Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Bad Faith	By : angharad1143 Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 7649 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
- 7
The lights of the hotel glimmered before him, and Draco was grinding his teeth as he approached.

A shabby hotel. A Muggle hotel. Granted, the last place anyone on earth would look for him, but he
spent more time killing insects than he did sleeping.

The bint at the front desk was the same seventeen year-old who had been making cow’s eyes at him
since the night he checked in, and he muttered a reply to her bright, incessant questions as he strode down
a dingy hallway to his room. To be fair, the girl wasn’t that bad; it was that usually, after a hard night–or in
this case, a highly aggravating evening–he was in no mood to answer questions.

For what was likely the millionth time, he wondered what else he could have done, all those years
ago in Hogwarts. The anger, the hatred, the mistrust–worst of all, the hurt–in Hermione’s face haunted him.
That day in the glade...and just now...

He still saw no other way to keep everyone from guessing what it was he was planning to do. Had
been planning to do, really, for most of his life. Get out. Make it all stop.

True, he was not terribly fond of Potter. Weasley got on his nerves. But most of it had been a show,
a never-ending masquerade for his father, the redoubtable, almighty, goddamned King of all Wizardry,
Lucius Malfoy. Of all the people Draco dealt with, Lucius must first and foremost never suspect. And Lucius
hadn’t, for a long, long time.

It had gotten so that it almost was Draco, to say such cruel things, to torment for the seeming pleasure
of it. It was an effort to pull himself out of it, to remember why he did what he did. It was in the midst of such
an effort that he’d carved nil desperandum into the back of his prefect’s badge. So he wouldn’t forget.

When Lucius was captured after the abortive attack at the Ministry, Draco had thought it was over.
He’d breathed. Yes, Voldemort still lived, but Draco no longer had to pretend. He could take off the mask.

It was a long, long road, and he got tired just thinking of it.

His room smelled of mildew and Draco did his damnedest to ignore it, stripping off his clothes,
pausing to admire the slightly too-small shirt Hermione had given him. Thick wool, dark blue, warm as toast
and made by her own hands. Or magic. Either way, it was well done.

The shower didn’t smell much better than the rest of the place, and the water was thick with
sediment, but it was better than nothing, and this evening’s activities had left him a bit worse for wear.
Kicking off his boxers, he turned on the water and endured the icy downpour. It took forty-five minutes for
the water to heat up, and he intended to be asleep in his hopefully insect-free bed long before then.

Shower time was thinking time, and as usual, his thoughts were of the girl that haunted his thoughts
more thoroughly than ghosts haunted Hogwarts. Hermione. Muggle-born. Mudblood. Infuriating know-it-all.

He was completely hopeless. Lost.

And he talked to himself in the most disgusting romance-novel platitudes whenever he thought about
her. She was everything he was not. Forthright, honest, selfless, fair, defender of all that was right and good...

Whereas he usually acted in his own interests. Even in this–spying, risking his neck for every little
tidbit of information that came his way–he was serving Draco Malfoy. He saw no point of joining the losing
side of any war, and whether Lucius realized it or not, the Death Eaters were on the losing side. The good
guys always won, eventually.

It also helped that the sane good guys vastly outnumbered the sane bad guys. There were a few that
were as coldbloodedly calculating as Lucius. Not many. Most were bloodthirsty cretins, easily ordered about,
easily led, easily disposed of. It was a shame that his father’s cunning was overruled by his paranoia and
relentless bigotry. Draco had lived too many years among Muggle-borns and halfbloods to fully believe they
were inferior. Hell, Granger had creamed him annually on every exam. If she was supposed to be inferior,
what did that make him?

The cold water beaded and ran on his broad chest, and he was surprised there were no icicles
forming. The water was frigid.

Muttering imprecations, he stepped out of the shower and dried off with a towel that didn’t cover
anywhere near enough of him. He knotted it tightly at his waist and had a quick dry shave, using the dregs
of his shaving potion to relieve the sting and keep the skin smooth. It was a neat trick to dodge the clotting
pinpricks the splinters had left, and he wished to Merlin someone would invent a potion that prevented the
hair from growing at all. Shaving was an almighty pain in the ass.

Draco snapped off the water and froze.

The television was on.

He hadn’t turned the television on.

Television, as it happened, was his favorite Muggle device. Even though this particular television
had a set of rabbit ears that required him to assume contortionist positions to catch a channel decently, and
watch Charmed. What a joke that show was.

Picking his wand up off the back of the toilet, Draco eased the bathroom door open. He hated to face
trouble without any pants on.

The room was dark, except for the flickering of television; silent except for the laugh track on the
sitcom.

A small shadow stood on the side of the room, and he was an inch from hexing it–

“Draco?”

“Hermione? Lumos.”

The bedside lamp flickered on and he stared at the girl, who was predictably wringing her hands.

Now that she was here, Hermione thought dryly, it was a lot more difficult to say what needed to be
said.

“I’m sorry,” she said, before he could pick one of a hundred questions. “I was horrible to you, and
you’re risking so much. It’s hard to–I mean, I don’t know you anymore, and you were such a prat at
Hogwarts...and I had no idea...and today, after you were trying to help the Mrs. Bourne...you kissed me,” she
added, almost accusingly. “How could you never tell me, and how could you be so nasty to me, calling me
Mudblood all the time and baiting Ron, trying to get Harry in trouble or killed so many times...and you kissed
me!” Hermione paused, brow furrowed. “You’re only wearing a towel.”

He didn’t know whether to laugh or yell at her.

“That’s what happens when I hear the television on, and know that I didn’t turn it on,” he replied.
“Did you get bored?”

“It was too quiet. I didn’t think what you’d do if you heard it.” She glanced at the towel again. “I
suppose it could have been worse.”

Yes, it could have. Normally he would have come out hexing everything in sight and grabbing for
his pants. Paranoia was the mother of survival.

He realized he was staring at her and looked away, feeling the silence build like a thunderhead. Now
it was awkward, and he was tired, and she was gorgeous...

“Why did you kiss me?” Hermione asked gently, and it was suddenly very hard to meet her soft
brown eyes.

“Why–and how–did you follow me?” He replied.

“Answer my question and I’ll answer yours.”

Touché.

“Hermione, you shouldn’t–“ Draco began desperately.

“Why?”

Answering that question would end nowhere good. He’d been a git at Hogwarts, and the fact that she
was less than fond of him was no surprise. He was already in over his head with this girl. Idiocy, idiocy. He
did not need this complication.

“You should leave. It’s not safe.” He said bluntly, gripping the knot at his hip. Wouldn’t do for the
towel to fall off now.

“Draco.” Hermione made no move to leave, and he could feel color rising in his cheeks as he stared
at her, all shades of brown and gold in the dim light.

“I thought I answered that fairly conclusively already,” he muttered, almost too low for her to hear.

“And if you can figure out how I got here, you should have been told,” she said, laughing softly to
take the bite out of her words. “Put on some clothes. Merlin.”

Draco smiled at her, the hint of the predator returning. “But then that would be disappointing,
wouldn’t it?”

“Show-off.”

“Voyeur.”

He had missed sparring with her. She was one of the few people that could keep up with him
verbally, rather than simply tackling him to end the fight.

“You followed me here...why?” He asked softly, advancing on her.

“To apologize.” Hermione replied steadily, trying desperately to keep her eyes off the exposed line
from leg to hip where his towel gapped.

He was too close, and she backed up into the wall.

“Bad strategy, sweeting,” he growled. “Now you’ve got no where to go.”

“Why did you kiss me?” She breathed, staring up at his face. The face of a naughty angel now, those
chiseled lips curving as he memorized every line of her cheeks and jaw, inhaling to imprint the scent of her
hair on his memory. Circe, at least he would have that much.

“Why did you follow me?” He murmured, bending to press his lips against hers.

This was a bad, bad thing. But she tasted like sunlight and cinnamon under his mouth, and his hands
plunged recklessly into her hair, drawing her to him, in, down...her mouth opened hesitantly and he took it,
ravaging the sweet dark space, muscles in his neck and jaw working at he devoured her. Exactly as he’d
wanted to for so long, exactly–except for the towel–how he dreamed it would happen.

Even so, he wasn’t fooling himself that she had secretly loved him for years on end.

Her hand traced down his slippery back–such a small hand–and his brain abruptly went on holiday.

One last effort.

Draco wrenched back, chest heaving.

“We shouldn’t,” he said roughly. “You’re in danger every second you’re with me. You should go.”

Hermione’s smile was heartbreakingly sweet.

“Doesn’t matter,” she said huskily, twining her fingers in his pale hair. “I think both our questions
have been answered. You’re not the same Draco I knew.”

And there was something more...something that tickled at her relentlessly when she thought of him.
A touch of nobility, perhaps, that she had never seen before.

“Yes, this Draco has people on both sides trying to kill him,” he informed her, breaking into her
thoughts.

“I’m willing to risk it,” Hermione said bluntly. “I’m not entirely useless. Shut up and kiss me.”

Well, then.

Author’s Notes

Well, back to the old stuff, with a few crucial lines thrown in here and there. So if you noticed any
inconsistencies, please let me know. I haven’t done my disclaimers in a while, so here they are: these are
not my characters, they are JK Rowling’s, and all credit for their creation goes to her. Thanks also, again,
to the Harry Potter Lexicon, the University of Notre Dame translation site, and to my reviewers, who
motivate me to keep going. Review, please review.
- 5
- 6
- 7
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Bad Faith