From The Diaries Of Miss Hermione Granger and...

From The Diaries of Miss Hermione Granger and Young Master Malfoy

~ Draco ~

He's like a cloth held over my mouth, drugs held under my nose. He's a dizzying electrifying shock of a boy, put on this earth for the soul purpose of sending me hurtling into insanity. He's a prat; he's a menace.

He is *not * a hero.

When he's near me I can't breathe; I can't think; I can't move. He is swift poison on my reflexes; I become sluggish within, blood turning to icy red slush. It's all I can do to listen, concentrate solely on the sound of his breath, the pulsing rhythm of that noble heart's beating. It hits me in waves, pounding about my ears with the force of a roaring sea, filling my mouth, my throat, my lungs. I may be the first person to run the risk of drowning in a heart beat.

I do not care.

Truth be told, I do not care about much anymore, not including..*him *, of course. Ever since I looked into his narrow, haunted face and felt myself stripped bare, all emotions have melted swiftly off my frigid heart. Only two are left: fear, and...well, you know.

There's no need to say it, when you're in you-know-what with That Boy. No need at all. For why waste your breath when he'll never hear it, never savour it, never store it in his head to listen to when the only noises at his disposal are snores and echoes?

Or maybe he'll hear it. Maybe he'll hate me.

Even more.

* * *

~ Hermione ~

AS I sit, a vicious crick grasps hold of my bare neck, causing a sharp pain not unlike the one *he * causes. The neck is a repairable problem, easily solved with rhythmic kneading by ink-stained fingers. How I wish I could solve this growing puzzle within my hear the same way.

I can see him, even though there is a barrier of library book about me, strewn carelessly as I research new jinxes for D.A.D.A. I want to be the best, want to impress him.

Once I thought knowledge was all I needed. If I read enough, really absorbed those dusty tomes, I could do whatever my little heart desired. But never once did I examine those desires of mine. To do so would shake my educational foundation, maybe even bring it crumbling down. I would never get the grades, the job, or the recognition I so dearly deserved.

One day I looked at him. One day I finally * saw* him. One day I fell in...

Well, you know.

Everything's different now; he's taken my meticulous planning and burned it, piece by piece. He's disassembled my carefully constructed walls, one book at a time, with a single glance.

* * *

~ Draco ~

Pansy is a slut. She's gives in, gives out, gave up. She never had a chance. Not with me, anyway. I want purity, unstained silk, sweet, sweet innocence.

Is he innocent? I'd say not. But he's good and kind and noble, and everything I'm not. Except gorgeous. We're *both * gorgeous.

I hate Cho Chang. She kissed, yet she continues to flood the Ravenclaw Common Room. She's turning into a living breathing Moaning Myrtle.

If *I * had laid my lips to his, these eyes would never tear again.

* * *

~ Hermione ~

The situation in not alone in transformation, for I am evolving myself. Once I was a girl, now I am a fire. I burn with rage that anyone should harm him. I burn with jealousy that those green, green eyes trace the contours of every pretty girl who passes. I am burning again, at a God who made me plain, unfit to be graced with that maddeningly charming grin. Why can't it be me who causes those plump lips to curve flirtatiously?

What a smile. *That * should be the reason he's famous.

He sets me ablaze with passion and yearning, and, God help me, * love *.

* * *

He has the most beautiful shade of golden tan skin I've ever had the pleasure of drinking in with lust filled eyes. Sun kissed heaven.

Would he hate me if I touched it? Just placed one milk white finger on his shoulder and lightly traced a path to his graceful wrist?

Would he?

* * *

I've been this close, but I've never noticed it before: he has freckles! Not like me, a handful scattered oddly all over my body, but a light dusting across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, like a sprinkle of brown sugar.

Would he balk if I asked to press my lips up against each and every one? Or even place a chaste kiss on the tip of sweet nose?

Would he?

* * *

Each one of his fingers is long, tapered, and strong, ending in a small pink square of nail. The little white moons are winking at me, mocking me because they rest so casually upon him, while I must use a closed fist to slate my thirst for skin on skin. I am positively itching to clean the dirt out from underneath those bitten nail.

He bites them because he's scared.

I wish I could protect him.

* * *

He has calluses on his hands, from Quidditch and cleaning. When no one is in his dorm, he cleans his areas as though protecting his belongings from a deadly virus, scrubbing and washing and folding. When he's done he looks over his shoulder, right cheek twitching, to inspect his work. His emerald eyes dart back and forth, searching for a mistake, a spot of dust, a dirty sock. Only when he's sure he's done all he can do does he leave. I know it's because of the Dursleys.

He still has trouble saying the word 'magic'.

* * *

One day I'm going to grab that boy by the neck, throw him against a wall, and kiss him till he passes out. And when he slumps to the floor, I'll still have his taste on my tongue and his scent on my skin. I know he smells like a clear day, but his taste, sadly, remains a mystery. I'm he'll be smooth, rich, compelling...

Like chocolate.

* * *

One day I'm going to grab him by the hand, pull him into a closet, and kiss him until I black out. And when I slump to the fall, I'll have his taste on my lips and his scent on my robes. I know he smells like rain, but his taste remains an enigma. My guess is something sweet, addictive, youthful...

Like Skittles.

* * *

Today is the day...I can feel it....

* * *

Oh My God! I'm so excited I can barely write! It happened, it finally happened! I had woken up early, and wandered down to the common room, where, guess who I saw? Him! He sat in his favorite chair by the fire, the flames illuminating the side of his face. He looked like an angel. He looked up at me and smiled, that beautiful smile that had haunted my dreams for so many years, before lifting himself to his feet. As he stepped shyly towards me, time stopped.

Harry tastes like spearmint, his lips are soft, and his hands are sweet and gentle.

He said he loves me...

* * *

I still can't believe it. I can hardly hold my quill to this page, my hand is trembling so. It happened! I had just stormed out of the Great Hall, fuming over something Pansy had pointed out (Granger's loving smiles directed towards Potter), when I saw him. He was staring out a window, gazing at the torrent outside. The blue-grey light spilled across his face, making him seem like a ghost. He turned his face to me and grinned predatorily, and I noticed for the first time how pointed his canine teeth are. As he sauntered towards me, smirking, my heart stopped.

Potter tastes like maple syrup, his tongue is stick pink heaven, and his hands are pleasantly rough and searching.

He said he wants me....

* * *

I love you too, Harry...

* * *

I * need * you, Potter....

* * *

....and I will forever...

* * *

Right. Fucking. * Now *.

The End