"

"Prude?"

"Difficult."

"Difficult?"

"I'm sorry, did my lips on yours produce a stunningly complex repeating-hex? Or does the greatest witch of her age have an issue forming her own thoughts?"