Must Be Hell Freezing Over

MUST BE HELL FREEZING OVER (1/?)

Every practical and sensible part of Hermione shouted for a retreat, but the intellectual and curious sides of her won out and she cautiously moved to take the seat Draco Malfoy had offered her.

It was a very rare opportunity, after all, to be able to interview the son of a Death Eater in an unbiased environment. There was just one downside; it was to be a two-way interview.

'How do you get yourself into these things, Granger?' she mentally scolded herself.

It had been late that Friday night when Hermione had discovered that she had left her treasured, Hogwarts: A History book in the Transfiguration classroom.

Now, any normal student would have just shrugged this off with the promise of retrieving it on the morrow and then trudged up the stairs and off to bed, but not Hermione. She had tried to do just that but kept thinking that if Filch had happened across it, he'd throw it out, and where would that leave her? What would happen to her if she did not have her treasured book? She'd fail all of her classes with the lowest possible scores, right next to Crabbe and Goyle, that's what would happen. Well, she couldn't allow that to occur, now could she?

So, being Hermione, she did the Hermione thing to do. She scrambled out of bed, threw on a light dressing robe over her ruby red night negligee and quietly descended the halls towards the classroom, only to find the infamous Draco Malfoy casually sitting behind McGonagall's desk idly flipping through the pages of *her* book.

"Having trouble sleeping, Granger?" he had drawled, his gaze scandalously raking her up from her bare feet to her crimson face. He had smiled to himself in satisfaction; she wasn't half-bad, for a Mudblood, of course.

Hermione had been surprised and shocked speechless, which was a very rare occurrence. He sat there so casually with the fire glowing in welcome at his back. It was almost as if he had been waiting for herÂ…

"What are you doing?" she had logically asked him.

He smiled his humorless smile. "Waiting for you."

He had said this in voice barely above a whisper. It was more to him than to her, really, but she failed to notice this. The truth in his words, which was clearly evident, did not register in her mind, given her current state.

She had decided to end this meeting as soon as possible, more for her benefit.

"Yes, I'm sure you were," she began sarcastically. "But I just came for my book there, so if you'll just hand it over, I'll be on my way." Malfoy looked so bored by this statement, it was annoying. "What's your hurry?" he had countered.

Again, he had managed to surprise her into stillness. What did he care if she left or not? This was question she would have no answer to, but that did not stop her from dwelling on it. She just continued to stand there in the classroom doorway, in her flimsy nightclothes, staring blankly at him.

"You might want to come in and close the door, I suspect Filch will be making his rounds soon."

That little truth from him had her glancing over her shoulder, but she remained more or less immobile.

"Why don't you just hand me my book, and then we can both leave. Filch won't be the wiser."

She had sounded so earnest, almost desperate, when suggesting this that Draco felt something twitch at his lips. Belatedly, he realized she was making him smile; he did not like this. This encounter was to be precise, calculated, cold even, but not *fun.*

"Come on now, Granger. Contrary to your beliefs, I don't bite," he proclaimed, voice dripping with the sarcasm he was known for.

She snorted her disbelief, countering lamely, "Oh really? What do you do then?"

Her poor retort and the fact that she didn't find it poor was what had done him in. The smile that had been playing around his mouth since she had entered the room swept across him. It was not one of his cold, humorless smirks, but it was a genuine smile. It was friendly, kind, warm even.

Malfoy did not know this, but it was that smile that pricked her curiosity; that smile that kept her from leaving, so fascinated she was by it.

This was turning out to be fun. Hermione was the most unique girl enrolled at Hogwarts, there was no doubt in Draco's mind about that. Any other girl would flirt, pout or whine to get what they wanted from him, but not Hermione. No, Hermione would play against his words, attempting to use her intellect, not her feminine body (and a nice body it was, he noted, *very* nice) to get what she wanted.

She could never win in a verbal battle against him. She would be too concerned about hurting her opponent's feelings, whereas he wouldn't give a bloody damn, but it was entertaining nonetheless.

Hermione was gazing at him with that oddly straight forward, direct gaze that Draco had always found a little disconcerting. She was so preoccupied with the analyzing of that smile that she nearly missed his next words. Unfortunately for her, she heard them loud and clear.

"Why not take a seat, and I'll tell you what I do. In fact, I'll happily tell you anything and everything about me you wish to know, provided you do the same of course.

That had Hermione in an utter state of bemusement. "Why?" she had wanted to know.

"Why not?" was his response accompanied by that careless shrug of his.

That was probably the one thing about Draco Malfoy that would never change. He was very careless, or more so, carefree, it was all one. He always had this devil-may-care attitude about him. Even now, the beginning of their seventh and final year at Hogwarts, he was the same. But he wasn't just carefree, no, he was also handsome.

Hermione *hated* to admit it, but the bloody bastard was very, *very* handsome.

His platinum blonde hair fell into his eyes in a sexy, blithe sort of way. His eyes were still that unique silver color, leaving Hermione with the oddest comparison of a gathering and brewing storm. He was strong and built, practically towering over her. She only came only to just below his broad shoulder frame. Strength and power seemed to radiate from him, making her feel oddly safe in his presence. He was one big, walking mystery, and it was the mystery of Draco Malfoy that had pricked her curiosity, keeping her from leaving the room.

There was no use denying it, Draco was sexy, and he knew it. His offer was tempting, too tempting by half. She had to be careful, had to be cautious. She would play his game, for the time being.

She was standing in front of him now, glaring down at him in suspicion.

Hermione, unbeknownst to her, had also changed drastically throughout the years, as now Draco was taking the time to notice. Her bushy hair, which was currently held back into a loose braid, was still somewhat wild; but was slightly tamed, flowing all the way down to her slim waist and ending in a wealth of curls, giving her an exotic type of air. A small scattering of freckles adorned her sharp nose, standing out on her milky white, smooth skin. Thick lashes hooded the common brown eyes that were usually wide open, thus hiding her long lashes. It was really a shame that she didn't flirt, she could be quite good at it with those lashes. She had a slender physique, but was not bony, anything but that Malfoy realized as he scanned her down from head to foot. She had filled out in all the right places, had all the right curves. Good God, just looking at her was turning him on!

Hermione was still standing before him, warily eyeing the proffered chair. She was being so guarded, Draco found it utterly humorous. He watched with the smallest hint of a smile as dropped into said chair, stiffly pulling her night robe more securely about her.

"I'll stay then, for now," she allowed.

Again, he smiled at her. It confused him more than it did her, really. There was just something about Hermione that made him want to smile. She was so different, refreshingly so. He couldn't quite place his finger on it, but there was definitely something about her; something no other student at Hogwarts possessed, this special thing about her made him, well, happy.

This insight was most shocking and most disturbing, placing him as the cautious one now.

"Very well then, tell me," he had his annoyingly smug smirk in place now. "How does it feel to know that you're a no good dirty little Mudblood, not even worthy enough to lick my cauldron clean, much less attend the same school as me?"

Naturally, Hermione had been expecting something along that line to happen and was prepared. In her lightest, sugary sweet voice she proclaimed with an airy sigh, "Well, I feel rather relieved now that I've seen the bloody idiots they call pureblooded." She looked pointedly at him.

Malfoy pretended not to notice this and responded, stroking his chin in mock thoughtfulness, "I assume you're referring to Weasley."

Hermione gritted her teeth. Malfoy could be such an arrogant git!

"You know very well that I was referring to you, you prat!"

Her sarcasm and anger were amusing. Draco managed to look deeply offended and hurt while replying with an affronted hand against his chest, "Your words wound me."

Hermione gave an unladylike snort. "If only."

Draco dropped his act and smiled approvingly at her. "Now that's more like it Granger. Very good."

Acting as though his sudden compliment and praise did not confuse her, Hermione decided that two could play at this game. Leaning forward, a mischievous gleam caught her eyes.

"My turn Malfoy. Why are you, so- so," she was ruining her chance at revenge by trying to think of the most foul thing she could hurl at him.

Draco's smile grew wider as he suggested, "Smart, handsome and irresistible?"

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "Smart is the only true thing you said there, you arrogant conceited bastard." Hermione was so proud of the way she slyly added in the insult that she had failed to notice that she had actually paid him a compliment, but no more, Draco succeeded in noticing for her.

"You think I'm smart. I'm deeply touched," he stated smugly, his amusement clearly evident.

Hermione let out an exasperated sigh while rolling her eyes. It was impossible to insult someone as pompous as Draco.

"Don't be. I only think you're as smart as an evil, conniving, *ugly*Â…" a grin broke across her face as she finished, "Ferret."

Draco was completely beside himself, but not with anger as she had hoped. He was completely amazed that she had said it. He didn't think that she'd have it in her, but apparently, she did. Hermione was full of many surprises. Perhaps he had underestimated her chances with him in a verbal battle. Perhaps he had finally met his match.

"Granger I, unlike you, happen to take our current situation very seriously. So, if you will, please stop with the juvenile name calling and ask me your question," he proclaimed in mock seriousness.

It was a good thing for Draco Malfoy that looks could not kill, because the glare he received compliments of Hermione following that statement would have had him dying ten slow, terrible deaths. This icy glare he had received only served to amuse him more, causing his smirk to widen into a grin.

A few tense seconds passed before Hermione, too, broke into a grin, causing Draco to lean back and eye her in suspicion, and with good reason.

"Very well, Malfoy. I respect your wishes," imitating his formality.

Draco didn't know if it was just him, but her grin seemed to widen the smallest bit before she continued. He was really starting to get scared, which was very un-Draco like.

"So here's my question: Why do you hate Harry so much?"

*That* did it. All humor was immediately sucked out of the room with the mention of the Boy Who Lived Much To Draco's Annoyance.

Hermione smiled triumphantly as Draco sucked in a sharp breath and leaned back into McGonagall's chair, glaring at the grinning Hermione.

"Because he's a stupid prat that gets his way all of the time just because he has a stupid scar on his forehead," he answered scathingly.

Hermione's grin faded into a kind, knowing smile. "Is that so?" she asked, knowing that it wasn't.

He let out a short breath of irritation. "Well it just doesn't seemed fair that everyone give him credit for what happened by accident. I mean, people only like him because he's famous."

She frowned at the insult, intended or not. Honestly, she didn't know why it should matter what he thought about her, but for some mundane reason, it did. "That's not why I like him," she said as she looked down at her clasped hands so that he could not see how much his statement had affected her.

Draco's curiosity was prick despite the fact he knew it shouldn't be. He frowned at the top of her head, wondering why he could detect the slightest hint that he had hurt her with his earlier proclamation, and why it mattered to him. "Alright then," he found himself saying. "Why *do* you like Harry?"

She seemed to contemplate his answer for quite some time, trying to find a way to put her emotions into words and explain her friendship so that he could understand. Draco found himself holding in his breath, anxiously awaiting her answer.

"When I came to Hogwarts," she began slowly in a far-off voice. "I had no one. I didn't know anything about the magic world, save all that I read. Harry," she frowned suddenly. "Harry was worse off than me; he didn't even know he was famous until he got his letter. He was the first to give me a chance, the first to see through my bookish nature and bossy attitude. Harry was the first to befriend me. He has saved us all, and not just by accident. He's saved me from certain any number of times. Why should I hate him when he's done so much for me, and with little thought of himself?"

Draco met her direct gaze, but something in it made him look away first. He really didn't want to know the answer to this, butÂ… "Certain death?"

Hermione sighed, picturing the morbid events that have plagued her dreams and haunted her childhood. "Well, the most recent attempt at my life was this summer, but you might recall a time last year when I was in the Infirmary for about two weeks."

Draco frowned, realizing he did remember this. In all aspects he shouldn't have, but for some strange reason, her absence did not go unnoticed. "Yes, I remember," Draco whispered in slight awe.

Hermione's smile was more or less a resemblance of one of Draco's humorless smirks. "I was poisoned; Death Eaters tried to kill me to get to Harry."

At this sudden realization, Draco felt an odd surge of protectiveness towards Hermione. How could Potter *allow* that to happen to her?

"How can that prat allow that to happen to his friend? Anyone around him is in danger of harm, one way or another. He should be locked away, that way-" he stopped abruptly in mid rant as Hermione burst out laughing.

"What is so funny?" he articulated each word to stress his anger.

Hermione was nonplused, smiling cheekily at him while answering, "That is *exactly* what Harry said."

Draco silently fumed. "Well, this is hardly a laughing matter. You could have been hurt," he pronounced the obvious.

Hermione was oddly touched by his concern for her, although she was positive he didn't realize he was concerned. She took pity on him, nodding while announcing, "Harry thought the same. The guilt overwhelmed him. He tried to push me away, claiming it was for the best, but I," she stopped here to allow herself to smile at a memory only she could see. "I wouldn't let him. I won't let fear stop me from being there for Harry, not after what he's done for me. I refuse to allow others to manipulate my life as they see fit."

Draco thought two very distinct things following her declaration; one, he thought she was very brave indeed to risk the wrath of Voldemort; second, he thought she was very stupid for risking the wrath of Voldemort.

"You know," he began, leaning forward to drive his point home. "Beliefs like that can get you killed." It was a warning, not a threat.

She straightened confidently in her chair. "Perhaps," she allowed, matter-of-factly. "But failing to have these beliefs will only get *others* killed. I won't let Voldemort dictate the way I live my life."

Draco frowned. "You're not afraid to say his name?"

Hermione met his steel, stone gray eyes. The courage Gryffindors were known for faltered, causing Hermione to break the intimate contact to stare into the flames dancing merrily at his back.

"I've seen things these past seven years here at Hogwarts. Things good and things, well," she stopped here to close her eyes against the memories only she could see. "Not so good," she concluded, shaking off her reverie with visible effort and meeting his eyes once again. "The point is I've seen and experienced much that many have not, and should not have had to. I know longer fear saying a name."

A very alien emotion took root deep down inside Draco. At first, he thought it was disgust, but as the need to comfort Hermione and protect her began to grow stronger and stronger, he realized it was sympathy. Draco Malfoy was feeling sympathy for a Mudblood.

Suddenly, Draco was absolutely positive that the room dropped several degrees.

'Must be hell freezing over,' he thought wryly.

He had never once sympathized with anyone in his life, and he didn't like that he was now.

"But that's neither here, nor there at the moment."

Hermione's light, yet determined assertion cut into Draco's current bewildered thoughts, drawing forth his full attention on her.

She was looking at him hesitantly. "Are you-" she stopped with a frown, suddenly thinking better of it.

Raising his brows at recognizing her curiosity, Draco encouraged her. "What?"

She flashed him a blinding smile as she leaned forward to ask eagerly, "Are you afraid of Voldemort?"

Draco sniffed in disdain. "Not bloody likely."

Hermione frowned in confusion. "Is that because your father is a Death Eater?"

Draco was beside himself in shock, taken completely aback by her directness. He should have seen it coming, though; Hermione didn't strike him as one to play around at something as important as this. Still, he didn't like the fact that she had caught him off guard, even though he showed no signs of his surprise. He placed on his annoying smirk and leaned across McGonagall's desk, about a width of a hand separating his face from hers.

"What makes you think, *I'm* not a Death Eater?"

Hermione appeared unperturbed by this question, leaning even closer so that there was now only about three fingers' width between her lips and his. She flashed him a knowing smile. "Because if you were, you would have done something to me by now and ended this game of twenty questions."

She was right, as per usual. He wasn't a Death Eater, well, not yet at any rate; but he wasn't about to let her know that. If possible, his smirk grew even more disdainful as he regarded her, which was not an easy thing to pull considering how her mere presence was anything but disdainful. He was a great actor, though.

"What makes you think I *haven't* done anything to you, Mudblood?" he added in the insult more as a reminder to himself of what she was, not her.

At that, Hermione sat back in her chair, smiling radiantly without concern. He didn't know if he should be relieved, or annoyed.

Hermione could be very confusing at times, Draco concluded. Yet he found this to be very alluring, her knowing air.

She rose to her feet, preparing to end their interview. Draco followed suit, moving out from behind the giant oak desk to tower over her, which he did quite easily.

They stayed like that for quite some time, both standing a little closer to the other than they normally would have. Draco's breath caught as he looked intimately into her eyes. They weren't the common brown he had thought them to be, but liquid amber; full of a comfort he found a little too comforting. Hermione, in turn, was treated to the twinkle behind the eyes she had once thought of as cold stones.

Standing there, looking up at him while he was looking down at her, Hermione saw something flare to life within the deep recesses of his eyes. She inhaled sharply in realization.

"You know, Draco," he raised a questioning brow at his name as she took a small step forward, her body innocently grazing his. "You often speak one thing, but your eyes are fond of contradicting you. They are what betray your act. You might want to work on that."

Draco knew that he should be enraged at such a bold statement, but for some unknown reason, it didn't really bother him that she seemed to be able to see right through his act to look at *him,* the real him. He should have felt exposed and yet, he only felt comfortable in his vulnerability.

It was those damn eyes of hers.

"And you know, Hermione," he grinned wickedly as he took another step closer to her so that their bodies were no longer so innocently touching. "You're candor can get you into serious trouble."

With that, she smiled up at him, leaning slightly forward to state in a confiding tone of whisper, "You do not mind my candor."

An obstinate lock of her cinnamon brown hair strayed from the loose braid she sported. Without thinking twice about it, Draco raised his right hand and tucked the independent lock behind her ear; allowing his fingers to softly graze her right check in a tender caress as his hand floated gracefully back down to his side.

Draco could not suppress the grin that tugged at the corners of his mouth when he saw her blush.

Leaning down slightly so that he could fall into the comfort her eyes offered, he conceded in an awe-struck whisper, more to him than her, "You're right, I don't."

She blushed even more then and with a small Mona Lisa type smile that held many secrets, she departed for the night.

Draco didn't know how long he stood there in that room, staring intently at the doorway where she had just been, but when he finally tore his gaze away from the doorway, they happened to land upon McGonagall's giant oak desk.

A goofy grin came over his face as he went to the desk and scooped up the forgotten, Hogwarts: A History, book. His grip tightened protectively around the book. It wasn't that he cared about the thing; for all he cared it could be torn up and used for toilet paper, but Hermione seemed to care a great deal about it. And, well, if it meant so much to Hermione, it was only right that he took care of it for herÂ…right?

Draco sneered at himself in disgust. Since when did he start caring about the right thing to do? He didn't care. And yet still, he could not seem to bring himself to leave her precious book behind to be found and thrown out.

"Well," Draco began to himself, lightly tossing the book into his hands and making his way out of the room. "This year will be interesting if nothing elseÂ…"

Perhaps if Draco knew how 'interesting' his year was going to be, he would have stayed at homeÂ…