Fire Melts Ice

Chapter 1

It was senior year for Hermione and she was Head Girl. That was absolutely no surprise. What was, however, was that she was now in a deserted building down a dark alley in Hogsmeade, lost, and facing Draco Malfoy. "What the hell happened?" she asked herself as she gazed terrified at the two wands clutched in his hands: his own plus hers. She thought back to the beginning of the trouble.

Well, it was all that Ravenclaw Head Boy Terry Boot's fault. He had said some girl from Slytherin house was pregnant. "What the hell am I supposed to do about it?" he had asked her. "I don't know what the bloody hell possessed her to tell me! She can't tell Snape, and she didn't want to talk to you, but too bad. You're going to have to take care of it. She gave me this to give to you. Here." He had stuffed a scrap of parchment into her hands roughly.

In brief, it was a desperate letter addressed to Hermione. The girl, whose name Hermione hadn't recognized, was threatening suicide and pleaded to talk to Hermione alone in some obscure alley next Hogsmeade weekend. Like a fool, Hermione had thought only of her tiresome duty as Head Girl and agreed by a reply letter forwarded through Terry, as Hermione still didn't know which Slytherin was "Savanna."

They'd planned to meet at the corner of Rillwheat and Squire at 2:00. Hermione would have been early, because she had already been to the far side of town with Ron and Harry, who had been her boyfriend for almost an entire year now. She had left them early, explaining that she had some "Head Girl business" to take care of. She had been coming up Rillwheat when Draco Malfoy had stepped out of an abandoned-looking building at the intersection to which she was heading. He had come down the street toward her with a particularly smug smile on his face, but she hadn't been able to see it or recognize him until it was too late.

He'd gotten close and disarmed her first. It was about then that she had realized that it had all been a trap. While her head was spinning and wondering who had orchestrated it, whether Terry was involved or just a tool, and why her, approaching footsteps were heard. Malfoy had looked up as if expecting someone. However, the wizard in scarlet robes that was visible coming toward them on Rillwheat obviously wasn't who he had been planning to meet. Malfoy had grabbed her by her shoulders while she was still in shock and practically thrown her into the closest, falling-apart building.

Now she was staring at the deadly end of Malfoy's outstretched wand while he ordered her under threat of death to stay quiet. A satisfied smile played about his lips that could only have come from the exhilarating feeling of having complete control over someone he despised.

She was against the wall with him only two feet in front of her. The smile was going to drive her insane. No one can tell me what to do. Least of all, Malfoy. The footsteps were approaching. She was about ready to scream her lungs out and dive through the window into the street hoping for a savior when Malfoy lazily silenced her with a flick of his wand. An iron grip on her shoulder that was sure to leave a bruise (if she lived long enough) foiled all hopes of a leap to safety.

Her heart beat like a rabbit's and sent burning, almost nauseating waves of adrenaline pumping through her as the scarlet-robed man passed and they were once again alone.

"We'll wait here," Draco informed her in a lazy tone. "My father will be coming shortly. I do believe that you were supposed to meet us at Rillwheat and Squire, though. It is no matter, however. He will find us quickly." His slow, contemptuous blink was like acid on her heart.

He took a step closer and ran a cold finger down her cheek just to spite her.

Hermione, still unable to speak, raised a fist to deal him a blow. He caught her hand neatly and chided her.

"Now, you have to learn some manners before meeting someone so far your superior. First, a mudblood may not touch a Malfoy, but you will accept anything we choose to do with your pathetic existence," he almost purred with sick amusement.

Hermione had recovered her voice to a whisper. "What do you want with me, Malfoy?" she spat as cruelly as she could muster.

"Oh, surely someone of your profound intelligence can make a guess?" He sneered at her. "Perhaps not," he amended after pausing. "It certainly wouldn't be the first mistake that fool Dumbledore has made." His eyes bore into her while she boiled with rage internally. "You are acquainted with Potter, are you not?" His smirk grew as realization dawned on her and horror played through her face.

Draco looked up; more crisp boot soles on the flagstone street could be heard. They were coming the way Hermione had come. From Draco's expression, she guessed that it was who they were awaiting.

"It's now or never. If I am taken, they'll kill me eventually, and Harry, too. He's about ready to call." As Draco lifted his head half an inch and parted his lips to speak, Hermione did the only thing she could possibly think of to keep him from speaking. She stepped forward and placed her own soft lips on his barely open ones, pressing herself against him as she did and prayed that he would be like any other 17 yr. old wizard and forget everything else.

He was surprised, but he was overwhelmed, too. Her passion was like nothing he had ever felt before. Pansy was just as forceful, and twice as willing, but Hermione was different. Draco leaned into her and wrapped his hands around her body. Changing his mind, he brought his right hand back and slipped it into her robes and under her muggle shirt.

Let it end, let it end! Please! She listened desperately as the steps continued past. She let Draco get as far as her upper stomach before she threw him away and seized the wands that he had held loosely while in his passion. "Petrificus totalus!" she hissed triumphantly, and watched him fall, frozen in shock, to the hard ground. She pocketed his wand but held her own defensively. At the door, she looked out cautiously to see the continuing back of Lucius Malfoy. She waited until he had reached the agreed meeting spot, looked around, and went down Squire some. I might not get another chance. God, where are Harry and Ron? Where am I? How did I get here? How the hell was I that gullible?!? Glancing back at Malfoy to make sure he was still immobile on the floor, she dashed down Rillwheat away from Lucius.

She didn't say a word to Harry or Ron when she got back to the school. Somehow she couldn't. She was too disgusted with herself for falling for it in the first place, and then kissing Malfoy...she didn't want to think about it anymore. It had already played and replayed itself a thousand times in her head. Each time, she remembered hoping that it would all be over, yet her body had been throbbing for more. He had kissed her back, and she had felt the warm tingles that Harry sometimes brought out in her. No I didn't! That's impossible. It's Malfoy. I felt horror, and nothing else. God, Hermione! Stop thinking about it!

"HERMIONE!" repeated Ginny for the third time.

"Huh?" Hermione looked up from the mashed potatoes on her dinner plate that she had been absentmindedly pushing around.

"I was wondering what you did to your robes. They're filthy."

Hermione looked down. They were. Streaks of age-old dust from when Draco had forced her into the dilapidated structure decorated the usually perfect blackness of her clothing. A small rip could be seen on the hem in the front if she looked hard. "Reparo," she muttered; then, "Scorgify." "Nothing. I was pushed down in the crowd on my way back. Thanks for telling me."

Hermione dazed off again and glanced over to the Slytherin table. She didn't see Draco, which was probably a good thing. If he got back, he wouldn't be too happy with her. She shuddered involuntarily. I'll have to remember not to make my Head Girl rounds alone for a while...

"...about fifty snapping tarts." Ron pulled one out of his pocket and proudly displayed it to the surrounding Gryffindors. "They burst into flame and make loud popping sound if you try to eat them."

"Ron, don't give any to the first-years," she said distractedly.

Harry looked up at her. "We won't" he assured her. Someone already told them all about the snapping tarts. That's why we also got exploding truffles." He produced one out of his pocket.

Hermione frowned disapprovingly. "Really, we're seventh-years. You'd think you'd have something better to do then pick on helpless preteens."

Ron rolled his eyes and put the tart away. "Yes, mum. No pranks while you're around."

At dinner the next night, Draco was present with a scowl that might have killed someone with a weaker heart than Hermione. As it was, she shivered when she caught his eye over a mouthful of turkey. She quickly averted her gaze.

"What's stuck up his arse?" asked Harry, who had followed her stare. "Why is he looking over here, anyway? Isn't there enough people in Slytherin to occupy him?"

"I don't feel so good," murmured Hermione. "I think I'm going to go up to my suite."

"No, don't go," pouted Harry. He got up and wrapped his arms around her. "I love you," he whispered softly in her ear. "Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?"

"I love you, too," she returned as always. "No, I just feel sick. I'll see you guys around later, though. Maybe I'll take a potion that'll wake me up properly tomorrow morning."

Harry insisted on walking her at least to her and Terry's main door, though, and gave her a tender kiss on the lips that almost made her feel completely better. He slipped his arm inside her robe and circled her narrow waist. "Are you sure you don't want me to come up with you?" he asked persuasively.

"Yeah," she answered softly, giving the statue the password. She had disappeared through the crack and was halfway up the small staircase to her personal bedroom before the warmth in his arms had faded and he had realized that she wasn't standing in front of him anymore. With a stark reality, the stone slabs beside the statue thudded together again, and Harry meandered back down to the Great Hall wondering what was bothering Hermione.