Fire Melts Ice

Chapter 2

Several days passed without incident, and it was a week 'til Thanksgiving before anything major happened. Oh, sure, Hermione had seen Draco in the halls, but she had always been able to slide around to the other side of Harry, and Draco would merely throw some insult at him while glaring with the utmost hatred at her. She wouldn't go out late unless Terry or Harry was accompanying her.

She was beginning to feel much better about things, though. Draco had always hated her and that would never change, but he didn't seem as furious as he had at first. Maybe his head has somehow convinced him that it never could have happened, because it is simply impossible for a Malfoy to do something that results in a negative situation for himself. She almost laughed to herself at the thought. That would be perfectly understandable. Why wouldn't a Malfoy bend the truth to suit his own egotistical needs? I swear, some people will never understand that the world just doesn't always go their way.

Hermione had a bag strap slung over her shoulder and was trudging back from the library on a Thursday night. It was late, but not past curfew, and she wasn't afraid at all. She had just finished reading a few chapters on some advanced charms, and she couldn't have been in a better mood. I'll have enough time tonight to be able to be with Harry. Maybe we'll be able to go on a broomstick ride outside tonight...

And then it was almost déjà vu. Draco stepped off the top step of a staircase that adjoined the deserted corridor that she was on. He turned briskly and saw her. Hermione noticed his body freeze suddenly, and then become fluid once more. Like a snake... He glided toward her easily, and she turned her head to look for an escape.

"Mudblood!" he called. He stopped several feet in front of her. His eyes traveled up and down her body, giving her the chills; she barely even noticed his words.

Stop it, stop it, STOP IT! She yelled at herself mentally. How are you going to get out of this? She twined her fingers around her wand in her pocket and raised it almost out, so she'd be able to hex him before he could hurt her.

"You have my wand," he accused tersely, jerking his head a little. "I need it back. Give it to me." He advanced a step. He was taller than her, and his eyes were amazing. They were a beautiful, smooth blend of stone gray, metallic silver, and all the shades between.

Hermione, rather than hex him, retreated an equal amount, but she did draw her wand silently to point at his chest.

"What are you going to do?" he asked scornfully. "Kill me?" His cold, cruel laugh cut at her. "No. Give it back...Mudblood."

"I am Head Girl," Hermione managed. "Do not call me that. And do you really think that I am stupid enough to give you your wand back here? In an empty hallway? And trust you to be a moral wizard?" She gave him her own laugh,

Draco twitched a little. I'm a moral wizard. What does she mean by that? Stupid mudblood. She doesn't know anything about me, yet somehow she thinks she has the right to judge the world!

"No," continued Hermione shortly. "I turned it over to Professor McGonagall when I got back from Hogsmeade," she lied, feeling its weight in her left robe pocket. "I told her I found it in one of the halls."

"I don't have time to be visiting McGonagall," he informed her, taking another step forward, which Hermione countered with an equal withdrawal. At least I can tell when she's lying. I hate honest people. They are horrible at hiding true emotions. She'll be one of the first to go. No one can be that naïve and live for long. "You still have it. Give me my wand."

Hermione felt slightly faint. I can't give it to him; he'll hex me or do something. I can't hex him, because he'll tell and I might get expelled, at the very least my Head Girl duties would be revoked. And I can't keep backing up forever. Why does he always smile like that for God's sake?!

And honest people can never think like a dishonest person. It creates so many weaknesses...Draco closed his eyes.

Unsure of what he was doing and why, Hermione took several rapid steps backward. When he still hadn't opened his lids, she turned and ran.

He had caught her in less than a second, and had grabbed her around the waist with arms that were surprisingly strong. Hermione swooned and Draco, not expecting it, fell to the floor with her: he was on his knees, and her on her back. He leaned forward over Hermione with his left knee on her right side, and his right knee between her legs. When she attempted to sit up, he pushed her roughly back down. Her wand he immediately threw down the hall, and it rolled to a stop almost ten doors away.

"I hope that doesn't cause you too much trouble," he snarled sarcastically. He ran his hands, which Hermione felt as ice when they brushed the skin exposed by her shirt falling several inches higher than her belly button, through her pockets. He searched her right one first then found what he was looking for in her left.

"What do you know?" he drawled superiorly, spinning it in his long fingers. "The little mudblood lied for the first time in her life. And it was for me. I feel so honored." It's so easy with weak-minded excuses for witches and wizards.

Hermione winced. Is he going to kill me, or just curse me? Or is he going to try to kidnap me here, inside Hogwarts? Oh, please, please, God, save me!

Draco looked down at her face and saw that it was pure white. She was shaking in fear; he felt her leg quaking between his own two. But somehow it didn't feel as satisfactory as he had thought it would. Hurting her wasn't going to heal his own pain. Damn her! How did I let the stupid mudblood outwit me? I had her. Damn it! And then she kissed me. What gave her the right to kiss me?!

Hermione disrupted Malfoy's train of thought by attempting to rise again. She swung her right fist hard and it barely grazed his chin.

He took both her hands in both of his in one swift motion and pinned her back to the floor. "How dare you?" he snarled. Where does she get her guts from? I could kill her in an instant if I decide I want to...But I don't, he realized. Instead, he leaned over her, so it was apparent to every last bit of Hermione that he had complete control. Then, ignoring the throbbing of blood that had begun in his upper thighs when he had stretched over her, he picked himself up. What the hell is the matter with me? I should want to crucify her and hear her shriek in pain. I should enjoy her pain and fear. What am I doing? And why the hell do I feel this way? Damn it, the mudblood is not attractive!

Leaving Hermione prostrated on the hall floor, he turned and swiftly continued on his way.

Hermione lay several more minutes on the cold stone floor. What just happened? He took his wand, and I tried to hit him. He didn't hit me back. He didn't curse me. What did he do? Is this some sort of trick again? Is this a dream? All she could think about was the intense feeling of longing that had swept through her when she had sensed Draco's body above hers, felt the pressure of his legs on her, and seen the platinum shock of hair that had fallen down over his eye. No, I have to get up. I have to go back to the common room before someone sees me here and asked what happened. What would I tell them? Rolling over, she stood up warily and looked around.

The walls danced and threatened to throw her back to the stone, but she took a step and remained upright. Gathering her bag back up almost sent her sprawling, but by the time she had it, the world was still again. She fetched her wand, and, with thoughts ricocheting off the inside of her head to the point where she was barely able to remember from one second to the next where she was going, Hermione managed to get back to the portrait hole.

She leaned against the wall beside it and set her bag down. I have to compose myself before I go in there. I can't think of Malfoy. This never happened. It's impossible. STOP THINKING ABOUT MALFOY! Ok, I stayed late in the Library. I met no one on my way back...Why didn't he hurt me? Why didn't he take my wand? Why do I--DAMN IT! I DO NOT LIKE MALFOY!

Still angry with herself for the throbbing in her legs and her inability to block his smirking face from her mind, Hermione muttered, "Jack-o-lantern" to the portrait and climbed into the common room with a scowl that she only managed to conceal when Harry greeted her.

"Hey, 'Mione. What's the matter now?" He kissed her softly and a pale face with blonde hair and silver eyes reflecting torchlight flashed before her.

Hermione recoiled instinctively, and Harry gave her a confused look.

"What? What did I do? I'm sorry," he apologized.

"No, it's not you," Hermione breathed, then leaned in and kissed him hard, not caring that the common room was glancing at them interestedly.

I do not like Malfoy. I do not want to be kissing him. I am kissing Harry, and I am enjoying it. I am not thinking about Malfoy.

"Would you care to get a room?" asked Ron rather loudly.

Hermione blushed and pulled away again. She and Harry didn't usually kiss passionately in front of Ron because they had found it made him more than a little uncomfortable. Pull it together. Think. The last thing you need to do is get in a quarrel with Ron on top of all this.

Harry turned and escorted Hermione to an empty place at the table that he had saved for her. She sat down next to him docily and pulled out a piece of parchment, which she began scribbling on immediately.

"What are you writing about?" Ron snapped jealously. He had been thinking for the last fifteen minutes about what he could possibly say about the ringlow potion Snape had assigned them to write a foot on.

"The notes he gave us today in class. I only have an hour and a half to do all my work before I have to meet with Terry, then we have to make our rounds, and that will take forever. When we finally finish, I'll have to go to our suite and get some rest because we have a test tomorrow in Arithmancy."

"Where am I in your schedule?" objected Harry.

"If I finish my work in less than ninety minutes, I can spend some extra time with you," she whispered to him softly, hoping Ron wouldn't get too miffed. "If not, breakfast, lunch, and dinner. And we always have classes together."

"But that's different," pointed out Harry rather loudly, not bothering to take her hint and converse in undertones. "Everyone's there."

"What's the problem with everyone?" asked Ron abruptly.

Harry looked uncomfortable and didn't answer. "I think I've had enough of Potions papers. If this isn't long enough, then oh well. Snape will find some excuse to fail me anyway. I'm going to go up to the dorm."

When he had indeed disappeared through the door, Hermione turned on Ron. "What are you doing, Ron? You know we hardly ever get to spend time together, and now you've gone and chased him up to bed!"

Ron glared back. "How am I supposed to help your little spat? I was just pointing out that he never spends any time with the rest of us, either."

"He does too spend time with you!" contradicted Hermione. "You have more classes with him than I do, you don't have Head duties to take away from time together, and you even get to sleep in the same room as him! We never get to spend that much time with each other. Stop being so darn jealous all the time!"

"Oh!" began Ron heatedly. "So now you're going to go ahead and claim that you never slept with him, are you?"

Hermione's cheeks burned a bright red, and the entire common room turned to stare at her. With a gasping sob, she grabbed up her bag of books and fled the common room back out into the corridor. Behind her, she heard Neville begin to scold Ron rather meekly, but she was gone.

Tears streaked down her red-hot face and blinded her. Why does he always have to be so hateful? God, me and Harry haven't had sex, not that it's even any of his business. Sure Harry wanted to, but...I don't know, leave me alone. Why can't everyone leave me alone? I don't know everything! I don't know why I told Harry no, I don't know why Ron hates me so much, and I don't know why I can't stop thinking about Malfoy! She continued on, not knowing where her feet were taking her, either, and moreover not caring in the least. Up staircases or down, around turns or through shortcuts, she had no idea. With a shuddering gasp for air that wasn't full of her own tears, Hermione collapsed in a small cutout into the dark hallway that was made for a statue of something, she didn't notice or care.

It was cold, and she wrapped her robes tightly around her. Her bag of books she shoved under her head, and she lay there curled up for almost an hour. She didn't think, because if she did, the torrent of horrible thoughts would drown her again. She didn't want to think about Ron, Harry, or most-of-all Malfoy. But when you dream, you can't control what you think.

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It was like a living collage--snapshots of her life that had never happened, and some that had.

Malfoy leaning over her in the hall earlier that day. She had felt an urge then, but now it was almost unbearable. Every detail of his perfectly chiseled face was vibrant in her memory. The light was dim and cast long shadows that made him seem less evil and more tempting. And his arms were so strong, holding her down. She couldn't breathe...

Malfoy and her kissing passionately at the edge of the Forbidden Forest at sunset. The golden glow made him seem more alive than the pale, limp thing in robes she passed in the halls. The air was cold, but where his body connected with hers she felt red-hot burning that wasn't painful.

Malfoy and her snogging in a small boat floating in the middle of the lake. It rocked slightly as small waves from some underwater commotion collided softly with the wooden sides. Her back was pressed against the hard, uncomfortable bench seat, but Draco was pressed against her other side, which took away all the pain and replaced it with heavenly emotion.

His warm body was always against hers, making it throb like a drum. He was touching her, his hands exploring her bare stomach and back, his body was sometimes half-naked, and other times he was wearing a set of robes that she wished she could tear off. The snapshots tortured her. She felt the emotion but was unable to react. They repeated over and over, until she was dizzy. Then, finally, she awoke.

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Hermione clutched her bag in terror. The memories were still vivid in her mind's eye, as if they had been branded there with a cruel iron. "No..." she moaned helplessly. I don't want to think about Malfoy. Harry, I want to think about Harry. She tried to, but Harry had never made her feel the way that dream had. She had never been at the mercy of her hormones before with him. He had wanted to have sex, but she had said no. She hadn't even really been tempted. Do I not like Harry, then? Is he just a friend? And I can't have sex with just a friend. He never made me feel the way...STOP! How late is it? Midnight? I'm not thinking clearly. I need regular sleep. I need to get Draco out of my mind. MALFOY! God, Hermione, I need to get Malfoy out of my mind. It's not healthy. Did he cast a spell on me? Is this part of some dark wizard's plan? If I fall for Malfoy--I am not falling for Malfoy! Stop it! Concentrate. Did I ever drink anything he gave me? No, I don't think so. What's the matter with me? Oh my God, I have to find Terry. He's going to kill me. We were supposed to meet at the suite half an hour ago. And I still have all my homework to do. I'm falling apart...

She pulled herself up with the help of the statue and noticed that it was an angel whose lips were parted slightly as if she was singing a song. I'm on the fourth floor on the north side then. Having oriented herself, Hermione walked rapidly in the direction of her shared common room with Terry while unwanted flashes of all-too-familiar hair and myserious eyes wove themselves into her thoughts.