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Might As Well Have Kissed a Death Eater by Cariel
Chapter 3 : Mudblood Kisses
Rating: 15+Chapter Reviews: 8

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Harry walked down the stairs into the common room in the middle of Ron and Hermione’s row. He tried to ignore them. It wasn’t as if they took any notice of anyone else. Harry went to sit down, opening the large book for Muggle Studies.

Before he could get through a page, he couldn’t help but overhear what Ron and Hermione’s argument was about.

“You made it very clear you were going to turn it down,” Ron was shouting as Hermione interrupted him.

“I said I might turn it down.”

“—so what is the big deal?” Ron finished.

“Big Deal?!” she demanded. “Being Head Girl is everything I always wanted!”

“There’s still next year,” Ron intelligently remarked.

“NEXT YEAR?!” She seemed appalled that he would even suggest that. “You can be in the Quidditch team next year! Does that make you feel better?”

Whatever sympathy Harry felt for Hermione’s situation flew out the window at that comment. “That was a low blow,” Harry thought aloud, but they couldn’t hear him.

“I’d give you mine if I could,” Ron was saying.

“Sure you would,” She crossed her arms smugly.

“I didn’t even think about being a Prefect! And I didn’t think you’d get so mad over this!” He was sick of fighting with her. She always had to have the last word. “I would give you mine if I could!” he strained to make her understand how he felt about her. He would do anything for her.

“Would not!” She agitatedly threw her hand forth, poking him directly in the chest. Her face was as red as his by this time. “Don’t lie to me!”

“I’m not!” The physical contact wasn’t enough to make him loose his composure.

One of the other Gryffindors sitting across from Harry remarked, “Perhaps we should just lock the two of ‘em up in the broom closet?” The other people in the room laughed.

Harry sighed. He couldn’t help but smile at the idea of the two of them in a broom closet.

“They’d probably shout each other to death,” Ginny smirked in Harry’s direction.

Ron got in Hermione’s face yelling, “What’s your problem?!” This obviously wasn’t just about a Prefect badge.

“YOU!” she yelled back. She was close enough to him that she could feel the temperature of his breath as he argued with her.

“Maybe,” Harry grinned at Ginny, “but at least Ron doesn’t know any damaging curses—”

Parvati added as she came through the portrait hole, “It’s Hermione you’ve got to look out for, she’s a real witch.” She laughed with Harry, Ginny, and the other interested Gryffindors.

Draco Malfoy followed on Parvati’s heels and overheard what she said about Hermione.

“What are you doing here?!” Ron demanded at the same time as Hermione demanded, “What do you want?!”

“Real witch? That mudblood bitch?” Draco raised an eyebrow in her direction.

Harry sprung from his seat demanding, “How did you get in here?!

Ginny laughed, “Why are you rhyming, Malfoy?”

“Got a Rhymeus curse on you there, Malfoy?” Hermione asked, looking him directly in the eyes. Neville burst out laughing and soon the entire common room was laughing at the Slytherin.

With furrowed brow Draco spat out the instructions he was to give Lavender and Ron. “All Prefects are charged to convene in the Great Hall in fifteen minutes. Since you were obviously weren’t at the first meeting, you need to be caught up on all the rules and regulations of Hogwarts as well as your duties.” He saw the defeat in Hermione’s eyes, knowing she craved the Prefect badge he had on his chest. He smiled malevolently.

Ron didn’t like the way he was looking at her at all. It was almost lustful and that, to Ron, was uncalled for. He didn’t want anyone to look at Hermione like that. “We’ll be there.”

Draco sneered, “Good,” then tore his eyes away from the pair, turning on his heels and excited the Gryffindor common room. He felt something to the effect of joy at the fact he’d been named Prefect and Hermione hadn’t been. At the same time he felt a dash of another emotion that was rather alien to him. He couldn’t put a name to it… remorse? compassion?

No. Slytherins, especially those of Malfoy descent were not ones to feel such an emotion. No, he hated her. Granger- just the word was enough to inflame his hatred. He wanted to hurt her. He wanted to see her in pain. He wanted to watch her suffer…but how to go about it?

She was a powerful witch, far excelling any other students in their year, probably even the seventh year students. Bugger her! The only way to get to her was when she was unaware and unprepared for attack.

If she was asleep, she wouldn’t be able to counter-curse him… The possibilities were endless. He decided to concoct a sleeping draught. He’d put it in a location that would be easy to access… in the study room. She’d probably want refreshment while immersing herself in studies. But how to get her to drink it… It’s not as if he could walk up to her with a cup of tea and get her to drink it without her being suspicious; she wasn’t that daft.

He needed someone that could do it for him…someone that naturally would be concerned about her. Ginny Weasley?

But he needed someone that wouldn’t stick around and study… Ron Weasley! He wouldn’t stay a moment longer than necessary. Draco sniffed at the thought of Ron. Ron wouldn’t be anywhere with Granger unless they could row…

Since Ron was nearly always in a fight with Granger, he’d want to get on her good side again and tea was a perfect peace offering…

That Friday evening, Ron went to apologize to Hermione and found her pouring over star charts. He stood at the doorway, observing her from afar and not ready to speak with her. No one else was in the study room, seeing as how it was a Friday night. She may have been cracked to be studying on a Friday night, but he was more cracked to just walk over to her when she was busy.

Knowing she wouldn’t give him the time of day, he retreated to the hallway where he saw Crabbe and Goyle walking past with drinks in their hands walking back from the great hall. “Perfect!” Ron thought. He’d just get her something to drink… That was a good idea right? Well, it couldn’t hurt.

Ron found the hot-water dispenser and tea packages Draco had carefully planted. Luckily no one else took the kind of tea that was Hermione’s favourite. Ron quickly emptied the contents into the cup and added hot water. Draco gleefully monitored from afar, following Ron back to the study room.

Ron sat across from Hermione barely able to make out her head from over the stacks of books on the table. “I er—” he started, clearing his throat. “Here. I brought you some tea. Thought you’d want a drink.”

Finally, she looked up from the star charts. Her eyes softened. “Thanks.” She took the cup. Draco gleamed. Ron gave her a weak smile. She sipped at the tea, but it was still too hot to drink.

After a few minutes, the tea was gone and her eyelids drooped. Ron told her, “You look really tired Hermione, maybe want to take a break?”

But she was out cold before he could finish his sentence. He wasn’t surprised that she had fallen asleep. She had fallen asleep in the study room, the library, or the common room on more than one occasion so he left her there, not wanting her to yell at him for disturbing her.

Draco sauntered over to where she slept, arms sprawled over her notes. He lifted an arm carelessly and let it drop with a thump on the desk. He flipped her over so her unconscious face was towards him. She was perfectly defenceless…and not soul around… But before he set about committing her bodily harm, he brushed the no longer bushy, but carefully straightened hair away from her brow. Perhaps thoughts of the pure intentions and concerns of her welfare expressed by Weasley leant to his short hesitation. He bent over her and kissed her on the brow.

The momentary hesitation didn’t exorcise the wicked intentions he designed for her.

Hermione moaned at his touch.

Before Draco could fulfil his evil intent, a group of seventh-year Slytherins passed by and entered, almost in shock at the sight of what Draco wanted to do.

“I don’t think your father would be too pleased to find out you were going to stuff a mudblood,” the largest Slytherin remarked coldly before Draco could get very far.

Draco smacked the side of her face. “This slag? No.” He smacked her on the face again and the Slytherins laughed at her expense. But Hermione had woken up and saw Draco’s fingers within in reach of her mouth. She bit him before he could smack her again and he screamed.

Dazed, she couldn’t comprehend the depravity of the situation she was in, but she knew she did NOT want to be caught straddled by Malfoy. She pushed him off her and spat to get the taste of his hand out of her mouth.

Drowsy, but conscious, she slurred, “Tastes like shit, Malfoy!”

He whipped around and barricaded her against the wall, placing his hands on the wall behind her on either side of her head. Caging her, he leaned in so close his nose nearly touched hers whispering, “Best shit you’ll ever have, Granger.”

She spat in his face and as he wiped the spit from his face, she ran from the room, disregarding the laughter of the Slytherins and forgetting about her books.

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