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Tango	By : Alcoholic_Rootbeer Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 18416 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, and I will not make a profit from this story.

Chapter List
- 18
- 19
- 20
A special thank you to LondonsLegend for the beta work! We should find out sometime tonight or tomorrow what the results of the Dramione Awards are. Either way, it has been an honor for Tango to be in the "Best Romance" category, and I'm honored to be up against some amazing contenders.
Hope ya'll love this chapter. You've earned it. Seriously. If you've stuck around this long, you're about to get a cookie.
~A.
"A woman knows when she looks into a man's eyes and sees someone else."
~Unknown.
Stage Right: Hermione Granger and Ginny Weasley
Setting: Dance Studio Uno
Three days passed and no one, especially not Hermione, had seen hide nor hair of Draco Lucius Malfoy. He didn't show up to dance lessons, he hadn't returned home to retrieve his things - at least, not according to Astoria, who had shown up to try to talk to him, but to no avail. According to Señor Diggle, the lessons were still fully paid for, but he couldn't force a student to show up, 'no matter how enticing of a teacher' he was. Astoria had left the dance studio in a fit of tears as Hermione and Ginny exchanged knowing glances. Ron had confessed in record time, though he claimed he hadn't initiated any of it.
"D'you think Malfoy's alright?" asked Ginny quietly as the girls gathered their things.
Hermione recalled the blazing fury in his eyes when he'd left Madam Puddifoot's without so much as a word to her. It was then she found Ron hurling up slugs in the bathroom, Astoria coaxing him and patting him on the back all the while.
"I have a sneaking suspicion he hasn't gone completely ghost," Hermione grumbled as she watched Blaise Zabini exchange adoring kisses with his wife. "If I don't show up for next lesson, assume I've been murdered and my body has been disposed of."
"Huh?" asked Ginny, only half-listening. Hermione straightened her shoulders, threw the bag she carried with her over her shoulder, and trudged over to Zabini, thoroughly determined.
"Ahem," she cleared her throat when he didn't so much as glance her way.
"Miss Granger," said Daphne, trying her best to sound approachable, though it was tense.
"Oh, let's just skip the formalities, shall we? I flubbed up. I'm adult enough to admit it." She tried to catch eyes with Blaise, but he stared off in the distance as if she were an ugly, dead mole he'd rather not have to stare at. "I have a sneaking suspicion, however, that you two know exactly where Draco is hiding out."
Blaise snorted. "Is that so?" He still refused to look at her, instead holding his eyesight over her head. "Daph, do you hear something?"
"Blaise, act like an adult," Daphne scolded, swatting him on the arm with her delicate hand. She brought her attention back to Hermione. "Don't you think if we knew where Draco was, we would have told Astoria?"
"No, actually, I don't." Hermione crossed her arms. "Considering the three of you have no problems withholding secrets from her, I certainly don't think you would bestow that sort of information without Draco's permission."
"And even if we did know, which we don't, what makes you think we would tell you?" asked Blaise, now observing the immaculate cuticles of his fingernails.
"Because someone has to talk to him."
"And you don't think we've tried?" asked Daphne with frustration. "Draco has the temper of a bull, and he's twice as hard headed. He won't listen to reason."
"Exactly," said Hermione. "Which is why I never planned on approaching him with such notions."
Daphne and Blaise carefully looked to one another as if to ask each other what they thought. To Hermione's surprise, it was Blaise to say, "Jot this down."
Grinning, she said, "I'm all ears."
"Actually, you're all hair, but that's of little consequence…"
"Zabini…"

Stage Left: Draco Malfoy and a bottle of firewhiskey
Setting: The White Lace Chateau, his mother's Summer home in Ireland.
Draco Malfoy stared up at the ceiling as the room around him spun wildly in his vision. He really wished it wouldn't, but he hardly had any control; that was the firewhiskey's doing, and it was quite proud of the swirling vortex that made Draco sick to his stomach every time he moved his head, even just a little.
Part of him was sure he stunk to high heaven, and the other part of him couldn't care less. He was hiding out, so he didn't reckon anyone would show up to find out. His throat parched and his body dehydrated, he rolled over on the bed only to fall off of it and onto the floor. "Oof!" Popping his head up, he rubbed his sore nose and, with wobbly knees, pulled himself upright and stumbled his way to the bathroom. As he leaned against the counter, he took a good, hard look at himself.
Nevermind the tousled hair and unbecoming stubble; Draco wore a grim expression worthy of any broken man.
One would think finding his bride-to-be locking lips with his childhood nemesis' assistant would be the culprit, however - it wasn't that. Not even a little bit. It had everything to do with the fact that, upon witnessing it, he felt nothing. Not a twinge of anger. Not an inkling of hatred. Nothing. - Oh, sure, he was furious it was with Ron Weasley, but the fact that Astoria had kissed someone other than Draco did none of what it should have. He knew he was supposed to feel upset, betrayed, wronged. Really, the only part that seemed upset was his pride; being cheated on, in any capacity, certainly was a blow to the ego.
Still, with his dreams and the way Granger's eyes made his stomach churn, Draco knew he had no room to talk. There was something crawling out of the depths of his desires, and it was scrambling for purchase against his morals. Damn it, it felt like Hermione was literally crawling under his skin, burning up his epidermis and making him itch to see her.
That's really the true reason he'd tucked himself away so no one would find him, including Astoria. Yes, he knew he needed to talk to her, but he knew that the moment he did, he would have to admit to himself that he didn't blame her, not even a little bit. It wasn't as if he'd been the best husband-to-be. Quite the opposite, in fact. And he wanted so desperately to be that man, but who was he kidding? All of his thoughts kept swirling back to Hermione Granger.
He took another pull from his bottle and decided that perhaps a bath would be best. Maybe he could drown himself - quite literally - and all of his problems would drown with him.
It was hard to put the bottle down long enough to peel his clothes off, but he did so, reluctantly, and ran the faucet at full blast, testing the temperature. As he watched the tub fill, his thoughts fell to Hermione again. Damn it. Damn her. Damn her curly hair and her know-it-all attitude and her jiggly breasts and adorable smile and...fuck. Bad Draco. Very bad. Deplorable.
He lowered himself into the tub slowly, and just when he was submerged to his shoulders, he realized he'd forgotten the bottle of firewhiskey. "Fuck it all. Accio my damn bottle!" The container flew across the room into his hand, and Draco smirked. A bit of wandless magic every now and again, especially while drunk, was fun.
He leaned his head back against the basin as water tickled behind his ears. The warmth, mixed with his already blurred vision, made him extremely tired, and he was happy to take another sip of his alcohol, thinking how he would love nothing more than to disappear, go under an assumed name, and live like a hermit. The only issue with that was he would be far too handsome for someone not to recognize him.
You need to face your issues eventually, an annoying little voice that sounded very close to Hermione's whispered in the back of his mind.
Bugger off, he told it, No one asked for your opinion.
He moved his free hand under the water, resting it on his thigh. There was a slight twitch in his groin as he thought how easy it would be to wank it. And who would stop him, really? No one, that's who. He'd kept himself from it for the last three days because he feared of who he might fantasize about, but in his drunken stupor, he could hardly care less. Slowly, his hand moved closer and closer to his aching cock, and before long, his fingers curled around the firmness between his thighs, and he sighed anxiously.
His thoughts shamefully turning to Hermione, he conjured up an unconventional image of her as he began to stroke himself; in his mind, she wore a loose tank top and the shortest of shorts, dancing in Dance Studio Uno. Her face was free of all makeup, and her hair bounced wildly against her shoulders as she practiced the steps. There was something so beautiful, so captivating, about her this way. It wasn't just the way her breasts bounced or her hips swayed; she looked so carefree in his mind. Her smile lit up a room the same way it had that night dancing with the Red Hat Society. Her determination was inspiring, and his hand around his cock moved fluidly in the water, causing him to hiss a breath of elation.
Merlin, if only this image were real. If only she was really here so that he might know what it was like to feel her pressed against him again...he knew this was wrong. Things with Astoria weren't fixed, and he hadn't helped in that department. Hell, he didn't even know how to fix something as broken as them. But he could enjoy this - these private moments in his mind where no one could see what a despicable bastard he was.
"Draco, are you here?" the vision in his mind called out; the corners of his lips turned up in a smirk.
"All here for you," he muttered in his drunken state, tightening his grip around his prick.
Knock, knock, knock.
Draco pried his eye open, glaring at the door. Was it the chateau's house elf? "Blinky, whatever it is, go away. I don't want to be disturbed."
"Draco, is that you?" a feminine voice asked from the other side. "I'm coming in!"
One moment, Draco was alone in the bathroom with his hand around his cock - the next, he was not alone in the bathroom, but he still had his hand around his cock, all the same. Someone turned the handle and barged right on in, taking up space in the doorway and glaring with a determined expression worthy of Draco's fantasies.
"Hermi-Granger?" Draco shot up in the water, releasing his cock in a strangled cry as he flailed about, trying to gather his wits. "What the shite!" He dropped the bottle of whiskey into the bathtub and cursed loudly as the contents began to mix with the bathwater. Growling under his breath, he shot her an incredulous look. "What the Hell are you doing in my bathroom?"
If faces could tell stories, Hermione's would have been a mix of horror, surprise, suspense, and a little nudity. All in all, her story would have been rated for mature audiences only as her eyes drifted over the naked-in-a-tub-of-bathwater Draco Malfoy. His hair was slicked back by the water like his days of youth, yet it did anything but make him look younger. He was all steely eyes, taut muscle, and glowing, pale skin. And even though the water rippled at the surface, she could also see the stimulated, lengthy appendage bobbing between his thighs.
"Oh my." She spun around quickly and averted her gaze. "Oh, oh dear. Oh….oh! Oh!"
"Keep shouting 'oh' like that and someone is bound to think we're shagging," Draco stated in amusement. "Tell me, do you just walk in on everyone in the bathroom?"
"Oh!" she shouted again, but this time in contempt. "I had no idea this was a bathroom, I assure you!" Hermione patted her cheeks, attempting to drown out her embarrassment. "When I arrived, the door was unlocked, and the house elves pointed me in this direction and I-I..."
The sound of water slapping along the basin could be heard, and she fidgeted on the spot as she heard wet footsteps approach from behind. A hand reach past her to the door before shutting it and reaching for a towel hanging from a knob on it. A warm breath tickled her cheek. "Might not want to turn around for a moment," he said in a husky, slurrish way. Hermione could only nod in reply before the scent of cinnamon and alcohol was gone, along with his form.
Some moments later, he said, "Alright. All safe."
Hermione wasn't sure she wanted to turn around at all. She'd come here to talk some sense into the man that had disappeared for three days straight, but now that she was here, and he was so close and naked, all of her thoughts on helping him with Astoria took a nosedive out the window. A very selfish part of her, one she didn't like to admit to, nearly wished for him to shove her up against that door and have his way with her out of frustration as a rebound. The other, more logical side of her shook its head from the corner of her psyche and told her she needed to purchase herself a better collection of tawdry romance novels.
Slowly, she turned around and met his gaze; Draco wore only a set of black lounge pants and was currently toweling his hair dry. The blond tresses sat across his forehead, darkened by the water. It gave him an altogether stormier look, setting off his blue-grey eyes and white-blond stubble along his chin. Hermione had never seen Malfoy so unkempt; it was sexy.
"Well?" he asked expectantly. "Is there something I can help you with, Granger? Are you out selling dragon-scout cookies?"
"What?" she asked in a daze.
"What's the reason for your visit?"
"Oh." She blinked. Yes, her business here...what was it? Oh! Yes. She remembered now. "I've come to knock some sense into you."
The drunken Malfoy snorted a laugh. "S'that so?"
Hermione narrowed her eyes. She didn't enjoy being laughed at. She marched directly up to him, swatted him on the back of his head with her palm, and stepped back a meter or so. "That's so!"
Draco's eyebrows creased together, and he lazily reached to the back of his head, rubbing it gingerly. "Merlin, Granger. No need to be so literal."
"Well, it seems to be the only thing that works on you!" she said with an air of diligence. "So…" Oh, goodness. Was that a delicious V at the juncture of his hips? Focus! "So you're going to sober up, march your bum over to Malfoy Manor, and you're going to sort this out with Astoria, one way or another!"
Draco rolled his eyes, half smirking as he stumbled back and leaned against the wall. "That so?" He all out laughed at her. "And who's gonna make me?"
"I am."
"Why?" He raised a curious eyebrow, folding his arms over his chest. "What's it to you, Hermione? Why should you care what goes on between Astoria and I?"
"Because…because it's my fault you two are in this mess!" she shouted, feeling all of her frustrations spill out of her at once. The filter between her brain and mouth had taken a much needed break. If there was a sign where the filter was supposed to be, it would have read, 'Out on holiday. Will return when guilt is gone.' Hermione stomped her foot. "I outed Daphne's secret to everyone at the luncheon when it wasn't my place! If I hadn't done that, perhaps Astoria wouldn't have kissed Ron, and you wouldn't be here, wasting time when you should be there either working out your problems or ending things like a man would instead of a child hiding behind a bottle." She gestured to the floating bottle in the tub.
Hermione knew her words had struck a chord, because Draco's eyes turned to slits, and he took one wobbling, menacing step toward her. "I am not a child."
"Funny, you have an interesting way of showing it," she taunted.
"Why are you really here, Hermione?" he said, conviction in his tone. "Because I'm pretty sure it (hiccup) sure as Hell isn't to encourage me to work it out with Astoria."
"And why wouldn't it be?" she asked, placing her hands on her hips.
"Do I really need to spell it out for you?"
"By all means," she played dumb as she pursed her lips.
Draco took another step forward, and another. The closer he got, the more Hermione's heart raced inside her ribcage. When he was little more than inches away, his eyes ghosted down her hair, her eyes, her nose, to her lips. Flexing his hands at his side, he paused a considerable moment before, nearly defeated, he sighed and hung his head. "What are you really doing here, Hermione?"
She thought about his question, really giving it a ponder, before she answered. "I suppose...I was worried about you."
"Why?"
"Why shouldn't I be? We're friends, aren't we?"
His head cocked up at that, and their eyes met. His seemed to search hers for something, but she wasn't sure what he was trying to find. "I'm fine," he muttered, giving a nonchalant shrug. "Go home."
"No." She reached out and grabbed his wrist. The moment their skin touched, it was like an electric bolt straight to her heart. "Draco, you should talk about it. You need to talk about it."
"Not with you."
His words stung her like a slap to the face. "Why not with me?" she asked, tightening her hold on him, even as he tried to pry himself away.
"Don't be daft. We both know why."
"No, I don't-"
"Really?" he interrupted her. "So you don't feel this, too?"
As his eyes raked down her form, she felt heat blossom over her skin. "Feel? Feel what?"
"Hmph. Deny it all you want, but we both know there's this - thing - between us. Something like a flesh-eating disease, but it's a thing." He wrapped his hand around her wrist, now, pulling her closer. "It's eating at you, eating at me, eating at our dreams-" He seemed to read her expression, because he said, "Yes, Granger, I know all about those sexy dreams you've been having of me." The alcohol loosened his tongue. "Ones involving whipped cream and making you a meal…" His voice trailed off, and he wet his lips with his tongue. Hermione had never felt herself become aroused so quickly; her knickers were soaked.
"H-How do you know about those?" she whispered.
Draco smirked. "You moan in your sleep, Hermione." One hand came up, the one that wasn't holding onto her wrist for dear life, and he trailed his fingers down her jaw at an agonizingly slow pace. "And I can't even deny I dream about you, too. It's sickening, really." Hermione felt her eyes flutter shut, but her vision had already unfocused by now. It took everything in her not to crumble to her knees.
"You dream about me?" she heard herself ask. Her voice sounded far off.
"All the bloody time," he said, his lips against her cheek now. "I hate it. And I hate you. I can't get you out of my head. Every time I try, I just keep slipping back into old habits, and there you are." There was a long pause, followed by a seriousness in his tone. "So you see, I can't go back to Astoria. Not until I get you out of my system."
It was everything Hermione had wanted to hear, and yet, as he said it, she felt awful. Just awful. "Draco...I really think you should talk to-"
"Shh," he commanded, and she fell silent once more. "Why are you here, Hermione?" His lips were dangerously close now. So close she could feel his stubble brush against her face. He sounded desperate for an answer.
"Because I was worried about you."
"Worried? About me? Doubtful."
"It's true-" She turned her head to face him head on, forgetting momentarily where his mouth was. Their lips brushed against each other's for only a second, but it was enough for her breath to hitch and his to exhale. The next moment, their lips were together again, but firmer, deliberate. Hermione found herself being pulled against him, one of his hands curling around her waist while the other glided down her neck with a delicate touch.
Hermione gasped against his mouth - they were kissing. Truly kissing, and she didn't know if she could function long enough to form a coherent sentence to tell him how wrong this was. But oh, he tasted lovely, even with the cinnamon after-taste of the firewhiskey. He tasted of delight, and sin, and intelligence -things that one would normally find intangible but now were very much real along the palate of his tongue.
Briefly, she wondered how much of this was him and how much of it was the alcohol. The guilt. The rebound. It was with this thought that she managed to pull away and take a step back, meeting him eye to eye. "I...you should talk to Astoria."
Quickly, before she could find herself lost in his eyes again, she backed away, trying not to take in the discontented expression on his face. She left just as abruptly as she had entered, taking with her a mixed sense of elation and terror.
What the Hell had just happened?
Please leave me your thoughts!
A.
- 18
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- 20
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