The Reason

"In each of us, two natures are at war -- the good and the evil. All our lives the fight goes on between them, and one of them must conquer. But in our own hands lies the power to choose--what we want most to be, we are." The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde; Robert Louis Stevenson.

"You've got to be kidding me," Draco said, his jaw dropping slightly. Professor Dumbledore shook his head.

"I'm afraid not, Draco. Your father has escaped from Azkaban, and we have reason to believe that he knows you provided the Ministry with testimony against him."

"But I only did it to protect my mother," he said, the disbelief evident in his voice. "And you told me I'd be safe! You and that entire bloody entourage of yours!" He stood angrily and moved to the window. He stared out across the moonlit grounds of Hogwarts for several moments before turning back to Dumbledore. "So now what are you going to do to protect my mother and I?"

"We know of a place you may hide. Your father has never been there; none of Voldemort's followers have access to it. It is very well hidden and will offer you more protection than Hogwarts could."

"Well?" he asked impatiently. Dumbledore pressed his fingertips together and peered over his half-moon glasses.

"You'll be staying at Number 12 Grimmauld Place."

"And where is that, exactly?"

"The house used to belong to Sirius Black, although now it belongs to-"

"Potter," Draco finished for him. Dumbledore nodded, and Draco sat down heavily in the large chair. "Does he know I'll be staying there?"

"He does, indeed. As a matter of fact, Harry is the one who suggested that you and your mother stay there." Draco's eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"And why would he go and do something like that? What's he getting out of it?"

"One of his friends is also in quite a bit of danger, and will be staying with you as well." Draco's already pale face turned ashen.

"I have to hide with one of the musketeers?" he spat. "Please, tell me it isn't Weasley!"

"No, it's not Ron," Dumbledore said quietly. Draco felt like he might be sick.

"The mud- I mean," he corrected himself. "Granger?"

"Hermione will be staying with you and your mother, yes."

"How big is this house?"

"Two stories."

"How many bedrooms?" Draco inquired, arching an eyebrow.

"Four."

"Thank Merlin," he whispered, closing his eyes. "When do we have to go, then?"

"I'm afraid you'll be leaving tonight." Draco's eyes flew open and he gaped at the Headmaster.

"Tonight? But I have a potions exam in the morning!" he protested. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled back at him.

"Professor Snape has full access to the house, as he has had for quite some time. I'm sure that if he doesn't want you and Miss Granger to miss your classwork, he'll bring it to you." Draco covered his face with his hands to prevent the scream of frustration that rose in his throat.

"Does Granger know about this?"

"She was informed shortly before you came into my office," Dumbledore confirmed. "She has already been escorted to the home, as well as your mother." Draco's hands fell limply to his sides.

"The Mudblood is with my mother?" he asked, forgetting to call Hermione by name in his disbelief.

"They've been there for about an hour now, and they seem to be getting on rather well, actually." Dumbledore stood and went to his bookshelf.

"That's because my mother doesn't know what Granger is," Draco spat. Dumbledore turned and placed a book on his desk.

"This book is the portkey that will take you to Harry's home. You'll find that when you arrive, your personal items from Hogwarts have preceded you."

"I don't have a choice in this, do I?" he asked helplessly.

"I'm afraid not, dear boy. This is for your own good." Draco bit down on his tongue and reached out for the book. As soon as his fingers touched the creased leather spine, he felt a tugging sensation behind his bellybutton. The next thing he knew, he was standing in the middle of a sparsely decorated sitting room. He dropped the book on an end table and looked around in disgust.

"Not much of a decorator, are you, Potter?" he asked the empty room. He removed his cloak and draped it across the back of an overstuffed armchair, then moved down the hallway. He pushed open an ornate door and froze in surprise. His mother and Hermione were sitting at the kitchen table, drinking tea and laughing. Narcissa looked up and gave a small yelp of joy, then rose to embrace her son. Hermione stared down into her mug of tea, not wanting to ruin a perfectly adorable mother-son moment.

"Oh, Draco," Narcissa sighed happily. "I was so worried about you!"

"I'm fine," he said coldly, glaring at Hermione.

"Draco, Hermione tells me that she's in your year. Do you know each other?" Narcissa smiled sweetly at Hermione, whose cheeks promptly turned scarlet. Draco narrowed his eyes at her.

"I know who she is," he said quietly. "Or better yet, what she is." Hermione looked up angrily at him, and Narcissa frowned.

"We'll have none of that dirty blood nonsense here, young man," she said sternly. Draco's eyes flew to her in surprise.

"You know she's a Mudblood, and you're talking to her? And you're okay with it?"

"Personally I never saw anything wrong with muggle-born witches and wizards. That was all your Father's nonsense. Well, now he's gone, and Hermione is a perfectly delightful young lady. You will refrain from calling her that foul name in my presence."

"What should I call her, then?" he asked, his cheeks flushing with anger.

"Hermione will do just fine," Narcissa said, smiling at her. Hermione stared back down into her mug of tea and tried not to smile.

"Fine," he said through clenched teeth. "Which bedroom is mine? I'm tired and I want to go to bed."

"It's the only other open door on the second floor besides the bathroom," his mother said. She moved back to the table and looked at Hermione. "So, where were we? I believe you were trying to explain to me what a 'dentist' is?"

Draco's jaw dropped slightly before he turned and stomped out of the room. He stomped all the way up the stairs and into his room, and then flopped on the bed, where he fumed silently. Damn the luck! He was stuck here with the Mudblood! He began grinding his teeth - he'd almost rather be stuck here with Potter!

After a while, his stomach began to growl. He sighed angrily. He wanted to go down to the kitchen and get something to eat, but he didn't want to run into his mother and her. He heard footsteps outside his bedroom door, and then waited until he heard a door closing. He peeked his head out into the hallway, but all of the doors were closed. Should he risk it? His stomach rumbled loudly in reply.

He crept silently down to the kitchen door, and then pushed it open. He was relieved when he saw that he was alone, and he opened the refrigerator door. He smiled in surprise as he pulled a bottle of butterbeer from a shelf.

"Well, at least Potter has a little bit of taste," he muttered to himself, pulling the cap off. He took a long swig, and then rummaged through the contents of the fridge. He fixed himself a sandwich and sat down at the kitchen table to eat. Suddenly the door creaked open, and a very surprised Hermione froze in her tracks. He blinked; she was in her pyjamas, which consisted of a pair of baggy flannel pants that hung so low they showed the curve of her hips, and a flimsy t-shirt that looked like it might have had more fabric on it at one time. Her navel was exposed, and her chestnut hair was hanging down around her shoulders.

"Sorry," she mumbled. "I didn't know you were down here." She turned and left abruptly, and he swallowed the mouthful of food he'd been chewing. That couldn't have been the Hermione he knew - she actually looked like a girl! Her body isn't half bad, he thought. Immediately he pounded the tabletop with his fist. He would not allow himself to think those thoughts about her - she had dirty blood, for Merlin's sake! He finished his sandwich, and then went back up to his bedroom. As he was passing the door to the room next to his, he paused.

A soft melody was playing behind the door, and he pressed his ear to the door to hear better. He'd never heard that song before, and he wondered why. He was an avid music fan and liked to stay on top of every new song that came out. He knelt down on the floor and tried to peer through the keyhole, but all he could see was a dim light. He sighed in frustration, and then went into his own room. What did he care what she did, anyway? He flopped across the bed on his stomach.

"I don't care," he said aloud, before drifting to sleep.

Draco awoke to the smell of bacon frying. He smiled until he realized where he was; where he'd spent the night. He frowned and swung his legs over the side of the bed, then stood and went to his trunk. He pulled out a pair of black pants and a white t-shirt, and didn't bother to brush his hair. He wasn't going to waste his time trying to look good for a Mudblood. He went down the stairs, taking two at a time, and pushed the door to the kitchen open.

"Good morning, darling," Narcissa said happily. He smiled briefly at her, before his eyes fell on Hermione. She was standing at the stove with her back to him, but that wasn't what made him suck in a deep breath. She was wearing jeans that hung low, reminding him of the pants she'd worn to bed last night. Her t-shirt was snug around her torso, leaving very little to his imagination, and it exposed a creamy patch of skin at the small of her back. Her hair was piled on top of her head, and several tendrils had broken away and were hanging down the back of her neck. He turned his eyes quickly to his mother, who gave him a knowing smile. He frowned and felt the heat rising in his face as he looked down at the tabletop.

"I didn't know how you liked your eggs, so I hope you don't mind them scrambled," Hermione said quietly, sitting a plate in front of him. His eyes flew up to meet hers in surprise, then moved back down to the plate of food. He was hungry, and the food looked delicious, but was he really going to eat something cooked by a Mudblood?

He watched as Hermione left the room, admiring the way her hips swayed with every step. He squeezed his eyes shut; where were these annoying thoughts coming from? He bit his lip and clenched his fists beneath the table. It was natural to be attracted to her, he reasoned. His body probably already realized that she was going to be the only female around him for who knew how long, and that's why it was reacting this way. It was the only possible explanation - wasn't it? He opened his eyes to find his mother eyeing him thoughtfully.

"Is that the only reason you dislike her, because she's not a pureblood?" she asked quietly. He blinked in surprise. His mother had never been quite so outspoken and direct before - but then again, she'd always had to worry about pleasing his father, hadn't she?

"She's an insufferable know-it-all," he said angrily, stabbing at his eggs with his fork. His mother raised her eyebrows.

"Is she the one who keeps getting better marks than you?" He nodded grudgingly, and she smiled.

"If she's so smart, why do you think she's so unworthy of your friendship?"

"Mother, you don't go to Hogwarts. You don't understand what it's like. I'm in Slytherin, and she's in Gryffindor. We do not play well together."

"How sad," she said quietly, sipping from her mug of tea.

"How is that sad?" he asked, growing weary of this line of conversation.

"It seems to me that you're both missing out on what has the potential to be a beautiful friendship." He glared at her before stuffing a forkful of eggs into his mouth.

"We've hated each other since we met on the Hogwarts Express," he declared, reaching for his glass of juice.

"And why is that?"

"Because she's a mud-" he stopped at her stern look. "She's muggle born, and I'm pureblooded."

"Do you know what you sound like, Draco? You sound like those dragon breeders, talking about the lineage of their animals." He flushed angrily and shoved his breakfast plate away.

"I don't want to be her friend, alright?"

"Why not?"

"Because I just don't!" he yelled. He turned and stormed out of the room. When he got to the top of the stairs, he stopped. There was that strange music again. Hermione's door was open a crack, and he peeked in curiously.

Hermione was sitting in front of the window with her legs tucked beneath her, writing in a small black book. In the corner was a silver box that seemed to be where the music was coming from. He watched as she stood and stretched, and felt his pulse quicken when her t-shirt crept up slightly. He could just see the bottom of her ribs. He walked quickly past her door and went into his room. He sat down on the edge of the bed and stared at the wall. He'd only been here one day, and already he was going mad. He had to be going mad to watch Granger and have his body react the way it did!

"Malfoy?" He turned in surprise to see her standing in the doorway. She was holding out an envelope. He just sat on the bed and stared at it until she put her free hand on her hip. "Well, are you going to take it, or not?"

"What is it?" he asked rudely.

"It's a bomb," she said sarcastically, shoving the envelope at him. "What do you think it is? It's a list of your assignments!"

"Shit," he muttered, taking the envelope from her. She turned to leave. "Wait!" She froze in the doorway, but didn't turn around.

"What?"

"I forgot my textbooks," he admitted, his face turning scarlet. She turned and looked at him in disbelief.

"You're kidding," she said, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. He blinked.

"Do I look like I'm kidding?" he asked, rolling his eyes.

"How should I know?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Granger, are you going to share your books with me, or not?" She gave him a suspicious look, and then threw her hands up in the air.

"Fine."

"Don't sound so excited about it," he said dryly. She narrowed her eyes at him.

"Listen, ferret boy," she said heatedly, pointing her index finger at him. "I'm not exactly overcome with joy at having to be stuck here with you, either, so you can drop your little superior attitude! There are no other Slytherins here to impress!"

"So now you think I'm trying to impress you?" he smirked, standing up.

"I don't care what you're doing!" she said, stomping her foot angrily. "But since we're stuck here, you could at least be civil to me!"

"What, so you can run back to the Boy Wonder and his pathetic sidekick and tell them about it?"

"Not everyone is like you, Malfoy!" she spat, turning on her heel. She left the room and went into her own, and he winced when he heard her door slamming shut. He pushed his lower lip out and blew a stray lock of flaxen hair out of his eyes, then opened his envelope.

Class Assignments for D. Malfoy

Transfiguration - Complete a three-parchment long essay on the effects of partial vanishing.

Potions - Complete a three-foot long essay on the contents of the Draught of the Living Death, and discuss in depth the benefits and drawbacks of the concoction. Also list ingredients and amounts used in mixing the potion.

Herbology - Complete a two-parchment essay on the properties of Alihotsy.

Charms - Work on perfecting Silencing Charms.

Defense Against the Dark Arts - Complete an essay on Pogrebins and how to combat their effects. No longer than three parchment lengths.

He moaned and flopped back on the bed. This was an impossible amount of homework! How could the teachers expect him to be doing all of this work when he was under so much emotional stress? He lifted the assignment paper and stared at it, looking for a due date of any sort. When he didn't find one, he jumped up and went to Hermione's door. He lifted his hand to knock, then hesitated. He frowned. He wasn't afraid of her, so why was he hesitating? He knocked twice.

"What?" she asked, yanking the door open. He blinked; he could hear the music much clearer now. He pushed past her and moved to the desk where the radio was, bending closer so he could hear it better. She stared at him in disbelief and crossed her arms over her chest. "Was there something you wanted, or are you just in the habit of bursting into girls' bedrooms unwanted?"

"I'm never unwanted in a girls' bedroom," he smirked, enjoying the blush that rose to her cheeks. "What is this song?"

"It's a muggle radio station," she shrugged angrily. "I don't know what the name of the song is." She flopped back onto the bed on her stomach and went back to reading her Transfiguration book. He stared at her and felt his pulse speed up again. From where he was standing near the bed, he had a perfect view of her bottom. He shook his head and tried to ignore the burning sensation that had begun in the pit of his stomach.

"I just wanted to ask you if you had any idea when this work is due," he said, waving his sheet of paper. "There's no due date on it."

"I think Professor Snape said Friday," she mumbled, moving her index finger across a page.

"Professor Snape was here?" he asked, surprised. She glared up at him.

"Of course he was," she snapped. "He gave the homework to your mother for us. Now if you don't mind, I'd like to get started on mine."

"Granger, do you ever do anything but read?"

"Of course I do," she said distractedly.

"Like what?"

"Why do you care?" she shot back. He clenched his teeth.

"I don't care," he said. She rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to her book. "Are you going to let me borrow your books or not?"

"Ask me nicely," she said, smirking at him. He blinked.

"And why should I do that?"

"If you don't, you'll never get your homework done, and your Mum will have a fit when she finds out."

"Don't even pretend that you and my mother are friends," he spat angrily. "I don't like you talking to her. You're putting ridiculous ideas in her head!"

"Oh, am I?" she asked, rolling off of the bed and standing angrily in front of him. She put her hands on her hips and pursed her lips. "It seems to me that your Mum already had all of these ideas, only your father was too much of a bastard to listen to her!"

"Stay away from my mother," he hissed slowly. She reached over and pulled a book off of the desk, then shoved it at his chest.

"Take it and go." She turned and flopped back down onto the bed, where she resumed reading. He glared at her and went back to his room to begin working on his Potions essay.

He stayed in his room through lunch on purpose, not wanting to be anywhere near Hermione. When his mother rapped gently on the door, he stood and smiled at her.

"You didn't eat lunch," she frowned. He shrugged.

"I wasn't hungry."

"She didn't come down, either," she said softly, hiding a grin. "Did you two have a row?"

"Do we ever do anything else?" he asked nastily. She blinked, and then patted his shoulder.

"I've noticed that we're running a little low on some supplies, so Professor Dumbledore has arranged a way for me to go run some errands. Hermione knows I'm leaving, so she's going to be fixing dinner. I'll be back later on tonight."

"Can I go too?" he asked desperately, not wanting to be stuck in the house alone with Hermione.

"I'm sorry Draco, but the answer is no. It's dangerous enough as it is for me to go out, but I'm afraid it's necessary. Be nice to each other while I'm gone." She smiled and disappeared down the stairs. He stared down the hall in disbelief.

"Play nice with the Mudblood?" he echoed flatly. He heard a doorknob turning, and watched as Hermione emerged from her room, then head down the stairs without looking at him. Curious, he followed her quietly. She went into the kitchen and began pulling things out of the cupboards. He leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest and watched her with growing interest.

She sliced up several vegetables, and then dropped them in a pot. After she rinsed her hands off, she took some chicken from the refrigerator and put it in a baking pan with some herbs. She turned and saw him watching her, and froze.

"What's so interesting?" she snapped.

"I didn't know you could cook," he said, his voice thick with amusement. She blinked, and then turned her back to him again.

"There are lots of things you don't know about me," she said softly, not really intending for it to reach his ears. He shrugged and moved to the cupboards, looking for a glass. When he opened the cupboard farthest from Hermione, his eyes widened, and he let out a slow whistle. Hermione turned to see what he was doing.

"Well, well," he drawled softly, holding up a half-empty bottle of firewhiskey. "Potter's a lush, is he?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Malfoy. That's probably left over from when Sirius lived here two years ago." He pulled the stopper out and grabbed a glass, ignoring the incredulous stare she was giving him. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Having a drink," he said coolly, pouring the liquid into his glass. He lifted it to his lips and rose and eyebrow at her. "What's the matter, Granger? Too pure to have a drink?"

"I just don't want to get caught," she said defensively. He smirked and reached for another glass, and the bottom fell out of her stomach as he handed it to her.

"My mother won't be back for a while, so I think you're safe."

"Is it very strong?" she asked nervously, swirling the liquid gently in the glass. She'd never drank a drop of alcohol in all her eighteen years, muggle or wizard made.

"Not really," he lied. He laughed silently as she took a sip and spewed it all over herself.

"It tastes terrible!" she exclaimed, grabbing a paper towel and wiping herself off. He sniggered and took a long drink.

"Keep drinking. It'll taste better the more you drink." She eyed him warily, but when he'd finished off two glasses without becoming tipsy, she drained her glass quickly.

"Oh," she exclaimed softly, feeling the alcohol go straight to her head. She cursed herself silently for letting her fear of being around Draco keep her from eating lunch. The logical side of her brain told her that she shouldn't have had any alcohol on an empty stomach, but it was too late now. She sat down at the kitchen table and watched as he poured them both another glass. When she'd had three glasses, he put the stopper back on the bottle.

"I think we've had enough," he declared, his tongue feeling thick. She was twirling a loose strand of hair around her finger and giggling at it. He watched as she stood and stumbled out of the kitchen, and then followed her up to her bedroom. She flopped across the bed and laid on her back, oblivious to his presence.

"Weasley is our king," she sang softly. She giggled again, and he raised his eyebrows in amusement.

"You're snookered!" he accused, his head feeling foggy. She giggled louder.

"Ten points to Slytherin for Malfoy's excellent perception skills," she said, licking her index finger and making an invisible mark in the air. He grinned, and she frowned at him. "Why don't you seem to be affected by the alcohol?"

"I am, just not as much as you are," he said, sitting down tiredly at the foot of her bed. She shrank away from him instinctively. "Don't worry, I'm not going to murder you or anything. I just needed to sit down for a minute."

"Why didn't you gel your hair back today?" she asked softly. He turned and looked at her in surprise.

"I just didn't." She was quiet for a long moment.

"It's nice like that," she whispered, her face turning pink. His eyes widened.

"Is that so?" she nodded. "Well, then I suppose it's only fair to tell you that you look nice, too." Her eyes flickered up to his for a second, and then she looked back down at her hands. She picked nervously at the coverlet she was sitting on.

"Can I ask you something?"

"You just did, didn't you?" he smirked. She ignored him.

"Do you like being in Slytherin?"

"What kind of a question is that?" he wondered aloud. She shrugged.

"I was curious, that's all."

"Well," he said, mulling it over. "For the most part, yes, I do enjoy it."

"For the most part?" she echoed. "Does that mean you don't like it sometimes?"

"Granger, don't kill my buzz with idiotic questions," he said, his voice lighter than she'd ever heard it. She curled up in a ball near the head of the bed and laid her cheek on her hand.

"I'm so sleepy," she yawned. "And I still have to finish making dinner."

"I don't think you need to worry about that," he said, flopping backwards. He stared up at the ceiling, and then turned to see her staring intently at him. What was that look about? He wondered. "What?"

"Nothing." She continued to stare, unable to pull her eyes away.

"What?" he asked again, rolling onto his side and propping his head up on his hand.

"It's nothing, really," she said, hesitating. "I was just thinking about how relaxed you look. I've never seen you that relaxed before."

"Alcohol tends to do that to you, Granger," he said, lifting an eyebrow. Her cheeks flushed, and she looked away. "I have an idea."

"What?" she asked, turning her eyes towards him. His heart skipped several beats; when had she gotten pretty?

"Why don't we do something lame while we wait for dinner to cook?" he suggested, his head still feeling as though it was surrounded by fog.

"You mean besides lay here and talk about nothing?" she asked, her lips curving in amusement. He blinked. He'd never noticed how her eyes crinkled at the corners when she smiled. It was actually rather... nice.

"Let's play a game."

"I don't think Harry has any board games here except for Wizard Chess, and I refuse to play because I suck at it." His eyes widened at her. "What?" she asked, her cheeks tinting red.

"Granger, you just said you suck at something!"

"Yeah, and?" she asked defensively. She stuck her chin out. "I'm not perfect, you know."

"I didn't know that," he said softly. She looked back down at the coverlet.

"Well, there are a lot of things you don't know about me."

"That's the second time you've said that tonight. Why don't you tell me what I don't know, and then I will know." She gave a hollow laugh.

"Why would you want to know? You hate me, remember?" she pointed out bitterly. He didn't know why, but the statement made his chest ache.

"Look, it's like you said earlier, we're stuck here together, right? We might as well make an effort to get along, at least for the present time." She eyed him suspiciously, then sighed and sat up.

"I suppose you're right," she admitted. "Well, what do you want to know?"

"Wait," he said, sitting up in front of her. "Why don't we make it more interesting?"

"How?"

"Let's play truth or dare." Her eyes widened, and she shook her head.

"No way. Uh uh. Not with you."

"Why not?" he asked, feeling his temper flare.

"Are you kidding? You'd probably dare me to eat my shoes, or something." His anger faded just as quickly as it had come, and he laughed. She blinked in surprise; she'd never seen him genuinely laugh before, only smirk.

"What if I swore I wouldn't make you do anything disgusting like that? Then would you play?" She considered for a moment, and then nodded her head slowly, although she didn't totally trust him. What's gotten into me? He's actually cute! It must be the alcohol. It's making me hallucinate. No, he really does have a nice smile. I've just never seen him do that before, that's what's wrong with me.

"Who's first?" she asked. He scooted closer to her, and mirrored her cross-legged stance. She jumped when his knees almost touched hers.

"I'll go first, since I was going to ask you something anyway. Truth or dare?" The alcohol was making her feel lightheaded and giggly, and she only hoped that she didn't get too giggly.

"Truth."

"First question. Is Potter gay?" he asked, smirking wickedly. Her jaw dropped.

"No, he most certainly is not!" she said indignantly. He sniggered.

"Well, I had to ask. I never see him with girls."

"I'm with him all the time," she protested, feeling stung. Why should it matter if Malfoy thought of her as a girl or not? She didn't know, but for some reason she felt it did matter.

"You don't count," he said, waving his hand dismissively. She huffed angrily. "My turn."

"Truth or dare?"

"Dare."

"Oh sure, pick a dare when I haven't had time to think of one!" she said, trying not to smile. She thought for a moment, and then grinned wickedly. "Alright, then. I dare you to wear my Gryffindor robe for a while." He rolled his eyes.

"Is that all you could think of?" he jumped up and grabbed her robe off of the back of her chair and draped it around his shoulders. Before he knew what had happened, she reached inside the nightstand drawer and withdrew a camera. He flinched at the flash as it went off. "What the-"

"Gotcha!" she giggled, replacing the camera. He raised an eyebrow at her.

"You know that everyone's going to think that photo is doctored when they see it. They won't believe that I really wore a Gryffindor robe." She shrugged.

"I don't care what they believe, I know you did it. Besides, who said I was going to show it to anyone, anyway?" He eyed her thoughtfully for a long moment, and then removed the robe.

"It's your turn again. Truth or dare?"

"Truth."

"You're so boring," he protested. "Why can't you pick dare?"

"Because I'm afraid of what you have in mind for me to do," she said warily. He grinned.

"Afraid I'll make you eat your shoes?" She covered her mouth with her hand and giggled. "Alright. Are you dating Weasley?"

"Ron?" she asked, looking horrified. "No! What gave you that impression?"

"Are you kidding?" he asked, gaping at her. "Everyone in the entire school knows how he moons over you!" She blushed and tugged nervously at a strand of hair.

"I know. Sometimes I feel really badly for him, but I had a long talk with him over the summer and told him that I just didn't feel the same."

"Why don't you?"

"I don't know," she shrugged. "I just don't."

"Do you like Potter?"

"Of course I like Harry. He's my best friend!" she giggled again.

"I meant as more than a friend," he said insistently. Suddenly she was uncomfortable under his silvery gaze.

"It's not your turn to ask a question," she said softly, not meeting his eyes. "Truth or dare?"

"Truth." She looked up at him, surprised.

"Alright," she said, fumbling to think of a question. "Are Crabbe and Goyle really as dumb as they look?" A grin spread slowly across his face, and she was compelled to smile back at him.

"Dumber."

"Is that humanly possible?" she asked, feeling strange bubbles rising in her stomach at his smile.

"I assure you, it is."

"Then why do you hang around them so much?"

"It never hurts to surround yourself with people stupider and uglier than you, because then you look loads better by comparison."

"But you don't need them around to make you look better. You're not ugly at all." She slapped her hand over her mouth, but it was too late. He gave her an amused look, but didn't say anything. His stomach was turning somersaults; had she really meant that he was attractive to her?

"Truth or dare?" he asked.

"Truth." He rolled his eyes.

"I knew it. Okay. Do you like Potter as more than a friend?"

"No."

"Really?" he looked surprised. She shook her head slowly.

"Harry is like a brother to me. I could never look at him like that."

"Interesting. I always thought you tagged along after him because you were madly in love with him." She giggled.

"Me? Madly in love with Harry?" He shrugged.

"I just call things as I see them, Granger."

"Your turn. Truth or dare?"

"Truth."

"Are you really engaged to Pansy Parkinson?" His face turned pink and he sputtered.

"What? That's the most ridiculous - where did you hear that?"

"I've been hearing it since our first year," she said.

"No, no, and no!" he said, shaking his head vehemently. "Oh, and did I forget? No!" She laughed.

"I get the point."

"Merlin, I knew that people talked about me, but not like that!" he shook his head in disbelief, trying to clear the fuzzy feeling that invaded his brain whenever he looked at her. "Truth or dare?"

"Truth."

"Have you ever kissed a boy?" Her cheeks turned bright red and she hugged her knees to her chest.

"That's kind of personal, don't you think?"

"Maybe, but that's too bad, because you chose truth and now you have to answer."

"No," she whispered, staring at the coverlet. His mouth dropped open.

"You've never even kissed a boy before?"

"No, alright? God, you make it sound like I'm a romantic retard, or something."

"I just find it hard to believe that you're eighteen and have never kissed anyone."

"Well, don't, because I haven't."

"Fine," he said, holding up a hand.

"Your turn again," she said, glad to be steering the topic away from her nonexistent love life. "Truth or dare?"

"Dare."

"Oh geez, alright," she said, stretching her legs out. He sucked in a deep breath. She didn't realize that her legs rested on either side of him, and now that she was stretched out a bit, he had a perfect view of her creamy exposed stomach. "Uhm... okay. I dare you to dance to the next song that comes on the radio." His face turned red.

"You've got to be joking."

"Do I look like I'm joking?" she shot his own words back at him, and he grinned despite himself.

"I wouldn't know," he replied dryly. He stood and waited for the slow melody to end, then groaned as the soft strains of another slow song began to play. "I can't slow dance by myself!" he complained.

"Why not?" she asked, smiling broadly.

"Because I just can't," he insisted. Then an idea struck him. "Why don't you get up and dance with me?" Her smile faded.

"I think that's a bad idea," she said quietly.

"Why? Are you afraid of me, Granger?" he smirked. She sat up straight.

"I most certainly am not!" she huffed, clambering to her feet. She moved in front of him and stood awkwardly. She gave a small start when he reached out and wrapped one arm around her waist, and grabbed her hand in his. She held her breath as he began swaying her gently to the music. She looked up at him in surprise; why was his hand on her bare back making her feel as though someone had touched her with a branding iron?

"You smell nice," he said, closing his eyes and sniffing gingerly at her hair. She stiffened slightly, not used to being this close to anyone but Harry. She'd danced with Viktor Krum at the Yule Ball, but for some reason, it hadn't felt like this. She'd danced with Harry in the common room after everyone else went to bed, just horsing around, but it hadn't felt like this, either. She closed her eyes and bit her bottom lip. What was the alcohol doing to her?

Draco sighed silently. He felt totally at ease, thanks to the fire whiskey. He pulled her closer and rested his chin on the top of her head as they danced, savoring the feel of her silky skin against his hands. He absentmindedly stroked the small of her back with his thumb, and suddenly she pushed him away.

"Okay, that's enough," she said nervously, resuming her spot on the bed. "I won't make you dance anymore. You satisfied the dare." He blinked, then nodded and sat down on the bed. He'd been enjoying himself... perhaps a little too much for his own taste.

"It's your turn, then," he said, clearing his throat. "Truth or dare?"

She thought for a moment, and then bit her lip nervously. Did he really think she was boring for always picking truth? "Dare."

"I dare you to show me your panties." Her mouth dropped open and she chucked a pillow at his head.

"I think not!" she said, amused despite her embarrassment. He grinned wickedly.

"Oh, come on, Granger! Live a little! I'm the only one in here, and it's not like I asked you to totally strip, or anything! All you have to do is pull them up at the top of your pants and let me see them!"

"And why would you want to see my panties?" she asked, her face burning. "So you can go back and tell your fellow Slytherins?"

"I'm just curious, that's all."

"I'm sure you've seen plenty of girls' panties without having to add mine to the list."

"Hey, you said dare, and this is it. Would you like me to change it?"

"Yes, please," she nodded emphatically. A wicked smile spread across his face.

"Are you sure you want me to change the dare?"

"Yes."

"Alright, but just remember that you asked for it."

"Do your worst, Malfoy, I'm not afraid," she said defiantly.

"I dare you to kiss me." She blinked, not sure she'd heard him correctly.

"What? I'm sorry, it sounded like you just said-"

"I did. I dare you to kiss me."

"Okay, you've proven your point. I'll show them to you." She stood and started to reach into her jeans, but he put his hand on her wrist to stop her. Her pulse was pounding so loudly in her ears that it sounded like an oncoming freight train. He stood and moved in front of her.

"You asked me to change my dare, and I did," he said softly. "Are you too much of a chicken to do it?"

"No," she said, bristling at being called a coward.

"Then why haven't you done it yet?"

"Malfoy, why would you even dare me to do such a thing?" she asked, painfully aware of his nearness. "I'm a Mudblood, remember? Dirty blood? Why would you want to touch me at all, let alone dare me to kiss you?"

"It's just a game, Granger," he said, annoyed. He flopped back down on the bed and silently berated himself. She was right, again. Why had he dared her to do that? She lowered herself slowly onto the bed in front of him, feeling her heart pounding against her ribcage.

"Alright," she whispered softly. He blinked at her. Was she agreeing to his dare? He leaned forward slightly.

"Alright as in you're going to go through with the dare?" When she nodded, his stomach tightened excitedly. He could rationalize this and explain it all away tomorrow, when he was sober. Right now all he could think about was how soft her lips looked. She took a deep, steadying breath, then leaned forward slowly. She hesitated when her nose touched his, then closed her eyes and pressed her lips quickly to his. She withdrew the kiss quickly and sat back, feeling pleased with herself that she'd proven to him she wasn't a chicken.

"That's it?" he asked, disappointment washing over him. She blinked.

"I kissed you, just like you dared me to," she said quietly. "I proved I'm not chicken."

"You call that a kiss?"

"Yes!"

"That wasn't a kiss, Granger," he said, unable to tug his eyes away from her frowning mouth.

"What was it, then?" she asked, starting to feel annoyed, even through the effects of the alcohol.

"It was a peck."

"Well, I thought it was a kiss."

"You did it all wrong."

"Fine, how would you have done it, then?" she retorted. She realized as soon as the words fell from her lips that they'd been a mistake. He leaned forward until their mouths were barely separated, then looked into her eyes.

"Like this," he whispered, his breath tickling her mouth. He closed his eyes and pressed his lips against hers gently. She felt her mind become even cloudier and vaguely wondered if that was supposed to happen when someone was kissing you. It was a strange sensation to her; to have someone else's lips against hers. She was surprised at the feel of them. His lips were soft and smooth, and more tender than she ever would have expected them to be.

He had half expected her to pull away when he kissed her, but was pleasantly surprised when she didn't. His blood was surging violently through his veins with the need to intensify the kiss and take it to the next level, but he was unsure as to how she would react. He decided to test the waters, and timidly touched his tongue to her lips. When she parted them, he had to fight the urge to moan. He raised his hands and cupped her cheeks, kissing her with more force. He was just about to lower his mouth to her neck when a voice called up the stairs to them. They froze immediately; then he jumped off of the bed and smoothed out his clothes. He leaned casually against her desk and waited for his mother to come upstairs, not chancing a look at Hermione.

She sat on the bed in a daze. Had she really just gotten the first kiss of her entire life, and from Malfoy, no less? Her heart was beating erratically, and she took a few deep breaths to try and steady herself. It was just a game, nothing more. He just did it to prove a point, Hermione. Don't let yourself get all worked up over it! You've both had entirely too much alcohol. Her eyes flew open at this last thought, and she looked at him, eyes wild with panic.

"Draco," she hissed. He turned to look at her, surprised at her using his first name. He'd never heard it from her before. "We forgot to put the bottle of fire whiskey and the glasses away!" His eyes widened as her statement washed over him.

"I'll go keep mother busy. You go and put everything away!" She nodded and followed him out of the room, relieved to find that Narcissa was still in the sitting room, fretting over several grocery bags that had burst open. Draco bent to help her pick the things up, and she crept into the kitchen. She grabbed the bottle and put the stopper back in it, then replaced it in the cabinet. She grabbed the glasses and rinsed them out, then sat them near the sink to dry. She was just opening the oven to check on the chicken when Narcissa bustled in with an armful of things. She smiled at Hermione.

"Thank you for starting dinner, Hermione," she said, patting the girl's shoulder affectionately. "You can go ahead and scamper off. I'll take care of it and call you both when it's ready." Hermione nodded, sighing with relief, and made her way back up to her room quickly. She went in and flopped face-first down on the bed, burying her face in the downy pillow.

"Are you trying to suffocate yourself?" an amused voice drawled softly. She sat up quickly and turned to see Draco lounging in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest. She felt the heat rising into her cheeks at the memory of what they'd been doing moments earlier, and refused to make eye contact with him.

"I'm just tired, that's all," she said vaguely, lying back down. She thought for a moment, still feeling his presence in the doorway. She looked up at him. "You're not... going to tell anyone about this, are you?"

"And why would I do something as stupid as that?" he asked, all of his good feelings dissipating. Was she ashamed of kissing him? Her cheeks turned red. Good, she should be embarrassed!

"I just wanted to make sure, is all." She rolled over onto her stomach and listened as his angry footsteps headed towards his room. She closed her eyes and began to fall asleep, wondering when the strange rhythm of her heart would be normal again.