The Reason

Hermione squinted against the bright sunlight that was threatening to blind her. She tried to sit up, but when her head began to ache, she lay back down and moaned softly. The events of the night before came crashing painfully back to her, and she could feel her cheeks burning with embarrassment, even though she was alone in the bedroom. She pressed her cool hands to the hot flesh and sighed. What had she done? She'd let Draco Malfoy kiss her, and she'd liked it! She felt guilt pierce her heart. She'd kissed Harry's sworn enemy!

She closed her eyes and kicked off the blankets that covered her. The room was becoming dreadfully stuffy, with all of the sunlight streaming in through the windows. She buried her head beneath her pillow and let out a loud growl. Her headache was a painful reminder of why she didn't drink. She was grumbling to herself about the ill effects of alcohol when she heard someone cough. She sat up quickly to see Draco smirking at her.

"What are you doing in here?" she asked incredulously, glancing at her open bedroom door.

"Mother sent breakfast up here for you," he said. Suddenly he burst out laughing, and she stared at him.

"You're cracked! What in the world can be so funny about your mother sending you up here with breakfast for me?" He wiped a tear from his eye before he answered her.

"Are you answering my dare from last night?" She blinked.

"I thought I did."

"No, the other dare."

"What other dare?" she asked, confused. He pointed down, and her eyes followed his finger. Suddenly she let out a loud squeal and dove back under the covers, prompting another bout of laughter from him. She'd forgotten that she'd fallen asleep in her T-shirt and panties, and nothing else.

"Purple is your color, Granger," he laughed, as he walked out the door. She peeked out from beneath the cover and sighed with relief when he was gone. She ran to the door and slammed it shut, before pulling on a pair of shorts and changing her T-shirt for a clean one. She wrinkled her nose at the breakfast tray - her stomach was not going to entertain any thoughts of food for a few hours, at the least. She went to her desk and sat in the chair with her knees near her chest and began to work on her homework.

"Hermione?" Narcissa called through the closed door. Hermione didn't look up.

"Come in." The door squeaked open, and Hermione could smell Narcissa's favorite perfume- she always smelled like Peonies.

"You didn't touch your breakfast," she said, a note of disappointment in her voice. "Don't you like pancakes?"

"I do like them very much," she said, feeling bad that she hadn't even attempted to eat. "My stomach was just a little upset this morning, is all." Narcissa frowned.

"I hope you're not coming down with something. The same thing was wrong with Draco." Hermione had to bite down on her lip to prevent the giggle that threatened to rise. "Professor Snape says that after we've been here for a bit, your friends will be able to come and see you." Hermione's eyes lit up, and she launched herself at Narcissa, enveloping her in a giant hug.

"Oh, that's lovely!"

"Well, who knows how long off it may be yet," the older lady said, blushing. She wasn't used to such open shows of affection, although she felt she might be able to get used to it quickly. She'd always wanted a daughter, and Hermione seemed like a bright, caring girl. She knew that something was going on between Hermione and Draco, she just didn't know what.

"What's going on in here?" Draco asked curiously, seeing Hermione hug his mother. Narcissa turned and beamed at him, and Hermione went back to her desk.

"I was just telling Hermione that Professor Snape told me that after we've been here for a while, Harry and Ron might be able to come and visit her." Draco's face darkened considerably.

"Potter and Weasley?" he spat. He glanced at Hermione, who refused to look away from her textbook. "Marvelous, that's all we need."

"Draco, you really should be a little more forgiving," Narcissa chided gently. He turned angry eyes to her.

"Forgiving? Of Saint Potter? And why, pray tell, should I do that?"

"Because Harry is our Secret Keeper." Draco's mouth fell open, and he turned to look at Hermione.

"Did you know that?" She nodded, but didn't look up.

"Well, I'm going to go and fix lunch. Are either one of you going to eat?" Hermione shook her head slowly, still feeling the aftereffects of the alcohol. Narcissa looked at Draco, and when he shook his head, she clucked her tongue softly and left the room.

"Why didn't you tell me that Potter was our bloody secret keeper?" he asked Hermione angrily. She looked up in surprise.

"I thought you knew," she whispered. He glared at her icily before storming out of the room. She leaned forward and her forehead thumped against the desk. She raised a hand to her head and winced. "Ow!"

Hermione ignored her hangover as best she could and worked on her essays. When she heard Narcissa call up that it was dinnertime, she actually found herself feeling relieved to have an excuse to get away from her books. She bounced down the stairs, feeling good about having almost all of her homework done. She pushed open the kitchen door and smiled at Narcissa, who was sitting a heaping plate of fried chicken on the table. Hermione sat down.

"I'm glad at least one of you has emerged from their room," she said, winking at Hermione. She laughed.

"I'm glad to get away from my books tonight," she said, buttering a roll.

"I find that hard to believe." She paused for a moment when she heard Draco's voice, then went back to buttering. He sat down across from her and began to eat.

"So," his mother said pleasantly. "What have you two been up to today?"

"Homework," he said through a mouthful of chicken. Narcissa looked at Hermione.

"Me as well," she said, making a concentrated effort not to look at Draco.

"How far away are you both from being done?"

"I'm finishing up my Transfiguration essay," he said dryly. Hermione could feel their eyes on her.

"Hermione?" Narcissa prodded. Hermione fidgeted and blushed under her stare.

"I haven't really finished anything yet," she lied. What was the point of telling them that she was finished with everything except Transfiguration, and that was only because Draco had the book?

"Well, I think I'm going to retire for the night," Narcissa said, rising from her seat and yawning. "I'll see you both in the morning." She left the room, and Hermione stood quickly, putting her things in the sink. She didn't want to be left alone with Draco any longer than was necessary.

"Granger, wait," he said, stopping her before she could get out the door. She turned hesitantly to see him leaning forward on the table. "Do you really not have any of your homework finished?"

"No, I don't," she lied. She turned and bolted from the room, running up to her bedroom and pulling the door to. She turned on the radio and flopped across the bed, wondering what she should do to keep her mind off of their little game of truth or dare last night.

She stood and went to the window, staring outside wistfully. She sighed quietly. It was a clear night, and a curtain of stars blanketed the inky sky. She wished she could go outside and lie in the grass, as she was prone to do at her own home.

"You're a horrible liar, do you know that?" She turned in surprise to see Draco at her desk, holding up three completed essays triumphantly. She moved towards him quickly and snatched them away, glaring at him the entire time.

"I don't recall inviting you in here," she snapped. She shoved the parchments inside her bookbag.

"Why did you lie to my mother about your homework?" he asked, frowning.

"Because I felt like it, that's why!" she said defensively, not meeting his inquiring eyes. How could she tell him that she'd heard the conversation with his mother, and heard the jealousy when they discussed how she always got higher marks than him? She had to live under the same roof for God only knew how long, and she didn't need to wound his pride and create any more problems.

"You felt like it?" his face seemed to be fixed in a permanent frown, and Hermione silently wished he would just leave already. Maybe then she wouldn't be thinking about how good he looked with his arms crossed like that, and then she wouldn't feel like such a traitor to Harry and Ron.

"Did I stutter?" she asked angrily, putting her hands on her hips. A slow grin spread across his face, taking her by surprise. "Are you going to leave, or not?"

"Well, since you're finished with your books, what's the harm in me taking them with me?" he picked up three heavy textbooks and smirked at her. He really is cute - in an annoying sort of way.

"Fine, just take them and go, then!" She waited impatiently, but he stared at her for a long minute before he finally turned and walked out of the room. She flopped back down on the bed and growled lowly; why did she have to be stuck here with him of all people, and on top of that, why couldn't she get that kiss out of her mind?

Draco went back into his room and sat down heavily on the bed before tossing Hermione's books onto the floor. He lay on his back and crossed his arms behind his head. All he'd been able to think about the entire morning was that kiss they'd shared. He closed his eyes and remembered what it had felt like to hold her when he'd danced with her. She was soft and warm, and her mouth had looked so inviting. He shook his head angrily. Last night he'd been drunk, and that had been why he'd let his guard down and kissed a Mudblood, but today... today he was sober, and couldn't blame his obviously growing attraction on the alcohol. He swore silently.

He sat up and reached for a book when he heard a door creak. He got up and moved swiftly to his door, then opened it a crack and peeked out. He watched with growing curiosity as Hermione tiptoed down the hallway and out of sight. What was she doing? He started to follow her, then stopped himself. Why should he care what the filthy Mudblood was doing? He pulled his shirt and pants off, then slipped a pair of pyjama pants on. He was just about to lie down when he realized that he needed to go to the bathroom. He got up and went into the hall. He had just reached for the doorknob when the bathroom door opened, and a very wet Hermione stepped out.

She stopped as soon as she saw him, and was mortified. She took off sprinting towards her room, and Draco watched as the scandalized girl disappeared behind her bedroom door. He blinked, trying to erase the image of her from his mind. She'd been wrapped in a towel, and he'd been able to see more of her than he should have ever wanted to see. Her hair hung around her shoulders, dripping water onto her pink skin. Her bare shoulders were perfect; and her legs - Great Merlin, when did Granger develop those? He stepped into the steamy bathroom and closed the door; vaguely thinking about how none of the girls he'd been with had ever had such perfectly shaped legs.

Hermione slammed her door angrily and stomped to her closet. She was more embarrassed than she'd ever been in her entire life! She'd thought that a nice, hot shower would take care of everything and help cleanse her mind. She hadn't been able to think about anything else but him, though, and was growing exponentially more frustrated with herself. She dried herself off and pulled on her pyjamas, which consisted of her regular loose-fitting pants and a snug tank top. She was bored; that had to be why her mind was so focused on last night, she reasoned. It just had to be. She needed to find something to do - a distraction, of sorts. She peeked her head out into the hallway to make sure no one was in sight, then crept down the stairs. She moved silently into the sitting room and grinned. In the corner of the room was a small television. Trust Harry to mix muggle devices with Wizarding devices, she thought fondly. She snapped the TV on and sat down on the sofa.

Draco had heard Hermione leave her room and followed her. Did the girl really think she was being stealthy? He smirked to himself. Slytherins were masters of stealth. He watched with interest as she moved towards a small black box in the corner of the room. His eyes flew open in surprise when she pushed a button on the front of the box and it lit up. Forgetting that he'd been sneaking around after her, he moved towards the couch. He missed her jump in surprise.

"Since when does Potter have a television?" he asked, sitting down next to her. She gaped at him. "What?"

"You know what a television is, but you didn't know what a radio was?" she asked suspiciously. He shrugged.

"I don't make a point of keeping up on muggle devices," he smirked. She arched an eyebrow.

"Then how did you know what a TV was?"

"I don't think that's any of your business," he said, sneering at her. She shrugged and leaned back against the couch cushions - why should she care? But then, he hated all things Muggle, didn't he? Why would he bother to even feign interest in the TV, unless... he was really interested? The thought of Draco Malfoy being interested in something Muggle-created struck her as funny, and a giggle burst forth before she could stop it. He turned and stared at her.

"What's so funny?" he demanded. She shook her head.

"Nothing." He blinked. Last night she'd told him nothing, and moments after that, she'd told him that he was cute. His pulse quickened, and he cursed himself for the reaction. Why did he want her to say he was good looking? The way she blushed under his stare, though - something about her was so pure and untouched, and it stirred something in him. He fought to keep it down; he didn't want to be stirred by a Mudblood!

He realized suddenly that he'd sat down painfully close to her. She shifted in her seat, and her hip brushed his. She jumped up, half expecting him to go on some pointless tirade about not letting her filthy body touch his pure one, but he remained silent and gave her a strange look. Her heart sped up, and she held her breath for a moment. Finally he looked back at the TV screen.

"Do you mind, Granger?" he drawled, the arrogant tone returning to his voice. "You aren't made of glass, and I can't see around that fat ass of yours." Her jaw dropped open in surprise, and without saying anything, she ran up to her room. She flopped down on the bed and sobbed into her pillow. Why should he get to her like this? She knew what a foul creature he was; why had she even for a moment entertained the thought that he was attractive?

As soon as the words had left his mouth, he'd felt something tugging at his chest. That look that she'd been giving him had made him uncomfortable. There was something in her eyes that made his stomach do funny things, and he wasn't sure how to deal with it. He realized with sudden certainty that the emotion pulling at him right now was the beginning of guilt. He leaned forward and cradled his face in his hands. He'd never felt guilt over anything before, so why should he feel bad about being nasty to her?

It was that damned bloody kiss last night! He cursed himself silently for daring her to do such a stupid thing, and then cursed her for letting him kiss her the way he'd wanted to. Why should a kiss taken during a game of truth or dare change anything? He flopped across the couch and stared at the TV with unseeing eyes, until he drifted off to sleep.

He awoke with a pain in his neck, and sat up. He'd slept on the couch all night! He groaned and rubbed the back of his neck, trying to work the knot out that had formed there. He heard someone snickering and rolled his eyes. When he turned around, however, Hermione didn't greet him. He was staring into emerald eyes; eyes that he never wanted to see again.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"I live here, remember? This is my home. And I've come to see my friend." Harry stared at Malfoy, daring him to say something - anything - so he'd have an excuse to hit him. Malfoy said nothing, and brushed past Harry to go upstairs. He bounded up the stairs, taking two at a time, and knocked on Hermione's door.

"Come in," she said softly. When he opened the door, she glanced up from her book. She gave a squeal of delight and propelled herself across the room and into his open arms. "Harry! What are you doing here? Does this mean we can leave?"

"No," he said, his face darkening. "I just wanted to come and check on you. I'm supposed to bring your homework back to school, too." She paled.

"Is it Friday already?"

"Yes," he said, an amused smile tugging at his lips. "You have got it all finished, haven't you?"

"Yes, of course I have," she said, trying to fight off the shock of having been here for three days already. She reached into the desk drawer and pulled out several parchments, then handed them to him. "Do you have our homework for next week, too?"

"No, Snape said he's going to bring it over later on," he said, sitting down on the bed. She sat down on the chair at the desk and smiled at him.

"I would never have believed that I'd have missed you this much in only three days," she gushed. His cheeks turned pink.

"Ron and I have missed you loads, too, Mione," he said quietly, his cheeks still burning. She hugged her knees to her chest, and smiled at him.

"Have I missed anything exciting?"

"Madam Pince added a new book to the library," he said, grinning. She laughed softly.

"Well, that is exciting news, for me. What else has been going on? I know that tomorrow is our first Quidditch match of the year. I'm going to hate to miss it."

"Well, I don't think the Slytherins have much of a team without Malfoy," he said, grinning broadly.

"Have they gotten a new seeker, then?" she asked curiously. He nodded.

"They replaced him with Blaise Zabini."

"What?!" They were both startled by Malfoy's outraged voice. They turned to see him standing in the doorway, his cheeks a furious red color. "They replaced me with Zabini? He couldn't catch the snitch if someone handed it to him!"

"Well, thanks for letting me know that, Malfoy," Harry said sarcastically, shooting a wink at Hermione. "I'll sleep better tonight knowing that Slytherin has a bogus seeker."

"Very funny, Potter," he spat. He crossed his arms over his chest. "I'll bet you're just loving this whole situation, aren't you?"

"I don't know what you're on about," he said coolly.

"You're just gloating in the fact that my mother and I are stuck in your house, and you have complete power over us!"

"Oh sure," Harry said angrily, getting to his feet. "I enjoy the fact that my best friend is stuck here with the person I hate most in the world, instead of with me, where she should be! I can't even visit her properly; I have to sneak around to do it! And what makes you so lucky that you get to be here with her, instead of me?"

"I don't want to be stuck with your stupid Mudblood girlfriend, Potter! If I could trade places with you, believe me, I would!"

"Don't call her that," he said, gritting his teeth. Hermione put a gentle hand on his arm, and he turned to look at her.

"I don't care what he calls me anymore, Harry," she said softly, avoiding Draco's eyes. "But let's make this visit a happy one, since I don't know when I'll see you again." Harry nodded.

"You're right," he said. She sat down at the head of the bed, and patted the comforter in front of her. Harry sat down and smiled at her. He didn't know why, but the scene made Draco even angrier than he had been moments before.

"Why don't you play Truth or Dare with her, Potter? It's quite... interesting." He left the room, and Harry blinked at her.

"Did you play that with him?" Her cheeks turned bright pink.

"It's a long story," she said, hoping he wouldn't make her talk about it. He raised his eyebrows at her. She leaned forward to whisper to him. "We accidentally got into a bottle of firewhiskey last night." His eyes widened, and suddenly he burst out laughing. She frowned at him. "And just what is so funny, Harry Potter?"

"You expect me to believe that you drank alcohol, and with Malfoy, no less?" He wiped a tear from his eye. "Great Merlin, Hermione! You almost had me there for a minute!"

"Alright, then," she said, hoping he'd change the subject. "How long do you get to stay?"

"Actually, I should probably be going," he said, standing. She stood quickly and hugged him tightly. He blinked in surprise, then wrapped his arms around her and squeezed.

"Take care of yourself, Harry," she said, looking up into his emerald eyes. He nodded.

"I'm not doing the smashing job that you do," he said, eliciting a grin from her. "But I'm working on it." She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. He blushed furiously and squeezed her again before leaving. She sighed and flopped across the bed on her stomach.

"Argh!" she uttered, rolling onto her back. Her head was hanging over the side of the bed, and her long hair was brushing the floor. She sighed again, unable to think of anything to do, then got up and began to change her clothes. She pulled on a pair of silky hunter green shorts and a matching sleeveless pyjama top, then flipped the light off and moved to the window. She gazed out at the darkened sky and sighed. What she wouldn't give to be out there right now, lying beneath the stars and relaxing.

"This is bloody ridiculous," she whispered, surprising herself. She had to do something; the boredom was getting to her. She tiptoed down the stairs and went into the kitchen, intent on getting some milk. Maybe it would help her get to sleep. She opened a cabinet and reached for a glass, but her hand froze in midair. There was the fire whiskey bottle, with just enough for a glassful left inside of it. She bit her bottom lip. Did she dare? She weighed it out heavily in her mind before finally throwing caution to the wind and pouring the last of it into a clean glass. She downed half of it in one swallow, making a face at the rancid taste, then downed the other half quickly. She went into the sitting room and flipped on the TV, then sat down heavily on the couch.

"Oh, Merlin," she heard Draco swear. She turned to see him standing behind her, wearing only a pair of loose-fitting sweatpants. She gulped. His chest was broad and well defined, and the sight of it was doing funny things to her pulse. She cursed herself silently for admiring his body, and blinked.

"What?" she asked innocently.

"I was going to come down here and watch TV, but you're already here."

"Yeah, so sod off!" she said, poking her tongue out at him. She turned her back to him and focused on the telly again. His jaw dropped. Had she just told him to sod off? What was going on? He took a few steps and closed the distance between him and the couch, and sat down beside her. She rolled her eyes, then shot him an evil glare. "I thought I told you to go away!"

"To be exact, you told me to sod off," he murmured, eyeing her face carefully. She frowned.

"Then why are you still here?" He leaned forward and sniffed gingerly, and his eyebrows shot up.

"You've been at the fire whiskey again!" he accused, surprise evident in his voice. She turned to look at the TV again, and tried her best to shake out the fuzzy feeling that was slowly seeping into her brain.

"So? You're a Slytherin, you should be used to it."

"I am," he said, amusement in his voice. "But obviously you're not!"

"Do you mind?" she sounded annoyed. "I'm trying to watch this."

"Granger, how many fingers am I holding up?" he asked, putting two fingers in the air. She squinted, then giggled.

"Four, of course." He smirked.

"I would have never believed that someone as pure as you would get drunk once, let alone two times in two days!"

"Well, believe it, bucko," she slurred. "There was nothing else to do. I'm bored."

"We could play truth or dare again." A shadow passed over her face.

"No."

"Why not?"

"You might dare me to kiss you again, and I can't do that."

"I highly doubt I would, Granger," he said dryly. "But why couldn't you, if I did?"

"Kissing you is disloyal to Harry." She blinked. Her eyelids felt so heavy... so heavy.

"And how is that?" he asked, forgetting to be upset at the mention of Potter's name.

"Because I - oooooh, you are sneaky! You almost got me to tell you that I liked it! But I'm onto your little game, and I won't fall for it. Nuh-uh." His eyes widened. She'd enjoyed the kiss?

"So you've gotten yourself snookered - again - and you're just going to sit here and watch TV?" She nodded.

"Yes I am. No, I'm not. I'm going to go to bed," she stood to go to her room, and the room started to spin. "Or maybe not," she whispered, falling back onto the couch. A curious grin tugged at his lips. She was drunk again; maybe now was the time to ask her some questions that he'd been wondering about. She wouldn't remember them, would she? And besides, he reasoned, the fire whiskey was gone, so he'd never have this opportunity again.

"Why did you lie about not having your homework done?" She twirled a strand of hair around her finger.

"You hate me enough already," she shrugged. "And besides, I heard your Mum saying something about me getting higher marks than you." His stomach flipped over. She'd lied to keep his Mother from saying something to him about not having his work done, when she had finished?

"Why would you do something like that?" he wondered aloud. If the situation had been different, he was sure he wouldn't have done the same for her.

"Like I said, you hate me enough already."

"Did you really enjoy that kiss last night?" he asked, his voice huskier than he'd intended it. Her eyes widened.

"Who told you that?" He leaned slightly towards her, his heart racing. Something was very wrong with him. He wasn't drunk, and yet he felt drawn to her. If he kissed her, it would be of his own volition - and it would be his own fault. For the moment, though, he didn't care. The need to feel her lips against his again was unsettling, and it was a desire he had to satisfy. She gasped lightly when he brushed his lips against hers, and he pulled away.

"You kissed me again," she accused breathlessly. He nodded, then leaned in for another kiss. This time she opened her mouth to him, and his head began to swim. The longer he kissed her, the more intense the kiss became, until he'd managed to push her backwards on the couch. He was just about to begin kissing her neck when she stopped him.

"Stop," she said quietly, putting her palms on his chest and pushing. He sat up, allowing her room to get off of the couch.

"Why?"

"I-I can't," she said, shaking her head. "I just can't! You can kiss me all you want tonight, but in the morning, you'll just hate me again, and I can't do that!" She bolted to her room and slammed the door. He sat on the couch, bewildered. She was right. Tomorrow he'd hate her all over again - wouldn't he? He shut the TV off and went upstairs, praying to whatever Gods there were that he would. Hate was a much more familiar emotion than the one he felt every time he looked at her. Hate was something he could deal with. The new feelings she was awakening in him were alien, and they frightened him. He went back to bed, thoroughly confused.

Hermione awoke with a slight headache. She sighed and opened her eyes; it was a nasty day. Rain pelted against the windows and drummed on the roof. Her first thought was of Harry and the Quidditch match - she hoped he'd remember the charm to keep his glasses clear. Her eyes flew open when she remembered Malfoy's kiss last night. What was going on between them? She wondered. She got out of bed and pulled on a pair of jeans, then slipped into a vibrant red t-shirt before going down to breakfast.

Narcissa and Draco were both already seated at the table, eating in silence. Hermione sat down as far as she possibly could from Draco, and refused to look at him. Narcissa noticed right away. She wondered at the change in them. They'd been at each other's throats from day one, but today they were strangely subdued. What had happened last night after she'd gone to bed?

"Good morning, Hermione," she said, smiling. Hermione smiled weakly back and nodded.

"Morning."

"Do you have any plans for today?"

"No," Hermione admitted, biting down on a biscuit. She chewed for a moment, then smiled ruefully at Narcissa. "There really isn't much to do locked away in this house, is there?"

"I suppose you're right," she said, eyeing her son thoughtfully. He looked extremely uncomfortable, which bothered her. Draco was never uncomfortable anywhere, or with anyone. She observed the teenagers eating their breakfast, then watched as Hermione finished and sat her plate in the sink. She exited the kitchen without saying a word, and Narcissa turned to look at her son. He was frowning.

"Is everything alright, Draco?" She took a sip of her tea. His eyes flickered up to hers, and she was surprised to see the confusion in them.

"Why wouldn't it be?" his voice had come out more uncertain than he'd have liked it to. She arched an eyebrow.

"You and Hermione seem strange this morning," she said casually. "Did you two have an unusually bad row last night?"

"No," he said honestly, looking away from her. She waited patiently for him to say more. When he didn't, she prodded him gently again.

"Why don't you tell me what's wrong, and I'll see if I can help."

"It's nothing," he said quietly, waving his hand in the air dismissively. He couldn't tell his mother that he'd kissed Granger. It was just too embarrassing. Then again, maybe if he told her, she could tell him how to stop the whirlpool of confusing emotions that were swirling around him.

"Are you sure?"

"I - I ..." his voiced faltered. "Nevermind. It's not important." He bolted from the table before she could ask anything else, and went upstairs. Before he realized what he was doing, he knocked on Hermione's door.

"Come in," she called softly. He took a deep breath, then pushed the door open. She was standing at the window with her back to him. He took a step inside the room, then shut the door behind him. She turned and looked at him in surprise. "What do you want?"

"I want to talk," he said smoothly, not believing that he was actually in her room, and not insulting her with every breath. She blinked in surprise, then nodded and sat down on the bed.

"Alright," she said softly. She wondered if he was going to tell her that he had been drunk last night after all. That would explain his behavior, wouldn't it? She stiffened slightly when he sat down on the bed in front of her, the same way Harry had done last night. He ran his fingers through his hair nervously, then looked up at her.

"Do you remember last night?"

"I think so," she said, wrinkling her brow in thought. "I drank the last glass of fire whiskey and went to watch TV."

"Is that all you remember?"

"No. I remember..." her voice died, and her cheeks turned scarlet. She refused to mention that kiss. It only confused her when she thought about it. He was watching her carefully.

"Do you remember telling me that you felt like you were being disloyal to Potter?"

"Yes," she said, her face burning. She'd hoped he wouldn't remember that.

"I wanted to ask you why it made you feel that way."

"Oh," she said, frowning. Why did he want to know? She didn't know why, but something had changed between them. She could feel the charged atmosphere between them, and wondered at it. Was she just imagining it? She'd dreamt of his kisses last night, and she felt awkward about it. Why couldn't she dream about Quidditch instead? "I - I suppose it's because you're Harry's enemy, and he's my best friend. Of course it's going to make me feel disloyal to him. I would never do anything to hurt him."

"But it was during a game of truth or dare," he protested, trying to make sense of it all.

"I know."

"And we were both drunk."

"I know."

"Then why would it make you feel that way?" And why would it make me feel the way I do?

"I..." Suddenly she felt shy. He hadn't hurled a single insult at her yet, and he seemed genuinely interested in what she had to say. Would it hurt anything if she told him how she felt? She bit her bottom lip in thought. He already hated her; how was it going to make things worse between them if she told him? "That was my first kiss." The words were barely audible.

"Oh," he said, his eyes widening. She had told him that she'd never kissed a boy before, hadn't she? She squirmed uncomfortably under his gaze, wondering what was prompting him to be so... decent towards her. He cleared his throat. "Well, since we're going to be stuck here together for a while, I suppose it wouldn't hurt if we agreed to try and be civil to one another. For my mother's sake," he added quickly.

"I agree," she said, her bottom lip trembling. The truth was that he had rendered her speechless; she wasn't sure what she should be thinking or doing. It was easiest just to agree with him now, and think it through later, when he wasn't so close that she could smell his favorite soap on him.

"So, Granger," he said, standing. He needed to put some space between them, and quickly. He could feel his walls crumbling, and it terrified him. To think that he could possibly be attracted to someone he'd hated for so long turned his entire world upside down - although he had to admit that it was an exciting twist of events, whether he liked it or not. He leaned back against her desk and stared at her, enjoying the way her cheeks turned pink and stayed that way. "What do you do for fun?"

"I like to read," she said, surprised by his question. He rolled his eyes.

"Everyone who goes to Hogwarts knows that," he said dryly. "What else do you do?"

"When I'm at home during the summers I like to go camping." His eyebrows flew up.

"Is that so?" he mused aloud. "I never would have taken you for the outdoorsy type."

"I love being outside," she asserted, smiling down at her coverlet. She sighed noisily. "It's horrible, being cooped up in here all the time. I almost wish Voldemort would find me and kill me." He blinked at her.

"You want to be killed?" he asked incredulously. She refused to meet his eyes. "What could be so bad in your life that you'd have such a death wish?"

"Nothing, I suppose," she said, glancing up at him. "But you have to admit, it is really boring here." His steely eyes met hers, and she looked down again, surprised at the depth behind them.

"It is," he said, crossing his arms over his chest. "So let's think of something to do."

"Like what?" she asked curiously, lying back on the bed. She stared up at the ceiling, over at the wall - anywhere that didn't take her eyes towards him.

"Didn't you say Potter has a chess set?"

"Yes, but I also remember telling you that I'm no good at chess," she pointed out. He smirked.

"I believe "suck" was your actual phraseology." She snorted softly.

"Leave it to you to remember me saying that I sucked at something." He grinned and shrugged.

"Afraid I'll tell your friends?"

"No," she said, shaking her head and smiling. "They already know I suck at it. That's why I refuse to play them." He smiled at her, and she froze in surprise. That was the second genuine smile she'd seen on him since they'd been here, and she was floored by it. He looked incredibly sexy like that; smiling and lounging against the desk. She felt her cheeks begin to burn, and she looked down at her hands, feeling ashamed for thinking such thoughts. He noticed the change in her mood immediately, and wondered what he'd said.

"Why don't I teach you to play, then?" he suggested loftily. She blushed harder.

"So you can just laugh at me when I lose?" she teased. "No, I think not."

"Well, what do you suggest we do then?"

"Harry has a TV and movies. We could watch a movie."

"I think my mother would know something was up if she saw us watching a movie together."

"We could just tell her we've agreed to try and get along for the time being. After all, I'm sure that when we get back to Hogwarts, you'll just hate me again, and vice versa." He felt a stabbing pain in his gut. He didn't know why, but he knew suddenly that he didn't want her to hate him anymore.

"Alright," he agreed smoothly, trying his best to prevent the emotion he felt from surfacing in his voice. She got off of the bed and went downstairs, with him following close behind. She knelt down in front of the TV and held up several different movies for him to choose from.

"Which one?" she looked down at them and sighed. He gave her a questioning look. "I didn't realize Harry was so violent," she explained, noticing that four out of seven movies were action. Draco smirked.

"Human nature, I suppose. Why don't we watch that one?" he asked, pointing to a comedy. She nodded and put it on, then sat on the couch. He sat down next to her, and she jumped slightly. His left knee was almost touching her right knee.

They watched most of the movie in silence, except for the few times Hermione burst into giggles. Towards the end of the movie, Draco laughed at something, which caught her off guard. She stared at him, her jaw dropping slightly. He caught her looking and raised an eyebrow at her.

"Something wrong, Granger?"

"You should laugh more often," she said shyly, looking back at the TV. He eyed her with growing interest, and his heart began beating faster.

"Why is that?"

"You have a nice smile." Her cheeks were now scarlet. He gave her an amused grin, even though she wasn't looking at him.

"Do I?"

"You know you do," she said, laughing nervously. He sucked in a deep breath, and decided to try his luck. He moved his knee slightly so that it was touching hers. She looked down in surprise and bit her bottom lip, but he noticed. It was the reaction he'd been hoping for.

"I didn't think you would ever like my smile."

"I've never seen it before, have I?" she asked, still staring at the TV.

"Not many people have," he admitted, inching slowly towards her.

"That's a shame. It changes your entire face. Makes you look like a totally different person."

"I can't say I have very many reasons to smile," he frowned. He thought about his father, and how he'd controlled their lives for so long. She saw his frown, and wondered if she should say anything.

"You know, you don't always have to be what they want you to be," she said quietly. He turned astounded eyes to her. Had she known what he was thinking about? The sympathetic look in her eyes would normally have made him furious, but right now... right now it was doing funny things to his head.

He stared at her for a long moment before leaning towards her. She looked surprised, but she didn't move away. His pulse roared in his ears - was she going to let him kiss her, while they were both sober? He looked into her eyes one last time before brushing his lips against hers. After several moments, he touched his tongue to her lips. When she parted them, he raised a hand to cup her cheek. He could feel her trembling, and felt he understood.

He'd kissed plenty of girls before. He'd been kissing girls since he was twelve years old, and he and Pansy Parkinson had made out in her bedroom at Christmastime. He'd slept with girls before, too. None of them had ever created this feeling in him; this burning desire to consume and be consumed in return. He felt her hand touch the back of his neck and fought off a moan. Her fingers were silky, and their gentle touch was driving him wild.

He left her mouth to trail kisses up her jawline. When he reached her ear, his hot breath gave her chills. He bent lower and tasted the skin on her neck; something he'd wanted to do for two days now. He was not disappointed. Her skin was just as sweet and smooth as he'd imagined it would be. She shivered and pushed him away suddenly, breathing heavily.

"Stop," she whispered. "We can't."

"Why not?" he asked, his eyes locked on her throat. He licked his lips, not noticing her shiver again as he did so.

"It will only complicate things," she said, only half believing her own words.

"What things do we have to complicate?" he asked, feeling lightheaded.

"We were actually being civil to each other," she said, turning her eyes away from his. "I don't want to ruin that."

"We're not ruining it," he protested, leaning towards her again. He kissed the side of her neck softly, and she closed her eyes. "We're improving it."

"So instead of talking to each other, we're just going to snog every time we're alone?"

"You say that like it's a bad thing," he drawled softly, flicking his tongue against her neck. She closed her eyes and took in a ragged breath before pushing him away and standing up.

"We can be civil to each other, but I refuse to be anything more. It isn't right, and we both know it could never work out." She turned on her heel and ran up the stairs, leaving him staring after her in amazement. His head was still reeling from the taste of her, and his hands ached to touch her.

"Damn," he whispered, a smirk tugging at his lips. He'd never been kissed like that before, and he never wanted to be kissed any other way again. Somehow he was going to have to make her understand that they should use their time alone to their advantage, but how?