Bad Medicine

[Lissandra Sylvania]

Chapter Nine

The cease-fire turned out to be easier than Hermione had imagined. Both of them slipped into the comfortable routine of public hatred, but without the cruelty Draco had exhibited earlier.

He actually tucked a note unobtrusively into her cauldron as they left Potions the next day. It read: Considered putting foul ingredient into your potion while you did Weasel’s work for him. Congratulate me on superb self-control.

She had to smile. It was a relief not to constantly watch for Draco’s attacks. She rewarded him by treading on his foot as the mob broke up in the hallway. Harry and Ron had already disappeared to go to Divination and Hermione headed for Ancient Runes.

“Careful, Malfoy,” she said, “I don’t think your ego will fit through that archway.”

He sneered at her, but she could see he was pleased that she’d honored her agreement not to ignore him. He didn’t even comment.

She also took pity on him when they met after dinner that night. She wore her black exercise top, but threw a shirt over it to cut down on the seduction factor. He seemed to have the same idea, as he appeared wearing a black shirt that barely clung to his muscles when he moved. He still looked like a dark angel, but at least she could look at him without her jaw unhinging.

By unspoken agreement, they danced to muggle songs to avoid touching one another and shattering their tentative peace. Draco, it turned out, had an excellent voice. He sang along to several songs, causing her to shake her head in amazement. She wondered if there was any talent he didn’t possess. His rich baritone voice sent a new round of chills up her spine and she sighed inwardly. There was really no way to avoid the torment of attraction.

Against her better judgment, she found herself relaxing her guard during the next week. Draco still verbally assaulted her in and out of class, but the malicious edge was gone and he often kept his commentary to a few terse words. In the library, he would draw stick pictures of her hanging from a tree or getting struck by lightning. The first time he did that, she nearly choked herself to keep from laughing and ended with Ron pounding her on the back while she coughed.

On Sunday afternoon he marched into the room and walked straight to the record pile. He flipped through the stack and chose one of the classical records he had stolen from somewhere in order to teach her to waltz.

“Time to tango,” he said.

She started in surprise. He hadn’t even come close to touching her since their truce. She had wondered if he was back to his no-touching rule.

“We kicked the pants off of Ravenclaw yesterday in Quidditch. I’m in the mood to celebrate.”

The music began and he stepped forward and stopped about a foot from her.

“To begin, put one hand on my shoulder, here, and lean into me. Don’t move your feet.”

Hermione placed her hand accordingly and leaned. Draco did the same and their bodies came into contact at the chest. Her cheeks burned. She shut her eyes and tried not to breathe. Her cheek pressed against his jaw. He placed his right hand across her back and locked it upon her shoulder blade.

“Now,” he murmured, “Put your left arm on my right arm, but don’t use any pressure or you’ll throw us off balance.” She opened her eyes and rested her hand gently on his shoulder. Draco opened his hand and Hermione obediently put her palm in his. His fingers closed gently on hers.

“Lock your shoulders so we move as one.”

Hermione swallowed. She was pressed so closely against Draco that she could feel his every subtle motion. Already she could feel the heat beginning to warm her from the inside out.

He instructed her quietly on how to move her feet while guiding her. She felt awkward and clumsy at first, but Draco maintained a calm teaching manner that gradually relaxed her. Once she started to concentrate on the dance itself, she actually enjoyed the lesson.

He stepped back after they had practiced for nearly an hour.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“It was horrible,” Hermione said. “I’ll need to practice for a year before I can enjoy it and not feel so clumsy.”

“It won’t take that long. You’re a good dancer. This one just takes some extra concentration. It helps to relax and clear your mind first.”

Hermione blinked at him.

“Was that a compliment? Rewind the tape because I’m certain I didn’t hear you correctly. Did Draco Malfoy say something nice to a mudblood?”

“Rewind the tape?”

Hermione smiled, knowing he would never acknowledge the remark. “Fine, I’ll pretend I didn’t hear it.” She was in an amazingly good mood and tried not to attribute it to the close contact with Draco.

“One muggle dance and then we’ll quit.”

He selected “Somebody to Love” by Queen and sang along even though he didn’t quite know all the words. Their dance was part swing and part slow dance, which wasn’t nearly so frightening since Hermione had been pressed up against him for the past hour. He coaxed her into singing with him and by the end she had a fit of the giggles that left her weak in the knees.

He spun her in a dizzying circle even though the song had ended.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you laugh before,” he said. “At least, not around me.”

“Being around you isn’t exactly conducive to hilarity.”

“No?”

“Stark terror, perhaps. Insanity, surely.”

“Don’t forget mindless ecstasy.”

“You are so egocentric,” she admonished and then chuckled. “It’s nice when you’re in a good mood. You should try it more often.”

“And destroy my brooding, tormented, angst-ridden image? Surely not.”

He spun her a few more times for good measure until she was nearly too dizzy to stand. She clung to his shoulders and smiled up into his warm grey eyes. She caught her breath. Since their truce, Draco had become an enigma. She never knew what to expect from him. She almost missed the old Draco and his predictable arrogant spite, because he had been far easier to resist than this relaxed, carefree Draco with his teasing and good humor.

“I should go.”

Draco sneered. “Yes, I suppose the other lemurs miss you dreadfully. Probably pondering how they can possibly manage to do their own homework if you don’t return soon. I’m sure they’ll send a search party out rather than face that horrible unknown.”

She nearly laughed, but looked at him seriously instead.

“Why do you hate Harry so much?”

“Why do you like him so much?”

She smiled, bemused. “I love Harry.”

Draco released her and stepped back.

“You love him. He’s your boyfriend, then?”

“No. I love him, but I’m not in love with him. It’s hard enough being his friend. To love him at a deeper level…” She shook her head. “It would be unbearable.”

“Why?”

“For one thing, everything Harry feels is intense. If you are his friend, you have his utter friendship and loyalty. You accept without question that he will die for you, if necessary. That can be a very large burden, as you have to be prepared to return the favor. True friendship means giving as completely as you receive.”

“Meaning you would be willing to die for Potter?”

“Of course.”

Draco looked at her through narrowed eyes.

“That’s madness.”

“That’s love.” She shrugged. “If Harry ever gives his heart to a girl—I mean really falls in love, not a silly crush like he had on Cho Chang—she will need to be very strong to handle that intensity. His childhood was so wretched; he never had anyone at all to love. All of that emotion has been bottled up. When Harry falls in love, it will be completely, deeply, and forever, so it needs to be with someone really special.” She shut her mouth suddenly, wondering why she was telling Draco Malfoy all this.

Draco sneered as though her words had barely registered.

“Good luck finding someone to fall in love with Potter.”

She rose to Harry’s defense angrily. “Harry is good and kind and gentle. He’s thoughtful and honest and loyal! It would be easy to fall in love with him. Any girl would be lucky to have him!”

“But not you.”

Hermione glared at Draco. “I don’t know. Now that you’ve got me thinking about it, maybe I am in love with Harry!”

She spun on a heel and stalked out.

[Liz-Miia Parker]

irww ;D

[Lissandra Sylvania]

Chapter Ten

Against his will, Draco found himself pondering Hermione’s words. He wasn’t terribly surprised to learn she was willing to die for Harry Potter, as he’d always felt that to be something of a Gryffindor trait. They seemed to think nothing of nobly laying down their lives for each other. If one Gryffindor leapt from the castle wall, the rest would likely fling themselves over, as well. Like lemmings.

What disturbed him was her listing of Harry’s oh-so-lovable traits. Good and kind and gentle. Draco could be good and kind and gentle. Well, maybe not good, but he could pretend to be good, which was close enough to actually being good to pass in most situations. He could certainly be kind and gentle, when he chose. Which wasn’t often, granted. It was the whole thoughtful and honest and loyal thing that Draco was having a problem with. He was certain she hadn’t meant thoughtful in the sense of sitting around thinking, because no way in hell did Potter possess that quality. She must have meant thoughtful in the sense of thinking of someone else rather than themselves. It had Draco stymied. He couldn’t remember having been thoughtful in quite some time. If ever.

Her inclusion of the word honest didn’t disturb him too strongly. Gryffindors put far too much stock in honesty. Truth was a weapon and Slytherins did not willingly hand over weapons. If the truth could be used against you, it was far better to bury it under a stack of lies than be cut by it. If it could be used in your favor it should be wielded without mercy.

And loyalty. A Malfoy was loyal only to a Malfoy. Draco had learned from his father that loyalty was a mask you wore to insure your own survival. Lucius had pretended loyalty to the Dark Lord when he was in power and when that power waned; the loyalty was transferred to the Ministry of Magic. Should another power arise, no doubt Lucius would be a most faithful servant of the new regime. Likewise, Draco’s loyalty was to Draco. The very idea of staying faithful unto death to any person or ideal was ludicrous. Things changed far too frequently to remain rooted. Sometimes swapping sides was the only reasonable alternative to going down with a sinking ship. Yes, loyalty was overrated.

But the others… kind and gentle and thoughtful. Draco could pull that off.

In love with Harry Potter.

Draco would see about that.

Hermione had a cold. She had taken a Pepperup Potion, cure for the common cold, but apparently she had contracted an uncommon cold, for the potion had done little to combat the malicious virus.

She dragged through her classes in a fog and sneezed throughout Care of Magical Creatures while Hagrid happily showed them how to care for streelers. Hermione wondered how the giant snails survived in the snow, since they were originally from Africa. Knowing Hagrid, he probably kept the venomous creatures in his hut and made up a nice warm bed for them next to his own. The thought of a nice warm bed made her shiver miserably. She was suddenly enveloped in heat, as though a warm blanket had been wrapped around her.

She sighed in contentment and glanced sidelong at Draco, the only person she knew who could have known such a spell and had the ability to cast it silently. Her brow raised in puzzlement. He’d never done anything even remotely kind before. Possibly in his entire life. His eyes sparkled at her and she smiled gratefully for the barest moment. She was overcome with a rush of emotion that surprised her. A month ago she would have laughed hysterically at the idea of Draco Malfoy easing her discomfort instead of causing it. It was confusing, but damned welcome.

After class, she wanted only to slip into Gryffindor tower and sleep, but as she passed the statue of Artemisia Lufkin she noticed that Lufkin’s stone robe had a different clasp than usual—the signal that Draco wanted to meet with her. She sighed and debated not going. In her weakened state, she wasn’t sure she could deal with him. He had been so bloody nice lately that the protective walls she had built to keep him out were crumbling like day-old cornbread.

It would be polite to see him, though. If only to thank him for the warming spell. She stayed behind when the other Gryffindors left for dinner by pleading a headache, which was quite true. After everyone had departed she made her way upstairs.

“You look perfectly dreadful,” Draco said by way of greeting.

“Thank you. I feel perfectly dreadful.”

“Well, take your robe off. Come over here and lie down and I’ll give you the old Malfoy family remedy.”

She looked at him suspiciously.

“Does it involve thumbscrews and electric eels?”

“No, that’s the cure for severe acne.”

She noticed the couch for the first time. It sat against the wall close to Draco’s original chair.

“Where are you getting all the furniture?”

In the past month, he had dredged up a small table and three mismatched chairs, a large rug that was unraveling on one corner, a small writing desk, and a wrought iron coat rack.

“Here and there. The couch was dusty and a horrid shade or chartreuse when I found it.”

“So you turned it Slytherin green?”

“It was either that or black.”

He sat down and gestured to her imperiously. She tossed her robes aside and sat next to him tentatively. He maneuvered her around until they were both resting comfortably. Draco’s back was propped in a corner of the couch and Hermione leaned against him with her head on his chest. He had draped a blanket over them both.

“I’m finding your remedy to be a bit suspicious.”

He shushed her and began to massage her temples with his long fingers. Hermione sighed happily as her headache gradually receded and delicious warmth spread throughout her body. She stopped worrying about Draco’s ulterior motives and gave in to his therapy. She felt she could stay where she was forever.

“I retract my earlier comment. It’s an excellent remedy.”

“It works for a number of ailments.”

“I’ll bet.”

She wasn’t sure when the delightful languor lulled her into sleep, but she woke up gradually to the knowledge that she was still with Draco. Her head lay on his chest, but she had turned so her arm was draped across his waist. One of her legs was intertwined in his. She listened to him breathe and felt the steady rise and fall of his chest. She smiled in wonder at the very idea of Draco Malfoy allowing a mudblood to fall asleep on him. He had changed so much since their truce. The suspicious part of her wanted to know why. The trusting part urged her to just accept it. Or perhaps the stupid part.

She should get up, but she hated to wake him. And not merely because of the unbelievable contentment she felt lying upon him like this. In fact, if she could force her synapses to fire properly, she would fling herself to her feet and run like the wind. She was playing with fire.

“Awake, Granger?” Draco murmured.

She sighed. “Unfortunately.” Instead of rising, she brushed her thumb lightly across his rib cage and then chuckled.

“Honestly, what would the other Gryffindors say if I told them I slept with Draco Malfoy?”

“They would say ‘lucky pregnant dog,’ of course.”

She laughed. “Even the guys?”

“Of course. Especially Potter. He pretends to hate me to hide his overwhelming sexual attraction to me.”

Hermione choked at the ludicrous thought. “Ew.”

She sat up suddenly with a gasp. “What time is it?”

Draco smiled at her languidly and crossed his arms behind his head.

“You’re the one with the muggle watch, remember?”

She looked at the Beauty and the Beast watch she’d picked up in Disneyland Paris the previous summer. It was a rare wind-up watch that worked fine at Hogwarts.

“Goodness! 11:45! How will we sneak back to our common rooms?”

“Malfoys don’t sneak. I plan to walk back calmly. Really, you act like you’ve never been out at night before. How do you and the other lemurs do it whenever you’re traipsing around visiting crazed gamekeepers and looking for chambers of secrets?”

Hermione wasn’t about to divulge the existence of Harry’s invisibility cloak, no matter how dangerously sexy Malfoy was at the moment. She got to her feet.

“You could just stay here with me,” he offered.

“Not the wisest idea I’ve ever heard.”

He grinned. “Do you want me to escort you back?”

Hermione gaped at him in bewilderment.

“Who are you and what have you done with Draco Malfoy?”

He ignored that and left the couch. He picked up her robes and fastened them around her neck after draping them over her shoulders. He shrugged into his own and then held the door for her as they departed.

It was a surprisingly uneventful walk to the Gryffindor common room. Must be the devil’s luck, Hermione decided. When she stood outside the portrait hole, Draco saluted her smartly and left for the dungeons. She smiled bemusedly and watched him until he disappeared from sight.

“Meeting your secret love?” the Fat Lady asked in a stage whisper.

“Yes,” Hermione said, although she wouldn’t let the question sink in as she gave the password and retreated to her bed.

Draco hummed to himself as he sauntered through the dark hallways and down several flights of stairs after leaving Hermione. His plan was working admirably. This whole “kind and gentle and thoughtful” thing wasn’t nearly as difficult as he had expected and the rewards were enormous.

He felt an unexpected warmth at the memory of Hermione sleeping against him. It rather surprised him that she would trust him enough to actually fall asleep in his arms. A month ago, she would not even have sat on the couch with him. Maybe it had merely been her illness making her behave strangely. She’d most likely be back to her old prickly, skittish self soon.

Draco frowned at the realization that he didn’t want her to be afraid of him. He wanted her the way she had been this evening: pleasant, relaxed, and ingenuous. He paused partway down the dungeon steps, somewhat alarmed at the thought.

His motives were purely selfish, weren’t they? He wanted her to trust him only so he could crush her at his leisure. It was all part of his master plan to lull her into a false sense of security. Right?

Absolutely, he told himself. Soon he would get tired of playing with her and do something unexpectedly horrifying and she would merrily return to loathing him with all the raging passion she possessed.

Raging passion. He pondered the phrase for a moment, applying it to Hermione in a different context. He had seen her, on occasion, watching him through eyes that were liquid chocolate pools and with lips that were slightly parted. Yes, there were untapped reserves of passion hiding beneath that bookish façade of hers… Potter was an absolute fool not to have noticed that prize sitting right beneath his nose. If the imbecile had even put forth a bit of effort, she would have been Harry’s, body and soul.

Draco grinned to himself. Potter’s loss was his gain and he intended to take full advantage of it.

Reassured that his motives were completely wicked, he returned to the Slytherin dungeon.

[Liz-Miia Parker]

Ohjah, ootan juba kuidas nad tülli lähevad..ja siis järsku ära lepivad ja tunnistavad, et on armunud. ;D

[Lissandra Sylvania]

Chapter Eleven

Hermione had always thought it would happen in a rush. Like a bolt of lightning or a crash of fireworks. She never expected it to be a gradual, insidious thing.

It happened on a mundane day in December. She tripped on the stairs and spilled several of her potion ingredients at the very moment when half of Slytherin House was on their way down. Most of the Slytherins paused to jeer at her or kick her items farther down the stairs.

“Scrabbling on the ground where you belong, eh mudblood?” Pansy Parkinson sneered as she walked by. Hermione must have sensed Draco because she looked up to find him beside her. He wasn’t looking at her; instead he was glaring at Pansy’s back with the same expression of hatred Hermione used to encounter on a daily basis. Hermione blinked in surprise.

Draco’s eyes met hers then, and softened into quicksilver pools.

“Gryffindor scum,” he said loudly, but she caught the barely audible teasing timbre of his voice.

“Slytherin pig,” she returned without venom. He sneered and it was at that particular moment that she realized she loved him. No lightning, no thunder, no fireworks. Just simple knowledge that hit her like an anvil dropped in an old cartoon. He moved off with the others and left her sitting in stunned disbelief, unable to finish gathering her spilled articles. She sat on the dungeon steps for a long, long time with her head in her hands, wondering exactly when simple animal attraction had grown and deepened into something beyond her control. What had caused it? There was no single moment she could recall. It was more than lust, because that had always been there beneath the surface. She had stopped hating him. She had gotten used to him. She had begun to like him. And now this.

Hermione’s new knowledge had her thoroughly depressed for the next few days. She barely ate. She couldn’t sleep. Homework became a nightmare as she struggled to comprehend it through a fog of exhaustion. She often found herself staggering down to the common room past midnight, unable to sleep for tortured, ecstatic dreams of Malfoy, yet unable to concentrate on the books before her.

She became irritable and snappish and had a huge row with Ron over a broken quill that ended with her bursting into tears and fleeing to her room.

Harry tried to coax the problem out of her, but she couldn’t possibly explain that she was in love with Malfoy—God, how could she have let that happen? Harry was left hurt and confused by her inability to confide in him. The Lemur Trio is falling apart, she thought bitterly.

She had put off Draco for nearly a week when he caught her alone and threatened to drag her to their secret room by her hair, so she finally agreed to meet him. She was fully prepared to tell him off and go back to their old relationship of mutual hatred.

She steeled herself and stepped purposefully into the room.

He was waiting for her in the darkness near the door and he snatched her up from behind and spun her in a circle before he released her and walked to the phonograph.

“You’re late. I should be very angry with you for putting me off so long,” Draco said. “People do not put off Malfoys by being too busy or too tired or too… whatever your last excuse was.”

“Look, Malfoy,” she began with determination, but he cranked the machine and dropped the needle. Her words were drowned by the strains of “Goody Two Shoes,” her “theme song” Draco insisted. He grabbed her again and spun her into a swinging dance.

“Back to your demure ways again?” he asked as her robes spun out behind her. She had not even bothered to change from her school uniform.

She released him and ran to the machine. She snatched the needle, breathing hard.

“Malfoy, we have to stop doing this,” she said without looking at him. “We don’t need any more dance lessons from each other. You are already a far better dancer than most muggles who’ve practiced for years.”

“I’m gifted that way,” he admitted smugly.

She turned to look at him and clasped her hands together to keep from wringing them in nervousness.

“Seriously,” she said. “There is no logical reason for us to continue this. It’s only a matter of time before we’re caught. I’m sure your Slytherin cronies are wondering where you disappear to. Harry and Ron—“ she pressed on quickly, ignoring the sneer that always twisted his lips at the mention of the two—“have already noticed and I’m surprised they haven’t followed me.”

Draco was silent. Hermione began to babble, as she usually did when she was upset.

“You do understand, don’t you? I mean, it’s not that I don’t enjoy meeting you here, God knows it been… well, it’s been a far cry from being here alone, I can tell you and for certain I’ve gotten more exercise than I ever would have done on my own and—“

She clamped her jaw shut with a snap. Draco walked forward, leaned close, and then reached behind her to drop the needle back onto Random Hits. It landed somewhere in the middle of “Cool Night.”

“You really do talk too much,” he said softly and pulled her into an embrace. He took her hand in one of his and danced her, part waltz and part swing, though the song was a slow one.

Hermione sighed and gave in. One last dance, one last fantasy for her to indulge. She looked up into his silver eyes and pretended, just for a moment, that he loved her. He smiled, giving reinforcement to her lie. She closed her eyes as her heart did a slow roll. It wouldn’t do for him to see the truth she was afraid she could no longer hide.

He pulled her closer and slowed a bit.

“You know,” he said casually, “Your first name is quite the mouthful. Could your parents have found a longer one?”

“Well, what kind of people name their child after a dragon? Besides, you don’t call me by my name, anyway,” she huffed, seizing on the topic like a lifeline. He ignored her.

“I’ve heard the Weasel call you ‘Mione,’ which doesn’t surprise me as I’m sure it’s difficult for his tiny brain to process such a staggering number of syllables.”

“Only four!”

“That’s a lot for Weasley. Anyway, I’ve decided you need a nickname.”

“You already call me ‘Mudblood,’ remember?” she said softly. He ignored that, also.

“I’ve decided to call you Mi,” he said matter of factly. She nearly gasped as the word echoed in her head. Mi. My. Mine. She stopped dancing and backed away, but he wouldn’t release her hand. She wanted to scream at him that she was not his possession.

But she was.

“Oh God,” she said softly. He seemed not to notice her distress and snatched her back against his chest.

“Come here,” he said. “You’re making it damned difficult to finish a single dance today. What the hell is the matter with you?”

“I already told you!” she said sharply. “We—“

“Yes, yes, we’re going to get caught, Harry and Ron, blah blah blah,” he snapped.

“Don’t you care?” she said, staring into his quicksilver eyes in confusion.

“Can’t say that I do,” he said casually.

She ripped away from him forcibly at that and stalked to the machine. She pulled the needle off with finality and spun back to him.

“That’s bloody well not true and I know it. What would you do if your little Slytherin friends came in here right now? What if Pansy, your girlfriend, saw us together? Or Montague? Would you admit to what we’ve been doing?”

He was silent and she nodded.

“Exactly! You would rip me to shreds in front of them to save face. God forbid the mighty Malfoy be seen cavorting with a mudblood, touching an impure creature such as myself! Why, the filth might rub off, you know! You could be tainted for life by simply breathing the same air!”

She had finally reached him. His eyes were glacial and his jaw was set in a hard line. Hermione took a deep breath. It was time to do the hardest thing she had ever done in her life. It took every bit of courage she possessed and every ounce of strength to keep her voice steady.

“And, frankly, I wouldn’t be able to explain you to my friends, either. I mean, me lowering myself to consort with Slytherin scum, and especially a bigoted, spoiled, self-centered, deluded bastard such as yourself…” she forced herself to laugh shortly though she nearly choked with the effort and she felt her heart crack straight down the middle at the look on his face. She had hurt him, and deeply. She pressed on, steeling herself against the pain. “I think I’ve carried on this farce long enough. Our truce is at an end and now I won’t have to pretend any more that I don’t loathe the very sight of you. Honestly, I don’t know what I was thinking to even fake it this long!”

Draco’s features seemed carved in ice. It had taken weeks to thaw the hard, cold shell he had encased himself in and it had taken her a single instant to erect those walls again. She abhorred herself in that moment. She felt sick.

“I see,” he said softly. “Well. Thank you for clarifying that. Your logic, as always, is impeccable.”

“Just go, Draco,” she begged. She trembled with the effort of holding back her tears. She could barely speak.

He spun on a heel and left. As the door slammed behind him, Hermione collapsed. She wept as if her soul had been ripped from her body. She pulled her knees up to her chin and rocked like a lost child.

God, how could she live with herself after that?

[Liz-Miia Parker]

tüli....ootame pisarate rohket leppimist,

[Lissandra Sylvania]

Chapter Twelve

Draco had never been more furious in his life. He stalked into the corridor and stopped, looking at the long row of windows as though he’d never seen them before.

What the hell had happened to him? He actually felt—hurt! In fact, he felt worse than hurt. He felt as if Crabbe had kicked him in the stomach. Several times. It suddenly dawned on him that he had stupidly allowed himself to get close to Granger. He had actually begun to care for the filthy little mudblood.

He laughed shortly, without humor. In a way, he owed the little pregnant dog for the wakeup call. He should thank her for bringing him back to his senses. To echo her words, God, what had he been thinking?”

He congratulated himself on his return to normal and smiled the hateful sneer he knew she despised. Yes, Draco Malfoy was back.

He reached for his wand, suddenly overwhelmed with the need to smash out every window in the corridor. He needed to feel the frigid air on his face.

He gripped his wand, but suddenly it wasn’t enough. He needed to hurt someone the way he had been hurt. He needed to hurt her. He took several deep, angry breaths, fighting the urge to go back, half-afraid of what he might do.

He took four determined steps away from the door that suddenly loomed like the gateway to his own personal hell.

Just go, Draco, she had said.

Not Malfoy, but Draco.

“f**k!” he snarled and turned around.

Draco stalked into the room, expecting Hermione to be tidying up, perhaps humming a happy tune and patting herself on the back. Instead, she was huddled on the floor sobbing hysterically.

He froze.

After a moment, she either heard him, or sensed his presence.

“I thought you had gone,” she said in a thick whisper and wiped her eyes with a sleeve.

“I came back for something,” he murmured. His white-hot rage had lessened at the unexpected sight of her crying. Draco tried to process the fact. Not just crying, but sobbing like someone had broken her favorite toy. She had yelled at him with purely clinical calculation, as emotionless as a golem. Why, then…? He fingered his wand in puzzlement.

Just go, Draco, she had said. And yet she had never before called him by his first name.

She sniffed loudly, obviously trying to bring herself back under control.

“Get what you came for and feel free to depart,” she said haughtily after clearing her throat, but the words were still barely audible.

“I came back to give you a piece of my mind. But now I’m trying to determine why you’re upset,” he said as though he read aloud from an interesting newspaper article. “You were completely calm while telling me your reasons for never wanting to see my face again. Not a single tear as you listed the many reasons I deserve your everlasting hatred. Every bloody word was calculated to hit me like little poisoned arrows. You succeeded quite nicely in that, as you well know. It was the deluded that got me. Everything else was pretty much dead on true, but to hint that I was delusional—very clever. And to mention that you’ve been pretending all this time. Truly an excellent performance. Quite according to plan, I would say. So, I have to ask myself. Why is she crying?”

Draco turned around and looked at her through narrowed eyes. Hermione got to her feet. She wrapped her arms around herself as if to ward off a chill. He walked over and halted in front of her. She refused to look at him. Her eyes were tightly shut above cheeks wet with tears. He stopped in front of her.

“Look at me, Granger,” he snarled. She opened her eyes and stared at him miserably. He nodded with satisfaction. “Just as I thought. I know why you’re crying.”

She shook her head in denial and started to back away. He followed her like a stalking beast. The rage he had felt in the corridor had changed into a simmering anger. His voice was a hoarse whisper.

“Oh yes. I do. You’re upset because you lied, aren’t you? Tell me that’s not the reason. Little Miss Paragon of Gryffindor Virtue lied through her teeth and now it’s killing her! Isn’t it, Mi? You don’t think I’m ‘Slytherin scum’ at all, do you? I’m sure you think I’m spoiled, bigoted, and self-centered, but I’m starting to bet you rather like me that way.”

She continued to shake her head and she glanced at the door as though she would love to bolt, but she had backed herself straight into the wall and Draco persistently advanced on her until she was pressed flat against the stone and his face was a bare inch from hers. She trembled like a terrified kitten and her chest heaved in near panic.

“You don’t hate me, either. Do you, Mi?” he asked softly. Her eyes looked huge in the dim light. “Do you?”

“I don’t hate you, Draco,” she admitted in a whisper and tears trickled down her face. Triumph flooded his senses and he crushed her against the wall roughly, trapping her in place with his hips. His hands gently cupped her face. He leaned down and kissed her.

Hermione would have collapsed if Draco’s body hadn’t held her in place. Her already overloaded senses couldn’t cope with his assault. Her legs felt ineffective. She didn’t even try to think; instead she wrapped her arms around his neck in a useless attempt to keep herself from drowning. She was already too far gone for that. His kiss was electrifying, bruising her lips as he tasted her with a nearly savage intensity. She whimpered, but held on tightly when he would have pulled away. She deserved whatever penance he inflicted on her, after what she had done to him. She clung to him and pushed her hands into his hair, marveling at the incredible softness of it.

His kiss changed from punishing to tender. He nibbled at her lips and caressed them with his tongue. Her blood felt like it was on fire. His mouth left hers and slid down her neck, leaving a trail of heat that ignited an inferno in her loins. She needed him to stop. His hands were sliding down her body… under her shirt… hot, so hot on her skin. His mouth was creeping downward past her collarbone. She wondered dimly where her tie had gone… and the buttons on her shirt… God. She tried feebly to speak, but nothing came from her lips but a moan of desire.

Draco pushed away from her suddenly and she nearly reeled at the loss of support. She sagged against the wall as he disentangled her hands from his hair and took several steps backward. He panted and swallowed hard as Hermione struggled to remain standing. Without the wall for stability, she would have collapsed. The air felt cold as ice where his searing body had recently pressed.

He drew in a ragged breath.

“Well, I think we’ve firmly established that you do not, indeed, hate me,” he said lightly. She actually laughed, though the sound bordered on hysteria.

“No, I definitely lied about that,” she whispered.

“Why?”

She stared at him. “After what just happened? How can you ask me that? I’m terrified of you!”

He looked thoroughly puzzled. She somehow found the strength to push herself off the wall. She trembled uncontrollably and her teeth began to chatter, but as long as he stayed a safe distance away…

“I’m terrified that everyone can see how I feel when I look at you. I can’t stop thinking about you. I can’t keep my eyes off of you—surely you’ve noticed! I watch for you constantly. I can’t think at all without thoughts of you intruding. I can’t eat—I’ve taken in my skirts three times, now. I can’t sleep without dreaming about you. I feel like an inferi half the time.”

He stepped toward her and she backed into the wall again, hard, and lifted a hand to ward him off. He halted. She angrily blinked at the tears that filled her eyes again.

“You stay right there. I won’t be responsible for my actions if you touch me again.” It sounded like a threat, but it was a plea. If he touched her again she would give herself to him without the slightest fight. She knew it, and all the rationalization in the world wouldn’t change the fact. “Don’t you see? We can’t be together. It just won’t work. No matter how much I wish it were otherwise.”

“We’ve been doing fine so far,” he said stonily.

“You know that won’t last, Draco. Sooner or later we’ll be found out. And then what will we do? You have to face reality.”

He ran a hand through his already mussed hair. She closed her eyes, remembering the gossamer softness of it. When she opened her eyes again, he walked toward her. The pulse in her throat jumped wildly. She gasped when he raised a hand to touch her face.

“Promise you’ll meet me again,” he said. She shook her head.

“I can’t.”

“If you don’t promise, I’ll kiss you until you do,” he warned. She shut her eyes, knowing that would take about half a millisecond.

“I promise,” she gritted.

“Good little Gryffindor,” he said in a superior tone. She felt his lips touch hers again and his teeth nibbled her lower lip for a moment. She was instantly dizzy.

And then he was gone.

[Lissandra Sylvania]

Chapter Thirteen

When Draco exited the room the second time, he was in a far better frame of mind. He found himself whistling one of Hermione’s tunes as he strolled.

She didn’t hate him! He laughed in amazement at the thought of her response to his kiss. Bloody hell, he had nearly lost all control. The mere remembrance of it sent the heat rising through his blood again and he spun on a heel and detoured to the roof garden. The day was clear, but so ice cold there was a slick layer of frost on the shadowed portions of the floor.

Draco welcomed the chill. He breathed deeply and felt nettles of pain prick his lungs. He expelled a white fog of breath and ran a hand through his hair, only to find it hopelessly tangled. He smiled ruefully at the memory of Hermione’s hands in it. He absently cast a spell that put every hair back into place.

He sobered as her words returned to him. He had been furious, but he understood why she had tried to hurt him. She was right. What they were doing was risky for both of them. He still found it hard to believe he had gotten so involved. It had started as a simple amusement. He had only planned to toy with the mudblood. He winced. It was difficult for him to even think of her the way he had before.

He had gradually accepted his attraction to her as a mere physical response, a sensual animal instinct. But it had grown into something more than physical, something he was not prepared to accept. Hearing her sobs earlier had made him want to pick her up and hold her, which amazed him. He’d heard females cry before and it had always annoyed him. He knew they used tears as a weapon. Hermione’s had been different; she had never intended him to see them.

He sighed explosively and watched his breath cloud slowly dissipate. He should try to consider what would happen if they were seen together. What would he do? He laughed bitterly, knowing Hermione had been right. He would most likely rip her to shreds rather than admit he was in…volved with a muggleborn.

He was suddenly disgusted with himself at the thought and started back inside. Knowing that she would stand up in her brave little Gryffindor manner and admit to a relationship with him only made him feel that much worse.

He scowled as he walked down the stairs. Where was his self-control? She was just a girl. He didn’t need her. She was right. It would never work. He resolved to stay away from her. She would understand.

Hermione was walking to the Gryffindor common room from the library when a hand reached out from the shadows and yanked her behind a suit of armor. She reached for her wand to teach her attacker a lesson, but both her wrists were held against the wall by strong hands. She suddenly recognized Draco’s scent and sagged in relief. He always smelled clean and somewhat spicy, like fresh basil and summertime.

“Draco,” she breathed. “It’s been five days. I thought you didn’t want to see me any more.”

He gripped her wrists more tightly.

“I didn’t. I tried to stay away from you, but after Potions today…”

She chuckled throatily. “That was pure evil,” she admitted. “I am deeply ashamed of myself.”

“Deeply,” he repeated dubiously.

“You were ignoring me,” she explained.

“It was your idea.”

“I hated every minute of it.”

“Me too,” he said and captured her lips with his.

Thus ended their five day trial separation, but things grew far more complicated thereafter.

Hermione couldn’t believe she was sneaking out after hours without Harry and Ron. She also couldn’t believe she had “borrowed” the Marauder’s Map from Harry without his knowledge. She had nearly taken his invisibility cloak, but couldn’t quite bring herself to take something so personal. She would never forgive herself if it were confiscated by her being caught.

She stepped out of the painting door, glanced around furtively, and tapped the map with her wand.

“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,” she whispered, noting that in this instance it was absolutely true.

“I’ll say,” admonished the Fat Lady. Hermione wondered if the painting would feel obligated to report her.

“I’m meeting a boy,” she admitted. The Fat Lady gasped happily and clapped hands to her cheeks.

“I remember! Your secret love,” she breathed. “Well, run along then and be careful of Peeves. Mum’s the word!”

Hermione smiled gratefully, checked the map, and ran.

Even with the map, Hermione had a hard time avoiding Filch, his annoying cat, Peeves, and other wandering teachers on her way to meet Draco. She began to wonder if any of the adults ever went to bed!

Draco waited for her in the corridor with the windows. It looked amazing by night when the moonlight made gothic patches of bluish light on the floor and highlighted the statues in their niches. She paused for a moment and studied him as he gazed out at the lake. He looked like a beautiful statue himself as he leaned casually against the window embrasure. He had taken off his black robe and it dangled from one hand onto the floor in a dark pool. He was dressed in all black tonight, the better for sneaking, no doubt, though he would vehemently swear that Malfoys did not sneak. The shirt was vaguely pirate-like, open at the neck. Its billowing sleeves gathered at the cuffs with a long row of silver buttons. His black pants were tight, as usual, and hugged his buttocks and legs to maximum effect. He wore black boots that he had spelled in order to make no noise when he walked. His hair shone silver in the moonlight.

She sighed and almost wished he weren’t so heartbreakingly gorgeous.

He must have heard the sigh, for he turned and grinned wickedly.

“Naughty little Gryffindor, sneaking about after hours?” he asked and clucked his tongue as though it weren’t his idea to begin with. “I’ll have to think of a suitable punishment for you.”

She walked into his arms with hopeless abandon. She smiled.

“How about kissing me to death?”

“That works for me,” he breathed and set to it.

Pansy Parkinson watched through narrowed eyes as Draco entered the Slytherin common room at a ridiculous hour of the morning. It was obvious he’d been out all night and it was equally obvious he’d been with someone, given the mangled state of his hair and the fact that he was whistling softly. Draco Malfoy never whistled. Pansy nearly stood and confronted him, but she knew he would deftly turn the tables on her and make her begin to doubt her own eyes. He was an accomplished liar. She began to tally up all of his strange disappearances over the past couple of months; his excuses; his casual explanations; his odd behavior. She found it difficult to breathe through the rage that gripped her.

He didn’t notice her sitting in the shadows near the banked fire and walked on to his room. Before he disappeared, she heard a snatch of song.

She didn’t recognize it, but the words were apt. His love was like bad medicine.

[Liz-Miia Parker]

Nii..nüüd tuleb draama varsti

[Lissandra Sylvania]

You can count on that!

Chapter Fourteen

Hermione stared blearily at Harry, quite unable to comprehend his question. He sat across from her in the Gryffindor common room, which was empty but for the two of them. He had sent Ron off on an errand to the kitchen to fetch Hermione breakfast, which she’d missed by lolling in bed half the morning. The other Gryffindors were outside enjoying the snow that still clung to the ground from a dumping three days prior.

“Who is he?” Harry repeated.

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.” Hermione sniffed and took a gulp of her hot cocoa. She winced as it burned her tongue.

“You’re a wretched liar,” Harry observed. “I saw you this morning sneaking the Marauder’s Map back into my trunk. Where did you go?”

For once in her life, Hermione was speechless. She was also exhausted. She and Draco had managed not to snog the entire night, though her lips felt like they had. Just when she would begin to lose all semblance of control, Draco would pull back, stalk far out of reach, and they would discuss trivial subjects until both could breathe normally again. Neither was quite willing to cross that barrier, as their relationship was far too fragile as it was. They had retired to what they had dubbed the Music Room and spent most of the night listening to songs, dancing, or sitting on the couch huddled together while they talked about various Gryffindors or Slytherins. It was the first time Hermione remembered actually talking with him and was pleasantly surprised to discover there was a lot more to Draco Malfoy than met the eye.

She could not, of course, admit that to Harry Potter. Especially when he glared at her like he was now.

“Erm…”

“Come on, Hermione, after all we’ve been through? Trolls. Basilisks. Trelawney. You know all about my Cho Chang fiasco and you had that little fling with Viktor Krum last year… Who could possibly be worse than him? It has to be a Ravenclaw, they’re the only ones smart enough for you… Terry Boot? Eddie Carmichael? Chambers?”

She glared at him stonily.

“Hufflepuffs, then? Can’t be Cedric Diggory, since, you know, the Cho thing… Wayne Hopkins? Zacharias Smith?” Harry made a face at that. “No, not Smith. You don’t plan to tell me, do you?”

“Are you going to name everyone in the school?” she asked mildly.

“Well, it can’t be a Slytherin. Unless it’s Blaise Zabini, some girls say he’s handsome…”

“He hates muggleborns,” she reminded him.

“Don’t they all? How about Miles Bletchley, he’s not as bad as some of those Slytherins…”

“No,” she said firmly.

Harry sat back with an explosive sigh. “Fine! Don’t tell me then! I suppose I don’t care anyway, as long as it’s not Draco Malfoy—“

Hermione choked on her hot chocolate and was horrified to find her cheeks growing hot. She glanced at Harry guiltily to find his face pale as a ghost.

“You. Have. Got. To. Be. Joking,” he choked out.

She swallowed hard and looked at him miserably. She shook her head.

Harry leaped to his feet. His green eyes flashed emerald rage.

“HOW THE HELL CAN YOU BE SEEING DRACO MALFOY?” he bellowed. “ARE YOU COMPLETELY MENTAL?”

She stood up and gripped her mug so tightly she thought it would shatter.

“Why don’t you just announce it to the entire school?” she yelled.

“WHY DON’T YOU IF YOU’RE SO KEEN ON THE HORRIBLE LITTLE DEATH EATER WANNABE?” Harry hollered. Hermione suddenly wanted to hit him. She’d known he would take it like this, which was why she had never planned to tell him.

“Frankly, Harry, it’s none of your damned business,” she snapped haughtily. He reacted as though she had slapped him. He gasped and stared at her with a look of pure astonishment before his brows lowered in a furious glare. He nodded abruptly.

“You’re right,” he said in a voice that shook with rage. “None of my business. Just remember, if you shut me out now, no one will be there to pick up the pieces when he crushes your heart in his cold little fist.”

Ron chose that moment to enter the common room with a plate piled high with pastries and fruit. He stopped at gaped at them. The air crackled with tension. Harry pushed past him and stormed out of the room. Hermione sagged onto the couch in despair.

“Did I miss something?” Ron asked in puzzlement.

Harry felt like a complete idiot for not having noticed it sooner. Now that he knew, the secretive interaction between Hermione and Draco Malfoy was like a subtle game known only to them. Harry watched them surreptitiously as he played a game of wizard’s chess with Ron. Harry wasn’t speaking to Hermione and refused to tell Ron why, so Ron was getting revenge by slaughtering Harry on the chess board.

A few Slytherins sat at a table in the library, defacing books and giggling just quietly enough to keep from being thrown out. Draco sat next to Pansy Parkinson and seemed to be quite absorbed in a large book.

Hermione sat with Neville and Ginny Weasley at a nearby table. As Harry watched, Hermione picked up the copy of Advanced Transfiguration she had been reading (even though Harry knew she had her own copy in her room) and carried it around the corner. She returned with Dangerous Draughts of Doom and sat down.

About five minutes later, Malfoy got up and disappeared into the shelves. He returned empty-handed a moment later. Harry was willing to wager he had a piece of parchment stuffed into a pocket with Hermione’s handwriting on it. As he passed Hermione, Draco muttered, “Nasty mudblood.”

Hermione replied, “Pureblood pig.”

But when Draco sat down, Harry noticed an amused smiled playing about his lips. Hermione coughed and covered her mouth with a hand. Her eyes sparkled mischievously. Harry had the distinct impression that the insults were now code words for endearments. He couldn’t quite wrap his brain around the fact that Draco Malfoy was actually seeing Hermione. Secretly, but willingly.

Pansy Parkinson suddenly stood up, gathered her things, and stormed from the room. Hermione looked at Draco in astonishment. He moved his shoulders in the slightest hint of a shrug and the usual sardonic smirk twisted his mouth. Hermione bit her lip and looked at Harry. Harry rolled his eyes. He glanced at Malfoy again to find the Slytherin staring at him suspiciously. Harry glared. Malfoy sneered.

“Are you going to move or not?” Ron demanded suddenly.

“Not,” Harry decided. “Let’s get out of here. All this silent communication is driving me crazy.”

Hermione was perched on a divan in a semi-deserted corridor with her Ancient Runes textbook propped on her lap. Behind her loomed a huge statue of Bridget Winlock, a famous Arithmancer, tucked into a large niche behind the divan. Lying on his back next to Bridget’s stone skirts was Draco Malfoy. He was invisible to passersby due to the iron scrollwork around the base of the statue that completely hid him from view. It was one of the few places in the school where they could converse without being discovered.

“…thinking about staying here for Christmas although Mother would probably go into a complete panic thinking I didn’t love her any more,” Draco was saying. “It’s bloody cold in this alcove today.”

“Want me to climb up there and warm you up?” she asked teasingly.

“I’ve asked you six times already.”

Hermione giggled. “I know if I do, when I come out I’ll look like I’ve been hit with a whirlwind charm.”

“It’s not my fault you can’t manage to keep your clothes on around me.”

She gasped in outrage. “Of course it’s your fault!”

A first-year Hufflepuff walked by and looked at her curiously. Hermione smiled as though it were perfectly normal for her to be seen talking to herself. She heard a slight rustle and knew Draco had rolled over onto his stomach.

“I’m really cold, Mi,” he said plaintively. She groaned. He had to be lying. She knew damned well he never got cold. His body temperature seemed to be several degrees above normal. At least, his skin always felt hot to her. She shivered and set the book aside. Before she could move, she spotted Harry approaching.

“Diffindo,” she said quietly, the signal for Draco to be silent. She expected Harry to walk past her without acknowledgment, since he was still enraged, but to her surprise he stopped in front of her. His green eyes moved about suspiciously.

“Odd place to study,” he commented.

“It’s a bit cold in the Gryffindor common room these days,” she said flatly.

“Well, it would be, wouldn’t it?” he snapped.

“Did you just stop to yell at me some more?” she asked. Harry tugged at his black hair.

“No. I wanted to tell you that… well, you already know what you’re doing is stupid… and I won’t pretend to approve…”

She waited, knowing Harry had a bloody difficult time getting his point across when he was agitated. He yanked his hair again, though it was already sticking out in a dozen directions.

“d**n it, what I mean to say is I was wrong before. About not being there for you. Because I will. No matter what happens.” He took a deep breath. “There. I’ve said it. All right?”

Hermione nearly knocked him over with an exuberant hug. Tears sparkled in her eyes. She swallowed hard.

“I love you, Harry,” she murmured so only he could hear. “You’re the best friend ever.”

Harry patted her back awkwardly and coughed. “Yes, well, just be bloody careful. And if you need me to… Crucio anyone… well, just call.” She released him and he grinned ruefully and left. She gazed after him fondly for a moment.

“Potter knows, doesn’t he?”

She nodded.

Draco said, “Yes, I caught the Crucio reference. I’m sure he’d be only too willing to turn me into a tiny pile of ash for you.”

“Well, you’ll just have to be nice to me then, won’t you?”

“I’m not afraid of Potter,” he scoffed. “But if you come here and warm me up, I’ll show you how nice I can be.”

She went.

[Liz-Miia Parker]

haah ;D

[Lissandra Sylvania]

Selle fikki lõpp on lähedal.

Chapter Fifteen

Hermione actually watched the Quidditch match the next afternoon, since Harry, Ron, and Draco were all playing. The animosity between Draco and Harry seemed to have intensified and they yelled and banged into each other and made feinting dives to fool one another throughout the game. At one point, the Snitch hovered directly above them and it took a bellow from Angelina to stop them shouting at one another and pay attention. By then the Snitch had disappeared. Hermione sighed. Males.

She got rather bored watching the game itself and quite lost track of the points, although she was having a nice time watching Draco on his broom. It was a good thing he never got cold because the Quidditch pitch was covered with snow and Hermione was freezing huddled in a warm fur cloak with earmuffs.

Harry and Draco both hurtled forward and turned sharply. They went past the stands in a blur of red and green and then swung upwards. Draco seemed to be flying better than ever, pacing Harry. It would be a true race to see who caught it today—

“Look out!”

The cry came from a dozen throats and Draco spun through the air like a rag doll as the Bludger smashed into him from below. He hurtled to the ground as his broom spun off in another direction. Harry spun quicker than thought and tried to catch him, but it was too late. Draco slammed into the snow-covered ground.

Hermione couldn’t even scream. She didn’t remember running to the field, but she shoved aside everyone in her path until she collapsed on her knees beside Draco. There was blood on the snow. Harry knelt on Draco’s other side. His green eyes met hers helplessly, until he was shoved aside by Pansy Parkinson.

“Get away from him, mudblood,” she said venomously.

Hermione ignored her and touched the back of Draco’s head gently and felt blood oozing from a wound on the back of his skull. She pressed her hand against the wound tightly, trying to staunch the bleeding. He was still as death and nearly as pale as the snow that cradled him.

“Where is Madam Pomfrey?” she asked hoarsely.

“Coming,” Harry said.

Hermione leaned down until her lips brushed Draco’s ear.

“Hold on, love,” she begged softly. “Please hold on.”

She heard a tiny sound and sat up in surprise.

Draco’s grey eyes were open.

“Mi,” he said quietly and smiled gently.

Hermione burst into tears. Thankfully, Madame Pomfrey arrived at that moment and bustled the onlookers aside, including Pansy and Hermione.

“Excellent work controlling the bleeding, Miss Granger,” Pomfrey said matter of factly and cast a number of spells on Draco. Then she levitated him and marched him off the field to the hospital wing. Pansy gave Hermione a look of unadulterated venom and hurried after them. Hermione got to her feet and looked at Harry, who grinned widely.

“I’m not quite sure how you plan to explain that little scene,” he said quietly, “but I’m certain it will be the talk of the school for awhile.”

Hermione would have buried her face in her hands, but one of them was drenched in Draco’s blood. She felt suddenly ill. Harry clapped an arm over her shoulders and they followed the crowd of onlookers off the field.

There was a hushed silence when Hermione and Harry entered the common room. Hermione felt a blush rise to her cheeks and suddenly knew how Harry felt whenever he was introduced to strangers. But these people were supposed to be her friends.

“Way to save Malfoy,” Katie Bell said accusingly.

Anger squelched Hermione’s embarrassment. “Would you rather I’d let him die?” she demanded hotly. Several “yeses” echoed in the room and Hermione glared around angrily. “Well, that’s a bloody fine attitude! I hope if you’re ever badly injured a crowd of onlookers doesn’t stand around and let you bleed to death!”

“Helping is one thing,” Fred Weasley said, “but you made it out of the stands and over to Draco like you Apparated.”

“Rather looked like you were worried about the git,” George added.

Hermione sighed. “I don’t really care what it looked like. I would have done the same for you. You lot can stand around gossiping all you like. I’m going upstairs.”

Ron stepped up. “Clear off!” he bellowed. “Listen to yourselves, why don’t you? Hermione and Malfoy? How bloody ridiculous can you get? Think about it.”

The other Gryffindors actually looked sheepish and Hermione shot Ron a grateful look, though it was tinged with guilt because she knew Ron stood up for her only because he didn’t know the truth. She looked at Harry, who sighed.

“What’s the big deal? The game was called, so we’ll have to replay them next week. If Malfoy can’t fly, they’ll have to get another Seeker.”

The talk instantly turned to Quidditch and Hermione quickly made her escape. She threw herself on the bed and buried her face in the pillow. She couldn’t even go to the hospital wing to see if Draco was all right. Tears pricked her eyes.

“You’re in love with him, aren’t you?” someone asked behind her. She sat up to find Ginny Weasley sitting on Padma’s bed watching her.

“What?” Hermione asked and rubbed the heel of her hand across her eyes.

“Draco Malfoy. You’re in love with him.”

Hermione wouldn’t deny it. Ginny shook her head and sighed.

“I don’t envy you. It’s hard enough loving Harry, and he’s not an arrogant, bigoted, wicked monster of pure evil.”

“Thanks… I think.”

Ginny nodded. “It’s nearly time for supper.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You should come down and try to pretend that everything is normal. Otherwise, you’ll just be giving credence to the rumors.”

Hermione rubbed her temples to dispel her growing headache, but knew Ginny was right.

Supper was sheer torture. Hermione felt a constant barrage of stares, although much of it was probably paranoia. Her food tasted like ashes, but she forced herself to eat it, struggling for normalcy. She glanced over at the Slytherin table and felt a pang of loss. Draco should be there, shooting her a hateful glare and a sneer that she would return with a suppressed smile.

She noted Pansy Parkinson’s absence. The Slytherin snot was probably lingering at Draco’s bedside, brushing his pale hair away from his perfect forehead and placing wet kisses on his lips. Jealousy nearly blinded her for a moment and she pushed her plate away. She couldn’t take any more.

Harry took pity on her and accompanied her back to Gryffindor tower. Thankfully, Ron was in a serious discussion with Seamus and promised to join them later, so it was just her and Harry walking through the halls.

“He’ll be fine,” Harry said and shot her a worried glance.

Hermione shook her head miserably.

“This is the worst thing I’ve ever been through in my life,” she admitted. “I’d rather take on another troll. Or a basilisk. Or You-Know-Who. I’d rather do just about anything than be in love with Draco Malfoy. I never wanted it to happen, but now that it has… I don’t know. He’s so different when we’re alone.”

“I should hope so,” Harry muttered. “Otherwise I’d think you were crazy.”

“Don’t you already?”

“Well… yeah,” Harry said supportively.

Hermione giggled. “I can always count on you to be honest.”

She was lying in her bed an hour later, unable to sleep, when Ginny slipped in and tossed her a package.

“From Harry,” she whispered and left.

Hermione sat up and opened the package. What she saw made her want to run to the boys’ dorm and kiss Harry a dozen times.

It was his invisibility cloak.

[Liz-Miia Parker]

Numps.

[Lissandra Sylvania]

Chapter Sixteen

She ran all the way to the hospital wing. She had forced herself to wait until everyone was asleep before she fled Gryffindor tower.

As the door silently opened, she reflected back on how many times she had been in the hospital wing. Usually to visit Harry, who had been in the hospital ward more than anyone she knew. Attacked by Quirrell/Voldemort, attacked by dementors, bitten by a basilisk, arm bones removed by an egomaniac teacher… the list seemed endless.

Curtains had been drawn around the beds for privacy, but the ward seemed largely deserted. Only three other beds were occupied and they were all far apart. Behind the second curtain she located Draco.

As soon as she saw his pale head on the pillow, she flung herself at him and held him tightly. She lay down next to him and pressed her head to his chest to prove to herself that his heart still beat.

“Mi?” she heard and raised her head.

“Thank God,” she murmured. “I’ve been so worried!”

She planted her lips on his as if she could give her life force to him through a kiss. When she released him he said, “I missed you this afternoon.”

“I would have been here if I could. I nearly came, anyway. I just didn’t want to do that to you. Without your… knowledge.”

“You’re here now.” His eyes closed and he sighed. He seemed very tired.

“I’m here now,” she agreed and laid her head on his chest again. She could feel his heartbeat, slow and steady, beneath her cheek.

“I think they drugged me to help me sleep. Everything feels fuzzy. Pomfrey healed my skull, but a specialist from St. Mungo’s will be here tomorrow to make certain I don’t have any brain damage.”

Hermione raised her head and looked at him wickedly. She peeled the covers back slowly to expose his nightshirt.

“What are you doing?” he asked as she started undoing the buttons. She kissed a trail behind her hands as they unfastened each button in turn. He gasped when she reached his navel and dipped her tongue into it.

“I don’t think I’m quite strong enough for this torture,” he protested hoarsely. She chuckled throatily and slid back up to lay her head on his chest again. His heartbeat was no longer slow.

“I find nothing wrong with your physical responses,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Oh, so that was just a test?” he asked.

“Certainly. Very clinical. It had no effect on me whatsoever.”

“Then why are you trembling?”

“How do you always know when I’m lying?”

“Because you’re the worst liar I’ve ever known?” he suggested.

“No, that can’t be it.”

She sighed happily, snuggled even closer to his prone form and promptly fell asleep with his hands tangled in her hair.

She awoke with a gasp, partially aware that something had startled her. For a dizzying moment, she had no idea where she was. She raised her head and awareness of her surroundings returned with a jolt.

Goodness! What if they had tried to check on Draco during the night? The invisibility cloak only partly covered her. She glanced out the window. The faint light of dawn was tinting the horizon. She had to get back to Gryffindor tower!

She sat up and paused to detach Draco’s fingers from her hair. As she pulled the last plait free she saw that he was awake. A pleased grin curved his lips.

“Thanks for staying,” he murmured.

“I’ll be back tonight, if you’re still here,” she promised.

“I’ll count the moments.”

She laughed without humor. “No, you won’t. You’ll have Pansy in here to take my place.” She clapped a hand over her mouth, astounded at the venom in her voice.

“You’re jealous of Pansy?” He sounded incredulous. She got to her feet and shook out the invisibility cloak.

“You’re surprised?” she asked bitterly. “Yes, I’m jealous! I’m jealous of every instant she spends with you. When I see her sitting with you at breakfast I want to walk over and snatch her hair out of her head. When I see her holding your hand in the courtyard I want to turn her into a horklump! I despise her because she can be seen with you in the daylight, in the halls, in the classrooms, and I can only be with you in secret, in the dark, in… visible.” She clutched the cloak. “And yet, I cannot completely hate her. I can’t hate her for loving you, because I don’t blame her for that. I understand how she feels.” She took a deep breath and continued softly, “You see… I love you, too.”

Draco’s expression was one of pure shock. Hermione pulled on the cloak and fled.

They kept Draco in the hospital wing for the next three days, although Hermione could attest to the fact that he was quite well. Both nights she slipped in to join him and on the final night she barely escaped with her virtue intact. The modest flannel nightgown she wore under the cloak wasn’t nearly so modest after his hand slipped under the hem and caressed a path up her thigh to cup her buttock. All the while his lips played havoc with her senses as they teased and tasted her mouth in a symphony of pleasure. She could hardly believe the things he could do with his tongue! Thank God she had cast a circle of silence around his bed so they could talk or the other hospital residents would surely have awakened to her animal mewls of pleasure.

She felt like a mindless creature of pure passion, alternately burning hot and ice cold as his hands stroked her skin. At once, she became aware that her nightgown was bunched completely beneath her breasts and Draco’s hands were entering dangerous territory. In four more seconds there would be no turning back…

With all the strength left in her limbs she shoved herself off of him. She hit the floor so hard she bruised a hip and her teeth clicked down on her tongue with a snap. She stared at him, panting hard and tasting blood.

He sat up and looked at her.

“I thought you loved me,” he said hoarsely. He sounded so much like the old Draco that she fairly gasped at the brutality of his words. She launched herself to her feet.

“How dare you use that against me?” she hissed.

He collapsed back onto the pillow and thrust a hand through his silvery hair with a frustrated sigh.

“I’m sorry.”

She crossed her arms and glared at him defiantly.

“I mean it. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m just… I want you so badly. It’s making me somewhat crazy, I’m afraid,” he said. He held out a hand to her. “Come back here.”

She backed away warily.

“I should go.”

He sat up again.

“Seriously, Mi. I’m very sorry.” When she didn’t move, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed in preparation to rise. “Don’t make me chase you.”

“I’m sure you can barely walk after three days in bed,” she said practically, but took a few more steps backward.

“Then, I’ll fall and it will be your fault.”

He placed his hands on the bed to push himself to his feet and she flung out a protesting hand.

“You stay right there!”

“Come here and I will.”

“I can’t. I can’t trust myself around you! If you touch me again I’ll completely fall apart.” She clutched the cloak tightly in distress, bunching it in front of her like a shield. “I don’t even know who I am anymore! All I can think about is you. I’ve become your mindless slave!”

Draco made a tsking noise.

“Mindless, hardly. You’re constantly thinking,” he said.

“Well, one of us has to!”

“Why?” he demanded. “Why can’t you just accept what’s happened between us?”

“What exactly has happened between us, Draco? We can’t even put a name to our relationship! I’ve stupidly allowed myself to fall in love with you even though I know it can only lead to heartbreak and you… well, I’ve no idea what you feel for me, other than a most obvious case of lust! I sometimes think you want only to sleep with me in order to cure this unwanted curse of desire that you’re afflicted with!” As soon as the words left her lips Hermione drew in a horrified breath. Draco was silent, which gave an appalling credence to her words. She felt suddenly, wretchedly stupid.

“Finite incantatum,” she choked to end the spell of silence.

“Mi—“ Draco began.

“Don’t call me that!” she hissed and bolted before the tears could start.

[Liz-Miia Parker]

Ei..draama uuesti...ootame lõpp leppimist ;D