All I Want

blue movies on ff.net "Mistress." The house-elf's eyes are as huge as dinner plates, imploring and terrified. "It is Master Draco, he is not eating. Mimsy tells him he has to or he will get sick, but he is not listening, he yells at Mimsy to take the tray away" "It is not your place to tell my son what he should and should not do, elf," I say coldly. The trembling creature falls to the floor. "Mimsy is sorry," it squeaked. "Mimsy did not mean to- please forgive Mimsy, Mistress-" "Enough. Back to the kitchens." After it has vanished with a loud crack, I turn to my husband. Lucius is sitting in his favorite armchair, deeply engrossed in today's issue of the Daily Prophet. He gives no outward indication that he has heard the exchange. "Lucius." "Mmm?" "Our son is not eating." He lowers the paper, arching an eyebrow. "Perhaps he is not hungry, then? Narcissa, I wish you would not fret about the littlest things. The boy's spoiled enough as it is-" "Shall I remind you," I interrupt, "of how you ran through the crowd screaming for him during the battle of Hogwarts? How tightly you held him in your arms? Do not attempt to fool me into believing you yourself do not have a soft spot for the boy. He has not had a bite in two days, Lucius." Something flickers in the depths of his cool gray eyes. He sighs with patented resignation, puts the Prophet down, and together we exit the parlor and ascend the curving stone staircase. Draco's door is locked. Irritated, Lucius raps sharply on its polished mahogany surface. "Draco?" No response. "Merlin's beard, child, you did not survive the War just so you could starve yourself to death, surely?" A vein begins to throb at the side of his neck. My husband is not a patient man. "Draco, answer me!" "I'm not hungry!" a muffled voice yells from inside the room. "Rubbish," said Lucius. "Let us in." "No- leave me alone!" "Why, you little-" "Lucius." I lay a soothing hand on his arm. With my free hand I point my wand at the keyhole and murmur, "Alohomora." The door swings open; we step in. Lucius swears viciously. We are looking at a disaster zone. The king-sized bed is a mess, blankets, pillows and sheets strewn haphazardly about. A small table and an armchair have been overturned. The carpet is littered with glass- the remains of several small but expensive figurines that previously occupied the mantelpiece. The velvet-and-lace curtains have been ripped from the windows and now lie in a sad heap on the floor. A pile of books is smoldering in the fireplace, their charred edges glowing gold. Perhaps most shocking of all is the state of the portraits on the walls. They have been ferociously slashed, as if with a knife, bearing no trace of their former occupants. In the midst of all this wreckage stands my son, frozen in the act of throwing a crystal dragon at what should have been a closed door. His normally impeccable blond hair is disheveled and he is still wearing the severe black robes of battle. He stares at us with wild eyes. I rush towards him but he jumps back with a yelp. Horribly disconcerted, I stop, my hand over my wildly beating heart. "Draco?" "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO THIS ROOM?" Lucius bellows, oblivious to his son's unbalanced state of mind. "F- father, I-" "DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MUCH ALL THIS COST? And- good grief- your grandfather's portrait- how could- WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?" "That will be quite enough, Lucius," I say loudly. He falls silent, breathing heavily, possibly still too overcome with shock to continue his diatribe. I concentrate on my son, trembling slightly. "Draco." His head jerks at the sound of his name. "Why aren't you eating?" "Not- not hungry," he mutters. I inch closer and feel a pang. His cheeks are hollow, his complexion sickly and his eyes rimmed by dark circles underneath. What has happened to my boy to reduce him to this gaunt shadow of his former self? He had seemed fine afterNo, I suddenly realize. He had been deathly quiet from the time we left Hogwarts, after the final battle, and he had stormed up to his room the moment we got to the Manor. Lucius and I had been so busy for the past two days, submitting to interrogation, contacting friends and relatives, helping wrap up loose ends in Wiltshire, that we had not thought to check on him. "Do you want to talk about it?" I ask weakly. "I don't want to bloody talk about it!" he yells, and immediately I stretch out my hand to my side in a restraining gesture before Lucius can berate him for talking to his mother like that. "I don't want to bloody do anything! I just want to stay here, I want to die-" The crystal dragon slides from his grip, shattering into a thousand pieces. My horrified gaze is dragged to his bare feet, cut by the myriad amounts of broken glass and oozing blood. "Oh, Draco, I'm sure whatever it is we can-" "NO! YOU CAN'T DO ANYTHING!" His shouts have reached a frenzied fever pitch. "You can't do anything, Mother, you can't fix this! No one can! It's too late- I- she- she-" He stops, shoulders shaking. I glance back helplessly at Lucius, whose brows are knit in consternation. "Draco," he says slowly, finally, "if by 'she' you are referring to Pansy Parkinson, she has been released from St. Mungo's. She is all ri-" "Pansy Parkinson?" Draco stares at his father in abject shock. "You think I give a rat's arse about that cow?" "Then who are you talking about?" Lucius, who rather fancies the idea of Draco marrying the Parkinson girl, asks snappishly. Draco snickers. "No, of course you don't know. Merlin, you probably wouldn't even- approve-" The look on his pale face is almost maniacal. "It's just not done, is it? Me going to pieces for- for her- I never knew- all these years and I never realized until- damn it, how was I supposed to know?" "Draco, please," I implore him, "lie down. We'll take care of the cuts on your feet, and the elves can bring you tea and biscuits, and when you're feeling better we can go to Diagon Alley to buy that new broom you wanted-" "ALL I WANT IS HER!" he screams in anguish. "BRING HER BACK- I WANT HER BACK-" "Sweetheart, I-" My voice breaks on a half-sob. I can't bear to watch my son like this and be unable to comfort him. "I- really have no idea who you're talking about, if you could just-"

"Why didn't he protect her?" An untouched vase on the mantelpiece explodes from the sheer force of Draco's emotions. "If he's such a bigshot, why couldn't he save her? HE KILLED YOU-KNOW-WHO, DIDN'T HE?" The chandelier is swaying dangerously from side to side, even though there is no wind. "WHY COULDN'T HE- FUCKING- SAVE- HER? SHE WAS HIS FRIEND!" Automatically I open my mouth to scold him for using that vulgar word, but I snap it shut once realization- and a memory- set in. We were in the Great Hall with the rest of the survivors. Draco perched on the edge of the Slytherin House table while I ran my wand over the various scratches and bruises on his face and body, murmuring healing spells. "If it isn't the conquering hero," he drawled, and I looked around to see Harry Potter and that Weasley boy passing by us. They stopped in their tracks. "Where's Granger run off to? She never could stay away from the library too long-" Instead of replying, they stared at him with dull, haunted, bloodshot eyes that had seen too much, wept too much. I actually froze as comprehension dawned, my hand fluttering to a standstill over Draco's chest, temporarily halted in its search for injuries. I felt it then- underneath my fingertips, my son's heart, for a long drawn-out moment, actually stopped beating.
"Draco," I whisper, "you're talking about the Granger girl, aren't you?" It's as if hearing her name is the catalyst. He lets out a strangled wail that wrenches at my heart and crumples to the floor, heaving huge, gasping, ragged sobs, the pent-up tears finally streaming down his cheeks. "I didn't know, I didn't know," he rasps, over and over again. "Stupid little know-it-all didn't even stick around long enough for me to realize it- five bloody years with her and I never knew how much I-" I embrace him. At seventeen, he is a man, taller than I am when we are standing, but he feels so small and frail in my arms. I wish I could turn back time for him, take away all his pain, change the world so that he would never be unhappy, never have to break like this But there is only so much a mother can do. "How could she die?" he asks hoarsely. "How could she die? I love her." For a while there is nothing but the sound of Draco's weeping as I stare into the fireplace, until at last I hear footsteps padding across the carpet, crunching the broken glass and then stopping, and I look up and see Lucius bending slightly over us, his hand resting on his son's shoulder.

Because of Chestnuts and Cherry Stains

bex-chan on ff.net On the first Christmas Draco spent with the Order of the Phoenix, he'd locked himself inside one of the bedrooms in Grimmauld Place, and refused to leave until the sounds of Arthur Weasley's laughter and the snaps of crackers had faded. When he'd finally emerged some twenty hours later in the early hours of Boxing Day morning, he'd found a plate of Christmas dinner waiting on the table, charmed to stay warm, and at the side had been a little piece of card with his name scribbled across it like a scar. For reasons he would never understand, it had reminded him of the Dark Mark embedded into his left forearm, and he'd searched the cupboards for something that wasn't remotely festive. After finding a can of beans, which he didn't bother to heat up, he returned to the bedroom and ate them alone in the company of his shadow and silence. It was only on January 2nd, when Molly Weasley had yanked down the final noose of tinsel, that Draco freed himself of his self-imposed seclusion. Everything went back to normal fairly quickly; food rations became fixed again, smiles gave way to frowns, and the Death Eaters kept killing people. The only thing that changed, and Draco wouldn't realise it until March, was that Granger never called him 'Ferret' again, and her forever-pensive eyes looked somehow softer. They reminded him of chestnuts sometimes. Especially when it was cold. He would also realise in June that Granger's handwriting matched the kind on the card that had been left with the Christmas dinner, and his confusion about that would bother him relentlessly for weeks, but not enough to encourage him to demand her reasoning. . . On the second Christmas Draco spent with the Order of the Phoenix, he had intended to repeat his first, and had even managed to stash away a few tins of beans ready. The only issue with that was his roommate; Longbottom. When Grimmauld Place had become a little too crowded, a group of the Order had moved into Remus and Tonks' home, including the Twatty Trio, Longbottom, Lovegood, the Weasley twins, himself, and a few others. Despite Draco's endless attempts to remind Longbottom that they were far from friends or even acquaintances, Neville still found it necessary on Christmas Day morning to explain the many traditions he enjoyed and various dull Christmas incidents that had happened before. Before the War. After Draco had been subjected to yet another tale about Longbottom dropping the turkey on his foot, he was contemplating using a scarf to throttle the nattering Gryffindor, but his murderous thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door, and Granger walked in without waiting for an invitation. He scrutinised her carefully from head to toe, as he often did now. Her hair was even wilder and bushier than usual; sticking out at bizarre angles and completely chaotic around her face. Her cheeks were pink and flustered, and even her clothes were a bit ruffled, with multiple food stains. Apparently she'd been helping the Weasley mother with the cooking, and it reminded Draco of all those Potions lessons when she would get completely frazzled, but there would always be a composed hardness to her expression, like she refused to let her stress show on her face. Perhaps he recognised it because he did the same thing. "Neville, dinner's ready," she said, folding her arms and resting her weight against the doorframe. And then she grinned lightly and winked. "I've put you next to Luna." "Hermione, you are a star," Longbottom smiled, heading out of the room. "Are you not coming down?" "You go ahead, I just want to check something." Draco studied from beneath his lashes as she lingered by the door, shifting her weight almost nervously a nibbling her bottom lip in that fashion that always made him stare for a moment longer than he liked. Finally, after what felt like an hour, she parted her lips, and he found himself watching that small gesture too intently also. "Are you not joining us for Christmas dinner, Malfoy?" she asked. "I've made you one if"No." Her eyebrows knitted together. "Can I ask why not?" "You can ask whatever you like," he shrugged. "Whether or not I decide to answer is a completely different matter."

"Well, is it the food itself you don't like? Or the company"It's the whole fucking thing," he snapped coldly. "We have food rationing for a reason, and we are at war. We can't afford to waste time or supplies on some stupid little holiday." "It's just one day in the year"One day which the Order could use effectively for planning or restocking. Honestly, Granger, you're supposed to be the sensible and smart one. How can you condone this?" "Because it does more good than harm," she replied. "Christmas lifts spirits, it calms everyone down, it brings us all together, and we need that every now and then, or half of us would probably go insane"You're all already fucking insane," he scoffed. "And not just with this whole Christmas bullshit, I mean with the war. You lot actually think you can win. The line you have drawn between optimism and idiocy gets slimmer everyday with you people." Hermione pursed her lips. "Then why did you defect? Why did you join our side?" A small noise rumbled in his chest, something between a bark of laughter and a disgusted grunt. "Because apparently I have a conscience that thought it would be amusing to resurface after nineteen years. Who fucking knew, right?" "Perhaps it was there the whole time, and you just chose to ignore it." He tilted his head to look at her properly, exhaling heavily as he did and noting that her gaze was soft. Almost too soft, like she was comfortable. "Perhaps," he conceded nonchalantly. "Why don't you go and join the others, Granger? You will not be able to talk me into coming down for dinner, so you might as well just go." "Very well," she sighed. "It's your decision, but I'll leave it out for you in case you change your mind"I won't." . . On the third Christmas Draco spent with the Order of the Phoenix, he was still at Remus and Tonks' home, reading a book on counter potions and spells for Dark Magic, wondering if he should put up a few silencing charms when one of the Weasley twins' bold laughs severed his concentration. He flicked over another page just as Hermione decided to burst into the bedroom, somehow managing to awkwardly juggle two plates and still look purposeful as she marched towards him. "Granger, what the fuck?" spat Draco. "Don't you knock?" "How can I knock when I'm carrying two plates in my hands?" He grumbled something incoherent under his breath, watching her expectantly. "What do you want?" "I brought you some Christmas dinner, and some pudding," she said, setting down the plates on his rickety dresser. "And don't pretend you don't love mince pies because I saw you snatch one of Luna's yesterday"Granger, I am not in the mood for your Christmas shit right now"You're never in the mood." He growled behind his teeth and massaged the bridge of his nose between his fingers. This was evidently his punishment for allowing Granger to become too comfortable in his presence during the past two and a half years. Between her bossy attitude and her inability to take the hint when he attempted to chase her away with some inventive insults, she was undeniably infuriating, buthe would admit she was entertaining on some level. He quite enjoyed riling her up actually; secretly fascinated by the way the pupils of her chestnut eyes would dilate when they bickered, or the way her features would practically dance when she was agitated, and he still found himself staring when she chewed her bottom lip "Granger, bugger off. I'm reading." "So you like your Christmas present then?" she asked with a smug grin. "You left this outside the door?" "Of course I did. And before you think of complaining, I didn't buy it. McGonagall gave it to me in sixth year and I practically know it by heart." He frowned. "Why did you give me this?" "Because I know you don't have it, and I've watched you recycle your five books over and over again in the last two years," she explained. "Plus, it's a special edition. They didn't even have it in Hogwarts' library, so I guessed you hadn't read it before. Besides, there are some runes in there that I've never quite been able to translate fully. I thought you could give it a go." "You're admitting defeat?" he asked, his tone a little surprised. "Bloody hell, Granger. I think this war is getting to you." "I'm not admitting defeat," she defended herself quickly. "I thought we couldwell, perhaps work on them together?" He cocked an eyebrow. "You would accept me working on them with you? You would want my opinion? Are you dying?" "I know you're smart, Malfoy"Still, you are always so stubborn about these kind if things. You get all fidgety and start tapping your foot in that irritating way." Her eyes widened a fraction. "I wasn't aware you noticed thing like that." He met her puzzled eyes. "I notice lots of things."

About you.
"Are you going to eat you Christmas dinner?" she asked, and he thought it might be to beat an awkward silence. "No." "And you won't join us downstairs?" "No." "You know, I have some chestnuts roasting if you'dHe cringed and looked everywhere but her eyes. "No, absolutely not." Hermione shrugged. "Fine." Draco stared at her back as she retreated out the room, and true to his word, he didn't eat the Christmas dinner. But he did eat the mince pies. . . On the fourth Christmas Draco spent with the Order of the Phoenix, there were no rowdy noises coming from downstairs and no attempts from Granger to convince him to eat with the others. On December 23rd, two days ago, Tonks, Remus, Seamus, and Lavender had been killed in a Death Eater ambush. Granger and Shacklebolt had been the only two out of the small group to make it back alive, and as a result, nobody had even

mentioned the usual Christmas celebrations or even mumbled a 'Merry Christmas.' It was slowly shifting into Christmas evening when Draco huffed out a frustrated breath and gave up, allowing his legs and unwelcome concern to carry him to Granger's room, with a plate of mince pies in his hand. He hesitated outside her room and squared his shoulders before he shoved open the door, and an odd sensation invaded his chest as his eyes found her. She was sat on her bed, clutching her pillow to the chest, and the flickering flame of one lone candle caught the damp tear-tracks on her cheeks. As he stepped into her room, he thought she looked quite haunting; her skin too pale and her eyes too empty. Next to her was a small tub of cherries, and he'd learned in the last three years that cherries were her comfort food, and she would often work her way through several batches when someone was killed or she simply missed her parents. Her lips were stained with the juice of them; a rich and deep red that reminded him of blood in the erratic candlelight, and he couldn't decide if her mouth looked inviting or foreboding. His movements were determined as he approached her, resting the place of mince pies on her bedside table before he seated himself on the bed opposite her, almost sighed with relief when she appeared to finally acknowledge him. "What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice croaky. "Call it payback. I have come to pester you about eating something Christmas-related. I couldn't be arsed to make a Christmas dinner, so mince pies will have to do." "I'm not hungry." "You managed to eat your body weight in cherries." She made a small noise, but Draco couldn't tell if it was a whimper or a half-hearted laugh. "Draco, I appreciate the effort and"Don't feed me that crap," he interrupted. "Just have a mince pie or sing one of those ghastly songs you like. Look, I'll even pretend to clap along"Why are you doing this?" He stopped and rolled her question around in his head. The truth was, he had no idea. Seeing her so troubled had, for some reason, affected him in a negative way, and he recalled a time when witnessing her so upset would have brought him nothing but pleasure. But nowwell, now he just felt like a chunk of his chest was in pain, and he let go of a slow breath. "Because if you give up, then what hope do the rest of us have?" he said instead. "ISomething about seeing you like this just doesn't sit right with me. It makes me feelunbalanced." "It was my fault," she blurted suddenly. "I-I broke my Portkey, s-so Tonks had to give me hers. She would be fine right now if it wasn't for me." "It wasn't your fault." "Yes, it was"Granger," he hissed. "It wasn't. It's their fault. Not yours. You know that, you're just upset." She sniffed a little and lifted her hands brush away the tears, her fingers trembling as she did. "Will you stay here for a bit with me please?" "Uh" he said uncertainly. "Are you sure you don't want me to get Potter or Weasley?" "No," she shook her head. "I'd like you to stay please. Would you?" "If that will make you feel better?" "I think it would." He nodded his head once. "Alright then" And somehow, she ended up falling asleep with her head in his lap, and he had absently combed his fingers through her hair until he'd smoothed away all her knots. And after he'd done that, he'd stroked his fingers down her spine and then grazed them across her upper arms, and while his fourth Christmas with the Order had been far from cheerful or merry, he thought it would be one of his most memorable. . . On the fifth Christmas Draco spent with the Order of the Phoenix, he was in Shell Cottage. Shortly after Tonks' and Remus' deaths, they'd been moved here, and had stayed ever since. There were less rooms here, and he was sharing with Longbottom again, and Granger was sharing with Lovegood, however, Lovegood and Longbottom had been romantically involved for a couple of years now, and often requested that they be allowed to share. Subsequently, Granger and himself would end up in the same room, although it didn't really bother him anymore. Yes, he preferred privacy, but if he was going to be stuck with someone, he would prefer it be Granger than Potter or, Salazar forbid, Weasley. At the moment, they were both sat on one of the two beds with several books between them while Granger worked her way through a tub of cherries, and Draco idly picked at the remains of his second mince pie. "Okay," said Hermione. "I'll swap you Deadly Dragons: How to Train Them for Hogwarts, A History." He rolled his eyes. "Granger, you've read that about a thousand times." "It's my favourite." "I know, but wouldn't you prefer my edition of Aviophobia: A Guide to Flying without Fear? Merlin knows, you could do with it." She hummed under her breath and then popped another cherry into her mouth, oblivious that Draco watched the action intently. "No, I really do want Hogwarts, A History." He cleared the scratch in his throat. "Fine, it's your decision." "Thank you," she smiled, but it fell when she glanced at the clock. "Only ten minutes left of Christmas Day, and then it's back to normal." "I find it odd you consider fighting Death Eaters normal," he mumbled. "Surely 'back to hell' would be more fitting?" "I guess it would," she nodded. "I always feel disappointed when Christmas is over. Even when I was little, I used to get the January blues." "I will never understand your obsession with Christmas." "It's kind of a universal thing," she pointed out, but then she tilted her head thoughtfully. "But I guesswell, when I wasn't aware that I was a witch and knew nothing of magic, Christmas kind of created that magic. It gives me that same feeling I had when I started to learn about everything in the magical world; you know, that warm feeling in your heart, like anything's possible." He stayed silent but stared at her; watched the way her chestnut eyes went wistful and distant as she spoke, and then his eyes dropped her lips, which were again tinted with that cherry-juice shade that was sotempting. She would do this with him all the time now, lose herself in a rant about something personal, like she trusted him, and he would always just watch her and the way her face came alive. She really had no idea how captivating she could be. "I guess I can't really explain it to you," she went on. "I mean, you were surrounded by magic your entire life, so you're used to it, but for me, I still get excited and fascinated by it all. I still get this warm feeling, and it'sI think it's how love might feel, you knowDoes that even make sense?"

He faltered. "I'm not sure." She laughed softly, yet another thing about her he found charming to observe, and she as she slipped another cherry past her lips, Draco licked his. He watched her sigh when she looked over the clock again. "Five minutes," she murmured sadly. "Would you like a cherry, Draco?" His eyes darted back down to her mouth at the mention of the word cherry, and he hesitated for only a moment before he leaned forward and pushed his lips into hers. He kept it gentle, waiting for either her submission or rejection, but when he felt some pressure returned, he pressed harder, licking between the small parting of her lips and sweeping his tongue across hers. He felt her slightly shaking hand rest against the side of his face, her fingernails lightly grazing across his jawbone and the sensitive spot just below his earlobe. He latched his hand at the back of her, feeling one of her curls coil itself around his ring-finger as he tugged her closer to him, scraping his teeth across her lower lip and smirking when he felt the indentations of her own teeth there. She dragged in a shuddering breath as he clamped his teeth down on it a bit harder, but then it was all pillow-soft lips again, sucking at each other between Hermione barely-there sighs of bliss. The taste of cherries was everywhere in his mouth and hers and Draco drank it all up, until the first of the midnight chimes from Granger's clock made them start. They broke the kiss but remained close, laboured breaths colliding between them as the second, third, and fourth chimes rang out. "Eight seconds," said Hermione breathlessly. "Merry Christmas, Draco." "Merry Christmas, Granger," he echoed back, pecking her mouth again just as the final chime simmered away. He felt her smile more than saw it, and as she slowly pulled herself away, he discovered there was a new spark in her chestnut eyes that he thought suited her perfectly. "So," she started, almost shyly. "What was I saying?" "I don't know," he shrugged. "Some crap about magic and love."

Blindsided
secretdiary on ff.net "I really hate to say it 'Mione" Seamus began sheepishly, knowing perfectly well what he was going to say and barely able to look her in the eyes because of it, "but ten chocolate frogs says you don't!" he finished quickly and much more confidently to the crowd of their peers. There were murmurs of delightful agreement and bitter protest all around her as she glared at him. Wow, Hermione thought, nice to know you think so highly of me. "I don't know," said George, "The year is practically over... Hermione's a smart one, she's probably worked out that the chances of it coming back to bite her in the arse are slim to none. She might just go for it. Two galleons on Hermione!"

Finally! Thank you George!

"Ah yes, brother;" replied Fred, "but being smart like you said, she still knows a risk is a risk. The year isn't over YET after all. Me, my two galleons and my last bottle of firewhisky say she chickens." "Sod off Fred," cried Ginny, "All the Weasley bets should be for Hermione, not against her!" "Yeah, you're not even supposed to be here," cried Dennis, whose crush on Ginny was out of control these days. "Whoa," interjected Seamus, "They are Gryffindor royalty, they are welcome here anytime they bloody please!" The crowd roared with approval, slapping the Weasley twins on the back. "Well" Denis mumbled, embarrassed but still wanting Ginny's attention, "Hermione still rocks! Right Ginny?" Hermione's cheeks flushed even brighter, if at all possible. She gripped the common room chair she was sitting in tightly with one hand while nervously twirling and playing with the gold and red tinsel still in her hair from the Quidditch game. The "house spirit" tinsel she and Ginny were supposed to wear to the highly anticipated match together. That is until Ginny forgot hers in her room, leaving Hermione to wear it to the match completely alone... Hadn't she felt foolish enough for one night? She had hoped being the only dork at the game with Gryffindor themed tinsel in her hair would fill the quota for the evening, but it looks like she was mistaken. She was trying to maintain a subtle, good-humored smile, hoping the fellow rambunctious students that surrounded her on all sides bought it. Oh how hard she was trying to keep her cool, pretending all the leering eyes tallying her up and looking her over, trying to guess what she was capable of, weren't there. Or, at least like they didn't bother her How quickly these damned childish games could escalate! Wasn't she watching Neville prance around in Parvati's knickers singing "I'm a little teapot" just moments ago? How could Gryffindor's final victory over Slytherin this year be over an hour ago already? Usually the after parties weren't this intense yet! How did it become her turn so fast? And why in the hell did she pick dare? Because you have nothing good to confess under truth, and you know it, said the cynical voice in her mind. Hermione furrowed her brow, but only because the truth frustrated her. George finally and officially confessed that he was the one who had jinxed Mrs. Norris hot pink, have you done anything wilder? her negative thoughts mused on, And honestly, Parvati and Lavender got called out on how they used to practice French kissing on each other, what beats

that! Face it Hermione, you know you've got nothing. You don't want to leave 6th year with all your classmates thinking, hell, knowing, you never did anything anything anything AT ALL, now do you? Hermione was rubbing her lips together nervously; it seemed everyone in the common room was especially excited about her dare. In fact it
became so big so fast that bets were being made not only on her acceptance of the dare, but on her ability it pull it off. Aren't I the lucky one, she thought miserably, as if THIS dare alone could be any worse. She knew what all the fuss was about though, and it was definitely shaking her confidence. She could kick herself for letting her Head Girl position for next year get to her so much. While it wasn't to be announced to the rest of the school until next year, there wasn't anyone left in Gryffindor who wasn't privy to the knowledge that it was going to be her. So you'll be Head Girl next year, so what? she tried to tell herself. But it was no use. Throughout all of Hogwart's history there had been two types of Heads. A Percy Weasley or a James Potter. Both extremely talented wizards; capable of getting fantastic marks in all their classes. But only one could do so while still being a fun, lovable, jester. A ringleader in the ridiculous antics that got the student body through their seemingly endless classes; an unforgettable class legend! The other a dull, dreaded, nerdy, brownnosing, rule enforcing, tattletale swot that nobody liked... It was like everyone already assumed she wouldn't be one of those fun Heads, the ones who covertly pulled off all the best pranks, did all the craziest stunts, had all the "secret" hot flings She felt so labeled. Hell, she felt so mislabeled! She knew that every single person in that room would look at her differently next year. All her friendships would change once she was Head Girl. They wouldn't joke around with her anymore, they wouldn't tell her secrets or funny stories or involve her in house pranks She'd be too much of an authority figure to be in on any of that. She would miss them. She knew it was silly to be all sentimental but she was craving one last bang! Perhaps it was the energy of this particular party. Everyone was so excited after all, just one more year of school for most of them, and

Gryffindor had definitely dominated this year! They got the Quidditch cup just that day and surely tomorrow they'd be getting the award for most house points. Everyone was acting a bit crazy tonight. So she got a little stupid, blame it on the stolen firewhisky, she picked dare. Ginny was digging through her coin purse, "I've gotsix, seven, eight galleons on Hermione seeing it through! How about you Ron?" she asked while elbowing him. Ron made a quiet murmur. "Ron?" Ginny repeated earnestly, looking over to him. Apparently he thought by sinking down into his chair as far as possible he might avoid being asked his opinion. "I don't know" he said in a guilty tone, "I mean, Hermione, no offense, but you're just so" "Prude?" said a random voice from the crowd. Everyone laughed. Hermione looked furious. "Hey!" said Ron, feeling bad he set her up for that, "She is not, I mean, we dated there for awhile!" "Yeah, that's probably why she's so prude," yelled someone else. Laughter ensued once again and Ron sneered and blushed. Your usual Gryffindor antics, poking fun at one another all in good fun. More liked cloaked in good fun thought Hermione cynically again, feeling immense pressure now, it's all so easy for them to wear their

misdeeds like badges of coolness! Just because I don't boast doesn't mean I don't have a little fun every now and then bending the rules. If only they knew I didn't really have a stick up my arse all the time
"Alright, alright, let's get this on with," called Fred, taking the order of things, "Hermione will miss her chance; Malfoy only sulks about the lake for so long before he goes back to Slytherin commons now, now, state your final bets with me," he said, pulling out some parchment, always ready to be the bookie at a moments notice. The room filled with noise, it looked as if many people were pairing off to converse with each other on whether or not they thought she could pull it off Hermione continued trying to look cool and calm, totally confident, scowling at the people who obviously doubted her. It's not like they wanted to insult her, it's just she was Hermione Granger "Like she would honestly make out with Draco Malfoy I mean c'mon," she heard Seamus trying to persuade Dean, "She HATES him." And to be perfectly honest, hearing the dare spoken aloud again caused her stomach to turn instantly to knots. Faster than lightening her dare from Lavender to kiss Dean Thomas grew from the crowd's upgrades. "With tongue!" someone added with a shout. "Heck yes!" exclaimed Dean. "No, no," insisted Seamus, "someone better than Dean make her sneak into another commons! All the Ravenclaws want her ass anyway." "Lame, not a Ravenclaw," discouraged George. "A Slytherin then!" Seamus decided, eyes wide with excitement. "Yes!" the crowd had cried. Yes! Yes! A Slytherin! "I KNOW!" burst Lavender. "DRACO MALFOY!" shrieked Parvati, finishing Lavender's sentence. Hermione's mouth had dropped into utter horror but it was too late. The party went nuts; it was just too perfect. Ms. Respectability herself trying to lock lips with her biggest rival and personal enemy at the school, who also just so happened to be the hottest boy campus? It was the dare of a lifetime. Damn you, you skanky pseudo-dykes! she hissed bitterly, I hate this stupid, licentious game. Apparently every girl but Hermione knew Draco lapped around the lake after a match, his alleged hotness made him worthy of stalking. She was to run up to him and kiss him. But that just wasn't enough for the crowd. No, no, she had to get him to make out with her. "Just how am I supposed to do that?" she had cried, "We kind of DESPISE each other!" But Fred was giggling from glee, "Who cares how? You just gotta do it!" Hermione shook the recent past out of her head, there was no use in trying to figure out how she had gotten herself into such a mess, she needed to focus on getting herself out! It appeared as if the entire party had placed their bets with Fred. "Okay then," said Fred, wrapping up, "Anyone else? Last call" he skimmed the list "Ron?" Ron looked at Hermione then back at Fred, "I-I I can't," he said, "I don't want to bet on this." "Fine, fine" replied Fred busily, then he coughed "wuss" under his breath. Suddenly he looked back up from his list, "...Harry?" he asked. Harry had been quiet for quite sometime. "Eight galleons." "AlrightEight galleons for Hermione" said Fred, writing on the list. "Against Hermione," said Harry quickly. Hermione's eyes darted to Harry, "What?" she spat. He just shrugged, "I think you'll be too physically repulsed." Hermione just shook her head at him, "You jerk," she muttered. Six long years Hermione had helped the famous Harry Potter and his best chum Ron in and out of (sometimes deadly) mischief, all the while being fine going without ANY credit for helping pull off all their amazing antics. So Harry and Ron got to be the brave, heroic (and let's not forget;) cool ones. All of Hermione's important contributions were magically overlooked, and Hermione never once complained. She never cared about the popularity that went along with their infamous shenanigans; it was the thrill, the spirit of friendship and loyalty, the fight for good triumphing over evil that inspired her to throw caution to the wind all those times, school year after school year of adventures! But honestly, his betrayal was too much as this point. Even if this all was petty and stupid tomorrow, everyone knows these parties live forever, they shape who people are. It's not that she was ever the type to care about what people thought, which is exactly why she never cared about not getting any credit in the first place. But she at least wanted her fellow Gryffindor's to know she had more than one dimension. Or maybe this was for her then She didn't want to be shaped as bookworm stick-in-the-mud 'Mione forever. At least not completely, at least not in her own mind. Maybe she just wanted to prove it to herself. Yes, that was pretty much it. She was going to do this for herself. She'd be doing this without Harry and Ron after all. Not only without them but they didn't even have her back. "SO!" shouted Seamus, "Harry and Ginny will go in Harry's cloak to verify, Ron too since he's impartial, and me too come to think of it, I wouldn't miss this for the world. Now, if you don't mind Miss Granger, please, lead the way.

Hermione swallowed hard, "Not so fast," she said, "I want to make sure what happens in this game stays in this game!" She glared at Parvati and Lavender specifically, the famous loudmouth gossip sluts. "Of course," said Colin, "You know that's always standard at our parties." "Oh is it Colin?" asked Hermione, "I wonder how it got to McGonagall then, that you were the one who streaked at the first Quidditch game this season. Everyone in Gryffindor was "sworn" to secrecy after all." Colin's expression turned glum as he nodded to Hermione in agreement, "I got a months detention for that." Hermione began digging through her school bag, pulled out some parchment and charmed it so fast her peers barely even saw her do it. "Is that another Protean Charm?" asked Ginny. "Yes!" said Hermione, "It's going to give boils to any signer who tells. And you're ALL going to sign." While she considered it harsh she found it just as equally necessary. She couldn't have the whole school finding about this, then no one would respect her next year. It felt like a whirlwind and suddenly, not only had everyone signed, but they rushed her out the door, followed by Harry, Ron, Ginny and Seamus. "He goes to the little open patch, a little less than halfway around the lake," Lavender, the Draco expert due to her obsession, had told her before they headed out. "Oh do tell me what a marvelous kisser he is! I've been dying to know!" "But no need to tell her how he buzzes though," chimed Parvati, "She already knows, she already has a vibrating sex wand named Draco." Lavender's face burned bright red as the rest of the room laughed hysterically and Hermione stifled a retch at the thought of an obsessively masturbating Lavender. Then suddenly she was already outside, darting behind random trees of the grounds, making her way to the lake by the light of a full, silver moon. "Oh Merlin," she thought desperately, looking back up to the fire lit windows of Gryffindor tower, "I can't believe this! Malfoy? Oh Merlin!" Hermione was in no condition to appreciate what a beautiful night it happened to be. It was nearing June and the spring had been marvelous, it was quite warm even though it was night fallen, and a light cool breeze rustled her hair. She was darting from tree to tree, hiding behind them despite being shrouded in darkness, looking out towards the lake to the area Lavender had described. She could hear the tipsy foursome lumbering behind her inside the invisibility cloak. Hermione recalled bitterly that she was the one who had enchanted the cloak for Harry to make it bigger. She was the reason he could allow so many people under it with him. Once again something that made him cooler. She hastily told them to "shhh" as she was approaching the open, treeless beach. She was feeling more visible since the moonlight lit up the sandy bar as it brightly reflected off the water. She nervously played with the tinsel in her hair again as she strained her eyes, trying to locate him through the misty darkness, still too far to see him. He was just around the bend though, completely unsuspecting and admiring the beautiful evening Hermione was taking for granted. She knew the other Gryffindor's expected this to end in defeat or humiliation for her. It just wasn't possible in their eyes; her actually making out with Draco. Honestly, what would she have to do to pull it off? Either literally attack him, hoping to get a few good pecks in before he escaped her grasp and realized it was her (which would be immensely hilarious for them at her expense), or lay down a desperate ultimatum. Something along the lines of: "Just make out with me and I'll do the rest of your homework for the year!" To this of course they would scoff mirthfully, and didn't find likely. There was only one more day of school and it was few and rare indeed that anyone should have any final exams left, so surely Draco, who hated her guts in return, would deny her any request. His refusal however, not to mention her audacity to offer, would still make for quite an entertaining story. Okay, considered Hermione, so there was the slim chance they may be assuming a third outcome... that the "Draco Malfoy is a total man whore" rumors were true and he could turn down no woman, which gave Hermione a small chance of victory. And if you wanted to get really technical, Draco may look at it as an opportunity to conquer a Gryffindor. It wasn't impossible to see Draco bragging to his cronies that every girl wanted his nuts, even girls who publicly claimed to loathe him like little Hermione Granger. So those were her options. Just running up to him and doing it would result in him telling everyone. EVERYONE. And she just couldn't have that. And while she was an excellent deal maker, she hated the idea of bribing him. And even if she miraculously did, he wasn't to be trusted, he could still tell the whole school anyway. Hermione didn't like any of those options, and, being as terribly clever as she was, decided she would attempt at none of them. Finally she found him, and she was surprised upon his discovery as she spied on him from behind a boulder a good twenty yards away, to see him not pacing about with a foul expression of bitter defeat and anger, but in peaceful thoughtfulness as he sat, his arms wrapped around his knees, legs pulled into his chest, taking in the lovely view of the lake and the silhouette of the mountains that protected Hogwarts. He did not seem to be in the mood of a boy who was hating a rival house with a fiery passion but someone out to be alone and think. She heard a twig snap behind her and the stifled murmurs and giggles of her following witnesses, who she could only imagine were wondering why she had stopped and stared at Draco for so long. Needless to say they were impatient for her to get along with it. He must have been really zoning out, otherwise he probably would've heard the approaching person sooner. However, his captivation to the landscape left him prey to the almost electrical feeling zap he felt to his face. Had it been a fraction of a second faster it would've planted square in the back of his head, but having heard it coming, he had slightly turned in its direction. Hermione had hoped for as much, since a Blinding Charm works best if it impacts as near the eyes as possible. But hitting the eyes straight on defeats the charm's purpose, since the person it was intended for would see the sender! Because he was turning his head, the purple jet she shot from her wand hit him effectively in the left temple just as she had raced up to his sitting place from behind her tree. For a fraction of a second Draco thought he was unconscious due to the instant blackness that covered him like a thick blanket. But realizing that having such a thought automatically made him cognitive, and that he received no blow hard enough to knock him out, he immediately concluded that he could not see. Hermione was surprised and took very quick steps backwards since Draco leapt to his feet, spun around towards the source of the spell and immediately took a swing at where he estimated his attacker to be. He blinked ferociously, hoping to clear away the blankness but to no avail. He rubbed his eyes frantically, roaring in anger, but it was no use. Finally he couldn't take it anymore,"What the fuck!" he yelled, "Who's there?" She was impressed by his defensive skills. While it was obvious he was confident in his abilities to protect himself, he was wise enough to understand he was a great disadvantage by his lack of sight and he recoiled somewhat, trying to listen intently. He would randomly throw wild punches, hoping to intimidate his unknown assailant. But despite all of this Hermione could tell he was extremely distressed, he certainly did not appear to like being robbed of one of his most useful

senses. He was light on his feet; ready to dash in any given direction at any given time should he sense anything coming at him again. He was also dartingly turning his head, trying to face his ears to best receive any noise that might tell him what was going on, what to expect. But adrenaline was uncontrollably surging through him and he was panting sharply to his own frustration, making it even harder for him to hear over the sound of his own breath. He was angry and afraid. He was about to aimlessly attack the blackness before him, wanting very badly to get a good shot at whoever the punk was who thought he was so hilarious. "I'm going to fucking tear you apart!" he cried, clenching his jaw tightly and balling up his fists even tighter, "What kind of bloody coward just blindsides someone like this! Can't face me like a man?" Suddenly he felt a soft hand on his wrist. A small, dainty hand. A girl? Hermione had boldly tried to calm him. Miraculously, the gentleness and warmth of the touch seemed to strangely subside Draco's intense feeling of vulnerability. The last thing he expect was a nurturing connection and for some reason he did not punch at the source, which he could oddly sense before him, but merely flinched at the shoulders and drew his readied fists more closely into his chest. "Who's there?" he demanded firmly. "It's okay," said a soft whisper. It was the last type of voice he expected to hear and he was very skeptical. "Who are you?" he growled, pulling his hands in even closer. He was extremely confused and did not want to hit a lady, but he was still very on guard and angry. There was a long still pause. "I don't want to say," finally said a light, feminine voice in an almost embarrassed manner. Draco scrunched up his face even tighter, he thought he knew that voice He would have recognized Hermione Granger's yelled retorts and vicious comebacks anywhere, but since she never once spoke to him so softly and kindly before, having never been in a situation that called for it, he could not place her... "What?" he yelled brashly, "What do you mean you don't want to say? Did you blind me? Who are you? What are you playing at?" he demanded rapidly. "Yes I did," she said, answering only one of his many questions. "What!" he cried again, "Why!" "Because I didn't want you to know who I was." "WHAT!" he yelled again, now annoyed by his own repetitiveness, "What the fuck is going on!" "I'm not going to hurt you," said Hermione, understanding his confusion and wanting to put him at ease. "Un-blind me," he ordered, no longer feeling like he was in physical danger from this unknown female but still feeling frustrated and out of his own control. No one was going to rob him of his sight and get off easy, and he could hardly imagine a situation where he should be forgiving towards it. He couldn't make sense out of any of it, "Why don't you want me to see you?" "Because I didn't want you to know who was going to do this" Draco felt a set of fragile hands take him by the face and suddenly there were two full, warm lips pressed against his. The contact instantly sent soft tingles through his own lips and his body froze at the shock of the kiss. She held her mouth against his for a long time, long enough that Draco's flexed arms relaxed and slowly come down to his sides. She pulled away slightly and looked at him. His eyes that had been closed so tightly slowly started to open. Hermione's breath caught in her chest. It looked like he was looking right at her. Hermione found his icy, silver eyes -that rested so perfectly on his now somber looking face, powerfully peeking out from behind a few loose, wild strands of white blond hair that so commonly fell from his forehead- to be gazing right into hers. Well it certainly felt like he was looking right at her, but he wasn't. How could he be looking at her when he was blind? He knew it was a hopeless desire; that he shouldn't believe that if he wanted it badly enough he would be able to see her when he opened his eyes. The girl who kissed him that. A kiss that had instantly rocked him to his core. But, just like he feared, blackness was still before him. He knew nothing of what was in front of him save for the small radiation of her body heat against the cool night air. She was hypnotized by his eyes, and then found herself staring back at the lips she had just kissed. Neither of them said anything. There must have been another snap of a twig off some distance behind her, because Hermione remembered how Harry, Ron, Ginny and Seamus were watching them and for a moment she honestly felt embarrassed. As if they were imposing upon something truly intimate that she didn't want them to see. But soon rationality came over her and she knew she had to finish her dare. This was her dare after all. Just a dare. She tenderly pulled his face in for another kiss, this time pressing her body softly against his. Draco responded by wrapping his arms around her shoulders and a wave of relief came over her. She figured she knew Draco well enough to be confident he couldn't resist such a set up as mysterious and intriguing as the one she had orchestrated. She would love to blame his surrender on his narcissism and arrogance, but honestly, she probably would've given in to a stranger too if it had happened to her. The romance and flattery of such a gesture as to blind someone for a chance to kiss them was too irresistible. Hazily she realized that his arms were wrapping tighter around her. His lips parted a bit, inaudibly inviting her. And Hermione was right on the same page, enraptured by the moment. When she slowly slipped in a bit of her own tongue into his mouth he shuddered with delight. Whoever she was she was an amazing kisser, very sensual and enticing him into wanting more. The next thing Hermione knew his tongue was deep in her mouth as well while he held her tightly, massaging her tongue with his. God damn the rumors are true, she swooned in shock. His mouth on hers, being held in his arms, his expert confidence it was extremely enjoyable. As for Draco, he was marveling at the feeling of her body right against his. She felt so perfect the way she fit right into him. He moaned softly as their kiss grew more and more passionate. She broke their kiss, gasping for air, needing to look at him again. How could this be Malfoy? His eyes, the ones that she only associated with hateful stares, were now suddenly deep and sexy. All those other girls who would never shut up about him were right, he was absolutely gorgeous. She couldn't believe it. The chest and stomach she was held against were rock solid, and the arms she was cradle in were secure and strong. "Who are you?" he asked again, this time barely whispering. "No one worth knowing," she answered back. "I really beg to differ," he said with sweet sarcasm, and an even sweeter smile, "Let me see you."

"No," she said firmly, "trust me, it's better this way." Draco scowled and stroked her cheek with his hand. Then his hand began roaming over her face another desperate attempt to identify her. She was soft and smooth and her features were small and pretty. His finger tips explored the bridge of her little button nose and then lightly grazed her juicy lips. It felt like the perfect face. It was amazing how being blind only seemed to heighten all of his other senses. He could hear her lightly catching her breath and inhale her sweet, unique scent. And as crazy as it seemed he was certain he could sense what felt like her youth and kindness by touching her face. He could even feel her heart begin to pound as he attempted to run his hand through her hair. Oh no, she thought, recalling how she was teased so harshly in her early years at school for her bushy, thick hair. But all Draco felt was full, bouncy tendrils of silky hair. "So soft" he moaned, "and curls" he groaned at the exoticism. He racked his brain over and over, who at school could possibly fit the description of this goddess? Why could he not place her? "Tell me who you are," he urged, still holding her tightly, "Please, let me see you." "No," she insisted, shaking her head. "Why?" he pleaded. "I already told you why." "But how could it possibly be better this way?" he asked desperately. "It... just is" she replied lamely. How could she have not foreseen this difficulty that made her wish she had thought this through more thoroughly. Of course Draco Malfoy would be stubborn, persuasive and unrelenting, too smart and greedy for her one dimensional explanations. All she could think to do was kiss him again. He returned her kisses but only briefly to stifle his own appetite for her. He stopped like Hermione suspected he might, still unsatisfied with her "answers". "Why are you doing this to me then?" he pleaded, "blinding me and kissing me and not telling me why or who you are?" He was genuinely in despair. Suddenly Hermione felt remorse. She couldn't believe it but the guilt was undeniable. Sure they had horrible interactions in the past but this? He had no say in this. She had to think of something, anything. But what could she possibly say...? "I... I've just loved you for a long time" she finally muttered softly. "Really now?" he asked, obviously intrigued, "And why not tell me this while I can see?" She was at a loss once again... but she was too quick witted to be stumped for long, "...Because we could never be together," she ultimately whispered. "And why is that?" he questioned defiantly. No one told Draco Malfoy what he could or could not do. "Because this is my last year here" she found herself saying. It's kind of true, she thought persuasively, trying not to feel too guilty for her dishonesty, I'm going to be a totally different person next year. This is the second to last night Hermione Granger as we know her is here at Hogwart's, "My Mum and Dad are transferring me to Beaux-Batons..." His eyes narrowed, as if he could detect he was being lied to, "Okay, well..." he chimed, possibly deciding to play along, "I don't see what that has to do with me not being able to see you or know your name" "Well I can't possibly reveal myself now," said Hermione pleadingly, "I've been such a coward about the whole thing after all these years I never got up the courage to tell you how I felt I was just going to move on" "Move on?" he scoffed, "Then what's all this? Why follow me out late at night and throw spells at me?" He heard her giggle shyly and shuffle her feet. "I don't know. I guess... I guess I just wanted" she began. But she stopped. Now what to say? "Yes?" he inquired, wanting her to go on. "Well I couldn't just leave!" she blurted out, her half formed ideas turning into a whole story, a whole character to portray, "I mean, I didn't want to move to my next school with a feeling of regret. I didn't want to wonder for the rest of my life if I could have ever, possibly, had a chance with you and always wonder what it would be like be like to... to actually kiss you." Draco was grinning, his ego beyond inflated, "Well?" he asked huskily, "What was it like?" "It was" she began, "It was amazing," she said, finally an honest response. Her words created a frenzy inside him, she was now beyond irresistible. Draco took her by the back of the head, his fingers caressing her hair, and kissed her more passionately than ever. Hermione wrapped her arms fully around his neck while Draco pulled her into him by her middle. His knees began to shake as he cradled her by her delicate waistline. He knew they were going to collapse, and he couldn't risk letting her hurt herself. He turned so he took all the impact of the fall and then rolled over her so he could cover her from the night. She just let him lay on top of her, kissing him ferociously back. He was desperate to know her, to gather as much of her as he could through what few senses he had left. He would absorb her through his touch if he had to. His hands groped over her robe at her hips, and then he coyly slid up her body, over her chest and cupped the crook of her neck. Her curve was so dramatic, it was ridiculously perfect. Everything felt a hundred times more intense to his hands, as if they were more sensitive now, taking up the power usually directed to his eyes. He could tell from the brief glide up her body that she was a hidden treasure. How did he miss such an amazing body? How could he have never seen, known, and gone after the most beautiful girl at Hogwart's? Even blind he found the ties to her robe. Hermione gasped at his cool touch to her warm belly, but he craved her skin, and he did not regret slipping a hand under her button-up shirt right away. Her stomach was so smooth and feminine; he never knew a girl could have such soft skin. How could her figure be so perfect? Suddenly he was nibbling and kissing her neck and she couldn't control the tingly sensations that traveled all the way down her spine. She was melting beneath him as he licked her earlobe and undid her blouse. Her robe and shirt were now open and she heard him gasp. "No bra?" he whispered, she could feel his hot breath on her ear as he licked it, making her shiver. Never actually wanting an answer he merely smiled. More aroused than he had ever found himself, he boldly cupped one of her exposed breasts, and he marveled at the beauty and curve of her body as he massaged her. She was so firm and perky it was no wonder she could go braless under her robes, the tightness of her uniform blouse was support enough. Hermione quivered under his hand, and it only increased as his other gripped her hip. The kisses he was sprinkling on her neck were now moving south and Hermione could not help it, she moaned and arched her back gently up, running her hand through his hair as he licked and sucked at her chest. His hot mouth felt amazing in contrast to the cool night air, and he took her taut nipple into his mouth and teased her with the tip of his tongue. He loved the way she sounded when she moaned and wiggled beneath him. Her shifting thighs caressed his aching groin, only making him

harder. Hermione never knew it was possible to be so turned on, but the way Draco worshiped and touched her body made her feel like she was uncontrollably arousing for the first time. And to him, she was beyond that. This mystery girl was the epitome of female perfection. Never before had she ever even wanted a boy to touch her chest, but now she suddenly wished Draco Malfoy would touch her all over. She just could not believe it, but she was yearning for more. She uncontrollably shifted, continually arching her back so he could have easy access to kissing and groping her, while she shifted her legs awkwardly, not used to the intense tingly she was feeling and confused at the hot, wet sensation in between her thighs. Draco could feel her tensing muscles and knew just what to do to relieve her, and Hermione shockingly made no protest. She couldn't after all, since him placing his hand on her knee only ignited her with fire. Fire that only grew hotter as he slowly slid up her inner thigh, she was speechless. He expertly began tickling the outside of her panties with just the tip of his middle finger, right where he knew she would yes she was moaning and shiveringthe sound of it made him so happy. He basked in just laying there; tickling, teasing and massaging her mound as she whimpered and gyrated against his hand. But he couldn't torture her for long simply because he could not hold back from feeling her, really feeling her, for himself. He quickly repositioned so that he was laying on his side, leaning over her. Whisking her panties aside she gasped at the swiftness he penetrated her with, and instantly his fingers were beckoning inside her. "Oh god," he moaned. It felt so ridiculously good. She was soft and hot and his fingers slid right in. She threw her head back and moaned loudly. He could feel every single subtle squeeze of her delicate insides. He could tell by her tightness that she wasn't very experienced. And on top of how arousing her innocence and pureness was, the way she just let go of all inhibitions and spread her legs, allowing herself to him made him ache with hardness. He would do this to her forever if it made her happy. He continued to massage her as her kisses grew more and more wet and aggressive. Her hips began to slightly rock in sync to the motion of his hand and Draco's groin surged with pressure at the thought of her ecstatic enjoyment. Hermione could feel him sticking into her hip. Erotic curiosity overcame her as she felt uncontrollably urges to explore his body. She was amazed she knew how to undo his pants so swiftly, having never done such a thing before. But she was carried away by the passion of the moment. She bravely and without out rational thought slid her hand down his pants. She glided her fingers down the length of him as he trembled and stuttered at her touch, and marveled at how his body seemed to want to break free of the confinement of his boxers. He was so swollen and solid, Hermione instinctively wanted to stroke it. She couldn't believe its actual girth as she wrapped her hand completely around it and his mouth dropped open. He felt so intimidating and large, yet she felt strangely sexy and in control, with an unexplainable but strong and desperate desire to give him pleasure. She began pumping her grip around him up and down. She felt him swell even more in her hand. She gasped. He moaned. She kept going, wanting him to moan more, wanting to know he liked it. He did. She went faster. He moaned louder. They were both panting. She squeezed tighter as she stroked faster and he groaned more and more. "God. Yes. Please don't stop," he hissed through gritted teeth. It was so intense; it was like she knew he was going to explode. Like his pleasure was her pleasure, she'd be just as intensely satisfied and pleasured if she knew she could do it to him. The pressure was growing and mounting and she wanted it just as badly as he did and his mouth was open but he couldn't make a sound, once all the pressure was relieved he would scream out loud, but until that desperately anticipated moment he would just passionately clutch a handful of her luscious curls and pull as she worked her magic. It was building and building as she stroked and stroked and oh god he couldn't wait until he would scream out in climax, it was mounting so intensely now, any second, he knew he was just about toSPLASH! Hermione let out a quick startled scream of surprise and sputtered. Draco grunted as her hand stopped and he felt a few spattered drops of wetness. Had it begun to rain? The next thing he knew her hands were out of his pants and she was sitting up. He heard the sound of feet pounding against the ground, as if running away. "Is someone there?" he asked her with bewilderment, suddenly feeling furiously vulnerable again by his lack of sight. "No," she said quickly in a somewhat harshly as she slipped away from him. He let out a whimper of disapproval. "Where are you going?" he asked as he sensed her stand up and heard the rustling of her blouse as she covered up. "I have to go now," she said hurriedly. She had completely forgotten she was being watched. How could she forget that she was being watched! She didn't even need to be told, she already knew it was Harry who had dumped the handful of lake water on her. He sensed her sudden urgency, got up to his knees and attempted to adjust his pants, "Wait!" he cried, "Don't go!" "I'm sorry," she said, "I have to. Good bye Draco." She bent over, took his hand into hers and kissed him again. He felt her squeeze his hand as she did so, but she broke away much too soon for his liking. He desperately wanted her to stay. He heard her turn and run away. "Tell me who you are!" he cried after her. "I'm sorry," was all he heard of her precious voice that was now yards and yards away and growing. Why did he feel like he was going to cry? He was shaking and thoughts and emotions rapidly flew through his mind. Heartbreak, physical agony, fury, weakness Suddenly he realized she had placed something in his hand. It was small and pliable, like a little piece of taffy. An antidote! It could only be for his sight! He immediately unwrapped it and gobbled it down. She had made it cherry flavored for him. His sight came instantly back. But there was no one to be seen.

He looked out to the moonlit lake, and the back down to the ground were he had laid and kissed the most beautiful he had ever not seen. The room full of people could barely believe the words coming out of Ron, Seamus and Ginny's mouth as they all frantically talked at once. "He was all over her!" Ginny cried. "She let him go up her skirt!" Ron exasperated as if he still couldn't believe it himself. "AND THEN SHE STARTED JERKING HIM OFF!" screamed Seamus, the amazement of it all was still too good to be true. "WHAT?" screamed Parvati. "No way, you're lying," said Lavender. "Bloody hell I am," said Seamus. "It's true," said Ginny, "He couldn't resist her." "But how?" asked Colin. "She blinded him!" cried Seamus, "She blinded him and then just let him touch her body. It was fucking brilliant. He got totally used, the fucking idiot Slytherin!" then he hollered with laughter, "What a chump!" It was finally sinking in with all her classmates; it was amazing, and it was hilarious. Hermione was a hero to the boys and an icon to the girls. They cheered louder than ever and they swarmed all over her, patting her back and bombarding her with praise and astonished questions of reassurance. A chant of "GO GRIF, BEAT SLYTH" had broken out and the last of the firewhisky bottles were cracked open, shooting foam across the commons in merry delight. Next thing she knew she was lifted up on shoulders and paraded around the room. They loved the thought of getting the better of a Slytherin. Especially him. And the greatest part was it was Hermione Granger who did it. If anyone deserved to mess with Malfoy, it was her. She just smiled with intense, intense satisfaction. Harry hadn't said a word. Hermione beamed with pride as she cheered and clapped with her fellow Gryffindor's in the great dining hall. They had all just been awarded for most house points, beating Slytherin, who was second, by over a hundred. The spirit and happiness of the table was unmatchable as they began to enjoy their last feast together of 6th year. Hermione was feeling particularly sentimental, just like every year. Only this year she seemed a bit happier about moving on. She never thought in a million years she would have been able to pull off what she did the night before, but to the surprise of everyone, including herself, she did. She glanced over to the Slytherin table. She stared at him for awhile, admitting now that he had always been amazing looking, she just never wanted to admit it. But even on top of just being good looking, she couldn't believe kissing him had felt so incredible, not to mention his tongue all over her, his hands inside her She shook her head. She had been thinking like that over and over again, she barely even slept thinking of it kept her up all night. These thoughts had to stop. Staring at him had to stop! She finally unlocked her eyes from his face. He was talking and laughing his friends just like everyone else. He acted perfectly normal. Not a sign that anything had happened at all. But she smirked, she knew that wasn't true. She wondered what he was really thinking, what was going on beneath his facade. She could tell by hushed yet frantic whispers she was still the favorite topic of conversation "I still just can't believe it." "She freaking pulled it off." "It's just not fair he's so gorgeous!" "That's the most amazing thing I've ever heard of." "Tell us again what happened, Seamus!" "I can hardly believe it myself, but I saw it with my own two eyes. They not only made out like mad but she let him take off her shirt and" she heard him relay. "I can't even describe it," she heard Ginny say from the other side of her, "He was so hot for her!" "I'm trying to bloody eat here you wench!" growled Harry. But this only made Hermione smirk wider. She had never seen Harry so livid. "You were only supposed to make out with him!" echoed his devastatingly angry voice in her memory after she finally got him to speak to her, to answer her question as to why he splashed her with lake water, why he stopped them. It was definitely a slap in his face, his best and loyal friend enjoying his worst enemy so much. The jealousy, the insult! He couldn't stand to watch any longer, he had to stop them! Well they went further than making out, so what! So she could be a bit wild and reckless. So men desired her. So she could receive all the attention for awhile, change the misconceptions people had of her! He'd just have to suck on that for awhile. Nothing less than he deserved in her opinion. Plus he was out eight whole galleons, as well as everyone else who doubted her. While it wasn't something she planned on making apart of her daily personality, revenge was certainly sweet. She knew Harry would get over it, and eventually they would be just fine. Until then she would love to dwell in her triumph for the rest of the day, which basically was to consist of wandering around the grounds since there were no classes after finals. "Will you show me those new candies now?" Dean whispered to Fred and George as the meal died down and the majority of the people were leaving to go enjoy the clear, bright weather. "Sure," beamed Fred, "Which one? The halitosis ones or the ones were your forearm bends to 90 degrees so you can say you've broken a bone?" "I've seen the bad breath one," he said, "I want see the one that makes your arm look broken." "Alright," snickered George, "Let's go down to the Quidditch pitch, fake a fall and freak out all the 1st year girls. The very thought of the prank was humorous and all the boys got excited to go, even Ginny was laughing. "Can we come too?" asked Hermione. George looked at Hermione inquisitively. Normal he was hesitant since she always seemed like such a stickler for rules, but since last night "Sure 'Mione, you can come!" Hermione beamed, "I just need to go grab my robe!" She exited out of the great hall feeling fantastic. She managed to pull of something amazing on her last night at Hogwart's, dupe a slyth, show up

Harry and even get a little snogging for herself all at once. Not only that, but she totally got away with it. Draco would forever wonder and it made her smile imaging it driving his egotistical self mad while not a single soul was able to tell him who it really was. She couldn't help but still beam with pleasure as she was about to turn and go up the grand staircase when she was blindsided by a broad-shouldered, blond boy. Draco had intercepted her, blocking her passage up the stairs. They were alone in the hall. At first Hermione's stomach erupted into nervous flutters but she knew she was being silly. He just wanted to insult her one last time for the year no doubt. Pure coincidence. There was no possible way he could have anything to say to her about last night. He could never guess in a million years that it had been her, and if anyone had told him Hermione would know about it. He looked at her up and down with his smug smile in his usual judgmental way, like he always did right before he criticized her. She knew she was right in guessing what was coming by the way he shook his head and clucked his tongue. Next would be some petty insult of course. "To think," he started, "You hid that amazing body under that robe for as long as I've known you." Hermione's jaw dropped. There was nothing she could say. Draco smiled even more menacingly, his eyes sparkling with mischief. He stepped towards her, pinning her easily against the wall with his body. He softly caressed her cheek with one hand and took her left hand in his other. He engulfed her mouth with his lips and kissed her hungrily. Just as pleasurably as the night before she began to feel woozy. He stopped as abruptly as he started and stepped away. Hermione struggled to regain the strength in her now weightless legs when he spoke again. "Just so you know," he said coolly, "I'm going to be Head Boy. So, see you next year." He winked, turned, and walked away. Hermione remained standing still and silent in the hall, too shocked to move. Finally it dawned on her that he had slipped something into her hand. She opened up her fist to find strands of gold and red tinsel.

Cellar Door
somandalicious on livejournal It is a matter of semantics, when she thinks about him. When her nerves are rushing with a candent flame of toxic desire that pools in a sinful ache at her mons. It makes her pull at her skirt and rub her trembling thighs together, creating friction but never quelling the wicked need that beads sweat on her skin.

Semantics. It's only natural, though. He is the epitome of her perfect man. Handsome, successful, athletic, articulate and educated. He is enigmatic.
Although he is often terse with her, he pins his eyes on hers and she is assaulted with vulnerability, reflection, and a tsunami of other unidentifiable emotions that she can't quite decipher. But it all means something. A something she is afraid to label because she isn't sure if she believes in that flavor of nonsense. She doesn't believe in fate and destiny and soul mates and serendipity. She believes in cold hard facts, free will and good choices. Realistically, he is Draco Malfoy and she is Hermione Granger, and that means he cannot be the Proverbial One, if there is such a thing. Factually, she cannot have him. But that only makes her want him more. In all the ways a woman wants a man. Deep inside her flesh, bone and soul. To twist her and stretch her and claim her as his own. It makes her believe he is her soul-mate, destined by fate, and it is merely serendipity that she is a witch. A chance that put her into his world so that she could meet her Proverbial One. And that is semantics. --Her heart memorizes him. She works in the same department at the Ministry as a Liaison for the Wizengamot. He ignores her, but she watches him. She has always diligently studied him, a habit she had acquired at Hogwarts, but now she can focus on the smaller traits of his behavior. The simple, everyday things that really doesn't matter to anyone in particular. He takes his tea with three lumps of sugarbut no creamhe prefers his quills stripped, and he flirts innocently, unabashedly with the elderly witch in Accounting. Just so she'll bring him homemade banana-nut muffins. He bites his fingernails. Or, for a more apt description, he gnaws them down to the nail bed. He is most contemplative then. He wears collared-shirts under jumpers because he doesn't care for the constrictions of neck-ties, and when it rains he fancies using the Floo. When he believes she isn't paying him any mind, he stares at her legs, and once at an inter-department party, he told her she had a fine arse. Her skirts are now shorter and tighter. Every third Saturday, he meets with Blaise Zabini for a pick-up game of Quidditch and that's the one chance she is allotted to see him relaxed in the

liberties of irresponsibility and laughter. Where he is brilliant and astounding. She goes where he goes, she is where he is, because if she's there, he might see her and know that she is made for him. That they are perfect for each other. She is dressed in her finest, her face painted carefully, her hair arranged strategically, and she is ready to be seen. But as he passes through the crowd of the gala, the witches turn to watch him saunter by and they swoon at the devilish smirk supercilious upon his debonair face. Draco Malfoy doesn't see Hermione Granger, and her grip tightens on her champagne flute and it cracks. Like her glass heart. --Her reflection tells her that she is pretty and she almost believes it. She stares and thinks that it really doesn't matter. That it shouldn't ever matter. She is just a normal, pretty girl, like a hundred thousand other normal, pretty girls in the world. And she is so smart, so clever and just so interesting. She knows this. She knows she deserves better than him. That she deserves someone who will see all that she is. Will see how odd and lovely she really is. On the inside. Because that is what matters. Personality. It is pivotal. Like Achilles' Briseis, she is fair-cheeked. Her brown eyes and her brown hair are like mud. Stygian mud. And she wonders if he was right all along. That maybe she isn't worthy of his affection, that maybe she is crazy for thinking she belongs in his world. Maybe she is filthy and convoluted and sick. And it is so easy to believe that. So much easier to believe that he is out of her league than to think he just doesn't want her. That he doesn't like her. That she isn't pretty enough or interesting enough for him. It is just simpler. But while she is thinking that it all doesn't matter, and while she is trying to convince herself that she doesn't really belong with him, and that things like fate and destiny and soul mates and serendipity are banal ideas to cling to instead of hopelessness, she is thinking something else. She is planning. Her trifling connivances transform into desperation, and she finally decides on the one way to a man she once swore she'd never consider. It will be easy, really, because she is so smart and so clever and just so interesting that no other wizard or witch of her age could possibly achieve it. But she can. Because Hermione Granger does belong in Draco Malfoy's world. Her reflection leers like the Cheshire Cat. --Her love is the finest of insanity. Idiosyncratic and wistful. It took her three months, but it is time for her stratagem to manifest. She is proud and fierce as she waits for him in Diagon Alley. It is like a meet-cute in a movie. The scene is set, the actors are at their cues and the film marker claps and its action. She is browsing the flowers on the cart as he enters stage left. She points her wand at him covertly and nonverbally casts the spell.

Amavimia.
Then she waits. And just as he nears her, she turns into him as if on accident, and they collide. His hands support her elbows and she pretends she is ashamed of her self, as if she is courteously apologetic, as if "Oops, I should be more mindful of myself." Their eyes meet. She blushes and he grins. "Hallo Granger," he says. "Fancy seeing you here." He thinks she looks pretty. "Like Achilles' Briseis," he says. "Fair-cheeked." He buys her a daisy and proffers her his arm and she knows bliss and attainment. Then it is a whirlwind of fancy dinners and luxurious gifts and golden valentines. She plays hard to get. "I'm not that type of girl," she flirts. But he kisses like Beelzebub wrapped in satin and he is cavalier by every definition, and it makes her heart thunder like Thor's hammer and her tummy whirls like dervishes and her skin wants to combust like wildfire.

She is just so aware of him. It's extra-sensory. And she knows that soon her resolve will break. Then it's a pretty ring and Sunday cuddles and afternoon snogs. And their romance is peculiar, twisted and lovely. --The darkness creeps in unexpectedly. He's waiting at her flat, at her door. He is confused and tired and angry. She is tentative. Her hand is shaking as she unlocks the door. Her heart is pounding as she steps over the threshold. Her lungs are tight as he follows her silently, and her mind is anxious as he kicks the door shut. His glower burns through her back and she doesn't want to turn and face him. But she does. Because sometimes she is braver than she thinks. And he accuses, he yells, he breaks her bones with petty stones and sticks, and it is all so terrible, but she takes it because she feels guilty. She feels wretched. She feels as if she couldn't possibly ever feel as low and sick and dirty again. But then his diatribe breaks into a frightened plea. "Tell me, love, tell me why this thing between us feels so peculiar, twisted and yet lovely." And she crushes her lids closed and she decides that this is low and sick and dirty. That she is everything he had ever accused her of being. She is filthy and hateful. She is ashamed. She is wrecked. Because she cannot tell him why their love is peculiar and twisted and yet lovely. So she doesn't. She kisses him. She pushes him with all her moxie and shoves him against the wall. Because sometimes she is more cowardly than she can ever imagine. His mouth is candent and eager as if in the sensations found in her mouth are the answers for which he is so desperate. She can only taste his bitterness. Her fingers tremble as they pull at the soft cashmere of his jumper and when her palm slides to his flesh she can feel his agitation. A gasp and his lips slide the column of her neck. She is mindless and cannot focus and her hands are on their own accord as they push and pull and divest and score. His mouth returns to hers and it bruises. It punishes. And soon her tentativeness has quelled and her guilt has abridged. Suddenly she finds herself coasting on a wave of thundering, edacious passion and it consumes her being. Still, she covets more. More of his handsome, swollen lips. Of his fumbling coarse hands. His fierce keenness. Then the world tilts in his favor and with a strong arm around her waist he hoists her and twirls her and slams her to the wall only to outrage her spiraling libido with a languid grind of his pelvis. "Yes," he growls hotly into her ear and she can only reply with a satisfied whimper. Before she can recover, his hand is pushing roughly at her ribcage and her skin is sparking against the calluses on his palm and it ignites her nerves like a flint against stone. But up and up it keeps moving until it reaches the curve of her breast and squeezes boorishly and she cannot seem to swallow the aching pant of excruciating delight. A long salacious lave is all he will allow for a salve. She mews in gratitude and her fingers dig into his shoulders for leverage, for closeness. He is never too soft in his caresses. They push and pull and twist and stretch and claim. And she drinks it up. She feeds on it. On this powerful throbbing of affection and yearning. This is her love. This is where it manifests. This is how it becomes real. And she's trying to think about everything she feels, to catalogue it and label it, but it's like a kaleidoscope. All wonderful and lovely colors melting into an enigmatic burst of stimulation. Where it can't be catalogued or labeled. Where it is just what it is. Stimulation.

It is all over her. On her face, on her breasts, on her stomach, on her thighs. And all she can think or do is just oh, oh, OH. Because it is on her knickers, and it is just so very close and she no longer wants it on her. She wants to soak it up into herself where she hopes it will never go away. But then, it is soft. So delicate that she thinks she is imagining it. That his fingers aren't just where she wants him and that his thumb isn't softly teasing that extra-sensory bud of skin. It's twirling and teasing and sensual and her entire being is tightening and constricting and her bones are threatening to push through her skin. Her toes curl. She chokes on her moan. Her eyelids are wide shut. Her mouth is thin. Teeth clenched. Then he kisses her tenderly and pushes himself into her. Deep inside her flesh, bone and soul where he twists and stretches and claims. Hermione Granger comes undone around Draco Malfoy. There is no rebound for her, no time to savor the sweetness of bliss for he is rocking quickly against her, his fingertips gripping her hips with a bruising need, guiding her into his tortuous lust. Still, he wants more. More of her exquisite skin. Of her pliant comfort. Her candent surrender. So she gives. And he takes. It is a battle of narcissistic gratification until he becomes rigid in his euphoria. She takes. She wraps him up into her self and soaks up his spirit until together they slide to the soothing carpet. She hushes him and consoles him. Because sometimes she is more compassionate that she is allowed to be. With rose-colored vision she can only see elation, because it was so good. So thrilling. So tritely mind blowing. So good. Through the haze of the aftershocks there is a niggling and it reminds her with insomnia that their lovemaking was too good. Too good to be true. And the dawn offers no solace. --Her contrition is monumentally astounding. Eccentric and undeviating. For almost a month he has been withdrawn and strange in a suffocating tristesse, and she doesn't want to acknowledge why. But it is there, a small seed deep within the caverns of her conscience, telling her that the bewitchment isn't so perfect. That she forgot the most important aspect. That the spell feeds off of her wants and desires. And with her warring consciences, it is failing. Rapidly. And it is depressing, heartbreaking, devastating like a Greek tragedy. Evoking trepidation and opprobrium. The stage is pied in whimsical masks of mocking stigmata. And she stands on her mark, lost and lonely, as the players move around her. She wishes she was like the fair-cheeked Briseis returning to her Achilles. It is all confusing, traitorous and unfair. She's drowning in it, her idiosyncrasies, and with a leap of faith she reaches out and calls for him. Their eyes meet. She pales, he frowns. And she knows that her role is all wrong. She is Achilles taking her unwilling prize, Briseis of Lyrnessus. And just like the epic odyssey, this is not real. This is not true love. And like Achilles, she has a weakness and it is her good will and humanity and it makes her break, makes her give up. It makes Hermione Granger release Draco Malfoy from the confines of her enchantment. It makes her honest. He is cruel. "You're a thief," he tells her. And he calls her malicious names, he says the naked truth. He tells her that she is sick and wicked and trash. His eyes are mean and his face is terrible. His fists are clenched and it looks to her as if he is caught somewhere between crying and punching, and she is afraid to see either. She can't stand to see him so ruined.

She was trying to save him, she says, to give him a chance to find real love. She can only acknowledge her selflessness. A little too late, he thinks, and he hates her. He never wants to see her again. And he leaves her. Alone. Forever. Her melancholia is immeasurable. Tragic and stygian. --There is familiarity in her reflection. A portrait of a girl she used to know but she cannot place when or where. A girl who was once pretty. Who was once normal. Like a thousand other pretty, normal girls. But this girl isn't pretty or normal. She is sick and convoluted. She hurts people for her own pleasure. She takes what is not given. This girl has an ugly soul and it radiates from her eyes. She wears her shame on her sleeve. It is red and sinful. Ugly. Dirty. And it matters. It matters because this isn't about appearances, this is about personality and nobody wants to love an ugly, hateful sociopath. It's the burning truth, and it is so incredibly easy to understand. To believe. Because those things matter. They matter more than knowledge and wit. They matter more than vanity and quirks. They matter because they destroy people. They hurt. She is afraid, she thinks, as her hand falls to settle on her flat stomach. She is afraid that she won't ever be loved. She is afraid that this is her last chance to find out. Because at the end of the day, this being inside her, sharing her life-force, her magic, her cleverness and passions, is the only thing in the world that will truly belong to her. That she can truly love. That will hopefully love her back. This is her last chance for something else too. To start over. To apologize. To get back on her feet and start all over again. It is a chance for Hermione Granger to redeem herself in the eyes of Draco Malfoy. But she has something important to do first. And her mirror watches as hope returns in a flood of tears. --Her eyes remember him. The angle of his jaw, the length of his nose. And her fingertips recall the feel of his cheek. She laments. With an indecipherable expression, as if he can't decide whether to invite her in or turn her away, and while he is hovering somewhere in between, he begs the reason of her presence and she is stunned because he didn't slam the door in her face. His irritation grows at her speechlessness, and it rolls off of him in waves of tragic disappointment. Her apology is direct and she lifts her chin in determination. She stands proud and fierce. He nods, but his jaw flexes and her shame returns and her fear is engulfing. She shrinks back. Because she knows what is coming. What he is going to say. But before the storm thunders, she blurts with panic, "I'm pregnant." For a moment he is taken aback. He is surprised, and she thinks she sees a bright lift in his grim expression. It is fleeting though, and she deduces it was her wishful imagination. He regains his brutality, telling her to rid the world of her impudence, of her disgrace. That the child was conceived in her error and will be a stain upon humanity. He slams the door in her face. He is callous and cold. But she doesn't care and is glad that he is, at the very least, aware of the reality out there. Because she is keeping it. She is clutching to this body of hope and chance because it is her salvation and it is something to live for.

For the first time in what seems ages, Hermione Granger finally believes that she doesn't need Draco Malfoy to belong in the whole wide world. She vows to turn her bad into something good, and she will love this child and care for it and raise it to be better than its parents could ever think of being. She has to. Because this is good. This is true. This is real. And her eyes glisten with fortitude. --It's a matter of pragmatics, when he is standing on her foyer with a friendly greeting. Seeing him there makes her heart clench painfully, and her body is shrouded in a googolplex of tingly goose pimples. Her throat constricts, and she is tightening into a ball of unyielding panic. It is so heavy on her shoulders that she drops her mug and stretches her fingers, rolling her shoulders to ease the tension. It is futile.

Pragmatics.
After all, he told her to stay away from him. That he hated her and wanted nothing to do with her, and he hoped that their unborn child perished by divine intervention. So it is only natural that she is wary of his being there. Even more than she is confused by it. But his drawl is awkward and his disposition is nervous, and she deduces that this is good. That this means he will be kind to her. This means that he has something to tell her and she may be pleased to hear it. But his hands are fumbling and he can't turn his focus from his polished loafers. She quietly asks why he is at her door, and he tells her that he doesn't know. But she knows he has to, that he is fully aware of the force that led him to her door. She tells him so because, "Why are you here after you said all those things?" And he can finally meet her critical gaze and he tells her. He lays it all on the table because he is just so confused. And he doesn't think he likes her but he can't seem to stop thinking about her and he is pretty sure that the happiest he had ever been is when he was with her and that it doesn't make any sense to him whatsoever because it was all wrong. It was peculiar and twisted and lovely and he misses her. But he knows that it wasn't real. That it was some sordid beguilement and he shouldn't ever feel this way. But he does. And he came because he had to see her. She becomes afraid that he is only here because of the baby, that he is trying to stand up and do the right thing. That he is trying to save face and rectify the consequences of her misleading. She doesn't want him for that. She doesn't need him. She can do this on her own and she tells him all that. But he is very much aware of her independence and her abilities, and he reassures her that the baby is not why he is here. "I missed you before you told me about the baby," he tells her. Because he hadn't come to terms with his emotions. He hadn't fully acknowledged his wants and desires. He was trying to bury them because it was all wrong. But it was too overwhelming. And want turned into need, and need burned into desperation, so here he is. To see just her. And she just stares at him, numb, because she cannot comprehend what this means. What his intentions are. So she watches his movements and gestures, trying to figure him out, and she is so close but she can't quite put her finger on it. This is not unusual, though; he has always been her favorite puzzle. But then, "I want to take you to breakfast," he says. And it is so unexpected that she doesn't believe what she is hearing and she is suspicious and, "Why?" she says. "Why breakfast?" "Because it is more intimate than lunch, but not as formal as dinner. It is strange and awkward and beautiful. Like us." And he grins. But she blushes. And Hermione Granger realizes that Draco Malfoy wants her in his world. She isn't sure how, and it isn't necessary to figure that out now. He may not be the Proverbial One. And she doesn't have to believe in fate and destiny and serendipity because all that doesn't matter. Because this is real. This is true. And it is stated so simply, but it means so much, and that is just fine with her. She doesn't need more than this right here, right now. Because that is pragmatics.

Crazy
abbienormally on livejournal

His bare feet felt cool on the white tile, but he refused to allow his feet to search for the coolness over and over again. The rough upholstery of the worn green couch felt itchy even through his pajama bottoms, but he willed himself to not run his palms back and forth. He was no longer numb, but the textures of the world still overwhelmed him, albeit curiosity won in the end and he made quick work of rediscovering each sensation. He found a great satisfaction in it because he saw echoes of memories and emotions that he had forgotten. Suddenly in the far corner came a dreadful wail and his head jerked up in the direction that is originated. A bald wizard in a wheelchair was rocking back and forth, his hands cradling his head as he jerked it around, screaming for them to get out. He looked around, confused and his eyes settled on a slip of a witch with hair that ran in every direction. Her lids were settled on rosy, round cheeks and a simple smile spanned her mouth. Her hand was lovingly stroking the wall and she seemed lost somewhere wonderful. Her eyes flashed open and met his. They were wide and topaz filled with a childish wonder. I know you. She said softly and bounded towards him. With a juvenile leap she settled herself on the arm of the sofa and tilted her head while those big jewel-like orbs gave him the once over. Whats your name? She asked. He narrowed his ashy eyes and thought he recognized her too, but could not remember where. Draco, he murmured and wanted to look away from her face, but could not seem to force his cheek to turn. Im Hermione. Its pronounced Her-my-own-ee, got that? She said sternly. He nodded. Do you remember what you were like outside? That juvenility returned and her right hand began to pick at the small microscopic fuzzies that covered the fabric. I was bad. His mouth was dry. I was good. They put me here because I went out of my mind, said I didnt know anything anymore, but I just knew too much. She said sadly and looked around. Do you think Im crazy? He did. But said nothing. He liked her and did not want to hurt her feelings. He did not want her to leave. Why are you here? She seemed excited to know and bit her lip in anticipation. I dont belong here. It was a mistake. They put me here because I was bad. Hermione threw her head back and laughed. Rich laughter. As if all the joy and merriment, all the comedy and delight, all the jollity and mirth in the world no universe merged into one wild, hilarious ecstasy. This startled Draco and he moved away from her. I am going to leave today. They cant make me stay. She covered her mouth to suppress the giggles. Oh Merlin, bless your soul! You think theyll let you waltz out of here? She committed herself to another round of brilliant hilarity. The she sobered and said I think you are crazy. She let her lashes fall and rise, while her pretty lips curved into a sympathetic smile. Just like me. Draco grinned. Possibly. I have heroes in my head, which have the heart to lose their lives out on a limb for someone else. And all I can think is that I want to be like them. I want to save somebody, because it would be so much fun! Her shapely legs bent forward and she came down off the arm to settle on the cushion, her gaze never wavering from Draco. Do you want to really get out of here? He nodded. I do. Then its no coincidence that I came over here. I will save you, then I can die when Im done. Her face was peaceful and happy, and she extended her arm, proffering her palm to him. Draco took it and pulled her to sit directly beside him. What if it takes forever? He liked the feel of her soft silky palm in contrast to the roughness of his calloused one, so he allowed himself the privilege of rubbing them together. To feel it again and again. She blushed. Then I will live forever. Maybe he was crazy. Maybe she was insane. Probably.

Impeccable
zarah joyce on ff.net The clock on her wall chimed ten in the morning. For her, it was already a tardy hour to rise, but still she stayed sprawled on her bed, the covers haphazardly draped all over her. Her hair a wild lion's mane around her head, she grabbed two handfuls of bedcovers and threw them over her face to strain the sunshine seeping through her windows. She had no plans of rising that day. For the record, she had no plans of ever rising that week. Still, duty called her, sharp and slick. She knew she could never ignore the chores that needed to be done. There were still the flowers that needed to be plucked out of the ground, white linens to be draped over walls, carpets to be laid on spacious, religious floors. She sighed, blowing brown hair away from her lips. Already it proved to be a daunting, but very trivial, task. Sharp tap-taps on her window glass made her moan. Normally, it made her feel giddy that there was something in store for her that day, but that feeling deserted her long ago. Sharp tap-taps meant she should retrieve mails from some owl perched on the steep bricks just outside her window. Retrieving them meant she had to rise from her bed. Hadn't she planned on NOT rising that day? "I'm coming!" she bellowed, throwing the covers from her body and into the floor. She looked at the windows, caught sight of the poor bird that jumped at her rather loud greeting. Opening a window, she let the bird soar into the room, where it landed on her dresser several feet away from her. A parcel hung on its beak, a green envelope wrapped around with silver strings. She drew her brows together, and approached. The bird was obviously reluctant to have her near as it hopped to and fro. "I'm sorry, okay?" she said, sighing again. "You just arrived at a very bad time." The bird bobbed its head, nodding, agreeing. "Can I have my mail, please?" It dropped its burden to the floor, and then flew out the room. "Thank you!" she said, rolling her eyes and kneeling to get the letter. The touch of the luxurious paper, the sight of the neatly scrawled ink, jolted her. With hands beginning to tremble slightly, she pulled the silver

strings and the envelope fell seamlessly, revealing a single white card. At the middle, a note read: "Usual. 7 tonight." This is pathetic, she thought, clutching at her coat as she walked at Diagon Alley. Streets were well lit with light posts and floating balls of stars. Witches and wizards frolicked around her, hurrying to and fro. Children ran and screamed at each other to stop; parents trudged along and tried to control their excited little litters. People waved their wands and jingled their bags full of Galleons, Sickles and Knuts. It was so noisy and cluttered, thrilling and exhilarating, that it almost had an effect on her deadened nerves. Almost. She managed to get away from it all unharmed, unblemished, uninterested. A few steps from the last store in Diagon Alley stood a small fountain, with a stoic cherub spouting water from its mouth and fingers as it stood in a furtive stance. The little statue caused a smile to rise on her face, for the sight brought with it a flooding of memories to her: secret touches and kisses in the night, holding and smiling in darkness, tender hugs and warm strokes in the shadows. The feeling of forbidden passion then was also thrilling and exhilarating, as blood rushed to her head at the thought of her doing something so prohibited it was a sin. Still, it never stopped her from indulging in a desire so reckless and wild it was burning, consuming. In the end, it was she who got burned, consumed. In the end, it was she who had sinned. She spotted him, another cherub with his golden hair and silver eyes. He sat on the corner, hidden in shadows, mingling with darkness. Her face hardened, as she felt the gnawing, stirring sense of longing deep in the pits of her heart. This is pathetic, she thought, balling her palms into fists. Three years. Three painful, regrettable years had passed, and still she loved him. She loves him. The realization stung her, brought tears to her eyes. But she remained quiet, a stoic statue herself as she stood there, looking at him, loving him, hating him for it.

Damn you. Damn you to the deepest level of hell, Malfoy.

The name emerged from her lips, without her wanting it to. He turned, saw her; his stone eyes widening, staring. He stood, took a step to her, and she stepped back. Space. There had to be some space between them. She had to be away from him. Why did she even bother to heed his call? "I thought you'd never come," he spoke, his voice deep and rough. She shivered. "Why?" He looked confused. "Why, what?" She shoved a hand in her pocket, retrieved the crumpled note he had sent her. She threw it at his feet. "Three words, Malfoy. Three damned words after three damned years. Rather ironic, don't you think?" He was quiet. "I didn't know what to say," he said. Didn't know what to say? She swallowed the scream that almost emerged from her. Closing her eyes, she hung her head and breathed. "Here's an idea," she said, her voice calm and controlled; so unlike the emotions clawing, raging inside her. "A lengthy explanation would be nice." "From you?" he asked, looking at her. Her eyes flew open. "I don't have to explain anything to you." "Oh, really?" He took something from his robe; a white envelope with red and gold strings. "Then what's this?" "An invitation," she answered, instantly recognizing the colors and the size. "Yes," he said, waving the envelope. "An invitation. To your wedding. Still think you've got nothing to explain?" "What's the matter?" she drawled, imitating his tone perfectly. "Don't you like your table? That's the best one in the house, let me tell you - you'll have a perfect view of the bride and the groom." He tore the envelope into two, threw it at his sides. "I don't need this," he spat. "Why did you send me one? To brag that you're marrying some idiot?" Anger bubbled from the very depths of her heart. "Is this why you sent me a note? To ask an explanation why you received a wedding invitation?" "I want to demand from you why there's a wedding in the first place." She looked around them. Fortunately, not a single soul was listening at that time. But that was expected to be; wasn't that the exact reason why he chose this place as their damned love nest? She met his eyes, giving his cold stare a run for its money. "Isn't it obvious?" she asked nonchalantly. "Someone asked me to marry him. I accepted. That's how a wedding usually proceeds, but, wait... I don't need to tell you the specifics, don't I? You already know, having gone through them yourself." He closed his eyes, lips pressed into a tight, white line. "Got nothing to say, Malfoy? I'm surprised; you don't strike me as the type." "You don't love him," he said in a quiet but clear voice. His eyes were fiery once again. "Whoever said I had to?" she asked again. "You don't love him," he repeated, stepping closer to her. This time, she didn't retreat, didn't step back. "I could learn to love him," she spat. "I would." He grabbed her arm, pulled her to him. "You can't," he said through clenched teeth. "You're mine." She stared at him, his eyes cold and hard. Shivers danced on her skin, brought not only by the cool evening but also by the possessive, smoldering look on his face. "Bastard," she seethed, pushing her way out of his grasp. "You don't own me." "Liar." "Don't you get it?" she said, rubbing her arm. It still felt heavy; his grip was like vise on her skin, marring and branding. "Yes, Malfoy, believe it or not someone got interested in me after you left me in the dirt. Someone else found me desirable as you once did." "I don't think I'm interested to-" "You know the difference between you and Harry?" The change in his face was frightening, like a mask of fury and hatred swallowing his fair face. "Don't you dare compare me to him," he said. But she'd long learned to ignore his acidic remarks, his sarcastic comments. "The difference is he sees me for who I am. He knows he doesn't own me, and he never can. You, on the other hand... you see me as nothing more than an object, don't you? Some thing to play with and discard in your own time?" She gave a bitter, hollow laugh. "And, look." She spread her arms wide. "Here I am, played with and discarded." "I love you, Granger," he said, his tone gentle. Pleading. The words were said with emotions and feelings so concrete on his face, she almost believed him. Almost. "Do you?" she asked. "Then why did you marry that pug-faced bitch?" He looked away. "You don't understand," he spoke. "Damn right I don't!" she screamed; three years of pent up anger boiling out of her. "How? How do you expect me to understand that, at the

morning after the night you told me you loved me you married Parkinson? Married! And you told me you loved me!" She was being hysterical, she knew. But she couldn't help it; confusion and bitterness had engulfed her for so long she thought there was no way out. She'd been in the dark for too long. "You think I wanted to marry Pansy?" he asked, his face contorted. "You think, after all this time, a single day had passed that I never thought of killing her, just so I could find you and be with you?" "You're demented," she retorted. "I thought you're not a murderer?" "But I would become one, for you." He closed his eyes briefly. "You know I'd do anything for you." "Don't make me sick," she said. "Don't marry him," he told her. "You know you don't love him. You're only using-" Her vision blurred, her palm stung. She had slapped him with enough force to make him stagger, with enough strength to make her wobble. "Don't feed me moralistic crap. And don't ever speak to me again." "Granger-" "Goodbye, Malfoy," she said, turning to leave. She had walked a few steps from him when she heard him say, "I love you." Closing her eyes, she tried to keep the tears from falling. "I love you, too." She looked at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was braided behind her neck, and a white flowing veil covered the back of her head and extended up to her waist. The fabric on her skin felt like water, smooth and gushing. Her waist seemed tiny in the bodice that made her look and feel like a queen. She could smell the sweet-scented daisies resting on the top of her head, her crown. She could feel the thorns of the white roses pricking the skin of her hands, her scepter. Dressed in her wedding gown she looked perfect, impeccable. Little would everyone know that it took all her strength to keep everything from crumbling apart. The event yesterday soared into her memory, making her flinch. I love you, he had said. Was she stupid enough to believe him? Or was she dumber to not believe him at all? Sharp tap-taps on her window made her look at it. The owl from yesterday beat his beak against the glass. She approached, and opened it for the bird. Instead of flying in, though, the owl simply let the parcel go, and flew away. She picked it up, seeing that, again, it was a green envelope with silver strings. Again, the neatly scrawled Hermione Granger on the outside made her hands tremble and shake. She felt tears pricking in her eyes as she tugged at the string.

Congratulations, Granger. Though of course, you could say the same to me now as little Patrice Malfoy also turns three today. By the way, Pansy's pregnant again. I thought you should know. Freedom to Become
zarah joyce on ff.net The Great Hall was dimmed to almost black, with nothing to illuminate it but candles and floating balls of bright yellow flames that, surprisingly, weren't hot to the touch. These balls of light were like fireflies in the night; buzzing bees that roamed the dark hall, trying to chase away the lingering shadows that lurked at every corner. Glimpses at the actual appearance of the walls were fleeting and quick, but the effect was still there: seventh year students could just marvel and gawk at the elaborate paintings that colored the walls, paintings that depicted fond memories for each of the students. It seemed as though these walls were charmed to reflect their happiest recollections as they stayed at the school, and it also seemed as though what each of the student sees is literally quite different from what the other does. One might see himself in the moment he won the championship cup, the other might see himself the day he finally gathered the courage to stand up and impress an infinitely difficult professor. A gasp or two could be heard from here and there: one student had just relived her first kiss with the boy she loved, the other had just witnessed the time she received passing marks on three of her most complicated tests. The reactions to their seeing these fond memories in front of them were varied and different, but their thoughts were the same: there had never been anything in their young, short lives that could easily surpass the experience they had gained after studying within the walls of this unique and inimitable school. "Freedom to Become", that was the theme of their little last dance. It was an apt description, for the students were indeed allowed to wear and look like whoever or whatever they wanted to be. Prejudices, bigotry, judgments these three little words were forgotten, nonexistent, as the students did appear in accordance to their own preferences. The risk of humiliation and embarrassment was infinitely lessened as the students were also allowed to wear masks to hinder the discovery of their identity. Dare to become, then hide what you are? It was one of the mysteries that night, but it was not as though these young men and women were indulging in a little time of philosophical contemplation themselves. Some felt bold and went without masks, the others hid behind ones that showed only their eyes. Some felt bold and went looking like complete idiots, others opted to go more traditional and went as people going to a formal gathering. Gowns of silk, satin and velvet mingled and clashed with pastel-colored tights and ridiculous looking bows, real, expensive chunks of jewels exchanged brilliance with fake, cheap pieces of rocks. Truly, it was a sight to behold, and the students and professors alike could only gape at the sheer difference, at the outcome of it all. Hidden in the depths and covered in the shadows, Hermione Granger stood alone. She watched with quiet mirth in her eyes as her housemates and schoolmates enjoyed themselves immensely in their last dance of their year. She cannot tell which is which, actually; she just knew that people were dancing in the hall and she was assuming that those were indeed her classmates. That assumption of hers was because of the fact that these wizards and witches had done such a great job of disguising themselves that even those dancing cannot tell who they were dancing with. Even she cannot identify where exactly among the crowd her friends were. That ignorance, that knowing the unknown, was only a mild source of irritation for her, but for the others, it merely added to the heaps of confusion and excitement that was gradually escalating as the night waltzed by. Despite her slight bouts of amusement, she was really quite agitated. Hermione was constantly on watch, trying to locate eyes that belonged to the man as immaculate as her supposed-date-for-tonight could only be. Of course, with the dim lighting and the outrageous-looking costumes, she wasn't quite sure where, or who, or what he'd come as. Because she never knew what hewould look like, she could only groan in frustration as her eyes mentally did a comparative study on every male in the room, trying to see if she could identify him through his build alone she did this discreetly, of course, her calculating eyes hidden underneath the mask she wore. Growing increasingly aggravated, she began to wonder why he wasn't doing anything to approach her. Surely he would have recognized her, would he? Then she resisted the urge to smack herself. Of course he wouldn't recognize her! He couldn't recognize her at all She looked down on her gown and smoothened away invisible wrinkles that dared flaw her perfect appearance. Earlier, Hermione, drunk with

the knowledge that absolutely no one can identify her tonight, went crazy and, well, went wild. She enchanted her hair so that it would lengthen to reach her waist, and then dyed it silvery blonde. Her eyes swirled with the color of the stormy sky, gone was the color of the earth in them. Then, she did the unimaginable: she donned on a pair of emerald earrings, a ring and a necklace, each piece of jewelry shaped to curl into the appearance of a snake. Next came the unforgivable: she wore a deep green, velvet dress that boasted of her womanhood, of her blossoming from a sweet child to a tempestuous woman. Lastly, she did the unpardonable: to finish the effect, she molded a mask decorated with emeralds and two intertwined snakes at both sides. When she stared at herself in front of a full-length mirror, she could hardly recognize, yet alone remember that this woman staring right back at her and the woman days before this was one and the same. Hermione Granger, Gryffindor, stared at the mirror, and Hermione Granger, Slytherin, stared back. Oh, if he could only see me now she thought gleefully. Draco Malfoy, eat your heart out! The transformation was complete. She could only grin at her own astonishment for accomplishing something as bold and as manipulative as this. It was sneaky, it was devious it was the complete opposite of her own self! And yet, that was precisely it, the exact reason why she did this. It was so unpredictable, so unexpected. No one, absolutely no one would suspect that this woman with SLYTHERIN screaming off from her in bold, capital letters was Hermione Granger. Who would ever think that that was possible, that she would proudly wear the colors of the 'enemy' in such an event as this? She remembered the moment she stepped into the Great Hall; gasps that can be hardly called as such met her ears and made her smile beneath her mask. Ah, yes, she thought. This was the effect that she craved for. People were wondering amongst themselves, who can she be? They were intrigued by her; she saw it in the gawking eyes of those around her. She searched the sea of faces for a familiar pair of moonlit eyes, trying to see if he was as astounded by the others, but to her disappointment she found none. Her spirits slightly dampened, she quietly headed towards the darker part of the room and stayed there, completely oblivious to the paintings that would have displayed her fondest memories with him had she taken the time to look at them. Of course, on her way to where she was now, she was stopped time and again by offers of those brave enough to dance with a Slytherin in full display. Hermione needed only to look in their eyes to know her answer to their query No. This was the last dance of the school year, and would she spend it in the arms of another? No. Certainly not. There were only very rare occurrences wherein they could spend time together in the midst of a lot of people without having to live each moment in pretense. This event, this masquerade ball was one of them, and she would certainly not waste such an opportunity to be with him like a normal girl would be with a normal guy in a normal party like this. But if that was the case, then the night might go on without her dancing at least one dance because it seemed as though the blasted, annoying, selfish, irritating, stupid dumb piece of git would not make his appearance tonight Heaving a sigh that was tainted with both disappointment and exasperation, she began to move towards the door when suddenly a bold, firm hand snaked around her waist and brought her back towards something firmer, bolder. Before her mouth could utter something in response, a lazy drawl near her ear caught her unaware, unprepared "Going somewhere, my beautiful Slytherin princess?" And then she knew exactly who was holding her. Hermione lifted the hand off her waist and turned around, bent on giving this bastard a piece of her mind but the outburst never came. The outburst never came because never in her life would she dream seeing him like this like a Gryffindor in full display. She raised her surprise-filled eyes and met his brown ones. "You're a" she muttered, almost incoherently, completely thrown by the colors she had never seen on him before. "You're a Gryffindor!" He folded his arms in front of his chest, his face unreadable because of his own mask. "No need to call names," he quipped. It was true, though. Draco Malfoy looked every inch the brave, noble Gryffindor that he came as. He wore a deep crimson robe that was open at the center, and a golden shirt peeked out from the crevice that this robe created. A small, lion-shaped pendant hung low on his chest, and to amplify the effect, his mask was pure white except for the beautiful and intricate rendition of a lion on one side. Clearly, anyone would see that he looked as though he was the very epitome of Godric Gryffindor, one of the Four Founders of their school. "Hasn't anyone ever told you it is rude to stare? You're a Slytherin, you're supposed to know your manners." Draco said bitingly. Hermione closed her mouth immediately, her face flushing pink. "It's just that" she muttered faintly, her voice small, "You're a Gryffindor and you've got brown eyes and brown hair." He cocked his head to one side, pointed at his eyes and ruffled his hair. "You're not the only one who's adept at making potions. But I've got to admit this is something surprising as well" At that, he stepped even closer to her, caught a strand of her hair and lifted it. He stared at her eyes, and quietly studied the color on them. "It looks good on you," Draco said, a genuine compliment on his lips and his eyes, orbs that were softened by the color of earth in them. She bit her lip, and then took her time to look at him. It was almost humorous, really, that she'd come to the ball as a female Draco Malfoy, and he came as a male Hermione Granger they've never really talked about their costumes, so how on earth? "We match," she said. "Yes, because Slytherins and Gryffindors are really meant to be with each other, you know." She was about to retort to that when Hermione remembered that he was late. Severely late at that. Silver eyes flashing in annoyance at having to wait for him, she hissed. "Where have you been?" she asked, the snake in her appearing in her venomous tone. "You're late. I thought you'd never show up!" He snorted, then gazed appreciatively at his date. "And miss seeing you like this? I'd rather rot." She looked unmoved, though she did catch the several approving looks he sent her. "How did you recognize me?" Brown eyes blinked at her innocently. "My love brought me to you." he said dryly. This time, it was she who snorted. "Really." He rolled his eyes, heaved a sigh. "Alright. I was late because I cast a locator spell." "You needed a locator spell to find me?" "I just needed to be sure." Draco told her. "When you came in looking like that, I had my suspicions, but I really needed to be sure. After all, it'd be embarrassing for me to come to the wrong girl now, would it? It would ruin my reputation." "What reputation?" She mocked. "Don't you know your reputation's already ruined? You came as a Gryffindor. If you're so-called friends could see you now" Without waiting for her to finish, he seized her immediately and placed her in front of him. "Well, my dear," he told her, his hand already rubbing small, torturous circles on her lower back, "I wonder whatyour friends will say if they see you like this fraternizing with the enemy and all that" Hermione raised her hands and rested it on his shoulders. Her eyes flashed with something other than ire. "Why'd you think I came looking like

this?" she told him, as she wished fervently that they could both do away with their masks. "Because you wanted to know how it feels to be as beautiful as me?" She pounded her fist on his chest, and then pondered for a moment. "Actually, yes. And mind you it worked like a charm. I've already been asked to dance so many times..." The hold on her waist tightened almost immediately, and the eyes that gazed at her began to fill with another kind of fire. "What?" he muttered low, dangerously low. Hermione chuckled, and that only elicited a growl from him. "Relax, your highness, king of the jungle." She told him. "It wasn't like I danced with them, you know. Even if I'm a Slytherin tonight, I still try and maintain my standards" "Thank Merlin for your standards," he said. Then, he began to guide their movements as they proceeded to dance. Draco lowered his face and rested it on her shoulder, his hands possessively holding on to her. "You know" he said. "I'm feeling particularly bold tonight. Do you think we could remove our masks?" She stepped back. "Are you serious?" she asked. "But what if" His eyes burned with a fiery determination. "Screw them," he said firmly. With that, he removed his hands from her and clutched at his mask, and then proceeded to take it away. When his face was revealed, she could only gasp at the difference his eyes and hair made. He smiled at her. "Huh," she muttered. And then she removed her own mask. "It's not like we're going to be recognized, anyway" Before she could breathe her next breath, Draco was already in front of her, holding her like close to him. "Now if you don't mind," he drawled lazily, "I'd like to do something I've been wanting to do." Hermione knew the answer, but felt it right to ask, "What's that?" "This." And then he lowered his face and caught her lips with his. His hands remained on her waist, and hers on his shoulder as they savored the intimacy of the moment, as they savored the hauntingly familiar dance that they were indulging themselves in. Around them, the students were shocked to see the Lady Slytherin and the Lord Gryffindor fraternizing with each other, so to speak. Murmurs and speculations danced crazily around them, questions about who they were and what they thought they were doing scandalous! They thought. Completely scandalous! And had Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy been looking at the walls instead of feasting on each other, they would have seen themselves painted on the walls, for now these walls reflect the moment they both threw away their masks and surrendered completely to the magic of the ball, for they had truly seized the moment, the freedom to become free.

Love, Your Secret Santa

Slytherinlinzi on ff.net November 25th "Good evening, my fine students," began Professor Dumbledore. "I know you are all most curious as to why I am here. One month from now, Christmas will be upon us." He looked around the room at the Slytherin seventh years briefly before continuing. "I've come up with a game to promote inter-house unity. I think, as seventh years, it would do well for you all to set a good example for the rest of the students in your House." Casting a sideways glance over at the Head of Slytherin House, Draco noticed that the angry smirk usually fixed on Professor Snape's face had grown into a full scowl. Intrigued, he turned his attention back to the Headmaster. "The game we will be playing is aptly called 'Secret Santa'. As I have already explained to the rest of the seventh years, this game is very simple. In here," he said brightly, pointing to a small silver hat, "is the name of a seventh year student who belongs to a house other than Slytherin. You will either purchase or make twelve gifts for this student. That is one gift every day for the twelve days of Christmas. There is a drop-off box outside my office. Each House will be given a designated time to drop off their gifts for delivery so as not to spoil the surprise." Even the most cool and reserved Slytherins found this game rather interesting. Professor Dumbledore's smile grew wider. "And while we're discussing spoilsports, I've come up with a magical contract. If you choose to participate, you agree to be bound by it. The contract clearly states that if you divulge your identity to the person whom you have chosen, either accidentally or on purpose, you will suffer a rather embarrassing consequence." Professor Dumbledore laughed softly as all the Slytherins' eyes widened. "Calm down, calm down. It will only be short term. And it won't be painful, for the most part. Your Secret Santa will reveal his or herself to you at the Yule Ball on Christmas Day. Now, who's ready to draw?" Without another word, each student drew a name out of the hat. Draco let out a huge sigh of relief. Looking down at the parchment in his hand, he smiled. He was going to be Hannah Abbott's Secret Santa. He had been sick at the thought of having to buy gifts for Potter or the Weasel. As Draco looked around his common room, he saw mixed emotions on his friend's faces. Pansy looked absolutely appalled, which meant that she must have chosen a Gryffindor. Millicent looked pleased with the name she had drawn. Crabbe and Goyle both looked confused. Come to think about it, mused Draco, that's how they always looked. Draco thought the Secret Santa game sounded fun, though he'd never have said so out loud. What could be more fun than getting a gift every day for the twelve days of Christmas? When Professor Dumbledore came down to their common room that night, Draco thought at first that something bad had happened. It was rare for the Headmaster to visit any House common room at Hogwarts. Seeing the twinkle in Dumbledore's blue eyes, however, led Draco to the conclusion that the old wizard had something up his sleeves. He had been correct. Draco sat back down and pondered. He knew very little about Hannah Abbott, except for that she was a Hufflepuff. He decided to send an owl to his mother and ask for her opinion. After all, he still had several weeks to figure out what to get Hannah. Meanwhile, Hermione Granger sat on the floor of the Gryffindor common room with her legs crossed Indian-style. She was silent. Her best friend Ron tried to console her, but she shrugged him off. "Don't, Ron," she started. "It could be worse, you know. I could have chosen that fat, stupid prat Goyle. At least the person I chose has a personality." She grinned over at Harry, who was mumbling obscenity after obscenity about Goyle. "But Malfoy? He doesn't deserve anything, let alone a gift from you." Ron ran his fingers through his red hair and gazed at Hermione, who was already making a list of possible gifts. "I know, Ron. I've already thought of all the horrible things I could leave for him. But it's Christmas, and Malfoy or not, I'm determined to be the best Secret Santa I can be. I'm not going to let him ruin my holiday cheer," she said, a hint of smugness in her voice. "Besides, we've got enough to think about as it is. We've got to make sure your gifts are impressive. This is the perfect way for you to tell Padma how you truly feel about her." Ron blushed as she mentioned Padma's name. Padma Patil was a Ravenclaw, and Ron had an enormous crush on her. He was the only one out of the three friends who was happy about the name he drew. 12 Days before Christmas Draco woke up annoyed. He didn't appreciate being disturbed from his slumber. Still clad in his pyjamas, he stormed out of his dormitory, intent

on strangling whoever was making so much noise. It was hard for him to remain angry when he walked into the common room. Many of the seventh years were already unwrapping the gifts that had been delivered for them. Unable to ignore the delighted squeals of some of the girls as well as the lively chatter of the rest of his peers, Draco smiled as he watched his friends. Draco had forgotten about the Secret Santa game. He had owled his mother ages ago to ask for her help and had gotten back twelve beautifully wrapped packages. He hadn't the slightest clue what was in any of them, but his mother had impeccable taste, so he knew the gifts would be more than sufficient. He had placed them in the drop-off box the moment they arrived. His gift was still sitting by the fireplace. It was rectangular in shape and wrapped in dark green paper. A note was attached to the package. Draco gingerly picked up the gift and went back to his room where he read the note first. Draco, What does one get for the man who has everything? I went back and forth with myself trying to figure out what to give you. I hope you'll like my choices. At first, I was really upset at having drawn your name, but now I'm rather interested in seeing your reactions to the gifts I have chosen. The first one is nothing much, just something that caught my eye. Anyway, Happy Christmas! Your Secret Santa In spite of himself, Draco was grinning. What a curious note. He knew his Secret Santa wasn't a Slytherin and definitely couldn't be a Gryffindor. That left a Hufflepuff or a Ravenclaw. And his Secret Santa was definitely female. He could tell by the subtle flirtatiousness of the note. Unwrapping the gift, Draco found himself pleasantly surprised. It was a hardback copy of A Seeker's Guide to Quidditch: Beyond the Wronski Feint. He read in the Daily Prophet only a week ago that this book had just come out. Impressed, he thumbed through the pages briefly before getting ready for breakfast. In the Great Hall, nearly every seventh year had brought their gift with them. Draco was no exception. He sat, his plate empty, consumed by his book. There were countless strategies designed specifically for Seekers and Draco hadn't even heard of most of them. By the time he tore himself away from the helpful strategy guide, breakfast was over and most of the students had left. He had been so immersed in that book that he didn't even notice Hermione watching him every once in a while with a smile on her face. *** So, Hermione thought to herself, Draco Malfoy actually enjoyed his gift. She grinned as she remembered the way he had dived into the book during breakfast. She thought Malfoy was a prat, of course, but for the first time, Hermione had noticed how handsome he had become. Blind hatred tends to stand in the way of such revelations, she said to herself. She had spent most of breakfast watching him, noting the way his eyebrows burrowed together when he concentrated. You're not aiming to impress Malfoy, she told herself. She just wanted him to be so surprised when she unveiled herself at the Yule Ball that he wouldn't have a single insult to throw her way. Quickly, she darted off towards Dumbledore's office to drop off gift number two. 11 Days before Christmas Draco didn't allow the noise to wake him as it had done the day before. He was the first to rise and had showered and dressed before anyone else woke up. Completely alone in the common room, he stared at the array of presents in front of the fireplace. Some of the packages were neatly wrapped and others were not. It took Draco a moment to find the one bearing his name. This gift was larger and heavier than the one he had received yesterday. Another note was attached, also, right underneath a silver bow. Draco, Here's gift number two. I know that by playing this game, we're supposed to be promoting inter-house unity, but I couldn't resist. Everyone knows that Slytherin's biggest rival is Gryffindor. Maybe after the Yule Ball, we can play a game or two. I'll try my hardest not to beat . Your Secret Santa Fascinated, Draco looked at the note, thinking he might be able to guess whose handwriting it was. The script was incredibly neat and tidy, but Draco had not a clue. He opened his gift and tried not to look awestruck. His Secret Santa was definitely a Ravenclaw. Sitting in his lap was a brand new Wizard's Chess set. He had several of them, but none were as intricate as this one. He finally understood the reference to Gryffindor. This chess set was obviously modelled as Slytherin against Gryffindor. All the pieces had either the Slytherin serpant or the Gryffindor lion carved on their backs. He inspected each piece, amazed at the craftsmanship of the set. Draco was surprised that his Secret Santa knew him so well. It was only day two of the game, but so far Draco had gotten two gifts that he had really enjoyed. He wondered how his Secret Santa knew what he'd like without being a Slytherin, because Draco very rarely let anyone outside his own housemates see the real him. *** Hermione had no idea who her Secret Santa was, but they obviously thought of her as a complete nerd. When she voiced her complaints to Harry and Ron, they burst into fits of laughter. "Hermione," Harry started, trying to stop snorting long enough to speak coherently, "you are a nerd." Hermione kicked Harry's shin playfully, spinning her brand new cauldron on the table. She didn't mind the bookworm-ish gifts. After all, she told herself, the gift is in the giving. She couldn't ignore the delighted smile on Draco's face when she'd seen him playing chess with Blaise in the Great Hall earlier that afternoon. Draco, of course, had made Blaise play Gryffindor's side. She watched them from across the hall, trying not to get caught staring. Draco looked so carefree, so content, and so utterly cute. She was beginning to develop quite a crush on him. Shaking herself back to reality, she decided it definitely was not a crush. It was just that the holidays must put Draco in a good mood, which meant no insults, which meant one very happy Gryffindor. 10 Days before Christmas Draco was beginning to get excited about Christmas. The ball was officially in ten days, and he had formulated a plan. Normally, he would have gone with Pansy, like usual. They weren't dating, had never dated, actually, though you wouldn't be able to convince the rest of the school of that. They were just good friends. He was going to the ball alone this year. That way, when his Secret Santa revealed herself, Draco could properly thank her for such thoughtful and meaningful gifts. He could tell by the notes attached to every gift that his Secret Santa had carefully planned what to get him. He could also tell by her notes that she was smart, which was a trait Draco found very alluring in a woman. She was considerate and paid attention to details, he could tell by the gifts she'd chosen. He assumed she would be attractive because each of her gifts was so attractively wrapped. He also assumed she'd be pretty because her notes smelled faintly like lavender. He knew there was not a shred of evidence to prove his assumptions to be true, but he just knew she was beautiful. She had to be. He was trying to wait as long as he could to open his gift for the day. He made it until just after breakfast. The gift bearing his name was wrapped in white paper. It was tubular, with red curly ribbons on both ends. Draco scooped it up and noticed the note attached.

Draco, No doubt you've read most of Numerology and Gramatica. Most Arithmancy students have. Some people wouldn't consider this a very fun gift, but if you enjoy Arithmancy as much as I think you do, you'll find it very interesting. Your Secret Santa P.S. Excellent job beating Zabini at chess yesterday. I assume that means you enjoyed your new set? Draco laughed to himself. Who was this woman? He found it terribly charming that she had watched him outwit Zabini in the Great Hall yesterday. Practically spying, she had been! Are you sure she isn't a Slytherin? Draco asked himself, tearing off the paper as he pondered. What he held in his hands was a scroll. As he opened it up, his eyes widened. It was a very complex Arithmancy chart. He gazed at it for a long while, working problems in his head and smiling as he used the chart to find the correct answer. Amazed, he closed his eyes for a moment and thought about his Secret Santa. How she knew what the perfect gifts would be was beyond him. He had no idea who she was, and yet, she saw right through him. She saw beyond the surly, sarcastic Draco. She saw inside him. He didn't know whether or not that should bother him. Pushing his thoughts elsewhere, he grabbed his notebook and a few quills and headed towards the library. *** Hermione didn't even look up when she heard the door open. She was busy getting started on the Herbology essay that would be due in February. The footsteps stopped several feet ahead of her table and from the corner of her eyes, she could see a tall figure sitting down. Unable to contain her curiosity, Hermione looked over and saw Draco Malfoy scribbling wildly, his Arithmancy book wide open in front of him. Smiling, she knew exactly what he was doing here. She stared at him a while longer, absorbing how handsome he was when he wasn't smirking. Being extremely quiet, she stood up and sauntered over to his table, determined not to blow her cover. "There is something seriously wrong with this picture," Hermione said, her voice startling Draco. "For starters, there is a Malfoy in the library. What's even more intriguing," she continued, amazed at her brazenness, "is that the term is over. What are you doing here?" She placed her hands on her hips and waited for the usual Malfoy retort. "Granger, why must you torment me?" Draco set his quill down and looked up at her. "If you must know, I am enjoying a gift from my Secret Santa," he said as he pointed to his chart, "and I would greatly appreciate it if you didn't spoil my good mood. I would hate to have to hex you so close to Christmas, you know." Hermione ran her tongue over her teeth, trying to decide whether she should be angry or happy. "Don't be such a Scrooge, Malfoy," she said as she walked back to her table to collect her belongings. "A what?" asked Draco snidely. "Don't use your peculiar Muggle terms around me, Granger. You know they're beneath me." He smirked as he watched her turn towards the exit. She glared at him for a moment. "Bah Humbug to that, Malfoy. If you aren't careful, you'll end up just like Ebenezer Scrooge, you know," she hissed as she stormed out of the library. 9 Days before Christmas Draco rubbed his eyes and tried to stifle a yawn. He hadn't meant to stay up so late, but his Arithmancy chart was fascinating. He pushed his eggs around his plate and tried not to think about his row with Hermione. He couldn't stand that insufferable know-it-all. He hated that she performed better academically than he did. He hated that she knew all sorts of weird Muggle terms and insulted him with them, knowing full well that he hadn't any idea what they meant. Most of all, he hated that he thought she was gorgeous. He let his eyes wander over to the Gryffindor table. Spotting her immediately, he scowled. She was laughing with her little friends, as usual. She must have felt his glare, because at that moment, she looked up. Draco knew he was caught staring, but he didn't avert his eyes. The smile Hermione had been sharing with her friends didn't falter one bit as she looked back at Draco. For a moment, Draco had convinced himself, she was smiling at me. How odd, he thought. After he finished breakfast, he went for a walk outside. The air was cold and windy, but Draco didn't mind. Not far from the entrance to the Forbidden Forest, Draco sat down and took the small, but heavy box out of his cloak pocket. For reasons he didn't really understand, Draco preferred opening his gifts alone. Maybe it was because the notes his Secret Santa left always felt so personal. Mostly, though, it was because he didn't want anyone to see just how happy this game was making him. Was it possible, he wondered, to have a crush on a girl without knowing who she was? Turning his attention to the box, he noticed the paper was dark blue, adorned with silver bows. The note, as usual, just bared his first name in the same remarkably beautiful penmanship of which he was growing quite fond. Draco, Here's number four! I do hope you like it. It isn't anything much, but when I saw it, I thought of you. I don't know why. I find myself thinking about you periodically throughout the day. I hope you are enjoying receiving these gifts half as much as I am enjoying giving them to you. I'll write you again tomorrow. Your Secret Santa Draco unwrapped the package slowly. He saw "Quality Quidditch Supplies" stamped on the box and he excitedly opened it. Inside was a Golden Snitch. Picking it up, he watched the wings flutter leisurely. It was considerably heavier than a regulation Snitch. Holding it, he realised it was a paperweight. This Snitch didn't have the capability to fly, and he laughed after he tore away the rest of the paper and saw "paperweight" written underneath the stamped name of the shop. Unusual, he thought. He hadn't seen a Golden Snitch paperweight before. His Secret Santa was so mystifying. He was used to girls showering him with affection, but he wasn't used to this. He wasn't used to someone seeking out the perfect gift just for him. It made him feel special. He couldn't wait for the Yule Ball. If this girl was half as pretty as he hoped she'd be, Draco knew he'd be a fool not to drop everything and spend his time trying to make her feel as wonderful as she had made him feel. *** Much to her disappointment, Hermione hadn't seen Draco at all after breakfast. She knew she was getting in over her head. She didn't know what she had been thinking, writing a letter like that. She knew that the moment Draco found out she was the one sending him all those gifts, she'd be taunted relentlessly about her crush on him. She couldn't help it, though. Seeing him smile at something she had caused was all it took. She'd never seen him truly smile. All she'd seen before was a smirk. Her gifts were making Draco smile with his eyes as well as his mouth. And wow, she found herself thinking, he does have beautiful eyes. She was playing Exploding Snap with Harry in the Gryffindor common room when Ron came bursting in. "She liked it! She liked it!" he exclaimed so loudly that a few people poked their heads out of their dormitories to see what all of the ruckus was about.

Hermione laughed and clapped Ron on the back. "Good for you, Ron," she said with a big grin. Since Padma was in Ravenclaw, Hermione had suggested Ron give her a planner bewitched to remind her of all upcoming assignments and appointments. She had even helped Ron with the spell. Sighing, she soaked up the happiness in the room. She loved Christmas. Eight Days before Christmas Draco found himself habitually rising before everyone else, obsessed with being the first to collect his gift. He didn't always open it right away, but he enjoyed having it in his possession as early as possible. His Secret Santa was one creative girl, he chuckled as he saw an enormous box wrapped in green and red paper. There was no note on this box and Draco realised he was disappointed. Opening it quickly, Draco found another box, this one wrapped in bright red paper. Grinning, he opened that box. Six boxes later, he finally found a note as well as a thick envelope. As usual, he read the note before opening the gift. Draco, I'm sorry about all the boxes. Well, no I'm not, really. I'm trying to keep you on your toes. Most people look at you and see only what you allow them to see. I see past it. Maybe I'm not the most brilliant at metaphors, but I like to think of you as a chocolate Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Bean. At first, I'm terrified of it. It could be anything. Mud, earwax, gravy, and all sorts of other nasty things. If I'm brave enough, though, I'll give it a try. And I'll be happy I did, because nothing is as sweet as chocolate. Enjoy your gift. Your Secret Santa Draco was stunned. Did his Secret Santa just attempt to make a pass at him? He opened the thick envelope and discovered a gift certificate to Honeydukes waiting for him. He heard a pounding and looked around the room for several minutes before he realised it was his own heart. He was falling for someone he didn't even know. Grinning as he walked back to his dormitory, he also realised he didn't care. He tried to think of the least attractive Ravenclaw of his year and even if his Secret Santa ended up being Mandy Brocklehurst, Draco swore to himself that he'd woo her into his arms, no matter what it took. He knew, deep down, his Secret Santa was special. He sat on his bed and began reading his Quidditch book again until it was time for breakfast. *** Hermione was waiting impatiently for Ron and Harry to come back from Hagrid's hut. They were almost five minutes late! She decided to just walk to the Great Hall for lunch.. She had no more than turned the corner when she walked straight into Draco, who was running after the three Ravenclaw girls she had just passed. "Pardon me, Granger," he said quickly as he ran to catch up with the girls. "Padma, Julie, Mandy, do any of you like chocolate Bertie Bott's beans?" he called out to the girls as he chased after them. Hermione suppressed a laugh and was taken by surprise. She wasn't the only one getting in over her head, she noticed. Draco had actually been polite to her! All because of what she wrote in her note. She couldn't wait to see the look on Malfoy's face when he realised his sweet Secret Santa was none other than Mudblood Granger. The ball was just over a week away, and Hermione was formulating a plan. She'd already owled Madam Malkin's robe shop in Diagon Alley. Seven Days before Christmas Draco sat out on the Quidditch pitch, humming softly. He stopped as soon as he realised he was doing it; Malfoys simply don't hum. There was a large purple sack beside him, and Draco couldn't contain his excitement any longer. He ripped open the note. Draco, One week until Christmas! I'm so excited. This gift is a simple one, but I'm sure you'll get a lot of use from it. It's something every serious Quidditch player needs. Just to let you know, it's completely compatible with your Nimbus 2001, as well as your new Firebolt. (I made the clerk triple check, just to be sure) Shine away! Your Secret Santa Draco reached into the sack and pulled out a brand new broomstick servicing kit. He didn't really need a new kit, but the gift made him happy nonetheless. He was beginning to look forward to the notes almost as much as the gift. This girl, whoever she was, talked to him like he was a friend. It was something he wasn't used to. Draco was used to being distant, standoffish. He wasn't used to strangers speaking to him as though they were old friends. Smiling, he placed the kit and the note back in the sack and made his way to the common room, without realising he was humming again. *** Hermione stared at Malfoy's back from the Astronomy Tower. She was beginning to think this was a bad idea. Sure, Malfoy thought his Secret Santa was wonderful now. Would he really think so after the ball? As much as he was beginning to grow on her, Hermione wasn't foolish. Even if Draco did fancy her, they'd have a tough time trying to date. Her friends hated him and his father hated Muggleborns and for all she knew, so did Draco. It was too late, though. She had gone too far already. She may as well just risk it all and go ahead with her plan. She shivered as an icy breeze made its way through the tower. She cast one last look out at Draco and turned to walk back to her common room. Six Days before Christmas For the first time in his seven years at Hogwarts, Draco had been nice to a Gryffindor. On purpose. That terrified him. He had been on his way to the Great Hall, his gift in hand. His plan was to open the gift at dinner in hopes of catching his Secret Santa peeking at him. Draco was impatient. Having to wait until the Yule Ball to discover his Secret Santa's identity was agony. He had been so wrapped up in his clever plan that he bumped right into Lavender Brown. She fell to the floor and the magazines she had been carrying flew in every direction. She looked at Draco with contempt, and before he could catch himself, he knelt down and offered to help her up. "Are you alright, Miss Brown? I'm terribly sorry for my clumsiness," he said softly, picking up magazines as she smoothed out her skirt. "Thank you, I'm fine," she whispered, obviously shaken at his change in behaviour. She walked away and Draco felt warmth flood into his cheeks. He knew he was blushing. If any Gryffindor dared to say anything about it, he swore he'd hex them, Christmas or not. He made his way into the Great Hall and sat down at the end of the table. Looking around leisurely, he searched the Ravenclaw table, desperate to see a pair of eyes meet his own. With no luck, he decided to go ahead and read the note before looking again. Draco, I'm not much of a Quidditch person, but even I know the basics. I'll have you know that I fought tooth and nail for the very last copy of this book at Flourish and Blotts. You owe me big time. I'm only kidding. Seeing you smile is a big enough "thank you" for me. Your Secret Santa

Draco looked up, scanning the Ravenclaw table again. A girl smiled back at him but Draco dismissed her. He knew she was only a fifth year. Not bothering to mask his disappointment, he unwrapped the present, curious as to what could have possibly made such a wonderful girl fight for something as inconsequential as a book. Comprehension filled Draco's mind and a warm smile graced his face. Of course she'd fought over this book. It was the latest edition of Quidditch Throughout the Ages. The cover of the book featured the Luxemburg team, who had won the World Cup only a few months ago. Draco, like every wizard his age, was a Quidditch fanatic. Despite rumours of his father buying Draco's way onto the Slytherin team, he had actually turned out to be an excellent Seeker. He gazed at the Ravenclaws one more time before turning to show his friends his new book. *** Hermione chuckled, which made Ron and Harry look up. She was watching Draco and enjoyed his clumsy attempt to find out his Secret Santa. Ron, his mouth full, looked at her quizzically. Harry put his fork down and turned to stare at the Slytherin table. "What's so funny, Hermione?" Harry said, picking up his goblet to take sip of pumpkin juice. "What?" she asked as her eyes darted quickly to the floor, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "Oh, nothing. I just remembered a funny joke Lavender told me," she lied. At this moment, Lavender threw herself down next to Hermione and told everyone within earshot of the Gryffindor table about her run-in with Malfoy. Hermione was unable to conceal her smile. Five Days before Christmas A week ago, everything in Draco's life had been normal. Who would have known that seven silly little letters could make such a difference in his life? Draco felt like a different person. He knew it was silly, he knew that this was just a game. His biggest fear was that this girl, this intelligent, witty, and cunning girl wouldn't be interested in him after the game was over. While Draco oozed confidence and self-assurance on the surface, he was still a teenage boy, after all. He ran his fingers down the tubular package. It was very similar in shape to the Arithmancy chart he'd received. The note was attached to a dark blue ribbon. Taking care to release it without damaging it or the package, he slipped the note off the ribbon and felt butterflies flutter in his stomach. Draco, Five more days! I'm so excited about the Yule Ball. Meet me by the refreshment stand at 9:00. I'll be waiting with two goblets of butterbeer. Just a note about this next gift: I had to beg like I've never begged before. And trust me, it wasn't pretty. You DO owe me for this one. Your Secret Santa P.S. Quit staring at all the Ravenclaws during dinner. People will think you've developed a little crush. So she had seen him open his gift in the Great Hall, then. He was frustrated that he missed her. Was it possible she wasn't a Ravenclaw? He tried to think of the smartest Hufflepuff girls he knew while carefully removing the paper from his gift. "WIZARDS AND WITCHES, MAY I PRESENT THE BULGARIAN QUIDDITCH TEAM!" A booming voice exclaimed. Draco unrolled the paper and saw that it was a poster of the Bulgarian National Quidditch team. Bloody hell, he noted with excitement, it was autographed! It had even been enchanted to announce the players' presence. He stared at the poster with amazement. Each player on the team had signed their name right under their respective pictures. Viktor Krum even left him a personal note. He had written, "Draco, be nice to her and have a happy Christmas." Draco hung the poster in his dormitory, right by his bed. He thought about Viktor's note. Be nice to her, it had said. Draco planned on being more than nice to her. The moment he knew who she was, Draco was going to smother her with kisses. This was, by far, the best gift he had received so far. Excitedly, he called out to Crabbe and Goyle, wanting to show off his gift. *** Hermione was walking with Harry to the Great Hall, for lunch. She grinned as she saw Ron not too far behind them, talking animatedly to Padma. Harry was discussing the upcoming Quidditch game against the Ravenclaws and Hermione pretended to listen. Inside, she was bubbling with excitement. She had been so afraid that Viktor wasn't going to get back to her in time, but he had pulled through. He teased her unmercifully about needing autographs for Draco. She exhaled happily, thankful for the wonderful people in her life. They were almost to the Great Hall when they began to hear all the whispered chatter. Nearly sixty people were standing at the entrance of the Great Hall. Hermione and Harry ran to see what all the fuss was about. It took all of her strength not to gasp when she saw what was written on the door. Silvery blue fairy dust had been used as ink. Many of the girls were sighing with adoration. Hermione felt her ears burn and tried to act as nonchalant as possible. Draco had written, "Secret Santa, V.K. sends his regards. Are you as beautiful as I think you are? Can't wait to meet you." She blushed throughout the entire meal. Four Days before Christmas A snowstorm was making its way to Hogwarts. Draco watched the white flakes dance their way across the landscape of the castle and sipped his cocoa. He was sitting in an oversized armchair in the library, enjoying the warmth of the fire and the scenery outside. His gift lay on his lap, still wrapped. The note was all he cared for at the moment. Draco, Where did you get fairy dust? Because of you, I blushed for the rest of the day. Thanks a lot! Surprise, surprise, I got you another book. I read this one over the summer holiday and I think you'll find it rather captivating. Four more days. Your Secret Santa Draco set his cocoa on the table and picked up the package. For the hundredth time that week, he was surprised. Draco had an extensive personal library at home, but no one at Hogwarts knew what an avid reader he was. No one, he thought, except her. He unwrapped a thick book, the cover bearing a face he knew all too well. Smiling at the title, Being Evil Never Felt So Good, A Biography of Salazar Slytherin, he tapped his fingers against the spine of the book. The Yule Ball was in four more days. He thought about all of the gifts he had received and was further convinced that his Secret Santa was the most incredible girl in the world. *** Hermione scolded herself. "When have you become such a spy?" she asked herself, sneaking away from the library door. She smiled and whispered, "Ever since you fell in love with a Slytherin." The words sunk in the moment she said them. For seven years, she had hated Draco. This game, however, had let her see a different side of him. After realising that he was indeed capable of feeling happiness, making him smile was becoming an addiction for Hermione. Suddenly, it didn't seem so important what Harry or Ron thought. What was important was seeing his grey-blue eyes light up with joy. The moment she walked through the portrait hole and into the Gryffindor common room, Harry pounced on her. He looked half amused, half frightened.

"Hermione," he said gravely, "whatever you do, do not laugh." The seriousness in his voice concerned her. "What's the matter? Where is Ron?" she asked, frowning. "That's what I'm trying to tell you," whispered Harry. "Ron has had a bit of an accident." They went together up to Ron's dormitory, where he was sitting at the foot of his bed, looking dismal. Seeing the worry on Hermione's face, Ron threw a crumpled piece of parchment at her. She picked it up and saw the Hogwarts Crest in the corner of the letter. Confused, she read. Mister Ronald Weasley, It has come to my attention that you have violated section 241(a) of the Secret Santa contract you have signed. This section clearly states: Any person who divulges his or her identity to their designated person agrees to be punished in a manner chosen by the author of the contract. Unfortunately, Mr. Weasley, a contract is a contract and you will have to suffer the consequence. Do not worry, you will be your normal self come Christmas morning. Jovially yours, Albus Dumbledore Hermione looked at Harry, who was looking at Ron. "Well," she said, trying to sound as optimistic as possible, "what is the punishment?" Ron cleared his throat as if he were getting ready to say something. He opened his mouth and a beautiful soprano voice came out. "Dashing through the snow," Ron looked miserable, but the voice that was coming from his mouth didn't sound miserable at all. It was a woman's voice, crystal clear and perfectly in tune. He looked at Hermione briefly before continuing, "in a one-horse open sleigh. O're the fields we go laughing all the way!" "Oh, Ron," Hermione said gently, "what happened?" Harry piped up, wiping the tears from his eyes and clutching his sides in silent laughter. "Obviously, he let Padma know he was her Secret Santa." Harry sat down next to Ron and tried to be sympathetic. "Padma was wearing the bracelet Ron left for her, so he asked her if she liked it. When she said yes, Ron got a little excited and shouted 'I knew you would! Ginny helped me pick it out!' and before he knew it, this letter appeared in his hand." "Now," he said cheerfully, ignoring Ron's glare, "whenever he tries to speak, his voice is replaced with a woman's voice who only sings Christmas Carols. It took him all of 'Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer' to figure it out." "You know I love you, Ron," Hermione said, patting him on the back, "but that is the funniest thing I think I have ever heard." She and Harry erupted into laughter, and Ron scowled at them briefly, before finally giving in and laughing with them. Three Days before Christmas Christmas was undeniably in the air. The final decorations were being put into place all over the school and Draco couldn't remember a time when he'd been more excited. He and Pansy were both frustrated at the Slytherin dungeon's lack of Christmas cheer, so they bewitched all the fireplaces to glow green. He had been so busy decorating that it was well after dinner before he realised that he had not opened his gift for the day. Like a cheetah, he sprinted down the stairs to the common room and picked up the only gift that remained by the fireplace. The box was wrapped plainly in matte silver paper trimmed with gold ribbons. It was thin, but rather long. Draco wasted no time opening the note. Draco, I've taken the liberty of bewitching this gift. If anyone other than you tries to use it, they'll be in for a very nasty surprise. I'm trying not to count down the hours until the Yule Ball. But just in case things don't happen as planned, I want you to know how much I've enjoyed being your Secret Santa. I don't think I'll ever be able to look at you the same. Thank you for that. Your Secret Santa The gift was a brand new quill. It was black with traces of green in the feathers. Inspecting it, he saw no traces of the spell she had used to bewitch it. To test it, he wrote his name several times on a blank piece of parchment. "Goyle," he called, motioning for his friend to come forward, "would you do me a favour and write this down?" Goyle nodded and took the quill from Draco and sat, ready for instructions. Draco put on a serious face. "Crabbe is an idiot," he said, casting a wicked glance at his friend as Goyle began to write. Suddenly, he heard a loud crack, and Goyle was covered in boils. Furnunculus, Draco observed. He would recognise that hex anywhere. Draco laughed for the better part of an hour. With every passing day, this girl seemed more and more perfect for him. *** Hermione was starting to get worried. Ron had refused to come out of his room all day. Dean and Seamus had goaded him into talking singing, rather, and that was all it took. Thirty minutes later, Ron was the talk of Gryffindor Tower. Most of his classmates were teasing in good fun, but Hermione knew he was incredibly embarrassed. She gave Harry a goodie bag filled with Chocolate Frogs and Fizzing Whizbees and said, "Please give these to Ron. If you need me, I'll be in my room." He rolled his eyes at her jokingly and nodded. Thankful that, for once, her dormitory was empty, Hermione pulled a parcel out from under her bed. She had been waiting all day for some privacy before opening the box containing her brand new robe. Hermione had fallen in love with the robe the very first time she saw it. It was forest green velvet and had silver accents on the sleeves and bodice. She had chosen Slytherin colours on purpose. She did a simple fitting spell and when Yule Ball came around, it would fit her perfectly. She had no idea what to expect when Malfoy met her at the refreshment stand. She didn't know how he'd react. If he could just get past the fact that she wasn't a pureblood, they might have a chance. Draco was handsome, of course, but he wasn't drop dead gorgeous. Not that Hermione was a beauty queen by any means. She was, as her father often called her, unconventionally beautiful. She folded the robe neatly and placed it back in the box. She was more nervous now than she had been when she took her O.W.L.s. She ignored the knots in her stomach and sat down on her bed. She tried to read a book, but all she could think about was the ball. Sighing, she put the book down and attempted to sleep. Two Days before Christmas Draco noticed Professor McGonagall comforting several crying students outside of the Great Hall. Something is odd, he realised. Not a single student he had passed in the hallway that morning had looked happy. Professor McGonagall looked sharply at him. "Mister Malfoy," she said, her arm still patting the young student, "do you have any idea where the Bloody Baron is?"

Draco shook his head. "Sorry, Professor. Is something wrong?" She let out an exasperated sigh. "Peeves. He's causing trouble, as usual. I wouldn't go in there, Mister Malfoy, unless you wish to be insulted." Draco smiled at the Transfiguration professor and opened the door to enter. Most of the remaining students looked glum. Peeves was floating above the Hufflepuff table, taunting a few third year students. "Your eyes will fall out, your head will spin, a skrewt will burn you with its blasted end," sang Peeves as he pointed at the students. The students ran off and Peeves noticed Draco's presence. He floated over to Draco and grinned madly. "Ah, young Master Malfoy. Come to hear your future? I'm the Ghost of Christmas Future," he said proudly. "Who?" Draco asked, confused. "The Ghost of Christmas Future!" exclaimed Peeves, as though repeating it should have made Draco understand. "Honestly, don't you children read anymore? The Ghost of Christmas Future is a character from A Christmas Carol, by Charles Dickens. He gets to go around showing people what awful things will happen to them in Christmases to come! I am him. He is me!" Peeves let out a loud cackle and threw an apple at Draco, hitting his shoulder. "Do you want to know what horrible thing will happen to you? Let's see," Peeves said thoughtfully, scratching his head, "this Christmas you will have an accident. A very bad one. You'll fall down a flight of stairs. You'll break your leg. It will become infected, very infected. The medi-wizards won't be able to save it! You'll be forever known as Draco One- Leg Malfoy!" Peeves spun around the room, cackling as loud as he could, stopping every now and then to "predict" someone else's Christmas. Draco grabbed some toast and decided it would be better to eat his breakfast in his room. He still had a present to open, after all. Christmas couldn't come quick enough for him, he thought. The scent of her was stronger than the other letters. He inhaled the enticing scent of lavender, wondering if it was her perfume. Draco, Time flies when you're having fun. I saw Goyle being taken to Madam Pomfrey. You made him use your quill, didn't you? I'd be lying if I said I didn't find it the least bit amusing. This gift is a companion to the last one. It is bewitched, as well, although this time you should just take my word for it. Only two more days. Remember, 9 o'clock. Your Secret Santa This was maddening. It was like she was watching him. Draco considered himself to be fairly observant. How was he missing this? He was reluctant to believe that there was someone more cunning than he, but this girl was rapidly proving him wrong. He ripped off the paper and was taken aback. It was a journal made of green dragon's hide. It had his initials engraved in the lower left corner and the pages were laced with gold. Draco, an expert on material things, knew this gift must have set his Secret Santa back quite a few Galleons. He couldn't wait to see her. He couldn't wait to smell the lavender on her skin for himself. He couldn't wait to smile at her, to tell her how much these gifts had meant to him. He wasn't afraid of sounding too sensitive. This girl was the real deal. He held the note up to his nose and inhaled her sweet scent one last time before going to the Quidditch pitch to ride his broomstick. Hermione thought that this was Harry's most brilliant plan yet. In an effort to make Ron feel better, Harry had gone to each House common room to collect donations for the Gryffindor-sponsored impromptu Christmas concert. Seeing all the Galleons and Sickles had convinced Ron to sing. It was embarrassing, of course, but Ron knew it was silly to pass up free money. He smiled at Harry, clearing his throat for a moment before making his way to the Astronomy Tower. Not all the students attended, but by Hermione's estimate, there were probably around forty people there. She stood up and waved her arms in the air. "Excuse me," she called out, "I believe we're ready to begin. Ron Weasley will be performing tonight. Don't mind the voice, he'll be right as rain on Christmas." Most of the audience looked confused. "He broke his contract with Dumbledore," Harry interrupted, winking at Padma as she blushed furiously, "so, really, don't mind the voice. Ready, Ron?" Ron stepped out of the shadow, grinning wildly. It wasn't the first time he'd ever made a fool out of himself, and it probably wouldn't be the last. The entire room was silent, waiting for him to begin. "Deck the halls with boughs of holly! Fa la la la la, la la la la! 'Tis the season to be jolly! Fa la la la la, la la la la!" The room erupted with laughter at the sound of Ron's high falsetto voice. Grinning widely, he took a deep breath and continued. It was well into the evening before the concert ended. One day before Christmas The final gift from his Secret Santa was moving back and forth on Draco's desk. He had been trying to delay opening it for as long as possible, wanting to relish the mystery and contentment of the past week and a half before it turned into a memory. He decided to go ahead and open it. After all, he only had thirty more hours before finally getting to meet her. The note was written on much nicer parchment than his other ones had been. Draco, If anyone told me twelve days ago that I would enjoy sending presents to you, I'd have put a full body bind on them quicker than you could say "Hogwarts". But the truth is, I have enjoyed it. I don't care what happens after we meet tomorrow. It doesn't matter, because I'll always have this. Christmas is about giving, about sharing with people you care about. I care about you, Draco. I don't know how or why it happened, but I do. Merry Christmas. Love, Your Secret Santa Draco set the note down on the table and turned toward his gift. The box was small, smaller than the one his paperweight had been in. After he opened it, his jaw practically hit the floor. She had gotten him a model of a Romanian Longhorn dragon! He held the model in the palm of his hand, watching it move back and forth, its dark green scales shimmering in the candlelight of his room. Models of dragons were very hard to obtain, he remembered. His dreams that night were not visions of sugarplums. They were visions of love. *** Hermione couldn't sleep. She had tried counting sheep, reading, even summoning a glass of warm milk, but nothing was helping. She glanced at her dress robe, hanging up on her bedpost. Smiling as she snuggled against her blankets, she thought of dancing in Draco's arms. Sleep did not elude her for long. Christmas Day Hogwarts was alive with excitement. Every student was filled with wonder and delight, Christmas spirit running freely through their veins.

Even the Slytherins were in good spirits. Draco woke up to find Crabbe and Goyle laughing happily, unwrapping the gifts that their parents got for them. Draco showered and dressed before he turned his attention to his presents. Suddenly, the extravagant gifts his own parents had left for him seemed unimportant. They were nice, of course, and very expensive, but Draco found himself thinking about the gifts his Secret Santa had given instead. He stood, combing through his damp hair and tried to figure out what to do that would make the hours pass quickly. *** Hermione and Harry sat by themselves in the Great Hall. Ron, thankful that he had his own voice back, had gone over to the Ravenclaw table, where Padma was smothering him with kisses. Hermione smiled at Harry. The Christmas Feast had just begun and Harry was stuffing himself full of turkey. Hermione let her eyes roam over toward the Slytherin table. Draco was becoming more handsome to her every day. There was a subtle flush in his cheeks, she noticed, and she felt her heart beat a little faster than normal. After she could eat no more, she left the Great Hall with Ginny. They were going to spend the rest of the afternoon getting ready for the ball. *** Draco arrived at the ball fashionably late. Wanting to look his absolute best, he had had trouble choosing which dress robe to wear. Finally, he settled on the charcoal grey robe because he thought it best brought out his eyes. The Hall was decorated most beautifully. The ceiling was enchanted, as usual, to look like the night-time sky, but he could have sworn that the stars twinkled more brightly now than they normally did. Draco looked around at all the Christmas trees, their lights adding a soft twinkle to the room. He couldn't believe how many people were there. He was incredibly nervous but he hid it very well. He danced several obligatory dances with Pansy and a few other Slytherin girls. He also danced with Hannah Abbott, seizing the opportunity to unveil himself. Taking a break to sit, he scowled as he realised Granger had caught his eye. She was dancing with Scarhead and looked radiant, unfortunately. Her golden brown hair was straight and flowed down her back. She was wearing a very form-fitting green robe, and even Draco had to admit it was stunning. She had a smile on her face, the same smile she had had when she caught Draco staring at her. She was easily the prettiest girl at the ball, Draco told himself. That would not always be the case, he smiled as he checked his watch. One hour from now, Draco would be holding the prettiest girl he'd never seen in his arms. *** Hermione felt completely at ease in Harry's arms. Enjoying their dance had caused her nervousness to cease for a few minutes. She had been watching Draco for most of the evening. He must have come alone, because she had seen him dancing with several different girls. Her heart melted at the sight of him in those charcoal grey robes. They brought out the blue in his eyes and for the longest time, she lovingly gazed at him from across the hall. The song ended and Harry had begun dancing with Ginny, so Hermione took a seat near the back of the hall, watching her friends and trying to think of what to say when it was time to meet Draco. The minutes flew by quicker than she had expected. She rushed to get to the refreshment stand, keeping her eyes on Draco. She had two goblets of butterbeer in her hands, but when Draco walked over, he hadn't even seen her. He was scanning the crowd with his back turned to her. Okay, Hermione, she told herself, it's show time. She took a deep breath and nudged him gently with her elbow. He turned around and before he could say anything, she handed him one of the goblets and said playfully, "So, Malfoy, how about that chess game?" His eyes widened, comprehension filling every inch of his body. He set his goblet on the table and stared at Hermione, speechless. They stood in silence for a few moments, each trying to gauge the other's reaction. Finally, Draco stammered, "Y-you?" "Me," she answered, nodding her head. Pieces of the puzzle were falling into place for Draco. All those books, the Arithmancy chart, the note from Viktor Krum, the reference to bravery in her note about the Bertie Botts metaphor, it all made sense. All this time, he had been looking in the wrong place. He was too amazed to speak. "Merry Christmas, Draco," she whispered, turning to leave. Her face flushed with embarrassment. How could she have been so stupid to think that he'd change? That he would just forget about their rocky past or who she was? Fighting back tears, she made her way through the crowded dance floor. Draco watched her walk away. A lump formed in his throat. Hermione Granger, who he thought hated him, had spent all that time and money on gifts for him. He thought back to what her final letter had said. Christmas is about giving, about sharing with people you care about. I care about you, Draco. I don't know how or why it happened, but I do. Draco's heart leapt into his chest. He knew what he had to do. Running after her, he grabbed her arm. Suddenly, it didn't matter that they were in the middle of the room with everyone watching. It didn't matter that he hated her friends. It didn't matter that she was Muggle-born. What mattered was that for the first time in his life, Draco felt a connection to someone. She had made him feel wanted, desired, and cared for. What mattered was that she was everything Draco wanted in a girl. She was beautiful, smart, clever, and, when needed, cunning. What mattered, he realised, was loving her. She blinked back tears. "What are you doing?" she asked, her brown eyes sending shivers down Draco's spine. He delicately wiped a tear from her cheek and smiled down at her. "You said I owe you for the Bulgarian Quidditch poster. Malfoys always pay their debts." And with that, he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her into a fiery kiss. Breathless, she looked at Draco, her eyes filled with delight. She whispered, "I have to know. which present was your favourite?" His chin rested on top of her head, the smell of her lavender shampoo mesmerising him. He mulled it over for a moment before saying softly, "You, Hermione. You."

Miss Me Always
SomethingBlue42 on ff.net "He's late." "He'll be here." "I have no doubt he'll be here, Hermione. I'm saying he's late." "I know he's late Ronald. He's always late. He's Malfoy for chissake." Ron Weasley scowled across the table at Hermione Granger, who was now scribbling diligently in her notebook. The rest of the Order of the Phoenix regarded the two with caution. They had heard this argument before and knew it could get rather explosive. "Everyone else is here and we're waiting on him. Again," Ron grumbled, his chin resting on his hand while the other bounced the tip of his quill irritated against the scoured wooden table. "What do you want me to do Ron?" Hermione asked with a sigh, reaching across the table and snatching the offending object from his fingers. "I

can't just say Abra-bloody-cadabara and the stupid prat show up." "Good evening fellow do-gooders!" Draco Malfoy swept into the room with a certain flourish that only he could embody, his long black cloak flowing elegantly behind him. He was followed by a small house elf in a tattered smock made from a table cloth. She was hopping nervously around him, waiting for instructions. "It's about time." Ron sneered but Malfoy didn't seem to hear. "You're late, Malfoy," Hermione said with a sigh. "The meeting was supposed to start-" "What's the matter Granger?" Malfoy asked, pulling the draw string of his cloak and letting it fall heavily on the small creature bouncing around his knees. "Miss me?" "Always," she replied, smiling sardonically. Then glancing at the small elf who was trying to disentangle herself from the cloak, she added, "Must you treat her like that?" Hermione stood and pulled the heavy fabric off the small creature, who tugged it back into her small arms, glaring angrily at Hermione before scampering off. "We have more to worry about than elves, Granger." Malfoy replied darkly and she looked up at him. "What now?" "What not?" he asked, plopping down into one of the chairs and leaning back languidly. "Death Eaters torturing wizards in Essex, setting fires in Kent, terrorizing Muggle London." He paused frowning. "Well that last bit isn't so bad." Hermione took a deep breath, about to let Malfoy have it, when Harry Potter came bustling into the room, his arms full of parchments. "Hey," Malfoy cried petulantly. "Why doesn't he get his arse chewed out for being late?" "Because I'm the bloody Chosen One," Harry replied, sarcastically. "Now tell us what you know." DMHG DMHG DMHG "You really need to show up on time you know." Draco sighed, closing his eyes. He was standing outside, enjoying the quiet of the evening. Now Granger had to come out and muck it all up. "But it annoys the Weasel so," was his reply, not even bothering to glance over his shoulder at her. "The reason we have them at this time is because-" "I know why we have them at this time," he snapped and he could practically hear her seething. "Then you know that Harry has to report to the ministry afterwards and Neville has to be back at the apothecary in Knockturn Alley at nine, and-" "And you know that I'm putting my bloody life on the line for this!" Draco yelled, turning on her and found her glaring at him. "It's not like I can tell the Dark Lord, 'Look I hate to cut this short but the people we are fighting against are having a meeting and I really need to be there because, you know, I'm telling them EVERYTHING YOUR BLOODY SAYING!" "Oh you're so dramatic." "Dramatic?" he asked astonished. "Dramatic! Are you actually saying this to me?" "You know what I mean Malfoy." "Yes I do. It means you don't give a damn about what I'm telling your little band of goody two shoes. Maybe I'll take my information elsewhere." He turned his back to her and began walking down the street. His anger was burning away quickly. He had overreacted slightly. But she didn't know he was thinking that. "Malfoy wait!" Hermione yelled, hurrying after him, but he didn't stop. "Wait!" she exclaimed, catching his arm and he spun around looking at her fiercely. "What are you doing Granger?" he asked when she didn't let go. "Stopping you," she said, releasing his arm finally, and looking away, seemingly embarrassed. He looked at her suspiciously, watching her shift from one foot to the other. He began to smile as it dawned on him. Slipping his hands into his pockets, he chuckled softly. "Youyou like me, don't you Granger?" She snorted. "I most certainly do not. Your information is integral to what we are trying to do and" He was nodding along to her entire spiel, watching her sputter and yammer awkwardly, an amused smile gracing his lips. "and besides, you know way too much about our operation to simply walk away," she ended with a laugh that conveyed the absurdity of the situation, but her smile fell to quickly, a dead giveaway. "You like me." "Oh bugger it all!" Hermione growled, rolling her eyes and turning away. "Go, give them everything, just get the hell out of here." "Miss me Granger," he sang after her, and she glared at him over her shoulder. "Always, Malfoy," she spat. "Always." DMHG DMHG DMHG "So when are you going to admit it?" Hermione dropped the plate she had been rinsing and it shattered in the bottom of the sink. She took a deep, calming breath and looked over her shoulder. Draco Malfoy was leaning casually against the door jamb. "What are you doing here?" she asked turning back to the dishes, picking the broken pieces from the water and setting them on the counter. "We have a meeting Granger." "Yes, but it's not for another twenty minutes." "Look you bitched at me for being late, now you're bitching at me for being early?" he asked with a snort. "I'm not" she trailed, cutting her own thoughts short with a sound of annoyance. "Thank you," she gritted out, "for being on time." "You're welcome." Malfoy replied, pushing himself away from the jamb to advance further into the room. "You didn't answer my question." "What question?" "When are you going to admit that you have a serious thing for me?" he grinned. "Oh God" "I don't know why you're fighting it Granger," he drawled, crossing his feet at the ankles, leaning against the counter and enfolding his arms over his chest "Youare-" "Adorableyes I know," he sighed, examining his fingernails. "I was going to say incorrigible," she replied, fighting a smile. "Mmm," he hummed watching her scrub the remnants of dinner from another plate. "How come you never invite me to dinner?" he asked

suddenly and she laughed. "You barely make it to the meetings, Malfoy." "True," he consented. "But still it's rather rude of you not to even ask." The plate clattered to the bottom of the sink and she looked at him menacingly. She opened her mouth to spit something nasty at him, but snapped it shut again, and making a noise of annoyed discomfort. "Are you justtrying to annoy me," she gritted out and he chuckled. "Yes," he smiled. "You're so cute when you're being a pissy swot." He reached a hand up to pinch her cheek and she slapped it away violently. He laughed and reached to do it again but was met with eleven inches of vinewood pointed at his nose. She was a quick draw. His smile faded as he grabbed her wrist and twisted it behind her back, pulling painfully until her wand clattered to the ground. "Brute force? Not much like you Draco?" Hermione snarled and he gave her a tight lipped smile. "Well I am a Death Eater, love." His face was centimeters from hers, his breath fanning across her cheeks. His mouth hovered above hers, waiting. A few seconds passed before she finally gave in and brushed her lips with his. He cupped her face with the hand he wasn't using to restrain her and nipped at her bottom lip before soothing the bite with his tongue. She moaned at this, giving him full access to her mouth. He took the opportunity to slide his tongue sensuously against hers. All resistance left her body at this and she melted against him. He broke their kiss then, still holding her close, letting her heaving chest push achingly against his. He smiled into her desire filled eyes. "I have one more question for you Granger," he whispered, his lips brushing hers as he spoke. "What?" she groaned, weakly. "Did you miss me?" She growled and forced herself from his grasp. Pushing a stray curl from her forehead and staring at him defiantly, she forced herself into some semblance of composure. "Always," she snarled, pushing past him and out of the room. DMHG DMHG DMHG It was not often that Draco Malfoy was taken by surprise. It was also not often that he was swept off his feet. So you can imagine how shocked he was when he discovered that both of these things appeared to be happening to him at the exact same time. One moment he was standing in the hallway of a rundown motel in London and the next he was being pulled rather violently into a room and before he even had a chance to draw his wand he was being pushed up against the now closed door, his mouth covered in a kiss that could only be described as mind blowing. He pulled back only when his lungs demanded it, panting as he watched Hermione Granger's small hands make rapid work of the buttons on his robe and pushing it from his shoulders, she claimed his mouth again. His fingers delved into her hair, massaging her scalp as he allowed her to undress him completely. "Well this seems entirely unfair," he replied standing naked before her fully clothed form. "Deal with it," she replied, turning her back to him with a smirk. He raised an eyebrow at her back. She'd taken to smirking at him recently, and he couldn't help but relish in his bad influence. No, it was not often that Draco Malfoy was taken by surprise. It was also not often that he was made to wait. And he was never, ever, told what to do. He struck fast, grasping her arms and spinning her quickly to face him. Gripping the collars of her blouse, he ripped forcefully, sending buttons flying. A small tug sent her skirt and underwear to her ankles and quick flick of his fingers released the clasp on her bra. She was staring up at him with doe eyes, desire tinged with excitement and a little apprehension. He smirked at her before he spun her again, pushing her down hard, bending her over the foot of the bed. She gave out a cry of surprise as his hand gripped the back of her neck, forcing the side of her face against the blankets. "Are you afraid?" he asked, pressing his lips to her ear, aligning his body with hers. She did her best to shake her head. "Good." He smirked as he positioned himself at her entrance. "Because you like it like this." With one long thrust he was inside her and she let out a low growl. She was slick and warm around him, engulfing him completely as he worked her roughly but steadily. One hand held her neck while the other gripped her hip, both securing her, holding her. When his thrusts became more savage, the hand on her neck gripped her hair, pulling her head back just far enough to make her arch her back, allowing him to slide even deeper inside her. It was then that her pussy contracted around him like a vice, her voice ringing out into the small room as her orgasm overtook her. He followed her in two more thrusts, moaning deep in his throat as he fell against her, completely spent. It was then that he asked her, his cheek pressed against her back, his words broken apart by his hitched breathing. "So Grangerdid you miss me?" Her chuckle vibrated against his cheek and he smiled pressing his lips against her spine, tasting the salt of her sweat. "Always, Malfoy," she breathed. "Always." DMHG DMHG DMHG Hermione Granger was not a romantic. She did not believe in silly notions such as "the One" and she certainly did not expect grand displays of affection. So it took her completely by surprise, when this evening, as she had lain spent, her limbs entangled with his that the thought of falling in love had slipped into her hazy mind. And it was now, laying on her back and watching the shadows dance across the ceiling that the idea seemed even more absurd. Which was what made it so much more likely. She didn't trust sense anymore. War had done things to her, to all of them, that made her doubt that anything was right or sensible in this world. Still, she was not a foolish girl. She knew this would never work. It was Malfoy for crissake. She rolled onto her side, punching her pillow, being careful not to nudge him as she moved. He was pompous and arrogant and self absorbed and (she watched the graying light of morning lick across his pale skin) completely and utterly beautiful. She sighed, curling into herself more. This was how it always was, meet somewhere private, usually a rundown muggle establishment, fuck, and sleep as best one could with the knowledge that in a few hours you may be dead. He always slept with his back to her, curled on his side. He never held her. It would have bothered her if they weren't "just fucking." She chewed her bottom lip, reaching out her hand to smooth her palm down the soft expanse of his back. He twitched and turned his head towards her. "What are you doing?" His voice was rough from sleep, slightly annoyed. She didn't answer. He sighed deeply and rolled to face her, his eyes heavy.

"Wanna go again?" he asked with a yawn. She winced and shook her head. "Then why'd you wake me up?" He huffed and rolled back over and she giggled despite herself. He really was adorable in an incorrigible kind of way. Her smile fell as feelings of an indescribable sort filled her to the point of suffocation. So much more than lust so much more than love. An awesome combination of the two; lust, love, passion, trust, and that thing that words just can't describe. It filled her up and she wanted to laugh and cry and sing and dance and it was so wonderful and overwhelming and amazing "You're thinking really loudly, Granger" he muttered and she stiffened, mortified. She hated it when he did that. He sighed and rolled to face her again, propping his head on his hand. He looked down at her, smoothing her hair back in a gentle way that was so unlike his usual touches but didn't seem unlike him. "Its okay, Granger," he whispered, smiling softly. "I think I love you too." Her mouth fell open and he smiled, leaning in to kiss her. Soft this time, so unlike their usual passion-filled, clothes ripping, gotta-have-you-now kisses. This was nice. He pulled back and snuggled down into the blankets, wrapping both arms solidly around her, burying his face in her neck. His sigh (of contentment?) rushed against her collarbone and she shivered at the closeness. The sun was almost fully risen now, bright light peaking in through the window. It was time for her to leave, but this new found affection from him was almost worth missing meeting Ginny for coffee and a quick debrief of last night's mission. She wanted to stay but the war was calling again and her obligations, as always, mattered more than her personal wishes. She placed a kiss on his forehead, pulling away and he kept his hands on her until she was too far away to reach. He lay on his stomach, his arms curled under the pillow that had held her head and watched her dress. She threw her bag over her shoulder and began to walk to the door (they never said goodbye) when his voice stopped her dead in her tracks. "Hermione?" Everyone called her Hermione. It was her name after all but hearing it fall from his lips so easily, as if it wasn't the first time he had ever said it, made her feel like she had never heard it before. She turned to find him sitting up now, arms locked behind him, propping himself up, legs stretched out in front of him. "Miss me?" he questioned, his voice soft, imploring, almost as if he were afraid she would deny him. Her bag fell to the floor with a thud as she bounded back onto the bed and into his arms, knocking him back against the pillows. He laughed with her as she wrapped her arms around his neck. "Always," she smiled before her lips descended on his. DMHG DMHG DMHG Running. Blind panic. Mustn't panic. Draco Malfoy's legs though strong and capable were shaking so badly that he almost fell to the ground. But that would greatly inhibit this running for his life thing he had going on right now so he was doing his very best to calm himself down. It was an ambush. He knew it was coming. He had helped plan it. He had told the Order exactly when and where it would be. He hadn't expected the plan to be changed. But the Dark Lord's will was not to be questioned. He hadn't had time to warn them, to warn her. The result was disastrous. Hexes and jinxes flying maniacally through the rooms of the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix and all he could think of was her. Finding her. Saving her. He knew what they would do to her if they found her first. Thank god the fighting was so intense or the fact that he wasn't cursing anyone would probably have caused him some grief. But as most of the Death Eaters had bigger, Potter-shaped fish to fry his lack of enthusiasm went unnoticed. Sidestepping Nott and Longbottom who had fallen at his feet with a crash as he rushed into the kitchen, he looked around, searching for that big bushy head. He was about to turn to go upstairs when a flash of red light and screams, her screams, floated in from the window looking out over the garden. Clambering out the door, he found Antonin Dolohov, Rudolfus Lestrange, and his own father laughing as she writhed on the ground, doing her best now not to scream, not to give them what they wanted. "Draco!" Dolohov exclaimed, and her writhing stopped, leaving her in a panting heap on the ground. "Join us. We were just about to have some real fun with her." She was pulling herself up on her hands and knees. Her eyes met his as she pushed herself up as best she could. Her mouth was bloody and there was a dark bruise blooming across her cheek. Rage filled him and he pulled out his wand, getting ready to curse them all into oblivion when her weak voice broke through the roaring in his ears. "Draco," she sobbed weakly, and he lowered his wand, rushing to her side. "Draco what are you doing?" Lestrange exclaimed as she fell forward against Draco's chest, clutching his robes fervently. "What is the meaning of this!" Lucius Malfoy's voice, as it had done ever since he was a little boy, drew Draco's attention immediately. He looked up to find the three older men glaring at him, bewildered and suspicious, their wands trained on his chest. "Its okay, Draco," she whispered into his ear, her voice stronger now but low enough so the others would not hear. "No," he muttered back, his mind racing around every possible way of escape, his possibilities looking less and less promising by the moment. "We knew it might come to this," she murmured, one of her hands finding its place over his heart, nails digging in. "You have to. This isn't about us." He gritted his teeth, steeling himself. Turning his head into her hair, he inhaled deeply one last time before shoving her roughly away from him, screwing his face up in what he hoped was a sufficient look of disgust. "Filthy Mudblood!" he spat, the words turning to ash in his mouth. "She's not worth the curses you waste on her." The other men considered him guardedly, their wands still pointing steadfastly at him. He took a deep breath, looking down at her pleading eyes. He kicked at her, stopping the rushing of his leg as it was about to hit her body, so the blow was softened as much as possible without it looking as if he was trying not to cause her pain. She still winced slightly, falling to the dirt. "Then rid us of her." His head snapped up, seeing the men were now lowering their wands, but looking at him with a smugness that showed their plan. They were testing him. She was pulling herself into a sitting position again. That was his girl, strong willed, wouldn't bend to anyone, not even him. "Surelysurely she would be of some use," he stuttered, glancing down at her briefly and watching her eyes close in displeasure. "She plans Potter's every move." "Even better that we kill her then," Dolohov smiled, but it slid away quickly. "Do it."

"But she would be a goodgood bargaining chip," he swallowed hard, his heart threatening to beat out of his ribcage. "Potter can bargain for her lifeless corpse!" Lucius Malfoy yelled, and Draco winced. "Now do it! Or I'll think my son a traitor!" The three men had their wands trained on him again and he looked from face to face of all of them, his mind turning wildly. "Draco," her voice was soft but strong and he looked down at her. Sitting on her knees, covered in blood and dirt, she begged him silently. All the conversations they had ever had, all the kisses they had shared, all the love they had made flashed across his memory as he pulled out his wand and pointed it resolutely at her face. Tears burned his eyes and she blurred into obscurity in front of him. "DO IT!" Lucius Malfoy screamed. Draco steeled himself once more, blinking the tears away, her vision snapping vividly into focus. "Miss me?" she questioned, her voice breaking and he looked away, letting out a rush of breath, his heart shattering. "Always," he replied, broken, closing his eyes on the flash of green light that erupted from his wand.

Moments in Time (A Series of Drabbles): Arms of His

somandalicious on ff.net Draco Malfoy always felt his arms had a higher purpose. A special duty other than connecting his broad shoulders to his long-fingered hands. When he was younger and attended Hogwarts, he honestly believed they were for reaching further than Harry Potter for the snitch. Fast and striking, like a biting serpent. So powerful and sinewy; a true force to be reckoned with. Although he never once beat Potter to the prize in a match, Draco still had faith in his long, aristocratic and athletic appendages. As a soldier of the Order in the second war of Light versus Dark, he supposed that his arms wielded the magic to fight Death Eaters. He could stretch his left arm, point the wooden conductor and wordlessly cast a strong curse with little effort. Maybe the magic was really in his heart and soul, but he liked to think it was not. Mostly because it helped him cope with the losses and grief he caused. However, since he matured, he wondered if they were really nothing more than flesh, bone and blood. Simply another part of his anatomy. And they were lonely. Draco Malfoy was not lonely. Oh no. Just his arms. They no longer had use, and craved something to reach for. To have. To hold. A yearning that could hardly be explained. Strangely, they wanted one particular witch. One beautiful, bushy-headed, all-knowing witch. Hermione Granger. Draco could not comprehend it at all. It was a burning need. A sharp tingle that ran through his veins, twisting, turning, and making his fingertips itch to have her. Stifling and choking, and he just knew if she would allow his arms to wrap around her supple, curvy, petite form, he could breathe again. His arms were so desperate for her they nearly moved of their own accord. Awkwardly, much to his chagrin, because they caused him to act foolishly in her presence. He would knock over glasses, fall over knick-knacks, and make him appear altogether and completely absurd. It became apparent that his arms would force him to do the one thing a Malfoy never did. Beg. Because merely asking Hermione Granger for something simple like a hug was silly and strange. Besides, he knew that his arms desired more of her than that. They wanted to hold on to her forever, and never let her go. Ever. 'Til death do they part. So he told her all of this and more. He explained carefully that he needed her to hold, to be his little witch, his lover, but she had to treat him right. And he also stated at great length that he believed his arms were designed for the sole purpose of wrapping around her. For the rest of his life. She studied him quietly. Her brown eyes large and critical, and she chewed on the left corner of her full bottom lip. Deciding, calculating, weighing the outcome. While his arms screamed impatiently for her to speak. But she never did. Instead she smirked impishly, eyes suddenly dancing, sparkling, and threw her little, soft body at him, coming flush against his long frame, and she wrapped her warm loving arms tight around him. His arms were finally satisfied. They fulfilled their destiny. And Draco soon realized he needed her tender lips just as much.

Moments in Time (A Series of Drabbles): Right Kind of Wrong

somandalicious on ff.net Hermione Granger is not a bumbling idiot. Especially when it came to Draco Malfoy. For years, she single-handedly put him in his place, but those days are gone. Now, when he walks into the same room, all her famous cleverness leaves her. Her heart beats loudly in her eardrums and her breath shortens. The room temperature seems to soar, and a fluttering, tingle hits her gut. Much to her displeasure, she becomes incredibly transparent to everyone except him. Or he does not let on about it. In fact, he barely recognizes that she is in the same block as him. "He's still a bastard, Hermione." Says Harry. "You deserve better." Says Ronald. "Merlin, he has a fantastic bum." Says Ginny. "A right git, that one" Says George. "with a new flavor every week." Says Fred. So Hermione knows all about him. Her friends are right, naturally, he is something she is better off without. He is still quite the foul, loathsome cockroach she always thought him. He does use women for nothing more than pleasure and has been linked to most of the witches throughout Britain and France. He's arrogant, hateful, and conniving. There really is nothing to like about him. And if Hermione is truthful, she does not even like him. She loves him. How did it begin? She wasn't sure, perhaps when Harry returned with him after finding the last Horcrux. Or maybe, when she found him sleeping on the sofa at the Burrow. It was really irrelevant, because she currently stood outside his flat, trying to work up the courage to knock. It was wrong. A mistake. And as she turns to leave, the door opens causing her to freeze dead in her tracks. Feeling that he might have hexed her, but somehow she knows better. "Hermione?" Says Draco. She sucks in a breath, and realizes she cannot fight her feelings anymore. Pivoting slowly, she offers a ghost of a smile. "Oh, are you on your way out? " She mentally slaps herself at the absurdity of the question. Draco raises and eyebrow, but tactfully chooses not to state the obvious. She hadn't knocked, and he is quite surprised to find her in the hall of his building. "What can I do for you?" Hermione blushes as torrid thoughts rush her brain, and once again, as always, articulation has left her. "Alright, why are you here then?" He crosses his arms, and lazily leans against the jam. She blinks and glances at her toes, before returning her eyes to his. "I uh thought we couldbecause I feel likeand you could helponly if you" Says she. "I really hate it when you do that." but he chuckles and smiles at her with something akin to endearment. "But we can, because feel like it too,

and I could help. Of course I want to." She lets a full grin spread her mouth. "So come in." And he moves, sweeping his arm to usher her in. She slowly steps over the threshold, and feels his eyes score her body, leaving a wake of goose-bumps. Suddenly, her courage returns, and she spins, grasping his face in her palms, and crushes her mouth to his. His lips are soft and encouraging, and his hands roughly grip her flush against his tall frame. Waves of pleasure ripple over her and lightning strikes her gut. And then she's lost. She's never felt this way before and knows she probably won't ever again. As his tongue ravishes hers edaciously, she feels naughty, sexy, and right. Everything she knows she's not. He breaks from her gasping, "I'll not shag you here." "I shouldn't want to do this with you." Says a husky womanly voice that Hermione barely recognizes as her own. "Oh, but you will. " Says he devilishly, before he sweeps her into his arms. And she did. "He'll never commit to you." Says Harry. "He isn't good enough for you." Says Ron. "So, is he well endowed?" Says Ginny. "If he ever cheats on you" Says George. "we will gladly dispose of him discreetly." Says Fred. Her friends may not approve of her relationship with Draco Malfoy. They are sure it's a heartbreak situation. Yet, it's been three months, and although he never promises anything, she knows she cannot leave him to save her heart. She needs him. She loves him. Why? He's the right kind of wrong.

Moments in Time (A Series of Drabbles): Infatuated

somandalicious on ff.net It was not as if Draco had meant for it to happen. But it did nonetheless. Hermione Granger was an enigma and all he wanted to do was figure her out. It began as a way to destroy Potter. Simply. Only. One could think of it as a reconnaissance assignment. Draco would learn the politics of the Trio, therefore comprehending his enemy better and ultimately leading to obliterating the Wizarding Hero from the inside. At the core. Because Harry loved. It was his ultimate weapon and he adored Ronald and Hermione above all else. Weasley was easy; he was nothing more than comic relief of course, perhaps a comfort companion at best, but nothing more. But Granger, she was the brain of their small organization. This resulted in more time spent leaning the way her mind worked and what motivated her actions. Without her, Potter's agenda would be faulty and messy. So Draco knew that the girl needed to be disposed of. However, she was too clever and logical to fall for any of Draco's plans. He could only study her and try to discover her Achilles Heel. Yet, somehow, Draco fell. Into what, he was not sure. It was certainly not love, no longer hate, but an ideal he could not fathom. It started in his gut. Swirling. Fluttering. Then traveled to his chest, which swelled and tightened. Leaving him needy and dizzy. Vulnerable. Draco knew he would never be satisfied until he knew every meter of her. Mind, body, and soul. He often wondered what that feral mass of chestnut curls smelt like. Lavender? Lemon? Perhaps mimosa? And what of her skin? Would it feel like silk or of the softest woven cotton? How many different smiles did she have? Oh, but those smiles. It was the only moment she was truly beautiful and he wished he had the opportunity to evict one on his own accord. Blast, he had ruined those chances long ago. Besides, every time he came near her, he felt so weak that the only defense he could muster was snarky remarks laced with arrogance. She swung her arms when she walked. Unless they were loaded with heavy books. All different genre's of books. Ones for researching defensive spells and potions. A few for Wizarding laws and their history. Every once in a while it would be a book for pleasure. Muggle or Wizarding. Fiction or Non-fiction. It did not matter, she liked to read everything. He could not understand how she found entertainment, but she did, for hours on end. She had a special smile for reading. Draco named it Whimsy. She was intolerable bossy, but always gave in to Potter and Weasley's antics. No matter how absurd, or silly, or vulgar even. She would always participate. Softly correcting and firmly chastising. And the limey bastards always tried to impress her with the smallest and trivial ideas. There was a smile for her friends. He called it a travesty, but named it Loyalty. Hermione Granger knew 296 ways to straighten and control her hair. She had a shoebox full of muggle cosmetics and an array of potions and creams. They were all stashed in her wardrobe and left untouched. Instead she admired herself as she was. Everything was exactly where it was supposed to be, exactly as her creator designed. And she loved it that way. Thus the smile she wore for that was named Modesty. Any and all persons of authority and slash or wizened age immediately were graced with her respect. Even the ones who did not return it. She would in turn politely offer a strong retort or dismissal. She would also uphold the same air of indifference to a bad joke or if someone made a comment towards her wretched pet. This smile Draco named Tolerance. He knew all these things, but still could not understand who she really was. But he knew that there was more to her than her friends, her respect, and her mind. He needed to know them, and despite his initial motivations, he would come to know them at all cost. His infatuation with her is what brought him to turn coat and fight for the Light. If reforming would teach him the ways of Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy would do it too. And maybe she would have a smile for him. He would name it Love.

Morning, Noon and Night

zarah joyce on ff.net Morning

A glooming peace this morning with it brings The sun for sorrow will not show his head.
He was watching her again. There was nothing more frustrating than her being within his reach but at the same time, out of it. He smiled grimly, lowering his quill as he continued to stare at her form. Why does it have to be her? She was the embodiment of all things he despised, of all things beneath him. She was supposed to mean nothing to was an abomination, whatever it was that he was feeling. It was a sacrilege.

Which made her all the more tempting. When their paths crossed it was usually an explosion of animosity and anger, released through well-chosen words and double-edged glares. It was already an established ceremony; he would start with a scathing remark about her lineage and she would retort with words belittling his worth. It was a ritualistic dance that they had been indulging themselves in, in a long time, where each would find delight on the damage inflicted to the other. And yet, beneath those exteriorities lay hidden depths, a cornucopia of emotions that were as unwelcome as they were distractions. Soon, he was finding excuses to insult her. Camouflage. Soon, he was deliberately provoking her into anger. Faade. Soon, he was sending her heated glares and meaningful looks. Pretense. But, hell - he knew he wasn't the only one in trouble. When she thought he wasn't aware of them, she would sneak glances at him that were as tangible as holes through his back. And when he caught her doing it, he'd smirk at her and watch in sadistic satisfaction as those brown eyes flare and those cheeks flame. Then he would continue watching her as she buried herself in a book and pretended that nothing out of the extraordinary happened between them. Then there were those times when he would watch her without her knowledge. Of course, a sea of students would always divide them, but to him they were non-existent, unimportant. He had practically memorized the way lines would form between her eyebrows when she was in deep thought, or the way paleness would seep around her mouth when she was disagreeing with one of her imbecile friends. Then there was that rhythmic movement of her two fingers as she twirled her quill between them, and the impatient tap-taps of her feet as she waited for their professor to arrive. Sometimes, just to spite and test her, he would purposely catch her eyes and stare at her then. This was one of those times. Their professor had been called to the Headmaster's office, and as the others became restless and edgy they stood and roamed around the room. Suddenly, the sea dividing their seats lessened in number, until his vision of her was not barred by untamed hair or tattered robes. He willed her to glance at his direction, and when she did he was prepared to not let go of her gaze. It was a power play, a challenge issued by him to her. It was reckless and impossible to resist, and she obliged him. She gladly returned what he gave her: an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. He widened his smile at her gall, and she jutted her chin at his audacity. Then the professor arrived, and their rivalry was unwillingly broken. After class, he noticed that she was deliberately slowing her pace, waiting for the room to empty. He thought nothing of this, until a warm hand grabbed his arm on his way to the door and he found himself impaled by her famous glare. "Stop," she hissed, tightening her grip on his arm. "Stop it." He looked at her hand and said, "Someone might see." "We're alone," she stated firmly but also drew back, immediately knowing what he meant. After all, he was a Pureblood, and she was a filthy, stained Mudblood. Her kind was not supposed to touch his kind. Ever. "I want you to stop it." "Stop what?" She stood straighter, bringing the tip of her head in level with his chin. "Stop watching me." He chuckled, watching in pleasure as she turned red but remained firm in her stance. "Only if you stop watching me." Her mouth dropped at that, just as he knew it would. He flashed her the grin she loathed and said, "Don't think I don't notice, because I do." He added with a touch of malice, "I notice a lot of things about you." "Why you arrogant, egotistical prat, I ought to" And then he grabbed her arm, and she was silenced. Then he trailed his fingers down to hers, and she was stunned. And then he threaded his hand with hers, and she was speechless. He no longer wore that insulting, defying look on his face. She still had that doubting, unbelieving look on hers. And, in a small voice she asked, "What do you want from me?" They both knew the answer to that. And he had made the first move. Noon

Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things Some shall be pardoned, and some punished;
He was watching her again. Biting down on her lip, she followed his gaze and was unsurprised at the object of his scrutiny. After all, she knew what was going on. Had known for the last couple of months. But in her blind adoration, and in some ways stupidity, she had chosen to keep silent about it. He was watching her again, and never mind that her table was far from theirs, and that her kin was the enemy of their own. Never mind that their bloods were never supposed to mingle, that he was way above her station in society. Never mind that she might as well be a forbidden fruit dangled in front of his face, forever tempting but untouchable. But he had touched her. And this she knew. She knew. She had stupidly stumbled on them in the library, and in their ardor they never noticed that she had eyes and in fact, had seen them. Tears immediately came to her and at first she tried to convince herself that he was just with one of his whores, one of those random sluts that he tempted and took because he wanted to, not because he cared for them. Denial, naturally, was her first line of defense. After all, she was the person he was meant to be with, the one everyone thought he loved. After all, she was rich, beautiful, and most of all a Pureblood like him. But there was no denying the identity of the other woman. And there was no denying the unhealthy obsession he had had with her. He had always watched her, and the expression on his face then was bare, naked it was a glimpse to his soul, and what she saw was enough to make her hurt and cry and damn them. Because his soul was already stained, filthy her blood had already corrupted him, made him impure. It was all her fault, the Gryffindor whore. Damn her, for beneath that pristine image lay a disparaging, disgusting disease! She watched him bow his head and smile, and when she transferred her gaze at the other woman she saw that she was also bowing her head and blushing. Closing her eyes, she pretended that nothing was wrong and tried to gain his attention. As usual, she was dismissed as a whimpering, wailing woman: an unneeded accessory clinging at his side. He released well-chosen barbs that cut deep to her heart, because she knew his intentions: he wanted to hurt her. He wanted her to go away. When she couldn't take any more of his insults a sob escaped from her, and he stood, looked down at her in aversion, then walked out. He had given her the role of the unwilling conspirator in his quest to keep his hidden affairs a secret. Hers was the task to play the faithful but dimwitted wife, the one that society would always think of as the love of her husband's life but in truth was nothing more than a stringed puppet. She swallowed hard, then followed him with her eyes. A movement made her turn just in time to see that she had also left her table and trailed the steps he had taken. Pain pierced her again, but with it came an unquenchable thirst for revenge. He had underestimated her cunning; they both did. And for that they would pay. They would pay. Every snake had its venom, and she had the deadliest of it all. Night

For never was a story of more woe

He was watching her again. They agreed to meet outside of Hogwarts, for the risk of someone seeing them inside had already become too high. He had cajoled her into seeing him tonight, and reluctantly she agreed, but not without threatening him with his life if they were caught and expelled. He had taken her hand and planted on it a tender kiss. "Not tonight," he said, looking at her eyes. "I have everything planned." He watched her as she approached, that almost-shy smile present on her face. He met her halfway and handed her a bouquet of flowers that she

would later shrink and hide. But now, the flowers were pressed to her closely, and she gave him a smile that she would only bestow on him whenever he did something good. He expected to see that smile appear even more when she saw what he had planned for tonight. "What's this?" she asked, stopping in her tracks as she spotted the wide blanket. Candles, flowers, and fruits of the season garnished the cloth, and when she looked at him in awe, he smiled. "Celebration of spring," he answered, indicating with a sweep of his hand the feast he had prepared for them. "You once told me that spring had always been your favorite season. Now I'm giving you the opportunity to commemorate its arrival - with me." She had smiled and kissed him then, a long, passionate kiss that held the sweet promise of tonight. They talked and argued and laughed for hours. The scent of the different wildflowers surrounded them, giving an untamed ambiance. The fire of the candle suffused them, radiating with incandescent light. After supper she had ridiculously made a crown of leaves and flowers and placed it over his head, before he tackled her and forced her to wear it. "But I look ridiculous," she said, lifting a hand to remove the crown. He automatically reached for it. "Don't," he said. "I like it on you." "Ha!" He smirked. "You made it." "I made it for you." She sounded uncharacteristically petulant. He grinned. "And I want you to wear it." "Prat," she threw at him, along with a few flowers from her bouquet. "Know-It-All," he mouthed. But she did wear it for he did wish it. A few more minutes elapsed, and it was almost time to go. He reached for her hand, and she squeezed his, telling him with her touch how much she appreciated his efforts. He was just about to ask her toshow him just how much, when a clear-cut sound caught their attention. Footsteps. Coming their way. They were about to be discovered! Seconds passed with them unmoving, their limbs frozen in fright. She grabbed his arm, an automatic response. He bent to put off the lights, then swallowed and cursed silently. No one was supposed to know where they were! Nobody should be here except the two of them! "I thought" "Hush!" He glared at the darkness, hating the feeling of not knowing what was to come. He was hot and cold at the same time, and aware of the dampness of her palms. Automatically, he felt and extracted his wand, ready to do what needed to be done. Something crunched on the grass in front of him, and he decided to investigate then realized his fatal mistake when a curse froze him literally on his tracks. "Draco!" she called, her voice frantic. He could see her whisper an incantation to light up her wand, and she rushed to him, her eyes hysterical with worry. "Draco?" She reached up and touched his face. He tried to tell her to run, but he couldn't do anything not with him being completely immobile. So he watched as she moved away from him and sought to see who had invaded their night. He watched as the intruder stepped out of the shadows, stealthy enough not to alert her. He watched as a wand was raised, its deadly tip pointed directly at her. He watched as the intruder whispered triumphantly, "Obliviate." She fell forward on the blanket from the impact of the curse. He tried to yell out her name, but couldn't. Then, he watched as the intruder with her face now revealed smiled sinisterly at him, and whispered, "Obliviate."

A glooming peace this morning with it brings The sun for sorrow will not show his head

He was watching her again. And when she turned to him he mouthed scornfully, "Filthy Mudblood." She pursed her lips, her face filled with contempt. She then threw at him, "Arrogant bastard!"

Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things Some shall be pardoned, and some punished;
He was watching her again. But she had nothing to worry about. After all, the two were back to hating each other, their affair nothing more than unrecognizable specks in their memories. The baleful glares the two exchanged earlier were proofs of this fact. She placed a hand on his arm, and he turned to kiss her fully on the mouth. Triumph was intoxicating, and she smiled at the headiness of it. She had won.

She had won.

And this time, she would do everything in her power to never let them fall in love with each other again.

For never was a story of more woe Than this of Juliet and her Romeo. Observations of a Pureblood Debutant
rainsrabble on ff.net She was certain that it was a woman, eating her son from the inside out. Drawing out his emotions and making him snappy and sensitive. Not that Lucius noticed, or probably anyone else. Her son was a fine actor. He would make a good Gambler, his cues were subtle and only someone who was finely tuned to his moods and expressions would notice the heavy strain on him. The stiffness in his shoulders on another boy might have been nervous fidgeting. The tightness at the corner of his mouth, even when he wore his customarily despising smirk, on someone else might have been shifty feet. He was wound tight and any time now she expected him to snap. The boy was under an extreme amount of pressure. Much of it was self induced but his ridiculously high standards for himself were catalyzed by Lucius's high expectations of a Malfoy. She hated it when he would say "You're a Malfoy boy! Act like one." He was more than a Malfoy, he was her son. And now a woman had been added to the mix. By nature Draco was not often frustrated. Determined yes. But not often frustrated. But she could see it in his eyes, the brittle restlessness. His usual single mindedness that could be so overwhelming was dulled. As if the bulk of his formidable attention was elsewhere. It must be a woman. The room was crowded with people, a breeding ground for germs and disease. She shuddered delicately. Lucius stood at the end of their table, looking over the throng of people with a cool look of superiority. No doubt where her son got his massive ego. Draco stood slightly apart from them with a knot of his friends. She didn't care for Crabbe and Goyle, but she could respect her son's need to Shepard them, give them guidance. Lord knew that they would never have made it a fortnight at Hogwarts without Draco's leadership. Their father being who he was they had been his cribmates, and her boy was nothing if not loyal. He had other friends for intellectual challenge. Blaize Zambini who also stood with him, had a sharp clever mind. Other than the glaring exception of his two goons, her son surrounded himself with quick witted people. Oh and Pansy. She was a nice enough girl Narcissa decided, but she lacked something. She did nothing for her son. There was no spark with them. And Draco was as reserved and polite with the girl as he was with everyone else. It wasn't her. But someone was getting under his skin. Perhaps if the young woman was here today, she might get a glimpse of her. IF she attended Hogwarts, she would be here. Dumbledore had thrown a great ball for the students and their families. To promote house unity and tolerance. Did the muggles know how hated they were by some here? She watched with great interest when something snagged his son's interest and he focused his attention on the door, Crabbe, who was speaking didn't even notice. They were small group of three. A girl and her parents. Her son balanced on the balls of his feet and sent his friends away with a careless wave of his hand. They of course immediately obeyed. His overwhelming presence resulted in natural leadership. His eyes never left the girl as they made their way over to a small group of Weasleys. His mouth instantly turned up in his trademark sneer, but his mother's eyes were riveted to this girl, this young woman, this siren. She was stunning, in muggle wear that draped her figure alluringly and fell gracefully to her feet. Her shape was trim and firm, with all of the proper curves to entice. Her face was delicate, clever, with wide chocolate eyes that sparkled up at her friends from even this distance. But it was her hair that held Narcissa's attention. It was nothing like her own silky locks. It was an amazing riotous river of bouncy shiny coffee colored curls, streaked with whorls of sun kissed blond and auburn. It was an entity of it's own that draped over her shoulders and down her slender back, throbbing with life and vitality. She must have felt his eyes on her because she turned her head, glancing over her shoulder. Her eyes focused instantly on Draco, wide and expressive, a window to her very soul. Her friend spoke to her twice, before she turned away and back to her conversation. When one of the Weasley boys slipped his arm around her willowy shoulders in a way that screamed familiarity, the delicate glass in Draco's hand shattered with the force of his grip.

Narcissa tisked reproachfully as she drew her wand in one hand, taking Draco's hand in the other. She ignored the headmaster's call for silence and muttered gentle healing spells quietly watching the blood well up as cuts healed. She wiped the blood clean with a pure silk handkerchief, emblazoned with the Malfoy crest. Both Malfoy's ignored Dumbledore's warm words of greeting and urges for unity, until he uttered words that made her son go ridged as a board. "And now to start us off I'd like our school heads to share a dance. Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy." There was a split second while her son gathered his ever present composure, and then his eyes met hers across the room. Hermione was her name, and she was head girl. Apparently she had the intelligence to match her beauty. No wonder he was enchanted. Draco met her in the middle, the music fired up around them. She took his hand without hesitation and immediately fell into his long sweeping steps as if she had danced with him a hundred times. To the untrained eye it was a customary dance. Formal in the way of the wizarding world. Just an elegant waltz. But Narcissa had seen her son dance with many women. He had been schooled in the art from a very young age by the very best tutors. He held even his many girlfriends at a ridged distance, danced with a refined formality that was almost cold. He held this girl only three inches from his body, guiding her flawlessly through a set of stylish steps that resulted it her legs brushing his. His hand rested at the small of her back, their hands held close to their bodies. His eyes never left hers for a moment. She seemed to melt into his touch as he whirled her around the floor. Their movements were in perfect sync. Her hips swayed in time with his creating a subtle intimacy that the rest of the room seemed to miss. Narcissa's eyes zeroed in on the girls mother across the room and was not surprised to find the other woman's face scrunched in thought, her eyes narrowed in contemplation. No, she wasn't the only one who saw it. "It's disgraceful." Her husband hissed at her side, handing her a glass of wine which she sipped delicately. "Letting a lowborn mudblood like her take the most prestigious honor at Hogwarts, and then demanding my son lower himself to dance with her. That Dumbledore is an old" His voice trailed off at her cold stare. When she was certain that she had set Lucius off balance and had his full attention she finally spoke, setting her voice to the lowest chill she could muster. "Lucius, you will never speak that way about my future daughter in law again. Do you understand me?" He had no reply for her. He had feinted dead away.

Operation Cheer Up Granger (But Dont Die Trying)

peskywhistpaw on livejournal

i. Monday
Draco Malfoy was not really the social sort. Oh, he had pretended to be whilst growing up under his parents rule, being perfectly handsome and perfectly charming at all the various parties and balls and other Pureblood-elitist rendezvous which he had been forced to attend. But behind that perfectly gleaming smile, he had always stored away several desires that were quite the opposite of what he expressedmany of which had related to fleeing the scene and hiding for the rest of his life, and another of which may or may not have involved bludgeoning someone to death with a crystal punchbowl. In his adult life, therefore, once Voldemort had gone off and got himself killed, and Draco was allowed to be out on his own, he became a kind of high-end recluse, enjoying the luxuries of life without encountering the idiots that inevitably came with it. He kept up a correspondence or two, neglecting them occasionally when he decided they had become too habitual; and he made a point of ignoring charities (and parties and balls and other Pureblood superiority fests), locking away his money for himself (and to spite anyone who asked for it). Surviving the war hadnt made him any less selfish, after all. It had, however, caused him to make an unexpected exception to his anti-social rule: every Monday since the war had come to an end, Draco found himself Floo-ing to Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, inexplicably seeking the company of Harry Potter. That was, in fact, what he happened to be doing at the very same moment Hermione Granger decided to burst through the front door. Her back was to Draco at first, since, upon her arrival, Potter had hurried to greet and usher her into an adjoining room; but the incomprehensible frizz of her hair, coupled with her modest-yet-matronly choice of clothinghe hadnt known sweaters the color of cat-spit were still being manufacturedgave away her identity within seconds. It was funny, he thought, how predictable she could be, for this was exactly how he had always imagined she would look. Granted, he had supposed it would take at least a decade for her to get there, not two yearsas that was how long it had been since he had last seen her, which had been at their graduation from Hogwartsand it wasnt as if he had always thought of her, eitherhe was simply prone to occasional fits of boredom, just like everybody else. But still. The fact that she had actually ended up like this, and (to top it off), he assumed, was just as annoying as evershe had burst through the door, after all; honestly, where was the fire?was a source of unadulterated glee. Without a second thought, he left the kitchen table to meander into the sitting room, crossing his arms and leaning nonchalantly against the doorway when he reached it. Their backs were still to him. Granger seemed to realize that someone else was there, though not exactly who, and she broke off from whatever she had been saying before to exclaim, Oh! I didnt realize you had company, Harry. Er, yeah, Harry nodded. Its okay, though, he wont Mind? Draco suggested, arching a brow. Granger started, recognizing the voice. W-what? she stammered, not turning around to look at him. Malfoy? Dont sound so horrified, Granger. Its not like Ive just murdered your cat. Harry, what on earth is Malfoy doing in your house?

Draco smirked in amusement. Were friends now, didnt Potter tell you? It is a bit ironic, I know But but She struggled for words. How have I not known? And how did thisthis? She might have received an explanation from either one of them, had she not chosen that particular instant to stand up, turn round, and finally look at Draco, as if to confirm that he actually existed in the same room as she; for this, of course, was the first time in two years that he had seen her face. And it was in that instant that he was struck by a single, mind-boggling, apocalyptic thought that made his arms slacken and his smirk transform into an expression not of arrogance but of shock: Hermione Granger was pretty. Draco began to panic. She didnt look any different, didnt seem to have changed in the slightest regardfor all she appeared, she couldve been eighteen years old and wearing Hogwarts robes, a Gryffindor scarf tossed lightly around her shoulders. But there was something in the angles of her face, the curve of her lips, the brief softness of her eyes, perhaps, that caused his mouth to go dry. She shouldnt have been pretty, or even remotely attractive. Except that she was. Draco tried to take a step backward, but only found himself stumbling against the wall. Potter was standing now, a look of confusion about him as he glanced back and forth between his two guests. When Granger blinked, Draco could have sworn that the gesture looked mildly coquettish. Even as she placed her hand upon her hip, she seemed to caress the gentle curve there, her fingers light and teasing He shook his head. What is wrong with you? Granger demanded, seeming to echo his own thoughts. Hermione But she was already picking up whatever she had brought with her from the sofa. Im sorry, Harry, she said, hastily moving toward the exit once she had finished. II cant stay, not withwell. Ill owl you later. Goodgoodbye. And to Dracos amazement and Potters apparent disappointment, she nearly threw herself out of the house with as much force with which she had entered it. Once she was gone, Potter put his head into his hands and sighed. What? Draco asked, recovering now that Granger was out of sight. Its hardly my fault. Potter seemed to ignore him. I dont understand whats wrong with her, he muttered. Shes been acting so weird lately. A bit skittish, really. Nothing she has ever makes her happy anymore, and Ive no ideawhy. Its like shes depressed, or something. Draco snorted, considering it. Depressed? Granger had always been a full-of-herself know-it-all; she wasnt the type to succumb to things like depression. Pressure, perhaps, and stress, because she had as much of a hero complex as Potter, and a habit of attempting to do everything at once to go along with it. But not depression. I told you, it doesnt make sense. It had to be something else, and Draco was surprised to realize that he was curious. What could have ever caused Granger to become so very unGrangerish? It made the world seem a little unbalanced; Granger was supposed to be Grangerish, and that was simply a fact of life. (She was also supposed to be ugly, but he let that matter slide in favor of more important ones.) And if that had changed, what would change next? Would the ground and the sky switch places? Would trees suddenly sprout legs and frequent shopping centers? Would Ron Weasley become Minister of Magic? The catastrophic possibilities were endless. Potter sighed again. I just wish I knew how to cheer her up, he said, or that I knew someone else who could. I hate seeing her like this. Shes my best friend. Oddly enough, though Draco Malfoy was not in any way best friends with Hermione Granger, he couldnt have agreed more. It was time to set the earth back into its orbit.

ii. Tuesday
Everybody loved birthdays, Draco reasoned. At least, they loved their own birthdays. No one actually enjoyed watching acquaintances or total strangers receive mountains of gifts and affection; it was a part of human nature. But nobody, except for maybe Potter or Great-Aunt Callidora, could deny that their own birthdays brought them at least a minute amount of cheer.

Draco hadnt the faintest idea of when Grangers birthday was, but whether it had passed or was still yet to come, he was determined to force her to celebrate it. He would stuff chocolate cake down her throat if it came to thatthough he sincerely hoped it wouldnt, since she was probably still quicker at doing magic than him, and he really wasnt noble enough to die for a cause. How he would manage this would be, in his opinion, nothing short of a stroke of geniusif he could, of course, be so modest as to say so. Phase One of Operation Cheer Up Granger (But Dont Die Trying) was thus as follows: He would owl her anonymously, telling her to go to the park a few minutes from her house (a discreet and casual interrogation had led Potter to accidentally reveal her address). She would then wander about, confused, looking for the man in the red top hat, who she would never find. Just when she would begin to think that she had been cruelly tricked into taking a walk (very, very cruel), she would stumble across a picnic table laden with an elaborate birthday cake, various party favors and delicious snacks, and a sign that would read, in bold, sparkly letters, HAPPY BIRTHDAY GRANGER! (or HERMIONE, though he felt slightly uncomfortable at the thought of calling her by anything but her surname). Granger would be overcome with surprise and happiness, all the while looking very delightful and pretty, and the world would return to normal. Yes, it was a brilliantly clever plan, and no part of it could ever go wrong. ~#~ Something was wrong. His note Hermione Granger, Come to the park at noon and look for the man in the red top hat. A surprise will be waiting for you. Sincerely, Anonymous had been sent hours ago, yet it was past noon, and Granger was nowhere to be seen. From his place behind the thick trunk of a tree, Draco frowned. Could it have been lost, perhaps, never reaching her? He doubted this; his owl was almost as clever as himself, and had never failed to deliver something before. Had Granger simply ignored it, then? Dracos frown deepened, and he glanced over at the picnic table. Flies had madly begun to swarm about the cake, and vanilla ice cream was dripping quietly onto the ground. Even the sign (he had gone with her full name as a compromise) was sparkling with less fervor. It was no wonder, then, that she had become so depressed, if she always ignored anonymous notes from people trying to wish her a happy birthday. No sense of adventureor gratitude. Suddenly, however, he caught sight of someone heading briskly along the sidewalk toward him. Someone with incomprehensibly bushy hair and a lavender-colored sweater that might have looked nice on a person twice her size. Someone like Granger. Perhaps her clock had only been broken. Draco settled himself flush against the tree, attempting to stay hidden until the last possible moment. He could hear her footsteps growing louder and louder as she came ever closer And went past him? He stuck his head out from behind the tree. Sure enough, she seemed not to have noticed the excessively-decorated picnic table, nor the sign that happened to be bearing her own name, and was continuing onward, her gaze upon the ground. Flabbergasted, Draco chased after her, waving his arms wildly as if attempting to land a hippogriff. Yet still she did not notice. Finally, he caught up to her, and grasped her shoulder roughly, giving a bellowed, GRANGER! Granger shrieked, and in an instant, pulled her wand from her pocket. Draco only just managed to scamper to the side as she sent an orange jet of light at the place in which he had just been standing. Arrgh! he cried, slightly out of fear. Granger blinked, and seemed to recover herself, discovering the identity of her alleged attacker. Oh. Its you.

Draco straightened, nervously eyeing the sidewalka small patch of which was emitting smoke. She really was quick. Yes, he drawled with a subtle hitch in his voice. Its me. What do you want? Her tone was no friendlier than it had been yesterday. But then again, she wasnt any less attractive, either. He tried to push the thought from his mind. Didnt you get my note? She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. You didnt send me a note. Yes I did. It said to look for the man in the red top hat. You must have got it. Comprehension dawned. Yes, I did get a note thatthat was from you? She looked utterly taken aback. I thought someone was stalking me. She narrowed her eyes. Or are you? He narrowed his eyes as well, looking shifty. Of course not. I should certainly hope as much. Now tell me, Malfoy, what do you want? Im rather in a hurry. He stared at her. You didnt come here for your surprise? Certainly not! she exclaimed. One generally doesnt follow the instructions of psychopaths. Im hardly as stupid as that! Er Draco hadnt thought of that. The note had sounded rather nice at the time that he had written it, nothing at all like the creation of a potential serial-killer. Ive something to show you. A surprise? she inquired dryly. He ignored her. I suppose you didnt notice it, but its on that picnic table back there. Granger rolled her eyes, but all the same, proceeded toward the picnic table in question. Draco felt a sensation of accomplishment welling within him as she went. Any second now, a smile would unfold across her face, joyful tears running down her cheeks What is this? Draco beamed at her. Happy birthday! Granger shook her head, looking at him strangely. My birthday was two months ago. I suppose you really arent stalking me, otherwise you would already know that. He faltered. Happy belated birthday? She stuck out her hand, placing the back of it upon his forehead. Her skin was cool. Are you ill? she asked. He scowled petulantly. No. Im attempting to throw you a birthday party. Thats what I meant. Are youthat is, have you been given any medication recently? No. Have you forgotten to take any? Granger! he snapped. Look Malfoy, I dont know what youre trying to do Im throwing you a birthday party but Ive told you, I dont have time for it. Please leave me alone. Before he could protest further, she Apparated away, muttering something beneath her breath about writing to St. Mungos at once. Phase One: completecomplete and utter disaster.

iii. Wednesday

Draco had never shopped for his own food before, and had therefore never been to a supermarketthat was what house-elves were for, after all. But this was where Granger went every Wednesday afternoon at five oclock after workor so he had been told accidentally by Potter (such slipups seemed to happen quite a lot, now that he thought of it). Supposing Granger to be the obnoxiously nutritious sort, he had taken his post by the fruits and vegetables, and was now hunkered down beside a display of tomatoes, occupying his time by debating which category they would fall into. Todays plan was less complicated than yesterdays, as he had decided (after chasing away a pair of St. Mungos healers) that that must have been part of the problem. Phase Two, therefore, was only to make Granger laugh, preferably by enchanting assorted edible items and forcing them to do amusing things. There was something inexplicably hilarious about tap-dancing potatoes, Draco had always thought, and it was not something easily resisted. Periodically, he poked his head up to see if Granger had entered the store, and though the last twenty times had been in vain, the twenty-first time brought him a bit more luck; just as he had suspected, she seemed to have made a beeline for the fruits and vegetables, and was currently comparing the merits of two different types of grapes. Perfect, he thought, and gave his wand a subtle flick. Instantly, the grapes unfastened themselves from each other, and shot out of their containers, bouncing about in the air in a circle of red and green. Grangers eyes widened, and her hand flew to her mouth in surprise, stifling a gasp that, he supposed, would have otherwise been very loud. After several moments, she looked about wildly, searching for the instigator. Draco ducked down, giving his wand another flick. This time, the grapes should have sprouted limbs and faces and started doing the tango with one another. Judging by Grangers muttered What on earth, they must have been doing precisely that. He pursed his lips. She wasnt laughing yet, but he still had one last thing He flicked his wand a third time, and in a unified, falsetto voice, the grapes screamed, IVE GOT A LOVELY BUNCH OF COCONUTS Draco swore to himself. That wasnt what they were supposed to sing! He waved his wand violently. HOPELESSLY DEVOOOTEEEEEDDD Another wave. THERE WAS A GIRL NAMED ANNIE, SHE HAD A VERY PRETTY FACE And another. HEY THERE LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD Draco beat his head against the crate holding the tomatoes, causing one of the vegetable-fruits to splatter upon the floor beside him and leave a stain on his shirt. How ever had he managed to graduate Hogwarts with such dismal skills? Oh, right. He was Lucius Malfoys son. You, seethed a venomous voice. You are stalking me! Draco started. There standing before him, of course, was Granger herself, purple juice in her hair and down her front. Her ears were being verbally assaulted by what remained of an army of green grapes, which had moved on to Christmas carols. Her skin was tinged with the red of fury, and her mouth had twisted into a snarl, but for a moment, instead of looking utterly run-down as she had before, there was something alive about her, and she was so so She was so going to murder him. Draco gulped. He was supposed to be saving his own life, not ogling her! Malfoy SEE HOW THE ELVES, TIPTOEING ELVES make PUT ON DISPLAY THIS HOLIDAY it CHRISTMAS IS HERE, THEY MUST PREPARE stop!

MERRY, MERRY, MERRY, MERRY CHRISTMAS, MERRY, MERRY, MERRY OH MY GOD, THE GRAPES ARE SINGING! Simultaneously, Draco and Granger whipped their heads around. A woman with multiple chins stood pointing at the grapes, finger quivering, her beady eyes nearly popping out of her head. Fellow customers began to turn and look at her. Granger swore loudly, and briefly, Draco was too impressed to comprehend the gravity of the situation. But it was only for a trice, as Granger soon began shaking him by the shoulders. Have you any idea, she cried desperately, how much trouble were in? This is a Muggle supermarket, Malfoy. Muggle! Youve just violated the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy, Clause There are Muggles here? Draco interrupted, gaping at her. He hadnt counted on Granger infiltrating Muggle supermarkets; he had just assumed that she would buy food from wherever it was that other wizards bought it. Draco hated Muggles. They scared the hell out of him. Weve got to get out of here, he stammered, panic rising. Someone else had begun to scream, and Draco was vaguely aware of the fact that an old man had passed out near his foot. Granger looked appalled by the suggestion. No! We cant run away! Aurors will be here any time now to Yes, Granger, thats why and you can explain! I wont need to explain if we dont get caught! You prat, thatll make us fugitives! Theres no way for them to know Muggles use security cameras! Security-whats? FA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LAAAAA! Granger clapped her hands angrily around a group of the offending grapes with a sickening squish. Draco shuddered, and the many-chinned woman fell to the floor. Theyll know it was us! Granger exclaimed. Theyll know, and theyllno! Theyll know it was you! Her eyes were suddenly bright. Theyll know it was you, because theyll have seen it on the security cameras. Im not going anywhere! Ive got nothing to run from. And youre staying here! Overcoming his revulsion at the grape massacre, Draco jumped to his feet and grasped her wrist roughly. Come on, Granger. Let go of me, Malfoy! Draco ignored her, pulling her toward the exit. Think ofarrgh!your future heirs! Draco shifted his other hand slightly, but continued to drag her until they were safely outside. Then Granger wrenched her wrist free and slapped him as hard as she could, his cheeks stinging doubly in the chill November wind. The grapes that had bothered to follow them fell silent. Youre such an idiot! A fantastic idiot! she screeched at him, beginning to circle like a carnivorous bird intent upon devouring him as viciously as possible. So youve told me, he smirked in spite of himself. Be quiet, justshut up! Her palm seemed dangerously close to his cheek again, so he did. I dont know whats wrong with you, Malfoy, she continued, or what youre trying to accomplish, or why youre bothering to stalk me, but youve got to stop! If this is just residual, childish bullying from our years at Hogwarts, its stupid, and I dont want to have anything to do with it! Were not

children anymore! Ive grown up, and its about time that you did, too. Im not bullying you! he spat. Yes, she insisted. Yes you are. Youre harassing me, and poking fun Since when? How about yesterday, when you went on and on about celebrating my birthday? That was hardly poking My last birthday was horrible, Ill have you know! A complete disaster! And I dont need to be reminded of it! Her chest heaved as she glared at him, and he was again reminded of the difference between this Hermione Granger, and the Hermione Granger he had met on Monday; this Granger was almost like the old Granger, not quite so un-Grangerish, not quite so downtrodden. But at the mention of birthdays, the un-Grangerish Granger began to resurface, and the vibrancy of life promptly faded from her expression. Please, Malfoy, she began. I wont turn you in to the Aurors if youll just leave me alone. Please. Draco felt something catch within his throat, but managed to choke out stubbornly, Why should I? Unexpectedly, Grangers shoulders slumped, and she turned from him, digging the heels of her hands into her eyesbut not before he could see that she was crying. Crying! Hermione Granger, crying! Granger, who had a Professor McGonagall-like no-nonsense policy, who had ignored taunts of Mudblood for at least seven years of her life. The world was spinning faster and faster off course. I cant I just cant deal with you, Malfoy. Not now. Draco gazed at her back a long minute. Then Fine. Phase Two? Its ending outweighed what little success there had been before.

iv. Thursday
The headquarters of S.P.E.W. were located in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures at the Ministry of Magic. Draco had never visited the specific location himself, not having an interest in house-elf rights or, indeed, magical creatures in general, since he had been mauled by a hippogriff in his third year at Hogwarts. Even so, he made certain to hold his chin up and fix a sneer upon his face as he made his way through the Ministry, acting as if he owned the place. It was the only way to get around without people stopping him to ask questions, or to stare; he hadnt made a public appearanceespecially not therein quite some time, and everyone was bound to have assumed that he had been eaten by wild Crups within the past year, or some such. He exited the lift upon reaching level four, and was directed from there to the right, and then to the left, and finally straight ahead into a tiny, private archipelago of offices. A shabby wooden desk rested at what appeared to be the start of the cluster, bearing the words Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare across its front. Behind it was Granger. This time, her sweater was Gryffindor red. She glanced up at his approach, and the look of dismay about her was so deep that it was almost painful. Draco pretended not to see it. You promised to leave me alone, Granger whispered, gripping the edge of the desk until her knuckles turned white. You said you wouldnt bother me anymore Im not here to bother you, he informed her. Im here to make a donation. A what? He gestured to the visitors badge pinned to his chestDRACO MALFOY, elfish benefactorand withdrew a heavy velvet sack from his robes, placing it upon the desk before her. Three thousand galleons for S.P.E.W. in the name of Draco Lucius Malfoy. She gaped at him. You cant be serious. Therethere cant be three thousand galleons in thatthat

Magic, Granger, he said curtly. Now, I dont give away my money lightly, so I expect something useful to be done with it. Though I suggest you start by replacing that deskit looks like its about to fall apart. Yes, but You can say thank you now. Three thousand galleons? And if that doesnt put a bloody smile on your face, he growled, youre hopeless. With that, Draco swept dramatically away, making sure his cloak gave an extra-crisp swish as he went. (There were things one learned under the tutelage of Severus Snape, after all.) Once out of the direct line of her sight, he flattened himself against the wall of the hallway, peering round the corner. Granger looked to be in a state of shock, repeatedly muttering three thousand galleons to herself. Three thousand galleons was quite a lot of money, to be certain; but the sum had hardly made a dent in his Gringotts vault, and so he hadnt felt any measure of sadness in parting with itand Mother wasalways telling him to be more charitable during the holidays. Granger, on the other hand, while not nearly as impoverished as Weasley, had probably never seen such an amount (all at once, at least) in her life, much less for the benefit of her little spewing operation. He took another look at her. She was no longer muttering to herself, fortunately, yet neither was she smiling. Well. She was, but it was faint, and all wrong. All wrong? Draco blinked. Since when had he become an expert on Grangers smile? It must have been when hed realized that she didnt show it anymore. She had always smiled at Hogwartswell, not always, but often enough. He had never taken much interest in it, especially after shed had her teeth shrunk, and there was nothing more about it for him to make fun of. But he could remember it, somehow, from some time when it had actually drawn his attention He struggled to recall. Just then, he felt something tug at the sleeve of his robe. Draco looked down, bemused to find a tiny old manprobably part goblin, if not a full-out midgetstaring at him from behind enormous spectacles. Excuse me sir, the midget squeaked, but have the nifflers got loose again? Draco arched his brows, temporarily distracted from his thoughts. What nifflers? The nifflers, the midget stated ominously, as if that explained everything. I thought you might be hiding from them. Youre wearing an awful lot of shiny things, you know. Er Draco paused. Nifflers were likely a better explanation than the truth. Yes, he coughed. The nifflers got loose again. Blast! the midget cried, the volume of this exclamation causing Draco to jump. Ill have to call Bert down again, the careless wart. Probably caught up in that mistletoe fiasco with everybody else. Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee needs all available help, ha! Theyre just trying to steal my department employees, is what The midget meandered off, uttering threats to nobody of immediate consequence. Draco, however, had hardly noticed the absence, for he was suddenly struck by a particular memory.

The Yule Ball . That was where he had seen Grangers smile, the smile he had been subconsciously using as a comparison. That was what had
made him utterly speechless when he had seen her that night. It hadnt been the fact that shed straightened her hair, or that her dress had fitted her with perfection; it had been that when shed smiled, Viktor-sodding-Krum leading her to the dance floor, she had lit up the entire Great Hall. Only when that smile appeared would he know that Granger had got over whatever was afflicting her. And everything would be right. Whether or not Phase Three had been victorious was something that he entirely forgot to think about.

v. Friday
True to his word, Draco did not seek out Granger on Friday, though she was likely to spend the entire day looking over her shoulder as a result. He

did not consider this, however, as his mind was already occupied with other matters; he simply did not have the capacity to also realize that he might be causing someone else slight uneaseeven if, of course, it was ultimately his goal to accomplish just the opposite. He spent the entire day thinking; thinking, and not being able to think of anything remotely usefulwondering what color Granger had chosen for her Sweater of the Day didnt count. Phase Four of Operation CUG (BDDT), if things continued as they were, would forever be undefined. Grangers spirits did not pick up at the prospect of cake and ice cream and sparkly banners, nor did they improve at the sight of enchanted grapes. She could not even bring herself to fully appreciate a donation which was sure to have saved her cause from being abandoned in the near future. What could cheer her up? Draco obviously did not excel at making people happy. He had spent the greater part of his life making people unhappy, in fact, and had never before felt such a pressing desire to do otherwise. Staring up at the ceiling from his bedroom floor, he chewed at his bottom lip. He really ought to have left this whole CUG (BDDT) business to someone more qualified. Someone Granger actually knew, and who she cared about. Someone like Potter. But Potter had failed, hadnt he? He was about as dense as Weasley when it came to females, even if the female in question happened to be one of his best friends. Draco suddenly paused mid-chew. Potter had still noticed, though, even if he hadnt a clue as to the cause. He would remember when it had started. Draco rolled over, Summoning a quill and parchment. ~#~ It was nearly midnight when Potters letter arrived Draco, When did Hermione start acting depressed? Why do you need to know? Youre not badgering her again, are you? I guess it was a couple months ago, though. Round her birthday. Please dont do anything stupid. -Harry And by the time Draco had Apparated to Grangers house, Saturday was underway, and the pieces of the puzzle had begun to put themselves together.

vi. Saturday
GRANGER! GRANGER! OPEN THE DOOR, GRANGER! Draco pounded fiercely upon Grangers front door, shaking the whole of the building as he did so. He would wake the dead if he had to, so long as it got Granger out of bed. When there was something on Dracos mind, something pressing, patience took little precedence. After five minutes, a soft glow of light pooled out of an upstairs window, and he could hear someone inside padding down a flight of stairs. GRANGER! he shouted again, for good measure. Who is it? a voice demanded, peeved, from the other side of the door. Who do you think? Draco shot back. The door swung open. Malfoy, what are you doing here? Its midnight! Apparently, he muttered, eyeing her rumpled nightdress, bleary eyes, and the truly frightening tangle of her hair, before he suddenly remembered himself. I want to know what happened on your birthday, he said. What? Granger stifled a yawn. You honestly couldnt have waited till the morning to ask me?

It is the morning. Well, in that case, I dont want to talk about it. She crossed her arms. I know. But thats why Im here, and I wont go away until you tell me. He crossed his own arms huffily, exaggerating her gesture. She sighed. Why do you even care? It isnt as if it matters Of course it matters, Granger, because its whats turned you into a dejected old hag with nothing better to do than blubber and mope about. Though her eyes had been unfocused before, this statement certainly sharpened them with alarming rapidity. Draco gazed back at her, undaunted, as if challenging her to do something extremely rash. You heard me, he said, waving his hand to casually brush it aside. Granger scowled. Thats hardly an incentive. Isnt it? I should just leave you out here. Ill wake the neighbors. He took a deep breath, preparing to continue shouting at the top of his lungs. Granger clapped her hand over his mouth just in time. Hurry up then, she hissed, moving aside so that he could pass through the doorway. Once the door was securely shut behind him, he nearly swooped down upon heranother Snape trick well-learned. Impressively, Granger stood her ground. I was seeing someone, and he broke up with me on my birthday, she said. End of story. Draco felt a snarl building in his throat. No, he snapped. Theres more to it than that, theres no point in hiding it! Im not hiding anything! Yes you are! Because what youre not is the type that gets so utterly, bloody pathetic when shes dumped! It was so stupid, the concept of Granger being in such a state of decline because of a bloke. Mental. Illogical. She was better than that, wasnt she? More stable? Then maybe Im not the type of person you believe I am. Draco threw his hands into the air. Seriously? Seriously, Granger? Ive had just about enough of this shite. What the hell did this prick say to you? Whats wrong with you, Granger? She clenched her fists. Whats wrong with me? she repeated. Ill tell you whats wrong with me: everything! Everythings wrong with me! Im never good enough, or pretty enough! Im just Hermione Plain Jane Granger, and Im sorry Ive not been clipped straight out of a magazine! Im sorry I cant look perfect like everybody else! Her eyes were wild, and she was panting slightly. Draco blinked. Thats it? Now she truly looked hurt. That Yes, Malfoy. Thats it. Thats the big fat secret, thats whats turned Know-it-all Granger into awhat was it?a dejected old hag. Thats whats been dragging her into a state of pathetic melancholy. Thats it. But Granger He almost felt like laughing at her absurdity; and had he been thinking straight, he might have choked upon what came next. Granger, youre beautiful. Dont say that! she moaned miserably. Its not true, and you very well know it! He shook his head. You, he began slowly, are a fantastic idiot. Excuse me? Do you ever even bother to look in a mirror? Its not that difficult, trust me. Not all of us are raging narcissists, Malfoy. Some of us happen to be realists.

And clearly, youre not among their number! Merlin! He took her shoulders, drawing her closer in a sort of crazed desperation. Youre more than just mildly attractive, Granger, and you sure as hell shouldnt need me to tell you that! Youre wrong, she murmured quietly, repeating it as if it were an oath. There isnt anything beautiful about me. There never has been, and there never will be. Its simply who I am. Hermione Plain Jane Grang Oh, for the love of Draco rolled his eyes, pulled her against his chest, and kissed her.

vii. Sunday
Your hairs blue, Potter observed astutely as Draco stepped into Grimmauld Place. Yes. Yes it is. And its Sunday, he remarked with equal perceptiveness. How very astounding. Potter frowned, suspicious. Why are you here? Draco dropped onto the sofa with a sigh. Oh, please. It isnt as if I have to wait till Monday to drop by. No but you always do, anyway. He shrugged. What can I say? Im feeling different today. My hair is blue, after all. Er and why? Granger hexed me. Potter started. Hermione? What for? And when did you see her? He paused. You did something stupid, didnt you? On the contrary I snogged her within an inch of her life. You what? Dont sound so upset. She had it coming. She had itDraco! Shes completely messed up right now! How could you? I think youll find her slightly improved. Potter ran a hand through his hair. You didnt Imperius her, did you? Or poison her, or anything? That would worsen things a bit, dont you think? Draco smirked. Yeah, but She even smiled, Potter. Smiled. Potter snorted. I expect it was right after she turned your hair blue. Well, naturally. But after I snogged her a second time, she decided against retaliating Urgh. I really dont want to hear this. Grow a spine, Potter, its not like I stayed the night. His expression brightened. I did, however, buy her a new sweater Potter laughed. How generous of you. I thought so. He didnt bother mentioning the three thousand galleons. Potters laughter eventually faded, and was replaced by a thoughtful sort of grin. She really smiled, though? Ive never seen anything like it, Draco nodded. You know?

I reckon so. They sat in contented silence for some time, mulling over memories and various other things that popped into their minds. And Draco, when he could finally hold it in no longer, uttered a victorious Mission accomplished to no one in particular. He would leave Potter to figure that one out later.

One Thousand Times Before

pencil gal on ff.net The first time you watched her walk out of a door you were in fourth year. Okay so youd seen her walk through doors plenty of times before but the first time that you actively watched her and really paid attention to her and that door it was fourth year. It was towards the end of the Yule Ball and you had seen her arguing with Weasley. Everyone thought you were off somewhere snogging Pansy but really you were still hidden in the Great Hall, with the bottle of Firewhiskey you had managed to sneak in. (Those rumours that McGonagall had caught you with it and gave you detention were a lie, of course. You werent that stupid.) So there you were, sitting in your little darkened nook and gulping down the Firewhiskey (which, by the way, was doing tremendous things to your fourteen-year-old-never-had-alcohol-before body), when you spotted her storming towards the doors in all her blue-gown-and-abnormally-tidy-hair glory. You smirked because thats how you were. You were a bigot and a racist and a bastard and you prided yourself on it. You were happy that she was so obviously upset after shed had the perfect girly night actually looking pretty and being the date of a famous Quidditch player. She was a Mudblood and didnt deserve the privileges she had been awarded and it was about time something shook her from that pedestal. The only thing that angered you was that Weasley had been the one to bring tears to her eyes and not you. Then again, maybe you had been wrong, and the haze of alcohol might have made you see things that werent actually there. Maybe she hadnt really been crying. After all you had said some horrible things to her over the years but never once had you seen her cry. You didnt think there was anything Weasley might say that was worse than what you had. And if she was so sad and upset, you thought that she would pause at the doors and take a swift glance over her shoulder at her friends before fleeing, like girls did in those magazines of your mothers. But she didnt. She never looked back once. She just strode across the floor with her head held high before sweeping out of the door. Not that it really mattered anyway. You never thought about it again after that night. *** The second time was three years later, after the Battle of Hogwarts. You were with your parents at the side of the Great Hall, none of you really knowing what you could do. There were injured and dead lying everywhere and somehow you knew that there wasnt going to be an escape for your family. It had been obvious where your loyalties had lain. Your parents were whispering together (that is when your mother wasnt smothering you with hugs and kisses), probably trying to conspire about a way to keep everyone out of Azkaban. You knew it wasnt likely to work though. And so you had just sat there, quietly, with your head resting on a fist and staring into space. And then you had spotted her. Battle weary with her robes torn and smears of dirt across her forehead. She was moving from cot to cot, checking on those that were injured. You saw her glance towards the sea of red hair and then lower her head. She took a breath and then moved towards them. You watched as she placed a hand on Weasleys shoulder. He turned his head to look at her and then she pulled him into a hug. You shift your gaze and stare at the floor. You dont want to see them. You dont want to see their pain. You dont look up again until you spot her mess of hair shifting at the edge of your vision. You see her immediately, shuffling towards the door. She pauses there and looks back around the Hall. You think that her eyes pause on you and your parents for a few moments but then theyre gone and you figure you were probably hallucinating. There is a morose, dead expression on her face that you know doesnt suit her. She turns and leaves through the door silently. No one notices except you. You didnt think youd ever see her again. *** The third time it happened was at your trial. You had spent six months in Azkaban waiting for your trial (which had been pushed up thanks to the Malfoy money and your youth) and you knew that you never wanted to go back there. So you had been sitting there, next to your lawyer, the full Wizengamot assembled, and then in she had walked. You knew she would be there; she had been subpoenaed after all and had no choice. But it still surprised you to see her there, sitting patiently and waiting for her turn. She stared at you with blank eyes that made you look away. When she was called to the stand you payed close attention to her hands. You could see them twisting her skirt as your lawyer questioned her. You

saw that she was reluctant to speak on your behalf but you knew that she would tell the complete truth. It was just who she was. She told the court that you had tried to get out of identifying the Golden Trio to your Aunt Bellatrix, that you had hesitated and tried to stall telling them and that you hadnt been one of the people to torture her. You were lucky to get off without having to serve any more time. You knew that her testimony was the only thing that had saved you. She slipped away silently as soon as the verdict was read. Your lawyer was shaking your hand and congratulating you but your eyes were trained on her back as she left. *** The fourth time was at the Ministrys Christmas Ball. You had both come with dates and yet somehow you had ended up tipsy, together, and in a secluded corner sharing a bottle of Firewhiskey (and yes, all of that had brought back huge flashbacks of fourth year and that stupid Yule Ball). You hadnt seen her for a year, not since that day in court, except for a few times at a distance, and yet there you were getting rip-roaringly drunk with her. Certainly not something you ever would have expected to happen. You took a swig from the bottle before passing it back to her. Thanks for the testimony Granger, you slurred. She giggled. What testimony? She took a huge gulp of Firewhiskey and started spluttering as it burnt its way down her throat. At my trial. Thanks. You stared at her hair and then reached out to twist a curl around your finger. And thats the last time Im saying it. Uh-huh, okay. No problemo neighbourino. She tilted her head and stared at you intently before bursting into laughter. Youre funny, you know that? You chuckled. Yeah, right bundle of laughs I am. She lifted a finger and dragged it along your cheek. Youre cute too. Her finger fell from your face and landed at the top of your dress robes. Your hand was still in her hair and you pulled her closer while trying to wiggle your eyebrows at her (though it didnt work very well, the alcohol was taking its toll on your brain functions). Is that so? Without giving her time to respond you leant forward and kissed her. It quickly escalated and soon your tongue was down her throat and her hands were inside your shirt and your fingers were playing with the zipper at the back of her gown. And then she pulled away with a saucy little smile on her face. She picked up the bottle of Firewhiskey and left the darkened corner you were in. She crossed the ballroom to the doors and then turned around to look back at you. She discreetly looked around to make sure no one was watching and then raised the bottle to her lips and took another swig. She gave you that come hither look and curled her finger to make you follow before slipping out of the ballroom. You were smashed and it was Christmas and you left without your date but none of that even registered in your mind. You were blind drunk and spent all of the next morning vomiting but you still remembered every tiny little detail of that night. *** The fifth time was after youd been with her for a few months. You had finished eating dinner at a fancy restaurant that you had picked, and the two of you had been arguing about who would pay. She had wanted to pay half of the bill. Granger, you had drawled, reminding you both of memories that were better forgotten, I insist. She had frowned slightly before relenting. Fine, she had said. But I am not going to let you pay every single time Draco Malfoy. You had simply smirked and stood up. You went to pay for dinner and smiled when you felt her step up behind you. She wrapped her arms around your middle and leaned up on her toes to kiss the side of your neck. Ill meet you outside, she had whispered into your ear before pulling away. You turned your head and watched her walk towards the door. Her hips and dress and hair all swayed as she walked. She had paused and sent you a sensuous glance over her shoulder. You smirked again and she returned it, as if she had been smirking all her life. You think that if things had been different she would have made an excellent Slytherin. And then she stepped out the door. *** The sixth time was inside your apartment and she was yelling at you. Screaming at you. And she was crying (and not the supposedly pretty crying either, no this was puffy eyes and red nose and sniffling).

I love you! she screamed at the top of her lungs, even though you were only standing three feet away. I love you, but I cant do this anymore! You just looked at her and said nothing even though your heart was pounding in your chest. You wanted to cross over to her and take her in your arms and kiss away all those tears. But you knew she would only push you away so you stayed rooted to your spot and watched the breakdown. She gasped for breath as she looked away from you and dragged her hands through her unruly hair. You took a step forward and reached for her arm but she pulled away from you immediately. She stared up at you with desperation and pain in her eyes. Your heart splintered at what you saw in her eyes. Say something, please, she whispered. Tell me you love me. Make me stay. Still you said nothing. Your heart was crying out, yelling as loudly as she had been only two minutes ago, wanting you to tell her. You opened your mouth only to close it again and watch her with sad eyes. You couldnt do it. She nodded sadly, tears continuing to stream silently down her cheeks. You cant. The pain in her voice as she whispered those two words almost killed you. She stepped close to you and kissed you softly on the cheek. Im sorry Draco, she murmured. She turned around and then was gone. And you were left all alone. *** The last time was on the day of her wedding. To another man. You hadnt been invited (not that youd been expecting to). You had known that you shouldnt have been there, that she would rip you to pieces if she saw you, but you hadnt been able to stay away. And so you had stood outside, across the road, and waited. And watched. You waited for two hours hidden under a Concealment Charm, watching the lifeless building as the ceremony took place inside. And then suddenly the doors opened and there she was, smiling brightly as Weasley held her at his side. She looked beautiful. You could tell that it was one of the very few times that she had aimed at making herself look gorgeous. She had done it for Krum at the Yule Ball and she was doing it now for Weasley. It was something that she had never done for you. Which made you think: had she not thought you important enough for her to try and look beautiful? Or was it that she had felt comfortable enough around you that she didnt think she needed to be anything other than herself. You very much hoped it was the latter option. You were tempted to drop the Concealment Charm, march over there and claim her as yours (never mind the fact that you got married three months ago and now she was too). But you didnt. Contrary to popular belief you were no longer the spoilt brat that threw a temper tantrum when you didnt get what you wanted. You knew that you had already made your choice. You didnt tell her and now, because of that, she had made her choice too. She was standing with Weasley and Potter and they were all laughing and smiling. The Golden Trio. The perfect freakin trio. It made you sick to watch them and you desperately wanted to leave but you couldnt. It was like watching someone who had just been Splinched. You knew it was horrible but you couldnt drag yourself away. You wondered if she was happy. A small part of you hoped she was despite how miserable you felt. You stayed there watching all the guests milling around, offering their congratulations to her and Weasley. And then everyone was moving away, getting ready to drive to the reception hall. Everyone cheered as she and the Weasel stepped into the white limousine. As they drove off you knew what would come next. She would have children, and live her life, and you would never be a part of it again. You knew that while you would certainly see her at various social events and other places, you would never again be able to speak to her, to interact with her, to know her. And that knowledge broke what little remained of your already shattered heart.

Only The Cold

blue movies on ff.net He's glaring at her somethin' fierce. She's too busy listening to Flitwick an' taking notes to see. There's a muscle ticking under his jaw an' at the rate he's holding his quill it's gonna snap any time now. He's mad 'cause he almost never gets to her, she just doesn't mind him that much, unlike Potter an' Weasley who'd beat him up real good if they had a chance. "Vince," Greg rasps, "pass those jellybeans over here, will ya?" I hand him the packet of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. He thanks me, bites into one an' makes a face. "Yech. Coconut again. I always get coconut. 'S'not fair."

People'd be shocked to know Greg an' me call each other by our first names, 'cause we've always been Crabbe and Goyle at school. But him and me've known each other since we were kids. Draco came a little later. Everyone thinks he's a sodding git an' they're right, never been a bastard meaner'n Draco, but that's just his way. He can be right decent, so long as no one else is around. He looks over our homework, f'r example, but he snarls at us when we thank him, says he's only doing it so we won't flunk out an' he won't have no one to carry his things 'nymore. I watch him tense up when Weasley leans over to whisper somethin' in Granger's ear. She laughs an' swipes Weasley playfully on the shoulder, an' the quill in Draco's hand snaps, just like that. "Here," I grunt, fishing another quill out of my bag an' holding it out to him. He throws the broken pieces on the floor in disgust, grabs the new quill, starts scribbling down what Flitwick is saying. Jagged, angry strokes. Not his usual neat handwriting that Zabini once said was like a girl's. Draco'd hexed him good for that one. "All right?" I ask him. "Fine," he growls. He's gone pale- well, paler'n usual- an' he doesn't look at me, or at Parkinson who turns 'round to say somethin' to him. He ignores her. She snorts an' lifts her nose in the air an' turns back. Uppity little bitch, her. Draco just continues scowling an' draggin' the quill on the parchment so hard I think for a second he's about to rip holes into it. He doesn't know I know. He hasn't told anyone, though sometimes it's mighty obvious and he has to work extra hard to cover it up. It'd make his parents an' the other Slytherins go off their rocker, Draco Malfoy fancyin' a Mudblood. It really would. It prob'ly started in third year, when she slapped him. I still remember the sound of her palm thwacking 'gainst his face. Greg and me'd looked at him for instructions- although I wasn't too keen on laying hands on a girl- but 'stead of telling us to get her or somethin' like that he just stood there, holdin' his cheek an' staring at her like he'd never seen her b'fore. Then he muttered "C'mon" and we slunk away. Things slowly started changing after that. Not that he's stopped bugging her or anythin'- in fact sometimes he goes out of his way just to rile her- but he looks at her in secret, with a face like he's seeing somethin' he wants but can't have and he's bloody pissed about it. At the Yule Ball in fourth year he'd been unable to take his eyes off her, an' he packed away his poster of Krum the next morning. Then there was the time we saw her kissing Weasley on the cheek. Draco'd been in a right nasty mood after that, snapping at us for little things, kicking aside the chairs in the common room, not even so much as smirking when Zabini set a first year's hair on fire. An' there was one of the few times he was able to get under her skin, by telling her that her Muggle parents would be among the first to go when the Dark Lord came back. Her eyes'd watered a little, an' when Draco saw that he'd just suddenly stopped and walked off. He didn't say anything all day. People think I'm thick, but I notice stuff like that, 'specially since I've known Draco for a bit. Took me quite a while to catch on, but finally I started payin' attention. I notice the way he gets very still , almost like he's afraid to move, when she walks into the room. I notice the way his fists clench when she's tellin' him off, like he can't decide whether to hit her or to grab her. I know he hates himself for liking someone who's everything he's not s'posed to like, an' I know he blames her for making him feel this way when a few years back he'd hated her like anythin' It's funny to watch, actuallywhen he's 'round her he doesn't stutter or stumble all over himself like most people in love, he just gets angrier an' angrier. Flitwick dismisses us in his squeaky voice an' we troop out of the classroom, Greg an' me flanking Draco as usual an' shouldering people who get in our way. Somehow we find ourselves walking behind the Dream Team in the corridor. Greg makes to push past 'em, but Draco holds out an arm to block him. Greg blinks, looks at me in confusion. I shrug. Granger's talking rapidly. "I don't see how I can possibly get everything done by tomorrow. Essays for Charms and Potions, my Arithmancy homework, that page I have to translate for Study of Ancient Runes- oh, I knew I should have practiced the Switching Spell last night, if I had I wouldn't be worrying about it anymore! Now, Harry, I know you have Quidditch practice, but you absolutely cannot go out until you've finished your essay" As she continues blabbering on, Potter and Weasley look at each other over her head, grin, an' roll their eyes in that way my older sister does b'fore she ruffles my hair, then they both sling their arms over her shoulders. Draco grits his teeth. He gives the nod, and Greg and me shove the Dream Team roughly aside, causing 'em to break apart. "I'd walk a little faster if I were you, Granger," drawls Draco. "Your bushy head and Potter's ego combined fill an entire corridor. It's dreadfully inconvenient. Good thing Weasley's too poor to have enough of anything that takes up space, eh?" Greg and me snigger dutifully as we walk past 'em. I hear Weasley mutter, "That little prat- I oughta-" "Oh, ignore him, Ron," says Granger. "He just wants the attention. He can be so insufferably childish sometimes-" The spasm that crosses Draco's face makes me want to pat him on the back, but I stop myself. He doesn't like being touched. Soon enough he's got his feelings under control an' is swaggerin' down the hallway like it's his, like nothin' happened. That's part of bein' in our House, the not letting anythin' get to you for too long. Only the cold can call 'emselves Slytherin, y'see. Draco'd gone his whole life knowin' that.

Scenery

Bellatrix Black on ff.net He can't sleep at night. It's insomnia, they say. And as much as he lays in his bed, tossing and turning, nothing seems to let him drift off into the land of nod. So he studies. And he reads. And he takes long strolls around after dark, even when he's not supposed to. He's a Slytherin, after all. Everything he does isn't what he's supposed to do. There's something about night that he enjoys. Perhaps it's the stars that light up the sky, or the crisp fresh air that seems to engulf the grounds and turn them into such a serene and relaxed venue. So once he's sure that Filch is nowhere to be seen, and once he's sure he can hear his roommates resonating snores, he silently creeps out of the castle and makes his way down to a clearing behind the castle. From here he can see the Quidditch Pitch, stretching off far into the distance. And there's always some new scent lingering in the air, be it the sweet smell of honeysuckle from Hagrid's garden or some kind of lingering perfume that the faeries in the Forbidden Forest seem to let off. He likes the quiet. He likes to sit alone and listen to whatever new sounds the world had to offer him. And then one particular night, he finds himself a companion. An unwilling one at that, but a companion nonetheless. Someone to share the silence with and someone to stare up at the stars with him. "We shouldn't be out here," she says hesitantly. "Fine, go inside," he insists. "Nobody's stopping you." And true to her ever stubborn nature, she grudgingly stays. There's something about the way he gazes longingly up at the stars that makes her realise that he's not out here merely for the thrill of getting caught, or for the rebellious deed that everyone seems to expect him to commit. "I can see why you like it out here," she murmurs. "I've never realised how beautiful it looked at night." He smirks knowingly and lays down on the ground, folding his arms behind his head and propping a knee up lazily. Even the simplest of gestures showed his newly found relaxed state. "Of course you didn't, Granger," he comments. "You're always off on one of those wacky adventures. I wouldn't expect you to take in the scenery." "No need to mock me," she announces. "Especially if you still want my company." "And who said I did?" he asks, quirking an eyebrow. She sneers as he props himself up, his hands balancing him off the ground behind him. "You wouldn't have let me stay out here if you didn't want me to do so." "Clever, Granger," he says, touching his nose with his finger. "And quite daring as well. Something I would've have expected from one such as yourself." "Daring?" she questions. "How so?" He refrains from chuckling, watching a confused expression pass over her pale face. It's a cold night, the breeze chilling her and sending shivers down her spine as she sits in her satin pyjamas and nightgown. "Well, compared to your everyday behavior, you're hardly audacious, now are you?" "And the time I slapped you in third year wasn't 'audacious' enough?" she appeals, suppressing a small smile. "Third year was ages ago, Granger," he announces. So she rests her elbow on her knee, her head in her palm as if in contemplation. He admires the stern, yet placid look on her innocent face as she runs his words through her head once more. "Malfoy?" "Hmm?" "Close your eyes." He casts her one last curious look, unsure whether he should really listen or not. But she seems passive and unmoved by his words, so after a moment of hesitation, his eyes close and all he can do now is listen to the sound the wind makes as it rustles the grass and beats against the trees in the Forbidden Forest. And suddenly, he feels her hand on his. It rests for a moment, feeling the cool touch his skin has to offer, before tracing up his arm slowly, unwittingly tickling him through his cotton shirt. "Granger-" "Shh..." Her fingers travel to his chin, before dancing on his lips for a moment. Her considers opening his eyes, to see whether she'd dare continue if she knew he were watching. But something makes him stay as he is, completely enraptured by her soft touch as it caresses his cheek and continues to play on his soft, pink lips. And then it's no longer her fingers. And he slowly drifts to the ground once more, his arms snaking around her waist, pulling her down with him as he feels her moist lips caress his own, making his pulse race and his head begin to pound as second after second passes by as they lay in their blind embrace. And he opens his mouth to her, letting her taste him with a fiery passion as their kiss deepens and her arms wrap around the back of his neck. But all good things must come to an end, and ever so slowly, she pulls away; breathing erratically as she lays her head on his shoulder. He dares not open his eyes, and her breath tickles his ear as she whispers softly, "Audacious enough for you, Malfoy?" Determination. Power. Fury. Recklessness. Need. It had all been encased in one singular moment. And as his eyelids opened, and he caught a glimpse of her bushy head resting serenely by his side; the world turns to white, to black, and finally, to color. And he glances around himself, bewildered, as he soaks in the green and silver hangings surroundings his four poster bed. "Just a dream," he breathes. He'd finally slept. And what's more is that he wished he hadn't woken up.

The Ballad of Karma Khameleon

emm718 on livejournal

"I've been acting like sour milk fell on the floor. It's your fault you didn't shut the refrigerator. Maybe that's the reason I've been acting so cold." ~Gwen Stefani ~ Sweet Escape
Oh shit. Whats wrong?

Hermione Granger blinked a few times as her chest constricted. Her limbs were heavy with tension and her fingers ached with the need to curl into fists. With lips pressed tightly over clenched teeth, she angled her head and said quite simply, Im angry. The acknowledgement astounded her, for she could not fathom why his admission would upset her so. After all, he had merely answered her query. And quite honestly at that. Yet, somehow, her face had grown feverish, rosy, and she had the sudden urge to physically assault a pillow. Oh and perhaps an enraged scream would feel delightful as well. The worst part of it was that she didnt know what had made her angrier; the fact that she asked the stupid question, or that her boyfriend admitted to participation in such a vulgar act. Oh galloping Godric! What if he fancied wizards as well? She crushed her lids shut and visibly cringed at the thought. It was at that point that her boyfriend of two years lost all control and doubled over in mirth. He had tried very hard not to smirk or smile, but witnessing her facial expressions had been too much comedic delight for his chuckle-box to hold in. The half-full glass of milk clutched at his chest was in danger of spilling to his feet, and Hermione momentarily thought to remind him of it. However, her anger won out and she decided that it was he who perpetrated it. Her eyes narrowed on him treacherously and she steadied her mouth. Think this is funny, do you? Nodding, he said, I do, and promptly continued his jollity. Well it's not! Sighing she rubbed the spot between her eyes. How could you? she said weakly. Draco snorted, Youre hilarious, Doll, ergo I laughed. Stomping her foot, her fingers finally fulfilled their desire and balled into fists. Not that! How could you that is to say are you homosexual? He stood straight then, his visage sobering, and his silence fell over them, whilst his grey eyes ran along the curves of her face to see how serious she was. Turned out she was very serious. And very irate. He gave himself over to another round of chortling again. His girlfriend huffed and watched him with fury and confusion, her bottom lip protruding with her steeled jaw. So maybe he was bi-sexual. Or selfish. Because she had read somewhere that bi-sexuality was a myth and really, those who labeled themselves as such were nothing but egocentric. True, Draco was undoubtedly selfish, but she had thought it only pertained to his jar of Nutella or his lavender dressing gown. Never had he gave her any indication that would cause her to imagine hed be greedy about sexual partners as well. Im not a ponce! Its not as if I shagged a wizard, he bit out indignantly, obviously realizing where her busy mind had headed. TUH! You I mean honestly BALLS SLAPPIN! she stuttered loudly, her slim fingers knitting into the hazardous curls at her temples. The imagery was blinding and shocking. Yet somehow intriguing, but shed rather kiss a skrewt than admit it aloud. Clutching madly at her hair, she shook her head rapidly and tried to wobble it all out of her minds eye. Unfortunately, the ideated scene was forever stamped on her imagination. Draco Malfoy could not believe that Hermione was so inarticulate and absurd about his admission. After all, she had asked. He sniggered and told her so. That is NOT the point! She pivoted and began to walk away, unable to look upon his face without depicturing terrible and slightly erotic scenarios. She wanted potatoes. Mashed, preferably, and by her own hand; none of that instant twaddle. That would certainly work out some of her aggression. He followed her. Oh, please. Im not the first wizard to partake in a three-way. She tossed her head and snorted unattractively, opting instead for alcohol to chase away her staunching belligerence. It was only an experiment, he offered by way of explanation. Ha!" She reached for her favorite mug in the cupboard and began to pour a cheap wizarding merlot into it. "This coming from the bloke who lives by the dictum of Try anything twice, three times if I like it. Right? She took a heavy guzzle, and then poured more wine.

Well, I didnt want too. Really, he said slowly. We were playing strip poker in the common room and they talked me into it. He wasnt sure why he felt the need to justify himself or his actions to her, but her amusing rage was suddenly making him feel wretched and he simply didnt care to feel that way. Peer pressure is fatal to a teenager. She spun on him and an ornery smirk graced her mouth. No means no, Draco. Surely you know that? He sneered at that. It seemed like a good idea at the time. She nodded and pursed her lips disdainfully, her knuckles white from clutching the mug. It happened way before I even thought about being with you, so I dont understand why you are getting so upset over it. He took the mug and the bottle away from her. She crunched her nose at him, her eyes carefully following his movements, and her hands fisted at her hips. Perhaps the reason she adored him so was because he continually surprised her. Just when she became comfortable and thought she knew all there was to know about him, he would throw a curve ball and turn her world topsy-turvy. Like the time he told her Cho Chang nearly fulfilled his fetish for the Orient by giving him a lap dance at the Hogs Head. He had been sure that if she hadnt passed out on the table, she surely would have followed him home. Or his brief liaison with Millicent Bulstrode. Eck. Because really, the witch was an Amazon, or better yet, as a more suitable noun, a behemoth. One that was rumored to have her back waxed regularly. He claimed he had been incredibly drunk on all encounters and under some kind of roseglasses spell. Yeah, sure. Okay. As if. He still only referred to it as the "Frankfurter in a Hallway Experiment". Whatever that was supposed to mean. And according to Daphne Greengrass, that had only ended because Millicent had come up pregnant. The bouncing baby boy had actually been fathered biologically by Zacharias Smith, but called Vincent Crabbe Daddy. As Dracos past -and admitted-- indiscretions flickered through Hermiones mind, one in particular stood out like a big flashing red marquis. The dalliance of infamy. The one philandering escapade that defined him as a romantic infidel. During his three year relationship with Pansy Parkinson, he was repeatedly and quite regularly unfaithful. But his discretion was so apt that many, including Pansy, thought it only a rumor from the jealous gossip-mongers. Until, that is, he disappeared for nearly a fortnight. With no sign or word of him anywhere, his mother and Pansy had even called in the authorities, sure that foul-play had resulted in his unfortunate demise. However, when he showed up again, on his own, it was later discovered that he had taken off with Neravedova Zabini to a remote island in the South Pacific for a little respite. To hear him tell it, it was to exercise his gluttonous libido and hone his sexual prowess from top-notch to mind-blowing. It was no secret that Draco was severely deluded. The odd thing was, that even knowing of his infidelity and womanizing, Hermione trusted him more than anyone she had ever known. It was simply factual, like knowing the sun would rise and that after a Saturday comes a Sunday. She just knew it. There was a solid veneration when he looked at her, like she was brand new or the first and freshest snow of winter with all its impenetrable promises. And although she always impulsively asked him what he was thinking, she already knew. He loved only her, wanted only her. For always. It was comforting and frightening. Both contributing to her current dilemma. Albeit the consolatory absolution of babies and noodle salad quelled her raging psyche, there was a daunting echo of archaic diffidence that left a tortuous perplexity which contended with all she had come to adore. Then there was this latest divulgence to add to her demential and fluctuating romantic theorem. Inexplicably. Her mother had always said that over-analyzing uncertainties such as "What if" and "When will" would only doom Hermione, and yet, she could never be a 'que sera, sera' kind of girl. If only mumsie knew what kind of bloke her daughter was hectically in love with Hermione's eyes grimly met Draco's as he stood adjacent to her, waiting patiently while her busy mind worked out her next, and probably psychotic, move. Oh mummy dearest, she was mad for a devilishly handsome wizard who understood her completely, from the baby fine tips of her licentious curls to the blushing pink polish of her toes. A bloke who, despite her many faults and un-checkered past, would catch her when she fell, give her light when she couldn't see, and would laugh with her at the absurdness of the world around them. He also fancied sharing tarts with his mates. At the same time. It was vulgar.

Immoral. Naughty. Basically, everything she wasn't. Never had been and never would be, even if she tried. "I have to go," she whispered dully, tried to smile and promptly Apparated. Because she had suddenly realized what truly had her so discombobulated and exacerbated. As her feet found purchase on the abandoned boardwalk along the shore of De Panne, Belgium, she let the astounding revelation wash over her, like the North Sea pounding at the coastline. She felt, simply put, not good enough. Her lifestyle was routine and redundant. Everything was on a well planned schedule and she checked off her daily duties from her numerous lists. She liked to stay home and curl up next to Draco with a good book and a cuppa. Her favorite sexual position was missionary and she preferred that their romps take place in the bed. She was boring. And Draco, he was exciting. He liked to gamble with his money and time, he liked to drink copious amounts of alcohol, he like to pass out in random places. He was spontaneous and exuberant. He would surely grow weary of her dullness. But she knew he wouldn't leave her. Why? She couldn't put her finger on just one reason, there were just too many. Yet, she would inevitably break his spirit, make him become just as mundane and wretched as she. Hermione loved him entirely too much to allow that to happen. As she was lost in her reverie, she had meandered down onto the sand to sit down (crisscross applesauce of course) at her favorite spot, next to one of the many statues buried in the sand. This particular one was shrouded with sand only up to his shoulders. On a weekend holiday, the first of many, she (mostly she) and Draco had named him Beaker, after her favorite Muppet. After, of course, they had invented a hilarious story about him being an assistant to a deranged Alchemist who spent his life trying to unsuccessfully turn lead to gold. Always at the physical expense of his loyal assistant. Besides, she always imagined that the darling, nearly subterranean man would surely protest with "Mee" and "Meep" whenever a seagull would land on his head. She had tried to share this endearment with Draco, but explaining the Muggle Muppets to a wizard was nearly impossible. Sighing, Hermione threw a lump of sand at Beaker and turned from him with a cold, shivering shoulder. She had forgotten the chill of the season and ergo, had not thought to grab a jacket before Apparating. But she had been so embarrassed. To say the least. And absolutely agonal over at herself for her overreaction to Draco's latest (and thoroughly disgusting, not in the least tantalizing) announcement. Because after all, she had asked. She should have learned by now that asking Draco such questions would turn into scandalizing discoveries. How did that one go? Oh yes, 'Curiosity killed the cat'. Which is an understatement, because it was more of an Ancient Chinese Water Torture than just a simple slaying, yeah? Because, now, her inquisitiveness had turned her raw and she had inadvertently destroyed their relationship. Now she would have to go home to him Sweet Valhalla, no more homeand tell him that they didn't belong together because he was a wildly vivacious spirit whom she would only torment into a square and corporate bore. Exactly like herself. Then she would be alone. In her sofa united and khakis and Strinne green stripe patterns. And Draco? He'd be off in some foreign land forgetting his wine in lieu of a harem of belly-dancers. Whom he'd share with Blaise (probably). At the same time. Ugh. Hermione let her head fall into her hands, her curls falling over them and her shoulders, momentarily offering minimal warmth to her as her body temperature gradually plummeted. Then. "Sometimes, I become very afraid. It wakes me in the dead of night and I sit up, sweat soaking my clothes, I can hardly breathe. But then you are

there, beside me, and I'm not so afraid anymore." Hermione's head snapped up and jerked towards the very familiar voice. Draco wasn't looking at her; his eyes were trained on the sea crashing against the shore. His flaxen hair was being ruffled by the wind and his features were solemn, steeled. He too, was sitting in the sand, his knees bent up and his arms stretched over them. The cool charcoal jumper he had adorned over his t-shirt was catching errant grains of sand. And Beaker, well, he was taciturn between them. Before Hermione could verbally acknowledge Draco's presence, he began again: "You see, I have done many things that I am not proud of. I have hurt some very good-hearted people. I've lied to them, betrayed them, and broke them." He swallowed thickly, and dropped his head, "I had some very wonderful women in love with me, and I broke their trust, their hearts. I have set standards for other men." His lips thinned with an ashamed frown. "But now, I've found you. Somebody I'm terribly in love with, that I want to spend my life with, and I'm just positive that I'm due for my comeuppance. That I'm going to get what I deserve. So I regret my past. My mum tried to teach me to treat others the way I wanted to be treated and that what goes around comes around, but I never listened. Now I know what she means. It's about Karma. Reaping what you sow." He looked at her then and gave a bittersweet ghost of a smile. "I've been lucky, and for some unknown reason, I have been blessed with you. You are brilliant and beautiful. Full of character and grace, and I just, gods, I'm terrified to lose you because of my past behavior." "I'd never cheat on you," Hermione mumbled tritely. Because it was. She was loyal and fiercely passionate about him. Draco chuckled and nodded. "Of course you wouldn't." She pursed her lips in attempt to hide her leer. "You are everything I ever wanted and everything I didn't know I needed. You balance me. You make me feel satisfied, that I can finally stop searching. I'm at peace when you are around." Hermione shivered and her heart swelled to near bursting. She wanted to tackle him and kiss his face until the day's absurdness disappeared into tangled limbs and lovely swollen lips. He had torn down her relationship complexes with four clumsily uttered sentences. Ones that had clearly weren't thought out or planned. They were spontaneous, from the pits of his soul and the beats of his heart. He stood then and proffered his palm, which she readily took and allowed him to pull her up. Her hand reluctantly left his and rubbed at her bare arms in attempt to heat them up, she stared at him. He smirked and then proceeded to pull off his jumper. "Here silly cow." She didn't respond as she accepted it, nor did she object when he assisted her in pulling it over her head. It was full of him. Swimming around her was his heat, his scent (fabric softener, cologne and Man), and his love. Hermione was eager to drown in it. He used his fingers to push her hair away from her face and his thumbs to wipe away a few stray tears. "I'd never lie to you." She knew. "I know." "No matter how much I don't want to answer your questions." He grinned devilishly and pulled her close against him. "I probably won't stop asking." She tucked her head under his chin and wrapped her arms around his waist, and closing her eyes, reveled in the feel of him against her body. It was her favorite feeling. Draco's hard angles and sinewy planes against her soft curves and plush roundness. Tomorrow there would be another question, prompted from something flittering through her ever-working brain. And he'd answer with a proclamation that she probably would be aghast to hear. But "I wouldn't take you any other way." And for that, she was very glad.

The Stories That Werent

S.Rebeiro on ff.net I have to thank you, Malfoy. You see, I've thought about about the things that don't happen for a very long time. We all think about things we didn't do. I didn't finish my essay. I never went on that cruise.

We also think about the things that we aren't. I wish I'd been better at cricket. I'm glad I'm not clumsy. But those are small items. Small pieces of huge sweeping tales of all that has never happened. The closest humans come to thinking about possibilities on such a grand scale in a systematic way is in particle physics, and goodness knows people who can discuss sum-over histories are somewhat thin on the ground in the wizarding world. In a way, the restrictions on time-turner use are an expression of these possibilities. But that's an oblique nod at best. More an avoidance than an acknowledgment. And it's understandable. Because the stories that weren't are not just things that did not happen by chance or by choice. They are also the things that could not be. The things that science and magic and circumstance and the long series of choices of those who have gone before us made impossible. They're not simply a vast universe; we live in one of those. They're a storm of universes- an infinite, shadowy storm of particulate realities which can only barely shiver the tapestry of the real. It was you who made me realize all this, Malfoy. Your "filthy little Mudblood" was the real beginning of my realization of so many things I wished hadn't happened, would never happen. The perfect summary, really, of horrors I'd only read about till then. And in Third Year, after my brush with those brief shunnings of extraneous possibility that my time-turner restrictions represented- not to mention the confluence of your pointy chin and my right hook- I couldn't help thinking of what hadn't happened because your words couldn't not happen. You were a pale, pointy little ferret. You really were. But you were smart- smart enough to make it into more NEWT-level classes than Harry and Ron did. And you were wealthy, your family influential. You were cultured, mannered- to your cronies, at least. You danced like an angel, as I had occasion to observe at the Yule Ball. And oh, Malfoy, did you grow into your pale and pointy looks. Girls swooned over you, of course, from our Third Year onward- as if you needed anything more to make you swagger. But since our First Year your sneer curled your lip so often I never had any positive impression other than, Nice teeth, whenever you opened your mouth. But then came Sixth Year, and Ron and Lavender- and your tense, cold self-containment. No preening, no sniggering, no contempt. It smoothed your features, and occasionally I'd look at them and note, Nice,while thinking half a dozen other things. And then came the night you supposedly gate-crashed the 'Slug Club' party, and the look I saw on your face as you turned to follow Professor Snape. Smooth, yes, but just morphing into impassivity. Not frightened, but vulnerable. Open. Lovely. Appealing. For just that one moment, you had a face that begged my touch. And I thought, Oh. Oh, Merlin. And after that, seeing you would interrupt my train of thought. Not the way seeing Ron would- not that helpless longing and the ache of Why can't he see me...I want him for everything he is, and to me there isn't anything he's not- but that flicker of true attention I brought to bear on my books, and my friends, and keeping all of us alive. And the summer after you failed to kill the Headmaster- even with Professor Snape standing beside you and the Carrows and Greyback egging you onward- the idea of those things that hadn't happened because Voldemort had took hold. A truce, expressed initially not so much through conversation as through the absence of open insult. A mutual acknowledgment of academic ability. Discussions- from opposite sides of the table, because Voldemort or no, Purebloods would not easily adapt their customs and hierarchy to allow for Muggleborns- of wizarding politics and history. Debates, along with Anthony and Lisa, on magical theory. After years of that- of tolerance and civility which became acceptance, and then respect- perhaps even friendship. If only. And because you were lovely, because I was a teenage girl and Ron was, unfortunately, a teenage boy, my suppositions- my wishful thinkingwent beyond that. Would the Malfoy that wasn't have noticed me at the Yule Ball? Paid me a compliment? Asked me to dance? Studied for OWLs with me? Be assigned as my Runes partner for the NEWT project? Be appointed Head Boy to my Head Girl? Would the Malfoy that wasn't have kissed me, some night? Under the mistletoe at the Yule Ball? Hidden by the draperies at a Slug Club party? In the Heads' Common Room? He might. He might, because one of the things that never happened after the respect that wasn't built was the Malfoy that wasn't seeing that I represented the things he wanted in a witch. Malfoys deserve the best. I heard you say it at least two dozen times while we were at Hogwarts. For the attentive observer it could have gone unsaid: the silk of your ties, the cashmere of your sweaters, the fine heavy wool of your robes, the belting leather of the bag you carried so carelessly...the platinum of the Malfoys' Heir's Signet ring you wore from Third Year on. Even Pansy, and then Astoria, both of whom grew into a sleek, dark beauty which complemented your fairness perfectly. They all shouted it. But I was attractive too- or could be, if I chose. The Yule Ball proved it, even to you. My intellectual background and upbringing were far closer to yours than Pansy's, or even Astoria's, were. (And awful as you were to Ron on the subject, I could never say aloud that both that and my socioeconomic status were far closer to yours than to the Weasleys'.) And what I had over Parkinson and every other girl you had or could have was intelligence and magical aptitude. The things that matter most in the wizarding world, especially in a society in which Purebloods struggle to produce powerful heirs. Things which could have outweighed heritage, for a boy of your intelligence and power. I had no false modesty about it. I'd struggled for 6 years to prove it, after all, and succeeded far beyond anyone's expectations but mine. And the Malfoy that wasn't- the Malfoy who had never heard of Voldemort- would have known it. If only. So I never had a crush on you, Draco Malfoy. I never fell for you. I noticed you and thought about you and then fantasized, not about you, but about the person you might have been. Yearned, sometimes, not for the cringing boy who watched your aunt torture me into unconsciousness on your ballroom floor, but for the attentive man who might have shown me your magnificent library four rooms away. For a man I might have loved. You never became that man. By the time the War was over, it could not be, not with your parents and their choices and your choices and the number of dead hanging over all of you and how your upbringing had crippled you. The shade of that Head Boy, dance partner, scholar, friend, lover, was one of the things swept away in the tide of death and grieving and rebuilding. One more thing that was irretrievably lost. One of the things that circumstance and the long series of choices of those who had gone before us had now made impossible. Everyone thinks it ironic that you, the Malfoy heir, fell in your prime, by accident, a victim of Auror crossfire. But I think the irony is not the same for others as it is for me. Innocent victim, they say with a sneer, as though a meaningless death was a retribution- or a laughable irony, that the man

who'd victimized others should fall so randomly. Almost incidentally. But to me the victim is and always has been that shade of a boy I never had a chance to laugh with, study with, kiss. Love. And he had always been an incidental victim, brought down by choices and events made long before he was born. A shadowy thread, cut for a tapestry that never was. And it is that boy- that boy, and my knowledge of his absence- that I've come to thank. So thank you, Draco Malfoy. For awakening me to the impossible and the unreal, which balance the things that can be and are. For showing me the consequences of rigidity. For giving me the knowledge that allows me to leave paths and possibilities open for others. For introducing me to the you that wasn't. For showing me, when I was 13 years old, how to see the stories that weren't. Thank you.

Twelfth Use of Dragons Blood

Wonderland Toy on ff.net

The twelfth and most obscure use for dragon's blood is

Hermione stared at her parchment in dismay. Eleven uses for dragon's blood. She'd been through three hours of research and half a packet of chocolate biscuits and she was still stuck on the stupid twelfth use of dragon's blood. She glanced across the table at the person who most certainly was not her research partner and sighed. Time to admit defeat. "If," she began, staring fixedly at the portrait of Uric the Oddball on the opposite wall, "there was anyone other than a Slytherin at this table, I would be asking them if they knew of the twelfth use of dragon's blood." Draco Malfoy smirked. (Which was naturally of no interest to her, as he had absolutely nothing to do with her whatsoever. Where he chose to sit in his free time was his own business.) "If I was asked a question like that by someone with a more suitable lineage," Draco replied, eyes fixed on his book, "I would tell them that dragon's blood is used to animate painted images, such as in paintings and photographs. Then I would recommend that they read page 265 in this book." A large, leather bound grimoire thudded on to the table. The (most certainly not a) conversation lapsed, the silence in the library broken only by the whisper of turning pages and Hermione's quill scratching across the parchment. She cleared her throat. "If I had received help just then I'd be thanking the helper, as the information I was just given proved very useful. However as there is no one at this table I would ever talk to the sentiment is wasted." "As I would never help someone who was Muggleborn I would never have the opportunity to say don't mention it." He paused, toying with his quill. "Hypothetically, though, if there was someone at this table of an acceptable house and background I'd be asking them if I could borrow their copy of the latest Terry Pratchett book. Which I would, naturally, never do, as I don't read books by Muggle authors." "My copy of the hypothetically mentioned book would be sliding across the table towards the hypothetical speaker, as long as he was not a bigoted little creep." "Anyone but a bushy-haired know-it-all would be thanked and given The Last of The Mohicans." "If someone lent me that particular book I'd be smiling with pleasure as I've been trying for ages to get my hands on a copy. But sadly that wouldn't happen, as I'm the only person at this table I'd ever consider talking to." "Nor would I be reading a Muggle book as the whole hypothetical conversation in question is utterly ridiculous and would never occur." "Of course." "Naturally." The library was silent again. At the front desk, Madame Pince continued with her cataloguing and studiously ignored the two people in the corner reading novels and pretending they weren't sharing half a packet of chocolate biscuits.