Mismatch Miracle - Dramione

Mismatch Miracle

It wasn't just him. Hermione Granger stood closer to tall people than she did to everyone else. She never thought about it, but it was true. Tall people's faces were high enough to be out of her space -- the distance moving up, not out -- so she could come close without smelling their breath, seeing their teeth, the spots on their noses. Short people stand close to tall people.

It wasn't just true between Hermione and Draco.

It was because of him that she hopped up on the library step-stool to get the book herself instead of asking him to hand it down to her. She might have asked it of someone else, but not him. By then, asking him for anything felt risky. It was a crack, an opening, prompting him to look down, half of his mouth curving into a dangerous grin.

"What is it you need, Granger?"

No, none of that. Not between them. The risk was becoming impossible to ignore.

But if she summoned the book with him standing so close to where it was shelved, it might have struck him in the head, provoking a yowl, an onslaught of questions, accusations, so she used the step-stool to reach it. That was exactly why these stools were scattered throughout the stacks.

It wasn't like he wasn't still taller than her after she stepped up. Her eyes were level with his nose instead of his chest. He could see into her face, note the changes in the teeth he'd once hexed, count every freckle on her nose if he cared to, inhale the scent of her, in the same way she was taking in the smell throbbing off the pulse points of his throat.

She knew then, at last, how close they had been standing, all the time.

"Got it," she said, stepping down with the book.

It was too late. The closeness had been revealed. Neither of them could unknow it.

-----------------------------

It's not like she'd had anything to drink herself that night, at the party in the eighth year common room where the grown boys were showing off, performing feats of strength, no magic allowed, only testosterone. There was arm wrestling, leg wrestling, and lifting each other off the ground. Draco was sober too, arriving late, following her inside, setting a stack of books on a desk, dark eyebrows raised at the pandemonium.

"Oh, give over, all of you," she called, standing with her fists on her hips, addressing a pile of boys who'd just toppled over trying to see how many of them could climb onto Gregory Goyle's back before he collapsed. "Raising a load isn't about strength. It's about smarts, understanding leverage and physics."

The pile writhed, groaning from their fall, but laughing at each other, at her.

Seamus Finnegan's face emerged out of the tangle of arms and legs. "Prove it, Hermione," he said. "Show us this savage leverage then. How many of us can you carry on your own back?"

She tossed her head. "That is not a very sophisticated test."

Seamus was getting to his feet. "Quit throwing shapes and show us. Start with a big man. Give old Goyle a chance to catch his breath then -- "

She interrupted with a loud huff. "I won't have some hulking drunk pawing at me -- "

"Fine, then use Malfoy," Seamus said. "He's nothing like hammered yet. You've just come in, haven't you Malfoy? Right. Up on Hermione's back and she'll walk you once around the room that way."

The crowd was chanting, clapping. "Gran-ger, Gran-ger, Gran-ger."

Draco laughed toward his feet. "How about I carry her around the room instead?" he offered.