He smiled wolfishly at her.
“In the meantime, I'll let you go running back to your precious Order with my information, and sustain myself with your delightful company.”
If Malfoy were trying to set Hermione on edge he was doing an excellent job of it.
As though the thought of consenting to whatever awful thing he wanted to do to her wasn't bad enough, having to keep dreading it almost felt worse.
She gritted her teeth and forced herself to breathe. She slid a hand behind her back and fisted it tightly, then forced herself to open her fingers slowly. Bracing herself. Clearing her mind.
This was better, she reasoned. The longer he waited to act, the more time she had to try to ensure his loyalty; to find a way to bring him to heel before he tired of her.
She nodded shortly.
“Alright. That's — generous of you.”
He laid a hand over his heart.
“You have no idea what joy it brings me to hear you say that,” he said with false elation.
Hermione's eyes narrowed. She couldn't understand him. His true motive was escaping her entirely. She hated how disadvantaged that made her.
“But you know...” said Malfoy suddenly looking contemplative. “Perhaps, you should give me something—”
Hermione stared.
“—to warm my cold heart,” he said leering. “A memory to keep me motivated.”
“What do you want?” she asked in a stiff voice. She started mentally calculating likely options. Maybe he'd make her strip. Or suck him off — she'd never done it before, she'd surely be terrible. Or come on her face. Or maybe he wanted her to stand there and let him curse her. Or just get to backhand her across the face in retribution for third year.
“You don't sound very enthusiastic,” Malfoy said. "I'm offended, truly."
Hermione tried to restrain herself from glaring at him.
“Would you like me to kiss you or just stand here and let you hex me?” she inquired in the most demure tone she could manage.
Malfoy gave a barking laugh. “My goodness, Granger. You are desperate.”
“I'm here. I assumed that was obvious.”
“So true,” he said nodding. “Well, I'm all dueled out for today. Let's see if that mouth of yours is capable of doing anything but talking.”
Hermione thought she might vomit, and the revulsion must have shown on her face. Malfoy smiled cruelly.
“Kiss me,” he said in clarification. “As a demonstration of your sincerity.”
He smirked at her, and didn't move. He just stood there, waiting for her to approach him.
Hermione's whole body felt drenched with cold terror at the thought of reaching out and touching him. Of having him touch her with those cold, pale, murderous hands of his.
Of pressing her mouth against his.
Standing near him without having her wand pointed at his heart felt as vulnerable as exposing her throat to wolf.
She hesitated. “How do you want me to kiss you?” she inquired.
“Surprise me,” he said, shrugging.
Surprise him. Well, that was an opening; an opportunity she had to capitalise on. She analysed him quickly.
He was goading her. The entire conversation seemed to be intentionally trying to make her angry with him. To see her writhe under the power he had over her. This kiss was probably intended to seal her animosity.
He expected her to be resistant and proud, unable to squash her hatred; so he could trick her into fueling her own punishment and keep her distracted by her emotions.
She couldn't give it to him.
She steeled herself. She would not lose.
She drew closer to him, studying his face carefully.
She had never been so close to him before. For someone so “eager” for her, he didn't look it. His irises were contracted. His eyes mostly grey. He seemed — amused.
The coil of fear in her spine felt like a needle being driven down her back. Her heart was beating so forcefully it felt as though it were bruising itself against her ribs.
She slid her arms up around his neck and pulled him down toward herself. He smirked and permitted it.
When their lips were almost touching she paused, half expecting to find a knife buried to the hilt in her stomach.
There was a brief moment of stillness between them — breathing slowly. Close enough for the air to ghost across each other's faces. His breath smelled like juniper, peppery and sharp like a fresh-cut evergreen. She studied that deadliness and coldness of his eyes. She wondered what he saw as he looked back.
Murderers are still men, she told herself.
Then she gave him a slow, sweet kiss.
She imagined how she'd do it for someone she felt affectionate toward. Sliding her hands up into his hair as she deepened it. She teased his lips with her tongue, and murmured slightly against his mouth. He tasted like gin.
It was clearly not what he had expected. Apparently surprises weren't really his thing. He stilled in visible astonishment the moment their lips softly met, and after a moment jerked away from her.
His eyes were darker now.
Hermione wasn't sure if she were pleased or concerned by that detail.
Her heart rate slowed somewhat.
His amusement had vanished, and he suddenly seemed to be considering her more seriously.