The Definition of Insanity

The Definition of Insanity Chapter One: Broom-Closet Indulgence Written by: Dizzy

~*~*~*~

     They could both pinpoint, to the minute, when it had all started. The torrid "affair" that consumed their nights and made their days drag in that slow monotony. It was different for both, but strikingly similar in nature. It was insane and lovely all at the same time. It was simple and complicated. It was a bundle of contradictions. The list was endless about what exactly "it" was. And somehow they couldn't explain it. Not to themselves or to their friends. So they didn't. They just let it happen. Just let things play out as they were.

For Hermione it had been a serious of rather out-of-character activities that led to the start of "it". Beginning with her waking up late, running about her room in a frenzy of frantic, last-minute packing and mental checklisting that finally ended with a harried 'goodbye' and a peck on her parents' cheeks before she stepped through the entrance to Platform 9 and 3/4. Hermione Granger wasn't usually late. She had been prompt and efficient since the receiving of her first day planner, always on time since her first alarm clock. Until THAT day. The day she had overslept. That day she had scrambled about her room for her uniform, throwing it on in a haphazard sort of fashion. That day she had snapped the elastic that usually held up the thick silky mass of material she called hair and she'd been in too much of a hurry to dig through her things for another. So she'd left it down, brushing it a few times in the car on the way to Kings Cross. That day she'd almost missed the train to the one place on earth she could seriously call her haven.

Almost. Sometimes she wondered if it would have been better if she HAD missed. If she'd just found some alternate mode of transportation. But in some ways she figured it was unavoidable. She had been bound to see him eventually, and the effect would have been no different.

Hermione had barely had time for a hug and a peck on the cheek to both of her best friends, who gaped at her for a moment, laughing a bit at her frazzledness, and then a quick catch-up before the train had started moving and she was forced to hurry on to her first official meeting as Head Girl.

It was a heady feeling, being Head Girl. A goal she had worked her entire academic life for. A goal that had taken many long nights of studying, many painful neckaches, and a loss of eyesight that forced her to wear the somewhat chic pink framed glasses that were perched on her nose. A goal that had been realized when the owl that had come on July 21 at exactly 2:35 midday declared that yes, Hermione Granger, as expected, would in fact be the newest Head Girl at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She could still remember the tears on her face and the squeal of delight. She could still feel the hugs of pride from her parents and still taste the tiramisu from the celebratory dinner. And like the train ride, she wondered if it would be better to not be in her position. If that would have changed anything. She doubted it.

She had fairly sprinted down the slightly rocking corridors of the train to the compartment at the very end, her hair, the one beauty she possessed (she felt), trailing in a stream behind her. She had reached the compartment, face flushed, eyes twinkling, school uniform in apparent disarray, and robeless. Not the best first impression, but at least she was on time she reasoned, pushing open the door.

It had been then. At that exact second. First day of term, on the Hogwarts Express, in that little tiny compartment, that her life had changed.

For there, standing just 5 feet from her was the most beautiful man she had ever seen. And the most loathed person in her entire mind. Draco Malfoy. The summer had changed him almost to the point of no recognition. The baby fat that had been ever present for the past six years had melted away, leaving behind smooth, slightly dented cheeks, aristocratic cheekbones, and giving emphasis to the same cold, slightly startling silver eyes that had looked on her with utter contempt for so many years. He was still as pale as moonlight, his hair still silvery blonde but now, rather then the somewhat pouffy slicked-back style of his youth it was parted down the middle, falling about his ears and forehead in a way that made her fingers itch to push it back.

He had always been tall, a bit on the lanky side in years past, but he was well over six feet now, and no longer lanky it seemed. Muscles that had never been there before graced his arms and chest, filling out broad shoulders and giving way to a wide chest.

Hermione felt her breath catch for a moment, not realizing that at the same moment the reason for it was doing the same thing.

Unlike Hermione, Draco Malfoy had seen nothing extraordinary about that day. He had woken early, before the rising of the sun, and lay there staring at the ceiling for what seemed like hours before the cold hand of his mother rested on his forearm, her usual method of waking him.

As per tradition he had given her the jerking nod, telling her he was awake. Then he had showered and dressed with the usual Draco Malfoy precision: no wrinkle allowed anywhere, not a crinkle in his pants, only sleek, smooth lines. He had arranged his things neatly beside the door for the house elves to deal with, and had then joined his mother for their silent but customary breakfast.

Lucius was not there, as custom dictated.

And just like always he had sat in silence throughout the ride to the station to catch the train. His mother's only good-bye was the gentle, subtle squeezing of his hand as he stepped out of the coach, and his was only another jerky nod. He left his things in the carriage and boarded the train. Early as always.

So surely a day as ordinary and inconsequential should not have held such a surprise and life-changing event for him. Surely it was odd that such a thing had happened. But he didn't question it. Draco Malfoy had been raised to believe that everything that happened in life served a greater purpose, that everything one did mattered in some way.

So when Hermione Granger had stepped into that compartment, and he had felt his stomach pull and his hands clench he knew it was for a reason. He just didn't know if it was for a good one.

The light from the train of the window caught that glorious hair of hers, almost forming a halo of chestnut brown around her. Her cheeks were rosy, her lips full, and she was certainly not the mousy little runt of a girl that had shadowed the Boy Wonder and his peasant friend for all those years.

She was full-bodied and glorious to look at, still petite with her slim waist and hips and her somewhat compact breasts; her cheeks were full, her lips alluring, her legs long and slender. He caught his breath. This was not the Hermione Granger he knew.

It had been such a simple meeting, an assessment of changes, a spark of surprised interest. But yet so complicated in nature.

"What-" Hermione tried again, sucking in a breath. "What are you doing here?" Draco simply held up the badge that declared him Head Boy and shrugged, plopping onto the couch. And that had been that. So inconsequential, so normal, but it had changed everything.

~*~*~*~

The worst thing was not the lust, it was the tension. Purely sexual in nature. It was the closeness.

Their bedrooms were a mere 12 feet away from each other, separated by a small two-person common room only. Their conversations were forced but pleasant, polite but strained. They avoided each other.

She chose to seek refuge in the same place she always had, the library that had gotten her the position, the common room that she had once shared with her best friends, and now shared again despite the fact that she had her own. One she didn't particularly want to share with HIM.

They couldn't say there was hate there anymore. They had somehow reached a silent truce of peace on the train with the lifting of that badge. They shouldered their responsibilities and their past at the same time and managed to somehow balance the two.

Draco had never really hated HER anyway. She had just been associated with too many bad things. Potter, Muggles, the Weasleys. Everything he had been brought up to loathe. The Boy Who Lived, the people who weren't pure, the people who weren't rich. She had been rude and obnoxious since they had met at age 11, but it was more in defense of her friends, of her heritage, and there was something in that to be respected. An honor he couldn't deny. He hadn't really hated her. Just everything she stood for, everything he was jealous of.

She HAD hated him, however. She thought him arrogant and more then a bit rude. He was all in all a complete arse to both her and her friends and for years she had despised him. But Hermione had always been a quick one to change opinions about people, not so much about life views, but about people yes. She had always been tolerant of things most people weren't. Hagrid's being a half-giant for instance, the idea that House-Elves should be compensated for another. She had always looked at the person rather then the things they did. People were easily manipulated creatures and prone to acts of utter insanity that couldn't be explained, only forgiven. So it was just as easy for her to cast aside the years of ridicule, the number of infirmary visits and the hurt from his words as it was for him to decide she wasn't so bad after all. That was not where the complication lay. Not in hate turned to lust, not in years of feuding turned into nights of passion. The complication lay in the world around them. The views of others. Insanity is by psychological terms defined as a deviation from the norms of a society. Insanity is defined as a chemical imbalance. And could lust not be qualified under these conditions?

Which brings us to their present state. Mere months away from complete graduation from the place they had spent so much of their adolescence in. Months away from their destinies.

And while they could pinpoint the day the change had taken place, they couldn't for the life of them remember when it had started. Not that they much cared. That it HAD started was enough for them.

Hermione felt the gentle tug on her arm, the frenzied yank of her person into what she could only describe as a Broom Cupboard. Where it was dark and smelled faintly of dust and the increasingly familiar scent of lemon and for some reason, roses. The first she knew was because of his love for candy of that flavor, which he kept secreted in a small box in the right pocket of his robes. The latter she really had no clue. But it was alluring nonetheless.

She opened her mouth to comment on his particularly romantic spot for a hallway tryst. But before she could his lips were on hers in a way that left no room for sarcastic jibes.

His kisses were hot and sweet at the same time, leaving her breathless, never failing to make her stomach flutter, the tug on her bellybutton increasing with every meeting of their lips, with every harried kiss.

"Hey," he murmured, his lips finding hers again, his hands roaming over her stomach, caressing her sides for a moment under her shirt, thumbs brushing her navel. She shivered and pulled away a bit. "Hey." And then it started again. She felt her back pressed against the wall, his other hand in her hair, ruining the bun she had put it in just moments before. His other one was snaking further up her shirt, calloused fingers brushing the small of her back, his thumb tracing the edge of her bra. He had such lovely fingers.

"I've missed you," he gasped, and then those lips were on her neck, sucking, biting, licking. She was running out of adjectives to describe it.

"Feeling's mutual," she said breathlessly, her hands finding their way to his face to pull him back up for another kiss. "But we can't do this here," she murmured against him, rubbing the inside of her leg against the outside of his a bit.

"Of course we can." He continued his assault, sending her into a lusty daze, her vision hazy, her glasses askew.

"No," she tried again. "We can't."

"There's no one here, Hermione."

She loved it when he said her name. It lilted off his lips, like a song to her ears. He dragged it out like no one she knew, making just her name itself sound like a lover's endearment.

"That's not the ISSUE," Hermione felt her voice rise in pitch on the last word, coming out as a bit of a squeal, as his head dipped lower, tracing small wet kissed down her neck to her collar bone, his fingers moving languorously over her breasts. She moaned deep in the back of her throat.

"No, Draco." She was almost panting now, rubbing her leg against his again. "I have to go to class."

"Bugger class." She could almost see his annoyed expression, even in the pitch black of the broom cupboard, but still he continued to slowly assault her senses by bringing his head back up to nip playfully on her ear. "You're learning more here," he whispered into it, before dipping his tongue just behind it. Hermione gave a little meek noise of pleasure, but resumed trying to push him away.

"I HAVE to go Draco."

    She gave him a demure little peck.

"I'll see you tonight," she whispered. "Promise?" She gave him another, resisting the urge to give into more. It was always like this when they parted. Draco wasn't insecure exactly, but there was something he needed about their "relationship" for lack of a better word. Something he craved. It made a girl feel all tingly.

"I swear."

~*~*~*~*~ Like all days at Hogwarts since then, the time seemed to pass agonizingly slow. Minutes seemed hours, hours seemed endless, and each ticking of the clock seemed to go slower then the last. During class they were the picture of innocence, snarling insults when the situation called for it, but their hearts weren't really in it anymore. In the halls they appeared to ignore each other, in the Great Hall they ate and laughed with their friends. On all fronts it appeared normal. They were becoming pros at it. The lies, the deceit. There was a certain thrill to seeing each other. A certain exhilaration that came only with the knowledge that what they were doing was not allowed. And never would be.

It was only in the comforts of their tower that they could be truthful again. It wasn't love. At least they didn't think so. It was simply . . . release. Codependency. They each needed the other. If only for a little while.

So they counted the minutes. They edged further to the sides of their seats, closer to the door. They wolfed down meals. Spitting out excuses about tests, studying, meetings with Dumbledore. Broom training. ANYTHING to get away.

It was a shock no one noticed them leaving in exactly 5 minute intervals. That day it was Hermione who initiated it, almost choking on her meal, forcing conversation with Ron and Harry between bites, smiling at them as she stood. "Sorry," she murmured apologetically. "Test tomorrow in Transfiguration. Did you guys study?" They at least at the decency to look embarrassed, Ron turning a shade of red, Harry ducking his head. It was the best way to put them off. She shook her head in disapproval. "I'd suggest it." And she grabbed her bag, flouncing out of the Great Hall.

Exactly 4 minutes later Draco stood as well, sighing exaggeratedly. "Where are you going?" Pansy demanded, ever the vigilant stalker.

He glared at her. "If I wanted you to know I'm sure I would have told you." He wasn't much for excuses. He turned away from his fellow Slytherins and left the hall, arriving at their common room exactly 5 minutes after she had made her exit.

She was on him in an instant. Fingers tearing at the cloth that separated them, his cloak falling to the floor. There was nothing prim and proper about the Hermione HE knew. The one who revealed herself only in secret, the one that belonged solely and utterly to him.

This Hermione had set her glasses on the end table beside the couch, tossed her books in her room, and had already saved him the trouble of unbuttoning her blouse. This Hermione was well disguised in the other Hermione's almost knee-length dull gray school skirt, her crisp white blouse. But this Hermione was giving him a tempting glance at(?) white lace underwear, her Gryffindor tie hanging sexily undone around her neck as her fingers struggled with his.

"It's been-" he kissed her, smirking. "Forever." He breathed, and kissed her again, this time with meaning. There was no mistaking what it was. She didn't even nod, she simply began her fumbling with the tie again, stepping further backwards into the common room, bringing him with her by the neck. He almost sighed and reached up, batting her hands away as he undid the tie himself, her hands going to his robes, deciding they were far easier to deal with.

They were still meeting lips feverishly, drinking from each other, tasting the sweet intoxicants that lay just beyond full, slightly puffy lips. "Your room or mine?" she breathed. Draco said nothing, merely angled her already walking backwards body towards his, never pausing for a moment. They had little time before the Prefects meeting that night, and he wanted to savor it. Her fingers brushed his chest as she moved slowly down the buttons of his dress shirt, his robe lying forgotten on the cold stone floor just behind the couch she had steered him around. His tie had dropped forgotten onto the table beside her glasses, and her own shirt was tossed haphazardly over her armchair, her tie on the floor beside his robes. His lips went to her neck as they did a funny little backwards dance towards his room. She moaned low and huskily. "I waited all day," she murmured. He moved lower still, kissing the spot just between her breasts.

"It's been longer then a day," he said shaking his head. Truthfully it hadn't, but it had seemed like he hadn't seen her for years. Every meeting went like this.

"I know," she murmured as his lips went to her ear, her fingers raking up his chest, dancing lightly on the toned flesh there before pushing his shirt off his shoulders completely, where it landed in a pool of expensive silk just before the door. If he noticed he said nothing, just pushed her backwards against the door, grinding his hips against her for a moment as her right hand left his chest to fumble with the knob of the door, trying to balance on one leg as the other was wrapped around one of his. His lips continued their assault on her senses, her eyes trying it seemed to roll completely back into her skull as she whimpered for more, arching against him as he dipped his head again and again. Finally, after what seemed like forever she finally managed to figure out the doorhandle, the door fell open, sending them stumbling into the room, his arms going around her waist to catch her before she fell. But he didn't pause for an instant. In these moments there were no distractions.

He half carried the girl to his bed, throwing her down upon it unceremoniously before comically diving after her. Hermione giggled as his fingers traced small patterns on her stomach, the other hand working on the front clasp of her skirt, just as her hands began to try and rid him of the confining and, now, somewhat uncomfortable slacks. He pulled back slightly from his kissing, her lips red and raw, her face flushed, her eyes glassy from pleasure. His eyes met hers for a moment and then he kissed her. Sweetly, the passion still there, but controlled now by something else entirely. Her hand went to his face, stroking the skin of his cheek for a moment, trying to take him all in, drinking from him as he kissed her. They had hours yet, but somehow it just didn't seem like enough. They wanted forever.

~*~*~*~

Hermione waltzed into the old classroom that was used for prefects meetings, greeting the prefects with a nod, hoping she didn't look as flushed as she felt. Her hair was up in its usual haphazard bun, which usually was only haphazard because of a certain Slytherin who entered moments later, scowling as per usual before taking a seat at the front. He propped his booted feet onto a desk, crossing his arms over his chest, glaring at the room. This was not unusual behavior for the boy and none of the occupants of the room had the decency to at least looked a bit frightened, save for Neville Longbottom, an odd but satisfactory choice for prefect who would probably be scared of Malfoy if the boy presented him with flowers and heartfelt words of adoration. Hermione glared at him, if not a bit weakly before taking a seat beside him, steepling her fingers before her.

It was moments like this that kept up the facade. Constant public hatred. They were both skilled at acting it seemed, for no one seemed the wiser. They had their meetings, they chatted with friends, they went to Hogsmeade and somehow managed to control themselves. Although it was times like this, with him sitting there glaring that glare that made her want to just dive on him and . . . Hermione cleared her throat, ready to begin the meeting. They always had later. Although the 'laters' were becoming shorter by the day.

The year was almost ending. It was mere months before graduation, before they left Hogwarts forever, and Hermione knew what awaited them beyond that. They had never discussed it, never even brought it up, but it was there, always.

~*~*~*~

Later that night, as she lay in his arms, Draco found himself unable to sleep. As he often did. Sleep was not a pastime he enjoyed. It was full of complications. When you slept you were vulnerable. Both internally and externally. So he usually didn't. Except for when she was there. When she was there sleep came easily. She grounded him, kept him away from the dark. She was all purity and softness. As he looked down at her he couldn't help but smile. What they shared was complicated. It wasn't quite love. But it wasn't quite hate either.

It was a mutual satisfaction of sexual desire. They both needed each other. For one purpose or another. They both used each other to achieve their means, and they felt no shame. Why should they? He ran his hand up her bare up. You couldn't shame something so perfect. There was simply nothing to be ashamed of with perfection. And it was.

Draco needed her to keep away the dark. She was everything he had been taught to loathe. Everything he had hated with all his being. She was Muggle-born, a factor in itself that should have kept him away. She wasn't rich, but she wasn't quite poor either. She was upper-middle class, but in his eyes it was only two steps above poverty. She was sweet and kind and utterly selfless. Qualities that made a person weak. But she had something he needed. And he had something she needed. But most of all she was something forbidden. And that was probably the sweetest thing about it.

She needed him for something else entirely. He wasn't forbidden to her. Potter and Weasley would be accepting enough after time. They loved her, they cherished her, and for that he despised them. They had her in a way he would never and could never. Weasley especially. Weasley looked at her the same way Draco did. With unbridled lust, he leered at her and wanted to possess her just as Draco did. But he was a coward, and he always would be. Perhaps one day, after this was over, he would have her, and Draco would be left with his life, but that day was not today, and it was not anytime in the near future. Weasley would have to wait. Potter had her in a way Draco couldn't even imagine. He was her friend, completely supportive and loving in every way, and Draco would never be her friend.

But she needed him. She didn't need Potter and Weasley. She could live without them. He supposed she could LIVE without him as well, and soon she would have to, just as he would have to life without her, but there would always be something missing, something changed. There were always new friends to have, new lovers to cuddle, but theirs was a unique situation. It wasn't hate. But it wasn't love either.

She needed him to help her. It was strange, he knew, but true. She seemed to have everything: good friends, perfect grades, a loving family; but she lacked something that only he could provide.

The outside-world Hermione was faultless. She made perfect marks and was hardly ever in trouble, and even when she was it was never, ever her fault. Her clothes were immaculate, prim and proper, tidy and neat, her skirts long, her blouses loose, her shoes utilitarian, and her robes shapeless and purposeful. She was smart and pretty, but in a sexless kind of way. In other words, she was completely boring.

Once, in the Potions class they shared, he had gotten an idea of what exactly kept her from having someone besides him. It had been those two friends of hers, the girls Lavender and Parvati, who had opened his eyes. They sat there giggling, as they were prone to do, their superior gazes on the girl hunched over her scroll, hastily copying notes from the board. "If she ever had a sexual encounter it'd be for research only," the darker one, Parvati had remarked dryly.

"She'd probably take samples," the other one had said. And they had giggled. And he knew it was true. She was utterly sexless in nature. At least outside of their place.

She needed him to help her break out of that stigma. To assure herself that she wasn't undesirable, to let herself know that she was indeed a woman, and that she was just the same as everyone else. He made her feel beautiful and desired and he gave her the intimacy and physical contact that she lacked everywhere else. No one would know of course. That was the nature of their relationship. But she would know, and that was all that concerned her in the end.

He kissed her temple. What they shared was something no one would really understand. Something they didn't understand. It wasn't quite love. But it wasn't quite hate either.

~*~*~*~*

Hermione stretched leisurely, thankful for the weekends. It was the only time she got to catch up with herself. She gravitated towards his warmth, sliding her leg against his. He stirred but barely, his arm dragging her closer. She smiled against his chest. These were the only tender moments they shared. The only thing close to a real relationship they had. Those few and sweet moments before and after the sex that consumed them.

Sometimes they talked. They talked about life and love in general. But never really about themselves. Sometimes they had the mundane, 'How was your day? My day was great how was yours?' conversation. And sometimes they voiced complaints about fellow students and teachers that got on their nerves. But it never got personal. She didn't know about his family other then what she had seen. He didn't know about hers. They never talked about commitment or relationships, or even friendship. They never talked about the future. And they liked it that way. Ignorance was bliss. The not knowing was so much more interesting then the knowing.

This way she could speculate and mold him into what she wanted him to be. In her mind he was the tragic hero, abused and unloved for all his life and she was his savior. In her mind he loved her and she him and what they shared was so beautiful the two of them together stole the breath of those around them. What they shared provoked smiles and shared looks of "Aww. Aren't they in love". The fantasy was so much better than the reality.

She wasn't in love with him. At times she loathed him. There were times when the emotions behind their fights were real. The sarcasm was true and the barbs were meant to hit home. But all was forgotten once they reached the 4 rooms they shared. It didn't matter what fight they had gotten into in the corridor before class. It didn't matter what foul names they called each other. Here it was forgotten, and replaced by memories that were forgotten outside of their space. She was living two lives, it seemed.

In this one she was sexy and beautiful. In the other she was mousy and bookish. In this one she had a boy who kissed and held her, she told her she was lovely and she knew he wanted no one but her. In the other she was alone and unwanted by all. Regarded as a sexual pariah without feelings and totally without sexual desire. But she was loved. Loved for her mind and her friendship. In this one she was used.

She wasn't sure which one she preferred.

She stretched again, tracing one nailed finger down his bare chest, following the grooves of his abs, circling his navel. After a moment he caught her hand, and she looked up into those hard silver eyes and smiled. "Good morning sleepy boy," she murmured, and leaned up to kiss him. His arm snaked around her, his hand in her hair. God, he loved her hair. He loved the weight and silken feel of it. The way it moved across his body and wrapped around them. It was her best feature and it was his. They both accepted this. She indulged him by keeping it up and in its tight, secure bun all day, only letting it escape for him. Their kiss turned more serious and she felt his hand dip lower, across her back. "Waking up with you is the best," he murmured. She nodded, arranging herself across him.

"It's about to get better."

~*~*~*~*~

Ron and Harry were waiting for her when she reached the Great Hall that morning. They smiled in greeting, Ron offering her a small wave, scooting over slightly on the bench. She grinned at them and sauntered over, plopping happily onto the bench. "Good morning." They grinned at the chipper girl. She hadn't always been a morning person, but lately mornings seemed to be the best time for her. Usually she was antsy and on edge. They assumed it was the upcoming finals, the end of the school year. Their graduation. It could be anything with Hermione.

"Coming to the game?" Ron, the keeper for the Gryffindor team asked through a mouth full of toast. She wrinkled her nose, lifting up his chin with an index finger to close his mouth.

"Of course." She wasn't looking forward to it, though. Slytherin versus Gryffindor. The matches she had come to dread. "But I know the outcome." She waved her hand dismissively. Harry was still grinning, this time knowingly. It was no secret that Gryffindor had a practically flawless record against their main rivals, and it was also no secret that Harry was a big factor in that. She wondered if it was starting to go to his head a bit. He had always been a fairly modest boy, shrugging at his fame and practically ignoring his fortune. He considered it a burden, and she had always admired that about him. "You're our good luck charm," Ron grinned at her, flinging an arm over her shoulder and hugging her to his side. She laughed.

"Well, I have never missed a game . . . surely that has something to do with it." Sometimes, though, Hermione wasn't sure which side she was rooting for. Sometimes she just wanted Draco to have his moment in the sun.

"I think it'll be a long one tonight," Harry took a bite of his eggs. "Malfoy's getting better." As if on cue the two boys cast a disgusted look over to the Slytherin table where the boy in question was pushing his eggs around his plate. Ron turned back.

"We don't have to worry about him," he said angrily. "He's the worst seeker they've ever had." Hermione knew that wasn't true. What Draco lacked in Harry's natural talent he made up for in cunning and ruthlessness. His skill with a broom was less instinct and more honed.

"That's ridiculous." Hermione picked up a piece of toast, spreading strawberry jam on it. "Malfoy's a good seeker."

At their disbelieving looks she forced a smile. "He's just not as good as Harry." The boys grinned again. Trying to get off the topic of Draco, Hermione changed the subject. "So, Double Potions today."

"Ugh," was Ron's reply.

"Double Ugh," echoed Harry. They began to tear apart the horrible character of the Potions master, all thoughts of Draco Malfoy banished, and she allowed herself to cast a look over at him for a moment. He was glaring at her, his own toast halfway to his mouth, his eyes on Ron's arm, which was still around her shoulder. She felt her heart swell, and then the guilt in the pit of her stomach. But she couldn't pick between the two. The thrill of his jealousy and her guilt over it were about equal. She left Ron's arm where it was.

Double Potions was possibly the worst thing about the long days at Hogwarts. Forced to sit in such close proximity to each other, not able to touch or even look was torture, a true test of their skill as liars. And they were very skilled.

Snape, the professor in charge of the horrendous period, had it out for Hermione and her friends, but doted on Malfoy and his, taking points away from Gryffindor left and right, only to award them to his own house, Slytherin. It was horribly biased and unfair, but that was the least of her worries. Snape was incredibly perceptive, and more then once he had cast a suspicious eye upon her and Draco, eyebrow raised, wondering. And wondering was never a good think. Suspicion could get you in trouble, and both of them had too much to lose. So she sat there, demure, taking her notes, trying to ignore the feel of him. Just being near him made the hair on her arm rise. It made her fingers itch to touch, and for the whole two periods, every time they had them, she would cross and uncross her legs over and over as some kind of displacement activity. The soft scratch of her cotton knee socks against each other was oddly comforting, and the click of her heels against each other distracted her from her thoughts.

Harry and Ron always noticed her tension during this period. They attributed it to her strive for perfection and Snape's utter disregard for her brilliance. More then once he had jeopardized her marks, taking off points and grading unfairly on what Ron called the Malfoy Curve. Which basically meant anyone not Malfoy would do badly. They did what they could. Reassuring smiles, jokes, affectionate pats on the head or hand.

Today though, in an uncharacteristic show of boldness, Ron had taken to rubbing her back. His feelings for the girl were no secret to anyone but her. She was completely oblivious it seemed, too caught up in grades and her pursuit of knowledge to notice. But everyone else knew. They looked upon him with sympathy, showered him with encouragement and more then once he had heard the phrase "Just GO for it Weasley," from his mates. But he usually kept things pretty platonic. An occasional hug or affectionate arm and hand-holding. But today he was feeling confident, her acceptance of his arm at breakfast, which he had left there for as long as possible until eating with one hand became too much of a chore, had further inspired him.

So when he heard her frustrated sigh as she leaned over her cauldron, looking at the bright green bubbling liquid with distaste, occasionally throwing in the ingredients they had chopped up so meticulously, he couldn't help but try and comfort her. His hand went to her back, right at the small of it above her skirt. She smiled at him, a small, encouraging smile in his eyes, but in hers a smile of thanks, nothing more. He continued to rub her back, massaging the skin with his fingers. "Just chill out," he said, holding up a small Gregorian mushroom, which she had clenched to a battered mess. "Innocent ingredients everywhere are suffering." She smiled again, and tossed in a little wolfsbane.

"It's just . . ." she sighed. "This class is so frustrating." He nodded in understanding, giving her the hemlock with his free hand.

Across the room Draco angrily dumped a whole bottle of the red liquid into his own potion, turning it a deep, ugly brown. It bubbled for a moment, a few bursting here and there. He then tossed a whole chunk of the wolfsbane before him in, the satisfying plop of it in the liquid doing nothing to curb his anger. God, he hated Weasley. He hated his hair and his freckles and his poverty. He hated his utter disregard for the line between purebloods and muggle-borns. Although lately for Draco that line had been so severely blurred it was practically nonexistent most of the time. But most of all he hated his closeness to her. Closeness they could share in public. Something Draco, a boy who had been taught at a young age that one could have anything if they tried hard enough, who had more than enough money and power, could never ever have. Snape looked between the two sides of the room. He looked at his favorite student, face flushed with rage, eyes hard and cold, glaring daggers at the side that held the other half of Snape's attention. The potion before the boy was ruined, but Snape wouldn't hold that against him. He never did. Why he didn't know. His ties with the Dark Side were banished, for appearance purposes only. But still he felt a respect and kinship with the young Malfoy, a respect for the boy's father as well, and thus he treated him better.

The other half of his attention rested on another promising but utterly disgusting pair, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley. Hermione herself was beautiful, she was intelligent, but he hated her with a passion born only of years of prejudice. Ron Weasley himself was an oafish idiot, and not worth Snape's time in the least. But Hermione had promise. She rarely made mistakes, and when she did they were not as horrible as he sometimes made them out to be.

He saw the Weasley boy's hand on the girl's back, rubbing in small circles to ease her obvious tension, his face close to hers whispering sweet nothings and words of comfort into her ears. And he saw the anger on Draco's face as he watched it. The boy continued to toss ingredients in with a force that startled a few of the classmates surrounding him. Lavender and Parvati, who occupied the row in front of him, had moved as far forward as possible to keep from getting splashed. There was something there, something he couldn't figure out, but he knew it wasn't good. He glared at the Granger girl. In his book it, whatever it was, it was just another reason to loathe her.

~*~*~*~*

"You're going to the game." It wasn't a question, it was a request, or an order, she wasn't sure which. Hermione nodded, sweeping her long hair up into its usual bun. She could see him behind her in the bathroom's large mirror. "I suppose you're going to be rooting for them." Again it wasn't a question. She looked up, her eyes catching his in the mirror.

"You don't know who I root for."

"But I know which side you sit on."

She whirled, letting her hair fall about her shoulders, and glared at him. "What would you have me do? Just sit myself down on the Slytherin side? Oh hey guys, yeah, I decided I needed a change of scenery today." Draco said nothing, but she could see his fingers clench on the towel around his waist. "I'm sure that'll go over real well." She turned back to the mirror and began putting her hair up once more.

"Fine." His tone was clipped and angry. She watched his mirror image leave the bathroom and sighed. Sometimes he could be so childish. He knew just as well as she did that it was impossible. And it had always been enough, until today. He had never questioned where she would sit. There was an unspoken agreement that they would remain normal. Hermione checked her appearance once more, grabbing her scarf. On her way out of the bathroom she wound it around her neck.

Draco was sitting there, dressed in his Quidditch robes, his broom in one hand, glaring at her from his armchair.

"I can't do it," she said finally. "You know that."

"I know." He continued to glare at her. "But while you're rooting for Potter and Weasley know that you choose the losing side."

"Draco, what do you expect?" She could feel her anger rising again. Today was a day of firsts it seemed. Never, in all their time together, had they fought in their space.

"Nothing." He stood up. "I don't expect anything. And I don't think you should either. We're going to graduate together but after that there's nothing. We won't get married, we won't have children and we won't ever see each other again." Another first. They never talked about the future.

"So this means nothing to you." Hermione whispered, she felt her stomach roll. Draco made his way to the door, broom clenched with white knuckles.

"No. It doesn't mean nothing." He looked up at her, silver meeting hazel. "It just doesn't mean everything."

~*~*~*~*~

Beside her Ginny Weasley clutched her arm, bobbing up and down in excitement. It was cold out, and Hermione was grateful for the enthusiastic girl's warmth. But she could have done without the hysterics.

She could remember a time when she was the same way, squealing and gasping with the crowd of people around her, digging her nails into whatever she could reach. But now it was different. Now she didn't cheer, she didn't chant, she simply watched with frequently held breath, her eyes darting after them on the field.

She felt like cheering would be an act of betrayal. So she'd stopped. Her eyes flashed from Harry, to Ron, to Draco, checking all of them to make sure they were okay.

When Harry and Draco both pulled out of a dive at almost the same exact second she did dig her nails into Ginny's arm, her breath catching in her throat.

When a Bludger was sent too close for comfort towards Draco's head she gasped, but too low for the girl sitting beside her to hear it.

She hated Quidditch. It was a stupid sport that took up too much daily conversation for her liking. It made her have to choose. And until then she hadn't wanted too.

Then came the moment of truth. Ginny clutched her arm as both Harry and Draco saw the Snitch, dancing right below them in glittering gold, and dived. Hermione held her breath, closing her eyes.

She could hear the gasp and cheers of the crowd, feel Ginny's nails digging into her arm, but she couldn't bring herself to watch.

She knew it was over when she could feel the rumble of the stands and the deafening cheers around her. She opened her eyes, and let out a breath.

Harry stood on the field, grinning triumphantly, Snitch in hand. Next to her Ginny leapt up and down shouting at him, even though there was no way the boy could hear her over the crowd.

Hermione's eyes immediately sought out Draco. He was further behind Harry, clutching his broom angrily in his hand. Glaring at the boy. She bit her lip, wanting to go to him. Wanting to comfort him. Ginny was pulling her down the stands towards the field. Towards Harry. Towards Draco.

Hermione's eyes caught his and she offered him a look. It seemed to say, "I wanted it to be you." And he understood. He nodded gruffly, going back to join his teammates on the other side of the field.

Hermione smiled at Harry, giving him a congratulatory hug. Watching Draco over his shoulder the whole time.

~*~*~*~*~ That night, in their respective rooms, things had changed. Changed dramatically. As they often did when Draco was faced with a disappointment. Hermione felt herself back away from him, the look in his eyes ferocious, predatory. "Don't you have anything to say to me?" Her voice was shaky, nervous. She felt her back hit the cold stone of the wall, and tried to edge sideways, thankful for its support.

"No." He continued to advance in those lazy, stalking movements of his, his eyes dark with lust, his form tense. Ready to pounce.

"Not even a hello?" She said nervously, eyeing the door to her room. It was 20 feet away, all the way across the common room. And Draco was much, much faster then she was.

"Hello." And then he sprang. Hermione shrieked in surprise as one of his hands caught both of hers, and held them above her head against the wall.

"How was your day?" she tried again desperately. He just looked at her. And his free hand began to slowly unbutton her blouse.

"Fine." His lips caught hers, his hand pushing her wrist harder against the wall, his other one expertly relieving her of her shirt in one fell movement. He had amazing hands. Hermione moaned against his mouth, all fear flying from her head as he kissed her. "And yours?" His lips went to her neck.

"It was-" Hermione let out a little squeak. "Great."

"Yeah, I bet." He nipped at her earlobe, his breath hot in her ear, his hand moving towards her skirt, brushing the skin of her bare stomach. "Bet Weasley made it all better." Hermione pulled her head back against the wall, glaring at him as he continued to work on her skirt. "What's that supposed to mean?" He ignored her, but the pressure on her wrists increased. Her skirt fell to her feet, pooling around her clunky shoes. "What is that supposed to mean?" she repeated, but he silenced her with his lips. His kiss was hard and commanding, and as per usual she was powerless against it.

Just as she was getting into the kiss, however, he broke away, his eyes hard and full of lust, staring into her own.

"No more words," he said slowly, and she nodded dumbly. He made no move towards either of their bedrooms, he didn't even take her to the couch, or his armchair, or her armchair for that matter. His free arm snaked around her, brushing against the small of her back.

His fingers played with the black fabric of her bra for a moment before he released it, and then brought his arm back around, removing one strap lazily. His lips went to her neck and Hermione arched against him. Slowly he removed the other strap, the bra joining her skirt on the floor. She idly kicked them both away, clad now only in her panties, shoes and knee-highs. He reared back for a moment to smirk at her, and then his lips went into a different direction entirely, which was difficult as he still had her arms above her head. Hermione almost shrieked as his mouth found one of the most sensitive spots on her body, and she found herself tugging against his grip, wanting nothing more then to run her hands through the silky mess of blonde hair and keep him where he was. He moved to the other side and she struggled harder, squirming, delighted. She could feel him smile against her breast, his free hand at the bikini strap of her underwear. She let her hips rise to give him better access as he slid the fabric down her legs, and she kicked it away when it fell.

"That's better." He was wearing too many clothes she thought hazily as his mouth continued to move across her chest, rising to place hot wet kissed against her collar bone. She tried again to free her wrists, but he wouldn't concede, merely continued to hold them firmly against the wall.

She felt exposed and vulnerable, but this was how he liked her, and she felt a little thrill in her stomach, fluttering happily. His free hand was going to his pants now, releasing himself from their confines, and she bit her lip, arching against him once more. She was so close now. She needed him. She could feel the ache, the desperation, and she tried to free her wrists again to speed up the process, but he was having none of it. He was in control now. He was winning at something, at least.

With his hand he lifted one of her legs, setting it around his waist, and she complied, locking it around him. He switched hands then, the other one going to bind her wrists, and the newly freed one lifting her other leg. She locked both together at the ankles behind his back, practically begging him with her body to just get it over with, arching her hips toward him. And then all slowness and pretense was forgotten. He entered her roughly, banging her against the wall so hard her teeth clanked together. She saw stars for a moment.

Draco froze, looking down at the dazed girl. "God, did I hurt you?" She smiled weakly up at him.

"Jesus Draco, I think you loosened a couple of teeth." But she was fine as she rose her hips to meet his.

"Minx," he murmured, and then he kissed her. And all thoughts of the day vanished from their minds as they lost themselves in each other.

~*~*~*~*

Hermione had waited for damn near 2 hours when she finally decided to take a little initiative. The day had ended for both of them early that Friday, and still, 2 hours after their last class Draco hadn't shown up.

So she grabbed the cloak, figuring that he was probably on the Quidditch pitch, venting his frustration over having lost again. Sometimes he did that. Practiced and practiced until she came and forced him to stop. And even then getting him to come down and stop the stupid broom drills was a trial.

She pulled the cloak around herself and swept out of the common room, full intent on talking some sense into the obsessed boy.

When she got there however she was met with a different sight indeed.

Audrey Anderton was the newest addition to the Hogwarts staff, the first female Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher in a long time. She was young, only around 27 or so, with short auburn hair, bright green eyes and a cheery disposition, which made her a favorite among even the most stuck-up students.

What Hermione liked the most about her was the fact that she was Muggle-born, in fact the only Muggle born teacher at Hogwarts, and more then that she brought more of the Muggle world to Hogwarts than even Hermione herself.

In fact, right at that moment the woman was smoking a cigarette, her hands trembling as she spoke to the man next to her, concern overtaking her usually pretty face.

Hermione crept closer, ducking under the bleachers, not wanting to eavesdrop, but finding it hard not to. She was surprised to see that the man in question was none other then Severus Snape, and from the looks of it they were on more then friendly terms. For the first time in her life Hermione could see a look other then utter loathing on his face. He looked guilty, desperate, his hand clutching the much younger woman's in a show of apologetic affection.

"I just don't see why you HAVE to go," the woman was saying. Professor Anderton's voice was usually soft and lilting, but now it was angry and more then a bit hard.

"I have to go," Snape was saying, looking at a loss. "I don't have a choice."

"Exactly." The woman took a drag on her cigarette, the smoke rising in soft, wisping tendrils into the air. Obviously Draco wasn't here, which normally would have been Hermione's cue to leave, but curiosity over the welfare of her favorite teacher, and over the fact that the rumors about both Professors were in fact true made her stay right where she was. "Quit being his puppet." Snape glared at the woman, wrenching his hand away.

"You know perfectly well I don't do this for him," he said coldly. "I do it for Albus."

"And for that boy." Whoever the boy was Hermione hoped he was far, far away; the edge she heard in the professor's voice was enough to make her cringe.

"And for the boy." Snape took her hand again. "If I could stay here . . . with you . . . you know I would." And Hermione heard more sincerity, more emotion in what came next then in all her seven years at Hogwarts with this man. "In an instant."

"You put yourself in danger," Professor Anderton said softly. "And for what? Some shattered sense of nobility? For forgiveness?" The woman took another drag on her cigarette, neither acknowledging his hand on hers, nor dismissing it. Just sitting there. "You can't save that boy."

"But I can try," Snape stood up. "I see there is no point in arguing with you about this, Audrey."

"Indeed." The woman took another drag, her voice cold, and Hermione knew that if she could see her face she would see a hardened mask of determination.

"I will return within a fortnight," Snape said finally.

"Perhaps." The woman's tone was icy.

"I WILL return," Hermione almost cried out as Snape somewhat violently took her favorite professor's chin in his hand, gripping it tightly. Hermione shifted positions to see better. Professor Anderton merely looked at the man, neither flinching nor giving him the pleasure of a reaction. She simply brought her cigarette to her lips, took a drag, and after a few seconds of staring at him silently, she expelled the smoke in his face. "Sometimes," Snape was saying sadly, releasing her chin, taking a step backwards down the bleachers, "I think you hate me."

"No," Professor Anderton said, shaking her head. "You hate yourself. I merely hate what you do."

"Why?" Snape was pleading now. It was all very out of character for him, and Hermione couldn't help but be interested in the change.

"Because it's pointless. You endanger your life for a man simply because you want to repay him for a kindness he bestows on people far less deserving. You endanger your life to save a boy who cannot be saved, and does not wish to be saved." Snape turned away, and Hermione heard him start down the bleachers. She ducked further under them into the shadows as she saw his form walk away, towards the building. After a moment, and a few more drags on her cigarette, Audrey Anderton spoke.

"You can come out now, Miss Granger." Hermione gasped, taken aback. "You'll find I am much more perceptive then most," the woman said. And Hermione grudgingly edged around the poles supporting the bleachers, out onto the pitch, and climbed up them towards the pretty woman who had earned so much of her respect. And lost it.

"Mister Malfoy is not here," Audrey said, taking another drag, her gaze directed far off in the distance. "That is why you came out here?" She looked to Hermione then, who blushed and ducked her head. "Like I said. More perceptive then most," Professor Anderton said gently.

"I'm sorry," Hermione offered after a moment's silence. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop."

"Lying will get you nowhere," the woman said, smiling. "People don't accidentally eavesdrop. But I do not mind. I know you'll keep my secret safe." She stretched out a long, robe-clad leg. "Stay here, talk with me awhile. I've been meaning to meet with you." Anderton took another drag on her cigarette, and held it up. "Want one?" Hermione blushed again and shook her head. "Silly of me." The woman smiled again. "Of course you don't."

"What did you want to speak with me about?" Hermione asked.

"The only thing worthwhile going on in your life." When Hermione looked confused, the woman smirked. "Mister Malfoy, of course."

"He's not the only-" But Anderton held up a hand to silence her. "Nonsense. He is the reason you get up in the morning." Hermione at least managed to look affronted, but the woman spoke the truth. Her trysts with Draco were all she had to look forward to in a world full of monotony. "You should break it off with him." She took another drag of her cigarette.

"Why?" Hermione glared at her professor.

"He will only hurt you." Anderton gave a bitter snort. "Death Eaters are remarkably skilled at doing that." Hermione stood up.

"I don't see how your relationship with Professor Snape has anything to do with-" Audrey looked up at the girl, usually so observant in everything else, and looked at her with pity.

"Surely you see the similarities?" Audrey said softly, tossing her cigarette to the ground. Hermione simply stood there, waiting. "Snape is not good for me. And Draco's entering a time in his life that you simply can't be a part of."

"What are you talking about?"

"Well . . ." Audrey paused, taking out her pack of cigarettes and drawing out another one. "I'm sure this breaks the student-teacher code in one way or another, but you WERE eavesdropping so I guess you have a right to know. Being the boy's lover and all." Hermione had a sinking suspicion the 'boy' Snape and this woman had been referring to earlier was Draco. And she was right. "Draco is on the eve of the greatest accomplishment of his young life," Professor Anderton said sarcastically and snorted again, lighting another cigarette. And with it still dangling from her mouth she said, "We have such high hopes for him." There was so much sarcasm and bitterness in her voice it was quite unnerving to Hermione. She blew out a puff of smoke; it swirled away into the sky.

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked slowly.

"I suppose he didn't tell you." Audrey's comment was more to herself than anything. "Why would he?" She shook her head, taking another drag. Hermione briefly wondered how long it would be before the young teacher would succumb to lung cancer. "School ends in two months," Audrey went on. "And Draco will not be at graduation."

"Why not?" Audrey blinked, and regarded Hermione as if she were one of the stupidest creatures on earth.

"Didn't you know?" Audrey's voice was mockingly superior. "Graduation night is the night of the Blood Moon," Audrey took a drag on her cigarette, and Hermione could see all the months of bitterness being with Snape had brought her; it twisted her usually beautiful face, making it ugly with anger. "That's the night your little lover-boy joins the fold. And Severus, stupid fool that he is, is going to get himself killed trying to stop it."

Hermione couldn't breathe. There was no mistaking the implications. She had seen it coming, of course. Draco had never mentioned it, but she knew. She knew just as everyone else knew. But knowing their time was so short, a mere two months, was a blow to her heart.

"How-" Hermione swallowed, willing her voice to be even. Willing herself to not burst into tears. "How can he stop it."

"He can't." Audrey took another drag on her cigarette. "No one can."

~*~*~*~*~

That night, it was Hermione who changed.

Draco smiled when he saw her sitting on the couch, book in hand, no light but the fire in the hearth that flickered and danced across her features. She didn't look up when he entered, so absorbed was she in her book. She had once commented that Draco stalked, he did not walk. Which was true: he was a silent person by nature. While his insults were loud, he walked as though he were partaking in some secret spy mission.

So, taking advantage of her lack of concentration, he crept closer, smoothly navigating around the large couch, ducking low to avoid detection in the dim light. And then he sprang.

He wrapped his cold hands around her eyes, laughing at the shriek the girl in question emitted.

"DRACO!" She wrenched away from him. "Your hands are freezing." Grinning wickedly, the boy advanced on her. Hermione leapt from the couch. And instead of backing away like she usually did when he did the predatory dance she merely stood there, waiting for him to reach her.

Draco pulled her into his arms, his kisses hot and persistent, but Hermione pushed him away, a hand on his face.

"Slow," Hermione said softly, and kissed him sweetly, chastely on his lips. "Go slow." Confused, he looked down at her. Obviously he was going to be no help. Hermione placed a hand on his chest. "Let me show you." She pushed him backwards, and he complied, watching her every move. He liked it when she was in command; though he liked it better when he was, there was something so wonderfully sexy about a girl in charge. She pushed him backwards towards her room, a place they rarely visited on their little escapades. "What did you have in mind?" he whispered, and Hermione gave him another of those innocent little kisses. When he tried to deepen it, tried to take more, she merely moved away.

"You're missing the point," she whispered, and then her hands were on his face, her fingers splayed across his cheeks.

"What point?" His voice cracked, and for a second he felt embarrassed. This was so utterly different then anything they usually did.

"I don't know yet," she admitted, and her thumb made a path across the aristocratic cheekbones that had fascinated her for so long. Draco couldn't move, he could only watch her as her fingers traced a path across his face, her thumb brushing his lip and then moving upwards against his cheek. She stood up on her tiptoes giving him another pristine kiss on the lips. Her hands slipped back down, one gently undoing the clasp on his cloak.

Draco reached to unbutton her shirt, close to ripping the cloth, but her small hands on his stopped him.

"Slow," she whispered, and guided his hand to one button. Trying his best to comply, he forced himself to curb his enthusiasm. One button at a time, languorously slow. Hermione's hands had removed the cloak and it fell against the bed, forgotten. "Slow," she whispered again, and then moved to his shirt. He mimicked her actions, moving from one button to another, eyes locked with hers. When he removed her shirt she removed his, her hand dancing a bit across his bare chest. Draco tried again to make it go a bit faster, close to rage as she stopped him again with a gentle hand on his. She led him back to the bed, giving him another of her sweet kisses, but taking it no further then the barest touch of lips before she pulled away again, sliding her hands down his chest slowly, with just the barest hint of pressure. It was like being stroked with a very firm feather, he thought dumbly as she pushed him down onto the bed in a sitting position. Draco's hands went to her hips, trying to slide her skirt down or raise it up, whichever was fastest, but she ignored him, continuing to run her hands across the length of his chest, across his neck to his face.

His eyes locked with hers once more, and before he could say anything she leaned in, her breath hot against his ear.

"Slow, Draco." He was completely at a loss. They had never taken it slow before. It had always been a frenzy of passion with them, ripping off clothes, sometimes not even removing them, but tonight was different.

"I-" he sputtered. "I don't think I know how." Instead of laughing at him as countless other women in the world would have done, Pansy Parkinson included, she merely nodded seriously, and leaned in. "Then I'll teach you." It was a first in their "relationship," Hermione teaching HIM something about sex. But it was a truth. Draco had never, in all his experience, done the slow thing. He was all furious passion and wanton temptation. Always. He didn't know how to be anything else. But apparently she was going to show him. Hermione slid onto his lap again, every movement utterly relaxing to watch. She was all grace and fluidity. He scooted a bit further back on the bed, letting he knees rest on the mattress on either side of him. Their eyes locked for a moment and Hermione smiled, and he couldn't help but smile back. And then she kissed him. It was tortuous, this kiss, so sweet and full of promise, gentle stroking and exploration. The first real kiss they'd ever shared. Her hands were around his neck, one tangled in the soft hair at his nape, and she continued to kiss him.

It was rather like being a schoolboy on a date, just now rounding second base. He could feel the underside of her arm pressed against his shoulder, her chest against his. Slow was good, it seemed. It was all sensation, just like fast, but you were able to enjoy it more slowly. The kiss went on for what seemed like hours. They were just getting to know each other, the first simple kiss of a simple relationship. It was almost like pretend, he realized. They were just a teenage couple snogging in a bedroom. Like so many countless others that went to this school.

After what seemed like an eternity of waiting, of wondering, Hermione pulled away, smiling softly at the boy, who looked more than a bit dazed. She splayed her palm across his cheek again, her eyes locked with his. Draco could barely breath at the beauty of it all, could barely think with this girl sitting across his lap, appearing so innocent, so wonderfully gorgeous. Slowly she pushed him back against the mattress, her hand going up to her hair, letting it loose from the confine of her standard bun. It fell in luxurious waves all around them and she shook it a bit, tickling the skin of his chest. She continued to sit up, him lying beneath her. She leaned down and kissed him again, and he lifted his head up to fully appreciate it. But she pulled away, sliding down the length of his body. Draco closed his eyes as her hair slid down his chest like silk, and he felt like he would explode if they didn't start this soon. It was torture, exquisite torture, but torture just the same. He licked his lips as she continued her descent down, teasing him with her hair, that wonderful hair he couldn't get enough of, and then she was at his waist. Her small, delicate hands unbuckled the belt, grazing the area just below his bellybutton.

"Slow is wonderful," Draco murmured, wanting nothing more then to stay this way, with this girl and her amazing hair on his chest. Hermione's hand unbuttoned the pants he was wearing, although he barely noticed, his hands snaking down to stroke the mass of hair that blanketed him. Her hands continued downwards, relieving him of his zipper, and then she tugged gently on the waistband of his black slacks. He lifted his hips, allowing her access, and she slid the fabric down his legs, her hair gliding across his chest with every movement.

If there was a heaven he had already seen it, and it had something to do with this girl's hair. She was sliding up now, meeting him for another kiss. He tried once more to regain some of the fire of their previous encounters, but she managed to keep it so beautifully simple and chaste. He rolled her, so that he was on top, and then repeated her movements of earlier, sliding down her body, hands going for her skirt. He started to rush it again, fumbling with the clasp, but her hands stopped him again. He looked up and almost laughed at the look on her face; it almost seemed to say "No, No. Bad Boy." And then he continued, slower this time, drawing out the process of removing the article of clothing that was causing him so much trouble.

She smiled at him encouragingly, but stopped him just before he started on the removal of her knickers, her hand on the back of his neck drawing him back up her body to her lips. It was another of those amazing, take-your-breath-away kisses she was so good at, and for a few moments they lost themselves in it. Lips against lips, stroking and gently pulling with teeth, losing themselves.

"Now," she whispered against his ear, and arched her back against him, allowing him access to her bra. We have rounded third base, he thought stupidly, grinning like a boy who had done just that as he expertly removed the concealing thing.

Her hands were at his waist, thumbs hooked in the waistband of his boxers, and she slid them as far down as she could, using her feet the rest of the way. He kicked them off behind him, and relieved her of the same undergarments.

"Slow," Hermione repeated and Draco nodded solemnly.

"Slow," he whispered, and his hands traced a path up each one of her arms, ending their journey by lacing his fingers with hers, pushing her gently back against the pillow, her hair forming a halo around her. Fingers still laced with hers he placed both hands on the pillow, one at each side of her head and slowly, just as she requested, their dance began.

He concentrated on the strands of her hair, marveling at how silky and soft it was, how it shined in the light, but her voice broke into his thoughts.

"Draco." He continued his movements, slow and languorously, almost teasing. Her breath was a gasp, her words breathless. "Look at me." He ignored her, continuing. "Please look at me." His eyes snapped to hers. She held him there, caught in some kind of girlish force field. He could see so much emotion in them, she revealed so much. "Just keep looking at me," she whispered, and he did. And like always, all thoughts of life, of the shortening time they had, of the world itself really faded, and they lost themselves in each other, just as they always did.

TBC