Bad Medicine

[Lissandra Sylvania]

Ma ei suuda ennast tagasi hoida ;D
See on samalt autoril, kes kirjutas "Draco: Phoenix Rising". Mulle see üpriski meeldis, huvitav oli. See on lõpetatud, nii et kaua ei pea ootama

---

Summary: Draco Malfoy, paragon of wickedness, follows Hermione Granger one day to an unused section of Hogwarts and discovers her unspeakable secret... ((And the whole graveyard scene didn't happen. Cedric Diggory is alive.))

Chapter One

Draco was bored. After listening to the dimwitted bickering of Crabbe and Goyle all morning, he considered turning them into something spineless and slimy in order to silence them. They were great for backup in a confrontation, but as conversationalists they left much to be desired. Rather than hex them, he yelled at them to bugger off for the afternoon and stalked off to be alone. Hogwarts was rife with places for solitary reflection, but today most of the prime spots were taken, largely due to the dreadful pouring rain outside.

The dungeon was even darker and gloomier than usual and Draco was already in a bad mood, so he took to the ever-changing stairs and headed for higher climes. A half hour of aimless wandering led him to a long, deserted corridor lined with huge gothic windows. He peered out of one and discovered a marvelous view of the lake, or it would have been if he could have seen more than a quarter of it due to the misty rain. Water poured down the glass in rivulets. He rested his forehead against the glass, feeling more than bored. He couldn’t quite put a name to what he was feeling, but it wasn’t good.

He pushed himself away from the window and noted several dark alcoves arranged along the opposite wall, interspersed with dark wooden doors that led who-knew-where? The alcoves had potential, as they were stuffed with large stone statues of various creatures. Directly across from him reared a huge lion, nearly triple life-size. Draco sneered. No Gryffindor lions for him today, thank you very much. He walked to the next alcove. A hippogriff. Screw that. Stupid beasts. The third statue was more promising. A manticore. Its human face growled from a lion-like mane and the stinger poised over its head looked ready to strike. Draco could relate. He gripped a leonine paw and hoisted himself up into the alcove. He slipped behind the creature and searched briefly for concealed doors, which were quite often hidden in alcoves around Hogwarts. If one existed here, it was too well concealed for a casual search and a quick Alohomora.

The scorpion-like tail was perfectly curled to provide a relaxing perch. Draco sat down and leaned his head and shoulders back against the curve of the tail. He twirled his wand and wondered if he should practice his Transfiguration spells for class tomorrow, but the required spells were ridiculously easy.

He tapped his wand idly against a thigh and looked beyond the statue’s head to the long windows. He wished the bloody depressing rain would stop. He’d much rather be outside on his broom practicing Quidditch than moping here in an abandoned hallway.

Quick footsteps approached; perhaps not so abandoned. Draco sat up and flattened himself against the manticore’s back. He peered out after making sure he was fully hidden in the shadows of the alcove.

The footsteps belonged to Hermione Granger. Draco sneered. Granger! What did she want up here? A square wooden box locomotored behind her, floating easily in her wake. He wondered what she was up to. Probably sneaking around on some errand or another for Potter or Weasley. He was actually surprised to see her alone. Normally the three of them clung together for protection like baby lemurs. The only time Granger was ever alone was when she was in the library with her face buried in a book. Likely her little trunk was full of books and she was looking for a private place to read.

She strode purposefully past Draco’s hiding place without pausing and continued to a door two alcoves beyond his. She entered with her box and shut the door firmly. Draco waited to see if Potter and the Weasel would show up, but finally he climbed out of his alcove. He briefly regretted not hexing her when she walked by. She could have done with the tail of a jackass or ears of a fruit bat. He grinned and then grimaced; realizing if he’d hexed her she likely would have turned him into a sea slug or something worse. The little Mudblood was good with a wand, d**n her to hell.

He walked quietly to the door through which she’d disappeared. He didn’t sneak, because Malfoys did not sneak, but he did walk quietly enough that his footsteps would not be heard. He cast a whispered Silencio on the door, though he hadn’t heard it make any noise when Granger had opened it. He flipped the latch and peered inside.

He saw a huge, mostly dark room with a ceiling that seemed miles overhead. A single glass window in the ceiling admitted sparse light in a square pattern on the center of the empty floor. The room looked devoid of both furnishings and occupants.

He slipped inside and let the door shut silently behind him. He wondered if another door exited the room. Likely, since Granger had disappeared. He was about to cross the room when a strange cacophony made him clap his hands to his ears.

What in hell was that strange racket? He nearly asked the question aloud and was glad he did not when Hermione stepped into the square of light. He shrank back instinctively, but it was far too dark near the door for her to notice him.

After that brief moment of panic, he froze and frankly gaped at her, as staggered as if she had Stunned him with her wand.

What the hell was she wearing? Gone were the voluminous school robes and stuffy white shirt, the knee-high socks and clunky saddle shoes. Her feet were bare. Her legs were encased in black – well what the hell were those, anyway? It looked like she had dipped her legs into black paint, as they seemed to have a shiny texture and clung to her skin in all places. Her midriff was indecently bare, as were her upper arms. The top she wore was black and the tiny straps that held it over her shoulders only emphasized that Miss Granger had blossomed quite spectacularly over the past few months. Who would have guessed she was hiding those beneath her robes? Bizarrely, she still wore the Gryffindor tie knotted loosely around her neck. It dangled becomingly between the breasts he had just discovered she possessed.

He touched his tongue to suddenly dry lips and tried to remember to breathe. His brain could not quite accept this new material: the profoundly unexpected revelation that Hermione Granger, Mudblood, show-off, know-it-all, and all-around general annoyance, was stunning. Her waist was trim and defined, her legs were sculpted visions of perfection and… he had to admit… her face had lost all hint of childish puffiness and had become… oh d**n it all… she was actually pretty. Even her hair had lost much of the untamable curl and now it looped rather becomingly over her bare shoulders and down her back.

He fumbled for the door handle behind him. He needed to escape. He had to burn the image from his mind as soon as possible. He would get Goyle to cast a Memory Charm on him!

And then Hermione began to move. The sounds seemed to be some sort of music and she flitted sideways in rhythm to the noise. There was a lot of thumping involved and Granger’s hips shifted appealingly each time a beat descended. Her shoulders shook and her hands rose into the air. The tempo increased and Hermione spun and gyrated more and more wildly. Her hands were in the air and her feet moved in a blur. She seemed to be singing, although Draco could not hear over the music and it did not have recognizable words.

He watched for an interminable time, not realizing his hand still rested on the latch. His throat was dry and he felt an unmistakable heat rising from his loins. He had the sudden urge to stalk into the light and grab her. She would stare at him in shock, eyes wide and possibly frightened. Her hair would be in disarray and her chest would be heaving from exertion. Her lips would be wet and—

Draco turned the latch and bolted from the room, not caring if she heard. He raced down the corridor past the weeping windows and fled down the stairs. Only when he was safely in the Slytherin common room did he halt, panting from the exertion.

“Cor!” Goyle commented from his usual position on the couch before the fire. “Where ya been, Draco? Someone chasin’ ya?”

Draco stared at him, amazed that he had even considered for a moment letting Goyle cast a Memory Charm on him. The baboon would likely fry his brain like an egg. What the hell had he been thinking? He remembered. Fricking Granger. Spinning in a darkened room and looking like an angel from hell. What did they call those? A succubus. He shook off the image. It wouldn’t do to be having lustful thoughts about Hermione Granger. It simply wouldn’t do.

He looked around briefly for Pansy Parkinson, but the thought of groping her did nothing for him at the moment. Her breasts were like two tangerines in comparison to—

“I have a headache,” Draco choked. “I’m going to lie down for a moment.”

That, however, turned out to be the worst thing he could do. He tossed and turned upon his blankets and tried in vain to think about the most boring things imaginable: Herbology, playing Quidditch against Hufflepuff, History of Magic class, flubberworms. Nothing worked. His mind returned again and again to the Gryffindor Mudblood dancing to her strange Muggle music.

ooOoo

Hermione cast a Scourgify on herself to remove the sweat and clean her clothing. It was a painful process, but she did not have the time to sink into a leisurely bath. She was supposed to meet Harry and Ron in time for supper. She sighed happily as she slipped on her school robes and tucked her exercise clothing away in the corner near the phonograph machine. She had stumbled across the ancient phonograph during one of their wrong turns and had smuggled it to this unused room in a forgotten wing. On her last trip home, she had gone to secondhand stores and picked up as many old records as she could find. Of all the Muggle things she missed while at school, modern music was high on the list. At the top of the list was her computer, of course, and then telephones, but electronic devices simply would not work at Hogwarts.

The old crank phonograph, however, was not electronic. It played the old 70’s and 80’s vinyl just fine. Someone must have dumped their entire 80s collection, for she had found Van Halen, Def Leppard, Billy Squier, Queen, and Pat Benatar. Today she had listened to Guns N’ Roses, which wasn’t her favorite, but “Sweet Child of Mine” had a great beat for dancing.

She had discovered the life of a wizard was not exactly conducive to a svelte figure, what with the butterbeer, and pumpkin pasties, and sweets stolen from the kitchen by Ron at every opportunity. When she’d returned home for the summer, she’d felt horrendously fat, a feeling confirmed by the bathroom scale. She had vowed to eat fewer sweets and exercise more, but the girls in her common room thought exercise was a Muggle curiosity. They stayed slender by the application of various spells and potions, a practice Hermione was certain could not be healthy. Therefore, she exercised in secret, and dancing allowed her to indulge in her love of Muggle music.

She smoothed her robes over her hips and smiled. The regime was working perfectly. She felt great. She checked her wardrobe again and left the room and its secrets behind.

ooOoo

Draco noticed immediately when Hermione entered the Great Hall for supper, although he wished he hadn’t. She was back to her normal style of dress, thank God. White shirt buttoned high on her neck. Knee socks properly tugged to knees. Ugly shoes on dainty feet. Robes covering all slender assets. Tie correctly knotted and tucked into the nasty Gryffindor jumper instead of dangling temptingly over swelling, heaving—

Draco suddenly became very interested in his plate of food, although whatever he ate suddenly tasted like sawdust. He tried not to notice as Hermione wedged herself between Harry and Ron and beamed at them. They paid her no mind whatsoever, as they were apparently involved in some heated conversation with Seamus Finnigan. She shrugged and began to eat.

Draco studiously ignored her for the rest of the meal and satisfied himself with a running commentary of insults about the neighboring Ravenclaws that had the Slytherin table roaring with laughter by the end of the meal. When several of the Ravenclaws began fingering their wands and glaring at him, he figured his work was done and retired for the evening.

A quick glance at the Gryffindor table showed the Lemur Trio already gone. He breathed a sigh of relief at having not even noticed her leave.

[Lana Marye Allen]

Normaalne ...
Kuna Draco: Phoenix Rising oli päris hea, siis ma usun, et ka see jutt on hea, jään uut ootama

[Lissandra Sylvania]

Usu see on hea, vähemalt mulle meeldis. Ma just mõtlesin, millist fikki panna, kui ma panin Lady Malfoy. Ja kuna ma seda hetkel edasi panna ei saa siis panen ma selle siia üles. ^^

---

Chapter Two

He had completely forgotten about Potions class. Not the class itself, of course, just the fact that Hermione Granger sat directly across the aisle from him. He had noticed this fact with annoyance on several occasions, namely whenever her potions sparkled just a bit more brightly than his, or shone with more perfect effervescence, which was usually. But he had never, ever before noticed that when she sat down, her school robes gaped open to reveal the pleated black skirt that nearly covered her knees, except when she crossed her legs in that particular way, and caused the skirt to slide dangerously up her thigh and expose far more flesh than he would have expected to see from the bookish Miss Granger.

Professor Snape, thank God, was his usual snakelike bundle of joy and he was in the mood to stride around the room and bang his wand on various cauldrons while hissing threats and deducting points from the Gryffindors, so Draco was gratefully distracted from his unworthy neighbor. The assigned potion was devilishly tricky, also, so Draco concentrated with all his being on measuring exactly the correct amount of powered horklump into his cauldron with the tiny silver spoon. All was going quite well until Weasley’s pickled dugbog slipped through his fingers and onto the floor near Draco’s feet.

Hermione sighed and reached for it. Draco’s eyes met hers for one startled moment and he instinctively kicked the dugbog toward the front of the room. He did not want her to touch him in any fashion, even accidentally. She glared at him as she got out of her seat.

“You’re an ass, Malfoy,” she hissed. He grinned lazily and watched as she quickly snatched up the dugbog.

“Why are you out of your seat, Miss Granger?” Snape asked nastily.

“I dropped—“she began.

“I think she was spying on Blaise’s potion, Professor,” Draco volunteered casually.

Hermione spun and gave him such a venomous look that Draco nearly laughed aloud. She wasn’t nearly so pretty when she looked as if she could flay the skin from his bones with her bare hands.

“Really? Twenty points from Gryffindor. Stay in your seat, Miss Granger.”

Hermione threw herself into her seat and gave the dugbog back to Ron, who looked at her in apology. Her jaw was set and her lips were nearly white. She threw a last scathing glare at Draco, who smirked. He had always enjoyed tormenting Granger, but now it was personal. He needed to get even with her for causing him to think of her in that way. Her rage was like a balm to his soul and he reveled in the routine sameness of it. He hated her; she hated him. All was well.

She flounced out of the room after class and the other two lemurs followed her. Both of them shot angry glares in Draco’s direction, but as usual they were both too spineless to start anything in Snape’s presence. Draco left at his leisure.

Afternoon once again found him sitting in the Slytherin common room watching Crabbe and Goyle play a gruelingly dull game of knucklebones. They didn’t even bother to keep score because neither of them was particularly good with numbers. Pansy Parkinson had snuggled under Draco’s arm and dozed off. Warrington and Montague were practicing some spell or other with their wands, which kept giving off an irritating pinkish glow.

Draco found his mind wandering. He wondered if the view of the lake from the deserted corridor was any better today. Perhaps the rain had lessened. He absently wiped the sweat from his palms and shifted the sleeping Pansy aside. His interest was purely scenic. He had no intention of looking into any dark rooms, occupied or otherwise. In fact, the long corridor would be the perfect place to practice some spells without interruption. He’d been trying to extend the range of his flame spell. So far he could only ignite things from a three-foot distance. He would need to extend that to at least ten or twelve feet in order to use it on Potter or Weasley. Or Granger.

In short order, he found himself walking the corridor. He made himself look out the window to find the view fairly identical to the previous day. Wet and gloomy. He made a few cursory passes with the flame spell, muttering the spell under his breath to make as little sound as possible. His heart simply wasn’t in it and he gave it up shortly. Before he could stop himself, he had pressed his ear to the door. The door he swore he would not open under any circumstances. He heard nothing and sighed. It was a sigh of relief, he told himself quickly. The room was empty. In fact, would it not be better to practice his spells inside, where no one would interrupt him?

So deciding, he opened the door and stepped inside. After a breathless moment, he realized the room really was deserted. He walked inside and cast a Lumos. An old phonograph stood on a rickety table in one corner. Next to it was the box Hermione had brought in the previous day. It was full of large squares. He lifted one and a black disc slid halfway from the covering. Phono disks, he figured. He looked at the picture on the front and found it extraordinarily bizarre. There was a photo of four men with a huge amount of curly hair, but none of them moved. They seemed frozen.

Draco examined a few others. None of the photos moved at all and the names on the albums were unfamiliar. Pat Benatar. Billy Idol. U2. Bon Jovi. He dropped the strange phonographs and turned to leave, but motion caught his attention. The door was opening! He doused his wand and crept quickly toward a corner of the room, away from the phono player.

Hermione walked purposefully into the light. Her wand was lit, but thankfully it was a dim glow and she paid no attention to anything but the phono player. She plucked a black disc from the pile Draco had examined and placed one on the machine. Then she tucked away her wand and removed her robes. She folded them and put them on the floor next to the machine. She wore the same black leggings as yesterday with a white shirt. Draco held his breath as she peeled the shirt off and tossed it on her robe. No tie today, he noticed, but the form fitting top was in place.

She kicked off her shoes and began to crank the machine. When it spun vigorously, she placed the needle. After a scratchy moment, loud, squealing noise came from the thing, nearly causing Draco to cringe. Hermione walked to the center of the dimly lit square again. Once more, she began to dance. This time, Draco could actually make out words and he found himself tapping a toe to the pervasive beat.

Hermione sang along and he was pleased to note that she had a simply dreadful voice. Her dancing, however, was spellbinding. Her hair was a spinning curtain today and she looked like a lioness on the prowl. At one point she threw her head back and her hands caressed her hips and trailed up higher and higher to rest near her breasts before she flung her head down and arms out. Draco fairly gaped.

Draco’s brow raised at the lyrics. He could picture her kissing him goodbye. Right before she hit him with an Avada Kedavra. He smiled and watched. To his glee, she played the song again, as he was rather beginning to like it. A couple of other songs followed and she danced until she was dripping with sweat. She gathered up her things and threw her robe over all. She went out without ceremony and Draco figured she was on her way to slip into a hot bath. The idea made him swallow hard and he realized he didn’t really need that image to haunt him all night long.

[Liz-Miia Parker]

Irwww. Mitte nii hea, kui lady malfoy..aga ma ei mäleta seda fääniksi tõusu kah, niiet täitsa okei.

[Lissandra Sylvania]

Chapter Three

Watching Hermione became Draco’s new habit. Every afternoon he would drift up to the deserted hallway. Sometimes she would be there and sometimes not. If not, Draco would return to the Slytherin common room and bully Crabbe and Goyle mercilessly, unable to explain his vicious mood. Once she very nearly caught him. He was ambling down the windowed corridor and heard her footsteps behind him. He threw himself into the lion alcove and snatched himself behind the statue, banging his knee sharply in the process. He bit down on a curse as she walked past. It was a miracle she hadn’t heard him.

Cursing her for the pain in his knee, he very nearly did not slip into the room to watch her, but the siren song was too strong. Luckily for him, her routine was sporadic or his friends would have begun to suspect his disappearances. Draco wondered how Granger was explaining her absence to the other two lemurs, but then he noticed her workouts often coincided with the Gryffindor Quidditch practice sessions, which made it far easier to plan his spying missions.

The three Draco referred to as The Lemur Trio were in the library pouring over their Astronomy homework.

Hermione looked up from the dusty tome she was reading: Goblin Hygiene – Where Did It Go Wrong? She chanced to see Draco across the library. He was looking at her with that infuriating half-smirk of his. She gave him a halfhearted glare. His smirk curled into an actual smile, but his eyes did not sparkle with the pure hatred she normally caught from him. Instead, he looked at her as though he shared a secret – as if he knew something wicked about her.

She flushed suddenly, thinking about her workout sessions. He couldn’t possibly know about that! She calmed her momentary panic with stark rationalization. If Draco did know her secret, he would have the entire Slytherin house ridiculing her. He would probably have buttons printed that mocked her!

She glanced at him again to find him still watching her through half-closed eyes. No, it was more likely he was plotting something.

“Draco is up to something,” she said to Ron, who sat across the table from her. “Don’t turn around!” she hissed. Ron perked up; far more interested in a potential Malfoy plot than the homework he studied.

“Why do you say that?” he asked mildly. Harry, next to Ron, sneaked a glance at Malfoy and looked at her questioningly. Draco had been remarkably absent lately, but for the usual battering of insults on the Quidditch field, he mentioned.

“He’s always watching me,” Hermione admitted. “He has to be plotting something.”

“Maybe the git’s finally noticed you’re a girl,” Ron offered. “After all, it’s hard not to spot those gargantuan melons you sprouted over the summer,” he continued and jerked a thumb at her chest. Harry coughed to cover a laugh.

“Ron!” she gasped and her cheeks burned. “They are not gargantuan!”

“Well, they’re pretty d**n noticeable, ‘specially when you wear that fuzzy blue jumper of yours—“

“This one?” she asked archly and yanked open the neck of her robes to reveal her chest encased in the soft blue material.

“Cor, Hermione!” Ron choked loudly. “Warn a guy before you level those cannons at him! I’m like to have a heart attack!”

Hermione had to giggle. “Honestly, Ronald—“ she began, but stopped when a chance gaze at Draco revealed he no longer smiled at her. In fact, he sat rigidly in his chair and glared at her so venomously it nearly took her breath away. As she watched, he stood and stalked from the room. She bit her lip as he disappeared through the doorway. He was acting so strangely. She would have to keep an eye on him.

Draco stormed out into the hallway. He fairly seethed with rage. He took out his wand and considered casting Incendio on a nearby suit of armor. Instead, he hit it with a shrinking spell and felt barely a glimmer of satisfaction when it popped down to the size of a coin. It wasn’t enough. He needed to destroy something. He needed to destroy Weasley.

Blast it all; what was affecting him like this? He was acting like an idiot. It was just when Hermione had flashed her chest at Weasley, Draco had suddenly felt like casting a Cruciatus curse at him.

What the hell was wrong with him? What did he care if the damned mudblood showed her goods to the lemurs? What did he care if she slept with them both? In rotation or together? He didn’t care! He took a number of steadying breaths and headed for the front door. He needed some air.

“Draco!” Pansy called from behind him, but he didn’t turn back.

Hermione watched Draco more closely after that and was quite surprised at how often he was near and how often his eyes were upon her. At first, she thought he must be watching Harry or Ron in order to plan some malice, but he often turned up in the library when she was there alone. At those times, he would always pause to recommend a book to her, such as Muggle Scum and Why They Should be Exterminated or Fifty Ways to Cook Muggleborn, so he was never particularly out of character.

However, she would find him watching her when she was in the courtyard, or outside near the lake, or on her way to class. It was damned disconcerting.

Once she, Ron and Harry were lying on the grass studying the uses of wax plant and vervain for Herbology. The day was unseasonably warm and all the students had discarded their school robes and lounged casually in shirtsleeves. Hermione removed her tie and unbuttoned the top buttons of her blouse when a welcome breeze sprang up. She felt eyes upon her and looked up quickly to see Draco leaning against a nearby tree. His Slytherin pack was nowhere in sight. He was not smirking, nor did his eyes glow with ephemeral hatred. Instead, he stared at her with such an intense look that it took her breath away.

She felt heat explode instantly from her chest to her face. She looked down in confusion. When she looked up again, he was striding away.

“He did not just look at me like that,” she muttered. She had to have imagined it. Draco Malfoy would never look at her with anything even remotely akin to lust. It was impossible.

The worst of it was, once she started to consider it, she began to wonder if it really was impossible. She bumped into him once in a crowded corridor and their eyes met for a surprised moment. His grey eyes were fathomless pools and the heat of his arm burned into hers where they touched.

“Watch it, filthy mudblood,” he said, but his voice was a bare whisper that caressed rather than cut her.

She bolted for the bathroom and was actually late for class while she regained her composure. Ron looked at her askance when she finally made it to her seat.

“Not feeling well,” she said vaguely. Harry and Ron shot worried looks at her throughout the remainder of the class and by the end of it, she really did feel ill.

How could she possibly feel attracted to Malfoy? It was absurd. The fact that he was blindingly handsome did not make up for the fact that he was evil through and through. Well not blindingly handsome, surely that was overstating it. Stunningly handsome, perhaps, or painfully handsome. After conjuring and discarding a number of adjectives, she admonished herself for wasting time trying to quantify Malfoy’s attractiveness. Why was she thinking about him at all? She would cease immediately.

The next day she walked though a cloister aisle and her eyes were instantly drawn to Malfoy as he sat upon a stone railing with his back against a column pier. (extremely handsome, d**n it all) He watched Crabbe and Goyle as they tormented a much smaller third-year boy. Malfoy was grinning. Hermione’s blood suddenly boiled and she marched into the garth to confront Crabbe, whose fist was twisted in the collar of the boy who struggled to escape.

“Why can’t you pick on someone your own size?” she yelled. “Like a black rhino or a mountain troll?”
Crabbe and Goyle, as usual, looked straight to Draco, who hopped lightly from his perch and sauntered over to her.

“Why don’t you try keeping your dirty little Gryffindor nose out of our business, mudblood?” he asked mildly.

She stared at him venomously. He was gorgeous, she admitted to herself. The sun on his pale hair made it look almost white and a lock of it had dropped sensuously over his smooth forehead. His chiseled features were that of a Greek god and he moved with the lithe grace of a stalking panther. Devastatingly handsome, she thought, unable to stop herself.

His silver eyes were unreadable. He suddenly reminded her of a hunting wolf. Beautiful and deadly. He would strike her down without a thought and leave her savaged with no remorse. She felt a weight lift from her chest.

“Thank you, Malfoy,” she said with a small smile. His expression became guarded.

“What for?”

“For reminding me how much I hate you,” she said brightly. At that, she turned and marched away without noticing the third-year still trapped in Crabbe’s grip.

Draco watched her leave and scowled. He looked at Crabbe, who shook the boy once more.

“Let him go. Granger probably hurried off to get Dragonogall,” he said, though he doubted his own words. He pondered Hermione’s. What had she meant by that? He remembered the way she had looked at him in the corridor earlier. Shocked and… what?

He sighed. Whatever it had been, it was gone now. Her expression was the same disdainful hatred she had displayed right before she punched him in their third year. He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully at the memory. He still owed her for that.

[Liz-Miia Parker]

Hhahahhaha , weird.

[Lissandra Sylvania]

Chapter Four

Draco was keyed up after Quidditch practice later that afternoon. It had been a perfect day for flying, clear and crisp. His cheeks and ears still burned from the cold. The snitch had been surprisingly simple to catch and Montague had actually pounded him on the back after practice.

“Do that in the next game and we’ll take Gryffindor, for sure!”

Draco sneered a bit at that. If only fricking Potter didn’t always seem to fly a bit faster, turn a bit sharper… He sighed and shook off thoughts of Potter. He was in far too good a mood to let The Boy Who Scored spoil it for him. Instead, he headed for the library. Granger-baiting would be the icing on his cake. If she hated him, so much the better. At least she couldn’t ignore him.

He was disappointed to find her missing. Oddly, the other two lemurs were present, playing a game of wizard chess in the corner. Perhaps they had had a row and she was sulking in the Gryffindor common room. He nearly went over and asked where she was and chuckled to himself at the thought of their expressions if he did so.

He ran into Blaise in the hallway on his way out, who mentioned that Pansy was looking for him, but he wasn’t in the mood for casual snogging. He itched to do something.

He wandered the halls for a bit and found himself in the deserted corridor. He doubted Hermione would be in the room at this time of day. It was nearly time for supper. She had to be in the Gryffindor common room, studying.

So thinking, he absently opened the door and stepped inside.

He stopped cold at Hermione’s horrified gasp. They stared at each other for a timeless moment and then Granger leaped for her wand.

Draco snatched his own out.

“Freeze, Granger!” he yelled and leveled it at her. She stopped and turned toward him with an expression of dread. She panted slightly and he figured a song had just ended, as a repetitive scratching came from the phono player.

“What are you doing up here, Granger?” he asked with deceptive softness. “Are you really here all alone?”

She raised her chin defiantly.

“Do your worst, Malfoy,” she hissed.

Draco chuckled delightedly.

“Ah, a challenge.” He walked forward and then around her in a full circle, examining her as he would a prize mare.

“And whatever are you wearing?”

She flushed scarlet. He could see it even in the dim glow from the candles she had lit to combat the growing shadows. Her defiant expression shifted slightly to something akin to fear. Malfoy smiled. That was more like it. She had finally realized she was alone, wandless, and completely at his mercy. Draco could not have been more elated.

He halted in front of her and touched his wand under her chin to bring her eyes up to meet his.

“Now tell me what you’re doing here,” he said. Truthfully, he had often wondered why she felt the need to hide away and cavort to muggle music on a regular basis. It was entertaining—for him anyway—but hardly seemed worth the risk.

“I’m exercising,” she snapped. “I do not intend to become hugely fat simply because I don’t have to walk across a room to fetch a book.”

“I’ve seen you cross a room to fetch a book.”

“I don’t intend to get lazy, either!”

“Can’t you take a jaunt around the lake? Run up and down the stairs a few thousand times?” he asked.

“I like dancing,” she muttered. “It’s fun. And wizard music just isn’t the same. I miss my Ipod and music videos and the radio.”

He had no clue what she was talking about and he really didn’t care. He stepped back, keeping his wand leveled.

“So muggle dancing is fun? Show me.”

She gaped at him.

“Show you what?”

“Show me this fun dancing, of course.”

“I can’t dance in front of you!”

Of course you can, he thought, you’ve done it dozens of times.

“Why not? Does it involve removing your clothes? It looks like you’ve already gotten a good start on that…”

She flushed again and he congratulated himself. It was rare he could get more than a single blush out of her. She must be more flustered than he thought.

“No, it does not involve removing my clothes. It’s just… embarrassing. I can’t dance in front of other people.”

“Then teach me. I’m an excellent dancer. How different can muggle dancing be? And you’re a bossy know-it-all. Teach me.”

She stared at him.

“You’ve got to be joking.”

“Not unless you want me to go fetch the rest of Slytherin House and we can all watch you?”

“I will be long gone by the time you do that.”

“Not if I cast Petrificus Totalus on you.”

She shook her head and glared. He could practically see the thoughts spinning in that clever little brain of hers. She hoped to humor him long enough to reach her wand, and then she would zap him with a nasty spell. A memory charm? Likely. She could probably do it without frying his brain, too.

“I’m certain that teaching Draco Malfoy muggle dances can be found in the Book of Sublimely Ridiculous Occurrences or possibly Portents of the Apocalypse.” She held up a hand to forestall his comment. “Why do you want to learn? You hate all things muggle, remember? Pureblood ideology and all that tripe.”

“I’m bored. If your little pastime amuses me, I may decide not to tell the whole school about this little incident.”

She crossed her arms. “You’d best make up your mind about that, or I’ll teach you nothing.”

“If you don’t tell anyone about teaching me, I won’t tell anyone about what you’re teaching me. Fair enough?”

“How do I know I can trust you to keep silent?”

He grinned evilly. “You don’t, Granger. That’s what makes it interesting. The offer is going once… Going twice…”

“Fine,” she said.

He marched over and rifled through her robes until he found her wand. He took both wands and wedged them beneath the box that held the playing discs, so that a quick Accio spell would not dislodge them. He didn’t know if she could Accio without a wand, but he wanted to take no chances.

“For safekeeping,” he said. “Now, let’s begin.”

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she said with a frustrated sigh. He watched her carefully as she rifled through the discs and pulled one out. She set it on the phono to play and music blared from the machine. It wasn’t one of Draco’s favorites, but it had a relatively easy beat to follow and wasn’t ridiculously loud.

She stood across from him and his first muggle dance lesson began. She showed him a number of steps and made him mirror her – quick steps, sideways slides, shoulder rolls, hip gyrations, spins, and twists. Draco was a quick study, mostly due to the fact that he’d been watching her for weeks. He was also naturally graceful.

At one point she stood back and watched while he danced alone and he grinned at the rueful expression on her face.

“It figures you’d be good at this,” she said dryly.

“Why?”

“Because you’re already… semi-good looking,” she admitted. “And you can dance. If you were in the muggle world, you’d have girls swooning at your feet.”

“I already have girls swooning at my feet,” he said. “Haven’t you noticed?”

The song ended and a slower one began, so she rushed to change it.

“How do you dance to slow songs?” he asked.

“You don’t,” she snapped. She pulled the disc from the phonograph machine and looked up at the darkening skylight.

“We should go. I think we already missed supper.”

He retrieved their wands while she slid the black disc into its cover. He looked at her thoughtfully.

“If I give this back to you, you’ll jinx me, won’t you?”

She looked at him guiltily.

“However, I’m going to require that you promise not to. That way, if you go back on your word, your little Gryffindor soul will squirm with guilt forever each time you see me. Now promise that you will not use any memory charms on me, nor hexes, nor curses, nor jinxes that will make me forget this little incident.”

She looked as if she could curse him with a glare.

“I promise,” she gritted, “but only if you promise never to mention this to anyone.”

“I promise,” he said, “but only if you promise to meet me here tomorrow for some further instruction.”

“Why?” She looked stunned.

“Because I feel like it. Beside, I want to know as much as I can about muggles and their ways. I figure it will help me should I later decide to take up muggle-hunting. After Hogwarts, I mean.”

She gasped in outrage. “I won’t help you hunt muggles, nor assist you in your future career as a junior Death Eater!”

“Sure you will,” he called on his way to the door. “Or I’ll tell everyone about your little secret here. Might even contact The Daily Prophet. And commission a painting of you in your skimpy little outfit. See you tomorrow.” He opened the door, flipped her wand in her direction, and bolted.

Hermione was a bundle of nerves the next day. She could barely accept that what had happened the previous day was not a dream. Had she actually taught Draco Malfoy muggle dances? And had he actually insisted upon meeting her to learn more? It was beyond comprehension. She kept expecting to see pointing and hear sniggering from each Slytherin she passed in the halls, but Malfoy seemed to have kept silent.

Harry and Ron both noticed her preoccupation, but she explained vaguely that she was worried about an Arithmancy exam. Standing near Malfoy in Care of Magical Creatures was sheer torture. She kept sneaking glances at him but he paid her no mind whatsoever, as if she simply did not exist. She left class bewildered to the point of doubting her own reality. Maybe it really had been a dream!

She actually breathed a sigh of relief until Malfoy nudged her on their way back to the castle on the pretext of trying to trip her.

“After Herbology, Granger,” he muttered low enough that she barely caught it. On his way down the hall, he whistled a few bars of a song that was completely familiar to her. She immediately tensed again. d**n, she hadn’t dreamed it at all!

She watched his handsome figure as he receded and puzzlement furrowed her brow.

Odd, but she didn’t remember playing Bon Jovi yesterday.

[Liz-Miia Parker]

Hhahahahaa ;D

[Lissandra Sylvania]

Chapter Five

Hermione walked to her secret room as slowly as possible, although it was secret no more. She had anxiously considered not showing up at all, but she wholeheartedly believed Malfoy when he said he would commission a painting of her in her workout clothes. He would probably hang it in the main hall with an irremovable charm.

Draco was waiting for her, as dreaded. His robe and tie were gone and he had unbuttoned several buttons too many on his shirt, exposing more of his chest than she needed to see at this point. His black pants seemed far too tight to allow free movement, but she certainly wasn’t going to comment on that.

He seemed excited as a golden retriever puppy.

“I just can’t believe you want to do this,” she said and cast a sealing spell on the door – something she should have done from the start in order to keep him out! Of all people to stumble upon her—Malfoy!

“What are you wearing?” he asked dubiously as she dropped her robe on top of his.

She had put on a simple t-shirt and grey sweats. Her usual workout clothes were simply too revealing for her to be comfortable around him.

“Clothing,” she said shortly and cranked the phonograph machine.

“Yesterday’s outfit was infinitely better.”

“Thank you for your criticism.”

“I think I’ll commission that painting so that I can remember it.”

“You will have to because I will never be wearing that in your presence again.”

They glared at each other.

“Get on with it, Granger,” Draco said finally. She put on Bon Jovi since “You Give Love a Bad Name” had been dancing around her head all afternoon. Ever since Draco had whistled the chorus. She skipped that one, however, and went directly to “Runaway.” It was faster.

They circled each other like dueling wrestlers when the music began. She watched him carefully as he mimicked her moves and felt a smile curve on her lips. He was a joy to watch, she had to admit. He had excellent timing and balance. He also seemed to know exactly what to do with his hands, unlike many dancers. At that thought, she drew her own hands down her sides and slid them over her hips just to watch him do the same. Her tongue touched suddenly dry lips. Draco watched her and moved forward until he was inches away from her. She wanted to back away, but did not want to look like a coward. She wasn’t afraid of him getting close to her! She raised her chin defiantly and held her ground. At that point, he stopped mimicking her and seemed to find his own rhythm. They abandoned all pretense of a teacher/student relationship and simply danced while the music flowed over them.

She played “Bad Medicine” after that and the song seemed to fit Draco to a T. He continued to dance uncomfortably close to her, trying to intimidate her, no doubt. She tried to ignore the way his silver-blonde hair bobbed over his forehead and the way his smoky eyes watched her over lips that curved in an enigmatic smile. She kept her eyes far away from his bare chest and the light beading of sweat there. She tried not to notice the entrancing way he could move his hips…

When it was almost completely dark in the room she gasped in astonishment.

“How long have we been here? Everyone will wonder where I’ve gone!”

Draco sighed dramatically and put a hand to his forehead. “The burden of being popular.”

She scowled at him. “I am not popular.”

“So by ‘everyone’ you mean Potty and the Weasel?”

She gritted her teeth. To think, a moment ago she had practically been lusting after him. He still looked far too sexy for his own good. His hair was tousled and clung to his forehead in places, dark with sweat. She pointed her wand at him.

“Scourgify!”

“Ouch! That was unnecessary!” he complained. “I know how to bathe, you know.” His hair was even more mussed now, but clean and dry, and his clothes were spotless. She turned the spell on herself and welcomed the sting of the quick scouring.

“I have no intention of being seen leaving a room with you sweaty and panting,” she said practically. “In fact, I have no intention of being seen leaving a room with you at all. Feel free to go.”

He took the robe and tie she offered him, but made no move to leave. She sighed in exasperation.

“Is there something else?” she demanded.

“You’ve sealed the door, remember?” he asked mildly.

She flushed. What was it about him that was making her so forgetful and flighty? She felt like the Patil sisters, who giggled uncontrollably whenever a “cute” boy walked by. She pointed her wand absently at the door and it flew open with a bang.

“Temper, temper,” he tsked.

“Just go, Malfoy.”

He went.

Four days later, Hermione began to wonder if Draco had forgotten her completely. They had made no plans to meet again and both were busy, Draco with Quidditch and Hermione with homework. She hoped he had no further intent to torment her. He might want to learn to dance for his own perverse amusement, but it was not a game to her.

She thought about their “lessons” far too frequently. Her mind returned again and again to Draco dancing close to her, close enough to touch with a single misstep. She needed to stay away from him. Everything he did served his own selfish purpose and she needed to remember that. She could not allow herself to start thinking of him as a… well, as a decent person. Because he wasn’t.

She was reminded of that later in the day when she passed a group of Slytherins on her way to Arithmancy. She picked out Draco’s silver-blond head from the crowd instantly but was still surprised when he threw a large book at her feet. She tripped over it and went sprawling. Her Arithmancy book flew out of her hands and she banged her knee on the stone floor.

The Slytherins laughed uproariously.

“I found a book for you, mudblood,” Draco said as she glared up at his smirking face. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.”

He and his giggling followers wandered down the hallway. She retrieved her Arithmancy book and then picked up the one he had thrown at her. It was titled 101 Uses for Muggle Skins. The cover looked suspiciously unlike any leather she had ever seen. She shuddered. He was revolting! Soulless bastard. She cracked open the front cover and a small piece of parchment caught her eye. Written in Draco’s small, perfect handwriting was a single word: Noon.

She crumpled it angrily in a fist. He expected her to meet with him after that? Not bloody likely!

She barely made it through her Arithmancy class in an agony of indecision. On the one hand, she wanted to see him to give him a piece of her mind. Was it really necessary for him to be so monstrous at all times? On the other hand, she didn’t want to be anywhere near him. Evil or not, she couldn’t deny her growing attraction to him. He was too bloody gorgeous to ignore the way she needed to ignore him, and the dancing did not help. It seemed every single move his body made was calculated to achieve maximum seduction, although that was probably just her imagination.

She had to get a handle on her hormones. Just because she hadn’t been kissed since the Yule Ball last year… Was she that desperate for affection? It didn’t help that kissing Viktor had been like kissing a block of stone—rough and unyielding. He had thrust his tongue into her mouth like a battering ram and that had brought the evening to a swift end. She had pled exhaustion and escaped to her room.

Hermione wondered if kissing Draco would be any different. Knowing him, he would thrust her up against a wall and devour her like a snake swallowing his prey. Instead of repulsing her, the idea caused gooseflesh to break out on her skin and she felt an unwanted flush of desire. She sucked in a steadying breath and swore.

“Note to self,” she muttered, “Never, ever entertain the notion of kissing Draco Malfoy again.”

The firm admonition made her feel a bit more in control and she touched the evil book he had tossed at her. Uses of muggle skin, indeed! He was utterly vile.

She was late meeting him. He had conjured a wooden chair from somewhere and was sitting on the backrest with his feet on the seat. Bon Jovi was singing “You Give Love a Bad Name” on the phonograph machine. Draco had a Golden Snitch in his hand and was playing with it. He released it and snatched it from the air before it could escape. Hermione cast Silencio on the phono player.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to take those from the Quidditch field,” she said disapprovingly.

“Really? I don’t think you’re supposed to smuggle muggle phonographs into unused classrooms and dance seductively in your off hours.”

She glared at him and slammed the book on the floor next to his chair.

“I only came here to return this monstrous book to you. I shouldn’t have even touched the disgusting thing!”

“Yet, I knew you would,” he said with a smirk. The Snitch buzzed behind his head and he grabbed it with a quick movement that nearly knocked his chair over backward. The front legs banged the floor as he regained his balance. “After all, it is a book and you know that knowledge is power, however horrible you might find that knowledge to be.”

“Some ‘knowledge’ should never be learned!”

Draco shrugged. “That all depends on the use one puts that knowledge to, don’t you think?”

He released the Snitch and it zipped upward in a blur. Draco vaulted into the air and executed a sideways flip that caused his cape to spiral up into a circle as he spun. He hooked the golden ball with his fingertips and landed on his feet next to his chair. She gaped at the acrobatics.

“If you can move like that, why don’t you ever beat Harry at Quidditch?”

His eyes flashed silver daggers.

“We are not here to discuss Harry fricking Potter.”

She crossed her arms.

“Why are we here?”

“I’ve decided to teach you to dance,” he said.

“You have decided to teach me to dance.”

“Yes. I saw you and Captain Krum at the Yule Ball. What you two were doing could scarcely be called dancing. Your waltz is atrocious. Who taught you? Dragonagall?”

“As a matter of fact, yes, and don’t call her that.”

“Figures. She got the grace of an aged block of hemlock. No wonder she’s a spinster.” He snorted a laugh. “Who would touch that?”

Hermione’s blood was beginning to boil. She sorted through her hexes to find one that would silence him most effectively. He grinned at her.

“Don’t get your dander up. I’m trying to help you.”

“You are an insufferable ass!” she hissed through clenched teeth.

“I know, but think of the alternative. With these looks, if I were gracious and kind I would never have any peace. Girls would be throwing themselves at me day and night.”

Hermione buried her head in her hands. Sometimes there were no words. She needed to leave before she killed him.

“What do you want to learn first? Waltz? Tango? Foxtrot?”

“Don’t all of those dances involve touching? Aren’t you afraid of mudblood contamination?”

He reached into a pocket of his cape and brought out some white cloth.

“No. I brought gloves.”

She had never wanted to hurt him more than she did at that particular moment.

“You cannot begin to imagine how much I loathe you right now,” she said flatly.

“Good. Then I don’t have to worry about you trying to kiss me or anything disgusting like that while I’m trying to teach you something.”

She stalked to the door, intent on escaping his insufferable ego. Surely she hadn’t been turned on by the thought of kissing him barely an hour ago. Right now she was more excited by the prospect of burying a shovel in his forehead.

“Occludo!” he said with a flick of his wand.

She wrenched on the door but it was shut fast.

“Open it.”

“No.”

She spun to face him.

“Do you always have to be such a bastard?”

“Is there another way?”

“For you, I suppose not.”

“Then you’ll just have to accept it. Now come here.” He tucked his wand away and pulled on his gloves.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked without moving.

“It amuses me.” He glared at her. “Do I need to come fetch you?”

She sighed. Apparently her torture was not yet complete. She walked forward.

“What do you want me to do?” she asked in the tone of a prisoner approaching the gallows. Draco smiled.

[Liz-Miia Parker]

Mmm, huvitav.

[Lissandra Sylvania]

Chapter Six

Draco was quite pleased with his new sport. Actually, Granger-baiting was an old sport with him, but this version was far better than the old one. The old game had involved insults, pranks, and several variations of sneering gazes. The new game combined all of that with the delicious follow-up of teaching her to dance, which opened up vistas of torment. He knew she hated him, but he also knew she was attracted to him. How could she not be? It was obvious in the way her breath caught in her throat when she looked at him. It was plain by the way her heartbeat raced whenever he gripped her wrist and pulled her into position for a dance. It was clear by the way she would bolt when their lesson was finished and by the way she dropped things in class whenever he was near. He was ruthless to her in public and laughed whenever her eyes sparkled at him in purest rage. In private he was even more ruthless, but on a completely different scale.

He held her far too tightly when they danced. He loved the way her back trembled beneath his hand and the way her fingers tugged at his, begging for release. He whispered instructions breathily into her ear, and brushed his lips against her skin just to feel her shudder. He dressed as provocatively as possible. He knew which clothes looked good on him and he wore them mercilessly. White shirts with pirate-like lacing; black jumpers that defined his muscles and hugged every curve; silver shirts that made his eyes look like platinum; and tight black pants that never varied. She would often take in his appearance and close her eyes with a pained expression.

Their dance lessons were commonplace now, scheduled when Potter and Weasley were at Quidditch practice so she wouldn’t be missed by the other lemurs. She demanded daily that they be discontinued. She hadn’t quite descended into begging.

“I taught you all the muggle dances you wanted,” she snapped. “You taught me how to waltz, and foxtrot, and quickstep, and polka. More dances than I will ever need to know.”

“You need to know how to tango.”

“I do not need to know how to tango!” He loved to bring up Latin dances. So far she had utterly refused to learn them. He wasn’t sure why, but assumed the blatant eroticism of them made her avoid them like the plague. “I don’t need to learn any more. I am quitting our lessons as of right now.”

“Pity,” he said simply.

She froze and her eyes bored into his.

“So. That’s it, then?” she asked warily. For some reason, the little Gryffindor simply refused to trust him. Suspicious creature, she was.

“Yes.”

Her shoulders sagged in relief. Or was it disappointment? Probably a large dose of both. She gathered her things and started for the door.

“Before you leave, would you like to see the sketch I drew up?”

“What sketch?”

“For the painting I’ve commissioned.”

She blanched. She walked forward with such trepidation that Draco nearly chuckled with glee. She snatched the proffered paper from his hand and gasped aloud.

“This… this…”

He enjoyed the show. Her lips thinned into the whitest line of rage he had ever seen.

“What do you mean ‘commissioned?’”

“It should be finished next week.”

For a moment he thought she was going to hyperventilate. He snatched the drawing back as if offended and examined it closely.

“What’s wrong with it? It’s lovely. A bit seductive, perhaps, and while I’ve never actually seen you sit that particular way I know you have it in you… I even bribed a photo of you from that camera-happy little Gryffindor weasel Creavey in order to get your face exactly right.”

“This is low, even for you. What do you want?” She was actually shaking with fury. He put a hand on his wand, just in case she completely lost control.

“I just want to teach you to tango. You love to dance, so what’s the problem? What are you afraid of?”

“I know you are doing this to torture me.”

He said nothing, just raised a silvery brow at her and waited.

“I’ll tango, d**n you to hell. But I want the painting. And there had better be no copies and no others commissioned.”

He grinned broadly, victorious. She stormed out.

Hermione was livid. She felt like blasting a hole in the outer wall and throwing herself through it.

How in the name of all that was holy had she gotten herself into this predicament? She made it partway down the first set of stairs and then sat down hard on a step. She rested her forehead on her knees and crossed her arms over her calves. When would it end? How many more demands would he make before he tired of her? She heartily debated going back on her promise. It might be worth an endless amount of guilt to be free of him. She could probably Obliviate his memory. She had studied the theory. She might be able to do it without permanent damage… d**n it, she couldn’t do it. Not even to him.

Despair washed over her. Oh God, she had agreed to let him teach her to tango. How would she ever survive that with her sanity intact? She could barely handle waltzing with him; his viselike grip on her waist; his hands burning her flesh even through those damnable gloves he wore; the soft whispers in her ear that sent shivers down her spine; and his wretched silver eyes upon her every instant… Her ability to resist him was eroding and the most maddening thing was that he wasn’t even trying to affect her!

God help her if he ever really tried to seduce her. Her vaunted willpower would collapse like a house of cards simply because of bloody animal attraction. It was just a physical reaction, for crying out loud! Why couldn’t she control it? She choked back a sob. She would just have to find the strength to fight it. She couldn’t let him win.

She had taken every precaution to remain aloof. No revealing outfits—she wore her school uniform whenever they met. He smirked each time he saw it, but never commented. She had tried to pull her hair back into a demure bun or horse’s tail, but Draco had simply snapped the band with a spell and insisted her hair be loose so she could “better judge the speed of her spins.” She knew it was drivel, but the last time he had fluffed her hair with his hands and sent tingles charging across her scalp so strongly that she vowed never again to give him the opportunity to touch her hair.

Draco was remorseless outside their secret room, showering her with insults, ruining her potions, knocking supplies out of her hands… yet in their room he was the soul of politeness. He never called her mudblood and even the way he said “Granger” was calculated to send chills down her spine.

She heard footsteps behind her and stiffened, but it was too late to flee.

“Tired, Granger?” Draco asked mellifluously when his steps halted beside her. Hermione cringed. He was in torment-her-with-kindness mode.

“Very,” she said shortly. He sat down next to her, too close, of course. His hip pressed against hers. She would have shifted over, but she was already touching the stair rail. He would merely have followed her, anyway.

She felt his fingers brush her hair gently and then he grasped her shoulders and pulled her into a normal seated position. She sighed and wondered what wicked game he was playing now. He tucked her head back against his shoulder and rested his chin upon her hair. He kept his hands on her shoulders. She reflected wryly that she had sat this way dozens of times with Harry or Ron, relaxed and enjoying their company with no complications.

Sitting next to Draco was far different. She was so tense she thought her spine would snap if she moved too quickly. She could feel the slow thud of Draco’s heartbeat and the warm draft of his breath on her hair. She suppressed a shiver.

“Relax. I’m not going to hurt you,” he said softly.

“I hate it when you’re nice to me.”

“You hate it when I’m mean to you, also. In fact, I think we’ve established that you hate me all of the time.”

“You work so hard to make sure of it!”

He was quiet and she bit her lip. She wasn’t in the mood to argue with him. It was pointless and never seemed to make her feel any better. She expelled a breath and forced herself to relax against him. She let herself pretend, just for a moment, that he was a human being instead of a demonic incubus creature. She drank in his warmth and sighed when his hands slid down her arms to wrap around her waist.

“Why are you being nice to me, now?” she asked even though she was reluctant to shatter the respite. “So you can be twice as vicious to me tomorrow?”

“Probably. Or maybe you just caught me in a moment of weakness.”

“You have no weakness.”

His arms tightened for a moment.

Draco pondered her words. He began to fear that he did have a weakness, one that he had acknowledged only moments before.

Seeing her huddled on the stairs in a miserable ball had not filled him with his usual satisfaction. In fact, he had felt something bloody uncomfortable and it had taken him a long moment to put a name to it. Remorse. He actually felt sorry for tormenting her. He had the urge to comfort her. He almost wanted to apologize, which was astounding because he could not recall apologizing for a single thing in the past… decade?

He sat down next to her and tried to pry her out of her shell. She did not thaw easily. He had done his work well; she would not trust his simplest action and she was ever alert for ulterior motives. He supposed it was for the best. He had worked hard to keep the fires of her hatred burning bright. God help him if she ever looked at him with anything other than loathing. He’d never be able to keep his hands off of her. He was having a hard enough time at the moment.

She relaxed against him suddenly and he caught his breath in surprise. He slid his hands down to her waist and breathed in the heady scent of her hair. Did she always have to smell so damned good? His thumbs caressed her ribs in a barely discernable movement. He had held her before, while dancing, but never like this, when she was so docile and… yielding? Was she? What would she do if he leaned her back and exposed her face, forced her to look at him? What if he bent down and touched his lips to hers? His heart rate quickened with anticipation and he raised his right hand. His fingers moved to her neck and cupped her jaw. Her skin was warm and soft. He shifted slightly.

“No gloves? Won’t you be poisoned?” she asked scornfully. The words hit him like ice water. If she had used any other tone he might have ignored it, but the cold reminder of her contempt instantly deflated his passion. What the hell was he doing?

He stood up so quickly she nearly banged her head on the stone step.

“You’d better run along, Granger, before I do something we both regret.”

She glared at him with an odd mixture of puzzlement and annoyance.

“I’m glad I’ll never understand you,” she said.

“Just go.” He pushed a hand through his silver hair and watched her disappear down the stairs. d**n.

Hermione stared up at the dark wood of the ceiling and shifted her head slightly on her pillow. Her roommates were all asleep, but she lay wide awake. Her mind kept going over her last encounter with Draco. His words haunted her. Run along… before I do something we both regret. Do what? His tone had been so serious, not his usual disdainful sneer, nor the teasing tone he used when they danced. Both of those were calculated to set her teeth on edge, but this… He had meant it. For the first time, she contemplated something that hadn’t occurred to her before. Why did he insist on continuing their dance lessons? She had thought it was because he enjoyed controlling her; that he loved forcing her to do his bidding. Now she wondered if there was more to it than that. Maybe he was actually attracted to her? Perhaps she wasn’t the only one affected by their close association?

She bit her lip thoughtfully. She was tired of being on the defensive. Maybe it was time to take the war to him.

[Liz-Miia Parker]

;D

[Lissandra Sylvania]

Chapter Seven

It was an excellent afternoon for flying. Several of Draco’s cronies gathered to watch as he made several passes around Hogwarts and executed several trick moves to appeal to them. He waved nonchalantly. It was good to have followers. He flitted over the lake, staying as close to the water as possible without touching it. Once out of sight of the castle, he circled back and approached it from a seldom-used angle, hugging the ground to avoid detection. He soared upwards along the outer wall of the school and dropped down into a tiny rooftop garden he had discovered on one of his forays. Someone – Professor Sprout or house elves, perhaps – kept it well tended, for the flowers were always well groomed and dead leaves were never in sight, but Draco had never seen anyone there. Today was no exception.

The benefit of the garden was that it was only three corridors and two sets of stairs away from Hermione’s secret room. He shouldered his broom and wondered vaguely if she would even show up after yesterday’s strange interlude. He had nearly ruined everything.

When he entered the room, he halted in shock and struggled to breathe for a moment. Hermione’s schoolgirl clothes were missing. She had gotten a new outfit. It was similar to the black one he had admired when he’d watched her in secret, but this one had red trim that seemed to highlight her visible assets. He had forgotten how revealing the shiny fabric was.

She shrugged. “I swore never to wear the other one in front of you again, so I ordered a new one. I agreed to let you teach me to tango, but first I think I should show you a few more muggle dances.”

Draco looked bemused for a moment.

“You can’t avoid the dreaded tango forever.”

“I shall avoid it as long as possible,” she said pertly and started the music. Draco tossed his broom aside and shrugged out of his robes. Hermione stepped close to him. She watched him defiantly as she reached out and took his gloveless hands. He grinned, but allowed her touch without comment.

She demonstrated a few moves while speaking in her teacher-voice. She said she had learned the swing and jitterbug from her parents. Draco was an apt pupil, as usual, and soon they twirled, rotated, and skipped across the floor with seamless motion. Although he didn’t have much opportunity to put his hands all over her, Draco enjoyed the session.

It was a sunny day, so they had plenty of light from the ceiling window. They danced for nearly an hour to her varied fast-rhythm songs. Violins signaled a slower song and Hermione rushed to change it. Draco caught her hand.

“Wait,” he said. “I like it.”

“It’s called ‘The Best of Times,’” she said. He retained his grip.

“Muggles must dance to this, or it wouldn’t be on the phonograph,” he insisted.

She sighed. “They do, but it’s silly.”

“Show me,” he demanded.

She rolled her eyes, but stepped close to him. She took his hands and put them on her hips. She placed her own hands on his shoulders, so lightly he barely felt the pressure.

“Now you just kind of rock in place and shift your shoulders and hips,” she instructed.

Draco experimented and quickly found a rhythm that matched the music. His eyes narrowed. There had to be more to it than this or she wouldn’t have been so skittish about it earlier. Hermione kept her gaze fixed on a point over his shoulder. She rigidly maintained a four-inch gap between them and Draco figured it out. He smiled wickedly and slid his hands around her back. He yanked her against him and felt her breasts mash nicely into his chest. Her eyes flew to his as she gasped.

“Much better,” he decided as their feet readjusted. He expected her to shove him away and halt their session, but after a moment of resistance, she sighed deeply and slipped her hands around his neck. Draco nearly tripped when she laid her head upon his chest. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. She had never capitulated so easily. He peered carefully into the shadows of the room, alert for lurking Gryffindors. She could have tired of his game and confided in her lemur friends.

“I can’t believe I’m slow dancing with Draco Malfoy,” she murmured against his shoulder. “I am certifiably mental.”

Her words calmed him somewhat. She sounded sincere. Draco did not even want to consider what his Slytherin friends would say if they could see him wrapped so intimately around Hermione. His father would disown him instantly for even touching a muggleborn. He grinned at the thought. It was rare that he ever defied his father in any way.

And this particular way was turning out to be quite enjoyable.

The song ended far too soon for Draco’s taste. Hermione released him and stepped back as if waking from a daze.

“We probably shouldn’t do that too often,” she said warily. Draco nodded soberly. He already enjoyed touching her far too much.

Although she played a dangerous game, Hermione felt good to be taking action. No longer were all the cards on Draco’s side of the table. She ordered several outfits with cold blooded calculation. Leggings with a short, form-fitting pullover tunic; a racerback tank and matching tennis skirt; a halter top that was so revealing she hadn’t the guts to wear it when it arrived; a bodysuit with thin straps that she vowed only to wear with a shirt; and a rust-colored silk corset top that made her look like a pirate very *friendly* person with its wide belt and oversized buckle.

She wore the pirate outfit the next time they met and felt a flash of pure triumph when he actually goggled at her. He tried to speak and had to clear his throat a number of times before the words exited.

“What the hell are you wearing?”

“This old thing?” she asked coquettishly, although she drew the line at batting her eyelashes. She also wore the form-fitting black leggings that she knew he liked. She steeled herself and upped the ante by biting her lower lip and tugging at the bodice. His eyes followed her hands as though entranced. “I do hope I don’t fall out – it’s a bit tighter than I expected.” She dropped her hands and took a deep breath that nearly did cause her to pop out of the top. Draco sucked in a breath before he raised a trembling hand and dragged it through his hair, a sure sign that he was flustered.

She looked at him expectantly.

“Tango today?”

“God no!”

She suppressed a smile. Hermione—one. Draco—zip.

They barely got in a few quick non-touching muggle dances before Draco called the session short and bolted, using homework as an excuse. Hermione actually hummed on her way out of the room.

Her vengeance did not stop there. Outside the secret room, she ignored him utterly. She neither looked for him nor at him. She turned a deaf ear to his insults, sidestepped his attempts to trip her, and effortlessly defused his attempts to sabotage her work by thinking five steps ahead of him. It worked beautifully.

“What is going on between you and Malfoy?” Harry asked in the Gryffindor common room one night.

“What do you mean?” she asked placidly.

“He looks at you like he wants to kill you. I mean actually wants to kill you. He used to look at you as though you were an insect, rather like he looks at me, but now he looks as if he could incinerate you on the spot.”

Hermione smiled broadly at Harry’s words.

“Excellent.”

Hopefully in a few more days Draco would put an end to the “dance lessons” once and for all. Then they could get back to their normal lives of Gryffindor and Slytherin rivalry. All would be well.

[Lissandra Sylvania]

Chapter Eight

Draco slammed into the room. Hermione was sitting in his chair toying with her wand. He glared at her and a muscle in his jaw worked.

“What the hell are you playing at?” he demanded. She looked at him with an innocent expression.

“What do you mean?”

“You know precisely what I mean.” He flung out a hand. “Down there, you act like I don’t even exist and up here you… you…”

She stood up so he would not shout down at her, since he was obviously in the mood for a fight.

“I what? You can’t really be upset that I ignore you. Of course I ignore you! I can’t very well rush up and give you a hug when I see you in Potions, now can I? You certainly haven’t curbed your public malice toward me. What do you expect me to do?”

He glared at her. “I don’t know, but in this room you act sickeningly sweet and dress like a—can that skirt get any shorter?”

She looked down at her white tennis skirt speculatively. “I don’t know. Let me see.” She yanked at it experimentally and it rose on her thighs another inch. “Yes. A bit shorter, actually.”

Draco blanched. He took in the rest of her outfit and she felt the first hint of trepidation when his eyes glowed like silver flame. Perhaps she had gone overboard with the dark blue halter-of-little-coverage and the sheer aqua blouse. She suddenly felt far too uncovered.

She tried to divert his attention. “You know, you can call a halt to these meetings at any time. We can stop pretending to be pleasant and go back to despising one another.”

“Pretending to be pleasant. Is that what you’ve been doing?”

“Isn’t that what you’ve been doing? Or is the pretense the vicious slurs you throw at me? Which is it, Malfoy? Are you pretending to like me, pretending to hate me or is your life such a travesty that everything you do is fake?”

His lips thinned. “You don’t know anything about my life.”

“And what do you know about mine? We know nothing about each other and we have nothing at all in common! What are we even doing here?”

They glared at each other like rival cats.

“You would love for me to walk out of here and never come back, wouldn’t you?” he asked.

“Yes, I would,” she breathed, although her heart lurched and she suddenly knew it wasn’t true. His eyes narrowed and he walked around her slowly, much like he did the first day she discovered him here. He stopped behind her, so close she could feel her hair brush against his chest when he moved. She set her jaw and walked firmly away from him. She couldn’t think clearly when he was too near.

She at him over her shoulder.

“Look, we’ve got to stop meeting like this. You know it. We are going to kill each other if we don’t.”

“I don’t want to kill you.”

“Really? Then what was that little stunt you pulled in Potions on Monday? You nearly blew up the classroom by tossing Ashwinder powder into my cauldron. You’re bloody lucky I saw you or Snape would have expelled us both.”

“I made sure you saw me.”

“It doesn’t matter. I don’t understand why you insist we continue this charade! We despise each other, so let’s just leave it at that and pretend none of this ever happened.”

“You want to forget? All of it?”

“Yes!” she cried truthfully. If she could rip the memory from her own mind, she would. She did not want to remember the times Draco had been so… unDracolike. There had been moments when she had glimpsed something beyond the hateful façade he always hid behind.

“Well, I don’t.” His voice was adamant.

She turned around to look at him questioningly. “Why not?”

He sprawled in the chair she had vacated with a sigh. “Look, Granger, I’ll be honest with you.”

That should be a switch, she thought, but bit the words back before she could speak them. He glared as if she had said them aloud.

“I… like dancing with you.” He looked as though the words were being dragged from him by force. She stared at him, knowing that such an admission likely cost him a few acres of his reserved property in hell. “I look forward to it almost as much as Quidditch. More, if we’re playing Gryffindor. I know you hate it and you hate me and every moment you spend with me is sheer torture, so I’ll make a bargain with you.”

She narrowed her eyes, thinking that bargains with the devil were never a good idea, but again she kept silent and let him speak.

“I will stop tormenting you outside this room. No more pranks, no more sabotage, no more tricks and traps.”

“No more name calling?” she asked dryly.

“Well, I can’t go that far or the other Slytherins would think I’d gone mental and owl my father. I’d be committed to St. Mungos.”

“All right. Name calling - in, evil actions - out. What do you expect me to do?”

“Stop ignoring me, for one. I’d rather you hate me than pretend I don’t exist.”

Her lips twisted.

“God forbid anyone ignore a Malfoy.”

“Quite right.”

“Anything else?”

His silver eyes raked over her and she felt sure he was going to comment on her campaign of torture by apparel.

“No.”

“Then we have a truce.”

“A truce.”

[Liz-Miia Parker]

Plaaaah.