Nightmares and Fantasies

The hallway smelt of burnt rubber, ammonia, and some rotten eggs for good measure.

She hated that mixture but had, for some reason, endured it for the last five days as a tutor. But she wasn't tutoring just anyone. She was tutoring a sniveling, whining, spoiled, evil--

"Ah, Hermione Granger, late again." She stood in the doorway to a potions classroom usually used by First Years.

"Ah, Draco Malfoy, messing around with Dragon Tongue again," she growled at him.

He smiled and she was reminded of why she stayed on as his tutor. He was so handsome and flashy and glamorous and- "Very perceptive, Mudblood."--evil, she decided. Just evil.

She mentally slapped herself.

"Now," he said, his voice oozing with contempt, "are we going to review this lesson or are you going to admire me from the doorway all afternoon?"

She gave herself another mental slap for forgetting to add "conceited" to her List of Loathsome Adjectives to Describe Draco Malfoy and walked carefully into the dark, damp dungeon. The last time they'd arranged to meet, Draco'd used a form of holographing to project himself into the classroom and booby trapped the whole place. She'd stormed out wet and with an awful fishy smell to her she had yet to get out of her hair.

"Oh, come off it, it's me, I'm here, no traps. Fifty points from Slytherin is enough for one week, thank you. Now, Snape said that he's wring my neck if this assignment wasn't in by dinner, and I tend to believe the man, so--"

"Draco, you don't need a tutor. Do it yourself."

"On the contrary, madam, you wouldn't be here if I didn't need a tutor."

"You're smart enough to do this. You cut me off with answers to questions I haven't finished asking. You're just lazy."

"Am I?" His eyes probed hers piercingly and yet playfully. She stared back. "Bring me that silver cauldron."

She sighed and went to get it. When she handed it to him his hand brushed hers. She pulled away quickly and the cauldron clunked onto the table.

"How's Potter?" She looked at him. His eyes, so recently playful and daring, were steely and cold. She pursed her lips.

"He's fine. What do you care?"

"Just wondering if he's acted on his hormones yet."

"You are such a git! I can't believe you'd say such a barbaric thing about Harry!"

"Oh, come on Granger, it's as though you haven't noticed the way he stares at you, the color in his cheeks when he touches you in class. And its as though you aren't as excited over him as he is you."

"Stop it. You act as though you watch our every move, as if you know us."

"I know you better than you think."

"And why do you take such an interest in my and Harry's hormonal overloads? It's as though you're interested in one of us! Probably Harry!" she scoffed, folding her arms broodingly across her chest.

"No," Draco said nonchalantly, sifting powdered Hippogriff milk through his fingers. "Not Harry." She looked at him with scorn. He looked up at her coolly. "You." Her eyes widened in disbelief.

His eyes flicked across the room. "Fetch me that vile of minotaur blood."

That night, Hermione sat in bed, trying to finish her Transfiguration homework. She was, however, distracted.

How could he have said that? Did he mean it? He never seemed like the kind of guy who ever had feelings, just a lot of testosterone.

She angrily dropped her quill and slammed the book shut. She needed fresh air. That's it. Just a walk to clear her head.

Climbing out of bed, she threw a robe on over her light white nightgown and swept out of the dormitory. The Common Room was all but deserted, its only occupants a few 3rd year boys who gawked as she clutched her robe more tightly over her thinly shrouded frame. She knew she didn't have long before curfew, so she walked more quickly through the empty hallways, listening to her footsteps echoing in her head.

The night air was cool and damp with the scent of a young spring season. The ground was spongy beneath her flip-flopped feet and the breeze ruffled her long brown hair. She strolled toward the school gate, inhaling deeply, trying to clear her head of the lascivious thoughts that had been invading all afternoon.

At the gate, she rested her forehead against the cool metal and closed her eyes. It was like she could feel her skin sizzle in response to the chill. Draco Malfoy, the untouchable, the infallible, the lust-object of Hogwarts girls for the past 6 years. And he said he had feelings for [i]her[/i]? She felt like she had done something wrong, like he'd only be interested in girls very much unlike herself.

I'm not a slut. I don't practice the Dark Arts. I don't get it. What could he see in me?

She walked to the edge of the lake, where she sat down on a boulder and took off her shoes, wriggling her toes against the rough stone surface. She sat in silence for a few minutes, watching the glimmer of the moon reflected on the surface of the water. Her reverie was broken when she heard a clump of bushes to her left sigh heavily.

Standing up, she walked over to the bushes and parted them stealthily with one hand. Staring lethargically through the opening was a blonde boy with a cocky half grin.

"Oh... Draco," Hermione muttered, dropping her gaze.

"Hermione," Draco nodded. He moved aside ever so slightly. "Come on, have a seat."

She looked around nervously. Catching her eye, he continued, "Don't worry, no one's here to see us."

She sat gingerly down on the ground next to him, and he looked back out at the water.

"Dra--" she began waveringly, trying to choose words that wouldn't get her into any predicaments.

"Yeah, I know. No love for a slimy git like myself. I never expected anything Granger. I don't even know if I meant what I said. Scratch that, I definitely know I meant it. But I didn't think anything'd come of telling you. Part of me just wanted to see you get all riled up." His lips twisted into a wry grin. She looked at his sharp, beautiful face in profile and tried to reply, but found no words. "Hell, it'd be nice to see anything involving you be less than perfect. But I'm just a sadistic little rich boy. And you'll always be perfect. Even your imperfection is perfect. How do you do it?"

"I'm not perfect. Do you know how long I've been thinking about what you said?" she stammered desperately.

"Yes, since I told you. And that's perfect. Such a revelation should disrupt a person's daily life."

"It's not just a disruption in my life," she said, feeling her rage begin to heat up, "And do you really think I believe for half a second your self piteous, save-me-from-this-hell routine? Because I don't. You are now, as always, a patronizing, manipulative, spoiled brat, and there's nothing that will make me believe otherwise."

Suddenly he turned to look her directly in the eye, his usually clear grey eyes steely and cold. "Nothing, is there?" He glanced down her body and then looked more severely in her eyes. "Caught without your wand, Granger? Or did you find someplace to put it in this little negligee?" His voice was rough and his lips curled around every word like the barrel of a gun around a bullet. "If I'm really as spoiled and manipulative as you think, I should be able to get exactly what I want in this situation. But what I want is you. Body and soul, kit and kaboodle, head to toe, brain to heart. But, as you know, I'm not getting it." She felt like she was being held captive by his piercing gaze. "And you can leave any time you want, Granger. So don't try to tell me later that I haven't played fair." His face was inches from hers. Hermione could see each of his eyelashes.

And then she tilted her face up ever so slightly and their lips made contact in a searing, searching kiss.

Hermione was vaguely aware of Draco's hand making contact with her cheek in a soft caress. She inhaled deeply, trying to remember what she was doing but at the same time completely unwilling to return to reality.

Draco pulled away first, his hand still on Hermione's check. His face was flushed and his lips moist, his eyes betraying his confusion thinly veiled by haughty satisfaction. Hermione bowed her head away from his fingertips, raising her own hand to her lips, simultaneously blotting them dry and concealing a small, pout. She wasn't sure what had just happened, but she didn't think she liked it. Or, at least she didn't like what it did to her.

They passed a few seconds in silence, then Draco dropped his gaze and picked up a dead leaf. He looked up again and his eyes met hers, challenging, confrontational.

"Well," he began, his words short, precise, "that's not quite what I expected from one such as yourself." She stood up abruptly, turned on her heel and walked quickly up toward the castle on the hill.

Only his gaze followed her.

By the time Hermione reached the doors that opened onto the Entrance Hall she was almost at a run. Her vision was blurred by angry, confused tears and her heart was racing. By the time she threw herself on her bed, she was hiccupping, having swallowed a lot of air trying to hold back her tears.

I'm so stupid, she thought bitterly, covering her head with a pillow so as not to disturb her dormmates. As the night thickened outside her window, Hermione Granger cried herself into a light, fitful sleep.

***

When Draco was sure he wouldn't run into Hermione on his way back to Slytherin, he stood up, stretched, and paused, hands in pockets, looking out over the lake in quiet contemplation. He hadn't expected that from Granger, that much was sure. He bit his lip, turned and retrieved something from behind a bush.

Throwing a silvery cloak over himself, Draco disappeared from view and made his way back up to a sleeping Hogwarts.