Harry Potter 1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I own nothing. So please don't sue, I swear I have no money.

Summary: What does it take for two enemies to get along? Unfortunately, Draco and Hermione have to find out on their own terms one evening in detention.

A/N: So this is a revision, that I was supposed to have done a year ago, and well…you know. Life happened. I've added a second chapter, and the ending is left to interpretation. I may add more later, but I don't know when I'll have the time to work on it again! To those who have already read the original and have left reviews (and to those who haven't, of course) please let me know what you think—I'm always open to constructive criticism!

How to Get Along With an Enemy

**Step one: humility.**

She used to think of herself as calm and rational; mild-tempered and agreeable even (most of the time). Harsh reality struck her like ice water to the face as she came to the stark realization that she, Hermione Granger, was not any of these. Only two people in the universe had a knack for pushing all of the right buttons to make her see red—bright, blinding, crimson red—Ron Weasley being the first, and Draco Malfoy the second. The latter was currently in the process of ignorantly stumbling blindly into a Red Alert situation, and she would not hold herself responsible for her actions. She was gracious enough to tell him as much.

"What are you going to do, Granger? Sic Potty and Weasel on me? I'm afraid they're not here my dear; it seems as though little Bo Peep has lost her aimless sheep."

Hermione opened her mouth to retaliate, anger boiling in her veins, but not a sound came out as her irate mind processed his words, and suddenly it dawned on her.

"Why Malfoy," she grinned, her voice sickeningly sweet and dripping with disdain, "I never knew you were a fan of muggle nursery rhymes. That's so sweet, if not a bit hypocritical."

Malfoy sputtered, a look of sheer horror and indignation crossed his pallid face, before he settled on the harsh, hate-filled glare that he reserved for only a small handful—Hermione Granger was at the top of that list. Seeing that he had no retort or witty come-back Hermione smiled triumphantly, before she turned back to the jar in her hand which served as a harsh reminder as to why she was stuck in this abysmally horrid situation—and even worse an abysmally small storage closet—with her least favorite person in the world (the understatement of the century). Could this day get any worse?

"You know…"

"Just stuff it, Malfoy," she ground out. Much to her surprise, he complied, but his glare never faltered. "The less we talk, the faster we can get this done, and the faster I can get away from you."

"At least we agree on something," he grumbled, and then continued to mumble under his breath something about 'soiled robes.' She could really care less, although she did have the strong desire to point out that talking to ones self was the first sign of insanity, but refrained.

With a frustrated sigh, she blew a rogue strand of hair out of her eyes and continued on with the monotonously tedious task at hand. She fully believed that Snape had lost his last shred of humanity (as if he had any to begin with); why in Merlin's name would he assign them detention together, and in such small confines? Surely he knew that the results would be at the least disastrous, if not catastrophic.

Focus, she urged herself. Forget about the twitchy little ferret. It was awfully hard to do, though; if they were any closer she would practically be sitting in his lap. The thought made her want to retch, but it did bring a rather entertaining image to mind—her in his lap, cooing over his dashing good looks like the Parkinslut, while he stared, flabbergasted and torn between disgust and confusion at her uncharacteristic behavior—which made her chuckle out loud. It really was funny, hilarious even.

"Care to inform me as to why you're cackling like a hyena?" Hermione ceased her laughing, but continued to grin.

"Not particularly."

"Well then do me a favor and shut up." She glared at him, but suddenly an idea struck her—quite a brilliant idea actually. They didn't call her the brightest witch of this age for nothing. While the image she had conjured a moment earlier disgusted her, she would rather eat the entire jar of boomslang that she was holding, but it most certainly got the wheels turning. They always say that the best way to handle people that anger you is to kill them with kindness, and that's exactly what she was going to do. It may actually prove to be beneficial, and if nothing else amusing. Humility was sacrificial in the name of war—Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy were never acquiescent, and it would be a minor blow to her defiant nature.

"Of course, Malfoy," she replied nonchalantly as she scrawled 'boomslang' across a piece of parchment and magically pasted it over the old, barely legible label with her wand. Malfoy looked up, obviously startled by her response. She could feel his eyes on her, scrutinizing her, but she appeared unaware as she continued on with her task. His eyes narrowed into a glare.

"What's the catch?" This time she did look up with eyes wide and innocent.

"What do you mean?"

Malfoy continued to observe her, waiting for her to slip up and reveal any inkling of a scam. He was smart, she would admit, though it pained her to do so. Actually, he was very smart, though he played the part of the dumb ferret exceedingly well, and his marks weren't much below her own. She would never acknowledge that out loud. Not only was he smart, though, but he was observant, and calculating—traits of a Slytherin, no less.

"You're never agreeable, least of all with me. You're up to something, and I want to know what it is," he stated dryly. Hermione sighed.

"Look, we're going to be stuck in this closet for Merlin knows how much longer—at least another couple of hours—and I thought it would be best if, just for the duration of this wretched detention, we try our best to get along." She paused, considering her words. "Ok, getting along might be taking it too far, but I personally would like to leave this room with all of my physical attributes still in tact, and at the rate this is going one of us is going to leave this room less a person than when they entered. I can guarantee you it won't be me, and I'd rather not have your disfiguration on my conscious."

There. It's been said, and she had to give her self a mental pat on the back for her brilliant performance, because really she would like nothing more than to infinitely remove that infuriating smirk from his handsome face (with no remorse what-so-ever). Yes, he was handsome, even she was female enough to admit that, but he was as sour and detestable as Argus Filch, so therefore, in her mind at least, the two cancelled each other out.

Malfoy was silent, eyeing her suspiciously as he pondered her words. She was half expecting him to first snarl at her attempt at a truce, and then proceed to insult her frizzy hair or less than pure blood. He surprised her, though.

"Alright Granger. I accept your truce." Hermione's jaw dropped.

"Really?"

"Yes, really."

Well, that had been easier than planned.

**Step two: civility.**

The two had been working in companionable silence for quiet sometime. For a while she had even forgotten that he was there as her mind wandered to other, more important matters. Some matters she wished to avoid completely, but unfortunately Ron's face kept popping up in her mind no matter how hard she tried.

Ron. Yes, the other bane of her existence. She loved him dearly, but their relationship teetered so closely to the "brother/sister" relationship that it was a bit scary. They bickered like an old married couple, and she often felt more like his mother than his friend. Everyone was so sure that they were destined to be together, and she admittedly had once thought that herself, but her feelings had changed as she grew older. Ron's hadn't, and he had told her as much just before detention—which could possibly explain her shorter-than-usual tolerance for Malfoy.

With a flushed face, she had quickly muttered something along the lines of "detention" and "time to think." He hadn't been surprised by her reaction; she generally was the type to analyze every situation. She would never jump into anything without first weighing the pros and cons, it just wasn't her nature. Thankfully, he understood that about her, and didn't press anything further. Honestly, she just needed time to figure out the best way to let him down as gently as possible, and she feared there was no possible way to do that. No matter how she approached it, it was sure to leave a dent in their already delicate friendship.

She glanced in Malfoy's direction, who had seemed to have fallen into a methodical routine: pull, write, paste, and place. The truce had proven to be beneficial thus far, she mused…anything to take her mind off of the "Ron Predicament" as she had come to call it. They hadn't said a word to each other in nearly half an hour, or so she guessed. She had no way of knowing how long they had been in that room, but it felt like days. The thought briefly crossed her mind that she wouldn't even be in this predicament if not for Malfoy, and she brooded over this fact as her annoyance began to rise. She wouldn't have had to hex him had he not intentionally spilled his potion on her. 'Accident my ass.' No use making a big deal of it now.

"Have you started on your potions essay?" she questioned, a feeble attempt at small talk to break the monotonous silence. He nodded, his eyes never leaving his task.

"I finished it yesterday," he offered, obviously making an attempt at their temporary truce. She was impressed at the attempt, and she was even more impressed that he had already finished his essay, although she wouldn't say that out loud.

"What did you decide to write it on?" This time he did glance up from his work.

"What is this, twenty questions?" Hermione merely shrugged.

"Just making small talk."

"The effects of using hellebore in a blood-replenishing potion as opposed to flubberworm mucus…" Hermione picked another jar from the shelf as she nodded her approval.

"I'm impressed," she said through tight lips. Boy that was hard.

"You shouldn't be. What about you? I suppose it would be a waste of breath to ask if you've started yours. I'm sure you've had yours finished for days." She fought the childish urge to stick out her tongue, and instead replied with,

"I wrote mine on the long term effects of garroting gas."

"Sounds exhilarating," he commented dryly.

"Quite," she responded, mimicking his tone. They lapsed into another long, drawn-out silence. What does one possibly have to say to someone whom you've hated for seven years? Not much, apparently. Well, at least they were trying, it was a gargantuan step for them; not that it would do them any good once they stepped out of Snape's storage closet, but for now it helped. Plucking another jar from the shelf, Hermione grimaced as she observed its contents: cockroaches. She hated cockroaches, they were vile and gross and served no purpose in this world but to infest and annoy. Snape seemed to have them in abundance. How fitting.

Malfoy must have noticed the detestable look on her face because he began to chuckle.

"Not scared of a cockroach, are we Granger?" Hermione shot him a venomous glare.

"I'm not scared of them," she replied tartly. "They're disgusting, disease infested, annoying little wankers." Malfoy grinned.

"Tsk, tsk. I didn't know you knew such language. What would your beloved McGonagall say if she heard such a dirty word come from her most prized student?" Hermione rolled her eyes. They couldn't even manage a truce without bickering, but then again that wasn't surprising in the least.

"Oh sod off." Of course he wouldn't. His greatest pleasure in life was to torment her.

"You've got my attention. What other dirty words do you know, Granger?" She glared at him, making the adult decision to not egg him on.

"You're trying to get a reaction out of me and it's not going to work. Now quit arsing around so we can get this done."

"Temper, temper. We had a truce, remember?"

"I remember. It's you that's seemed to have forgotten." He pondered her words, looking quite thoughtful in the process before smirking.

"No, I haven't forgotten." She wanted to groan. He was insufferable, but what's new? She realized she was still holding the jar of cockroaches, and with a shudder she quickly replaced the label and discarded it back onto the shelf—as far from her as she could reach. This truly was a miserable situation.

"Ok, I have an idea," she stated finally. Malfoy quirked an eyebrow at her in question. She had always wanted to be able to do that. Instead, she usually ended up looking mental. "Let's play a game."

He looked at her skeptically, the idea apparently not appealing in the least.

"I'd rather not."

"Oh come on!" she stated with exasperation. "What else have we got to do in here to pass the time?"

"Oh I don't know," he shrugged, rolling his eyes in sarcasm. "Maybe finish the bloody chore so I can get out of this closet."

"Yes, but it's so boring," she whined.

"Alright, fine, if it'll get you to stop whinging!" Hermione smiled in triumph. "What kind of a game?"

Hermione pondered for a moment.

"I don't know."

"Oh that's brilliant…"

"Ok, ok, how about…" she paused, wracking her brain. "I-Spy?"

The look he gave her was enough to nix that idea immediately. It really wasn't one of her best anyway.

"No I-Spy? Ok. What about…hangman? No we couldn't play that anyway…" she mused.

"What's hangman?" Malfoy questioned curiously.

"Muggle game," she murmured as she continued to run ideas through her head. "Oh bugger it; I'm not coming up with anything."

"That's too bad, you got me all excited."

"Are you always such a sarcastic git?" she questioned with innocent wonder. Malfoy smiled, really smiled, and she couldn't help but notice that it totally transformed his face when he did.

"Only with you."

"I'm honored," she replied dryly.

"As you should be," he said with a satisfied smirk.

Git.

**Step three: Getting past your differences…or not. **

And so silence had found them once again. It seemed to be their safest option. Her curse, though, was that her mind never stopped, sort of like the muggle game six degrees to separation, and she had found her mind touching on some strange topics.

"Why do you hate me?" she asked curiously, truly wanting to know his answer. "And don't give me that "mudblood" shit, because that's a load of bollocks. You and I both know that." Her question had taken him off guard she could tell, because he sat up a little bit straighter, and blatantly avoided looking in her direction.

"Why do you hate me?" he finally asked. Hermione sighed with frustration.

"It's not polite to answer a question with a question." He, in turn, didn't say anything. Hermione finally resolved after nearly a minute of silence that she wasn't going to get an answer, when he startled her by saying,

"I don't hate you."

"You don't?" her shock was apparent, if not by the sound of her voice, then by the baffled expression on her face.

"Don't get the wrong idea Granger. I don't get all warm and fluffy on the inside when ever I see you or anything, quite the opposite. You annoy the bloody hell out of me—you're an insufferable know-it-all, that doesn't know when to quit—but I don't hate you. Not like I used to."

"Why not?"

"I learned to think for my self."

"Fair enough." She didn't want to press the subject, and she was pretty sure that he didn't want to either.

"…so, you didn't answer my question."

"What question?" she asked, thoroughly confused. Draco sighed in exasperation, turning a pointed stare onto her.

"Why do you hate me?"

In turn, Hermione stared him down as if he had finally gone off his rocker. Did he really have no clue? It wouldn't surprise her. Their seven year long feud had transgressed for so long that she herself had nearly forgotten where the hate had began in the first place. Usually their day-to-day arguments (which could be quite gruesome—many had left her in tears, though she would never tell _him_ that) just added another item to the endless list of reasons to dislike each other so, and ended in a moot point. It was an endless cycle that really had no beginning, and likely no end. _She_ remembered, though, and it had all began that day in second year, the first time he had ever uttered the word "mudblood" to her, and things had snowballed rather quickly from that moment on.

"I don't hate you Malfoy," she began, her face serious. "The truth is that I've been in love with you for quite sometime. I'm surprised you haven't noticed all of the longing stares I send your way in potions."

And he had no idea what to say. His mouth opened, then closed, and opened again and remained open, making him look like the proverbial fish out of water. Soon after, he finally regained his composure and sneered, preparing for some type of insult to hurtle at her—Merlin knows what, she could only guess. Seriously, she could. She knew exactly what he would say. Poor lad, she thought with a hearty laugh. Did he really believe her? Probably not, but he would find a way to use it against her anyway, no doubt.

"I never took you for the sarcastic type," though it was obvious he had never given it a second thought, nor would he want to. She was nothing to him, and he was nothing to her. No, that was a lie. They were something. You can't be nothing and still be enemies; nothing would require ignorance and not even so much as a second thought in passing (or a first one for that matter). So yes, they were _something._

"You learn something new everyday," she stated, rather annoyed and definitely distracted. "Why do you think I hate you? You've never given me a reason not to. Since the first time I laid eyes on you, you've been nothing but a vicious, evil git, obviously out to make my life hell in anyway you deem appropriate—usually by way of insulting my friends, my hair, my intelligence, or my blood—all of which are getting very old, by the way. You can only say it so many times before I grow immune to it, seeing as how you really have nothing else to insult me about. If you did, I'm sure you would have used it by now."

Draco nodded, a smirk playing on his lips. God how she hated that smirk; how very pompous of him.

"Fair enough," he said, mimicking her answer. Hermione groaned, standing up to reach the jars on the higher shelves better. She was beyond peeved, and could feel the truce evaporating at a fast pace. She didn't care, though; she was tired of him and his conceit.

"You do know that you're impossible, don't you? Of course you do, that's why you do it. You think you're so veiled, that no body understands you, but you couldn't be more wrong. I get you, whether you want to admit it or not. I get you, and you're nothing but a scared, spoiled little boy hiding behind his daddy's cloak, making fun of anything and everyone who aren't as 'worthy' as you, when in all honesty they have so much more than you could ever possibly dream. Guess what, Malfoy, one day you're going to realize that you don't have anyone on your side. You're little lackeys won't always follow you around, one day they'll realize that you're worthless, that you have nothing to offer, and they'll leave you. What are you going to do then? Run to your daddy?"

She turned back, having retrieved the jar she was looking for, and was quite taken aback to find a pair of angry grey eyes staring down at her. He was furious, she could tell, and found her self stepping back slowly to create some distance between them. It did no good. He took a step forward, his heated glare boring into her and his jaw clenching and unclenching. Merlin, she was actually frightened by this man in front of her; the look on his face, in his eyes, the anger emitting from his body was something she had never seen before, and it was dangerous.

"Don't speak of things you could never understand, Granger," he spoke, his voice deathly quiet and eerily calm. "You don't know me, you don't know my friends, and you sure as hell don't know my family, so I would appreciate it if you would keep your know-it-all mouth shut before you get yourself into a spot of trouble that you're little heroes _won't_ be able to save you from."

When had he moved so close? Oh Gods, she was really in a predicament; Merlin she needed to learn when to keep her mouth shut. Never in a million years would she give him _any_ indication that she was frightened of him, though. Years of being Harry's friend and scrambling out of the most dangerous of situations had taught her that, at least—show no fear. Her eyes stared defiantly back into his (beautiful eyes, the thought crossed briefly, but now was NOT a time for such ideas), battling for dominance, a stare he returned with equal force.

And then hell froze over.

**Step four: Learning that there's a fine line between hate and passion.**

His mouth came crashing down upon hers with such a startling force that her body fell against the shelves under the sudden pressure of his body, sending jars shattering onto the stone floors. Her mind barely processed the sound though; it was too busy trying to catch up with the current status of their situation. Draco Malfoy was…kissing her?

In the name of all that is good and pure in this world, what in the pissing bloody hell is going on?! Her mind came to full alert, a bright red flag flashing in her mind's eye, and she reached up, placed her hands firmly on his shoulders, and shoved, _hard. _

"What the bloody hell Malfoy?" she half-screamed, half croaked, her hand raised to her tingling lips and her hazel eyes wide with confusion. "Have you lost your sodding mind?"

Taking in his appearance he seemed to be as confused, if not disgusted, as she. His knuckles were white from grabbing onto the shelves on either side of her head, his lips were parted and only slightly swollen, and his gray eyes were wide with disbelief. Hermione groaned mentally, did he have to look so desirable? He stared at her long and hard, opening his mouth to speak and then decided against it, probably in a move of self preservation. His eyes hardened, becoming guarded, and then softened once again as they drifted down to her parted lips (he was obviously fighting the same internal battle she was, thank Merlin for that), and Hermione felt a twitch of something—no telling what—in the pit of her stomach. For a moment, Hermione forgot whose body it was pressed against hers, whose face it was only inches from hers; for a moment all she could focus on were those lips. Sometimes hormones overrule all rational thought, especially when they raged in the body of two perfectly able teenagers—and Hermione _was _a perfectly able teenager, wasn't she?

"Oh piss it," she murmured as she grabbed a handful of his green jumper and pulled him to her, her head tilted to meet his lips in a fiery kiss. He kissed her with ferocity, not bothering with polite formalities but rather immediately going right for the prize, and his passionate kiss—filled with such a powerful lust-filled desire—sent an electrifying shock down the entire length of her body. Whoever said that there was a fine line between hate and passion was right. Oh but he was a _delicious_ kisser.

Her arm snaked around his waist as she grabbed onto a fistful of the cotton knit cloth (holding onto it as if someone would tear this delectable creature away from her—and somewhere in the hazy mist of her mind the angel on her shoulder scolded her with mocking contempt…desirable creature?) while her other hand tangled its way into the silken fine strands of his hair. He in turn placed an open hand on the small of her back (Merlin she felt delicate in his embrace) and pulled her body taught to him, leaving no room to the imagination as to the extent of his desire. She moaned softly into his mouth, feeling his hardness against her abdomen; she wanted to feel more of it. The fleeting thought nearly floored her as she gasped into his mouth. Could she really let things get that far with…_Malfoy? _Merlin no. Never. Never, never, never.

The entire situation was wrong. They shouldn't be doing this, but Merlin that thing he was doing with his tongue on her neck was heaven and his hands, oh Gods his hands. Everywhere they touched left her skin burning in their wake, and she nearly lost all control as they slid tantalizingly slow up her side and just barely grazed the edge of her breast. She growled with heated desire (surely that hadn't been her) and she placed both hands firmly on each side of his face to pull it back to her own, their lips connecting in a wet, searing, breath-hitching kiss. Slowly his hands traveled down her back until his fingers met the hem of her skirt. He carelessly worked the skirt up her thighs with his fingers before placing both hands onto her panty (which were absolutely moist with her need) covered arse and hoisted her up, using the shelves to support her. Hermione could only oblige by wrapping her legs around his waist, causing her skirt to ride up even farther, and even worse (or better) causing his hard member to rub directly against her most sensitive area. She moaned, she groaned, and she panted, the sensation was driving her starkers.

"Oh Gods," she murmured, as he nibbled on the flesh below her ear. "Oh Gods…"

In a slow, teasing motion she ground her crotch against his, drawing a moan from him; she grinned at the sound. His fingers tangled in her curly mop of hair, tugging on it slightly, but not enough to hurt, while their new position gave him better access to her breasts. Wasting no time, he used his free hand to unbutton her blouse, while his hips kept her firmly against the wall, before dipping his fingers below her bra and pulling the cup off of her breast completely. His fingers gave the hardened nipple a teasing flick before he ran his thumb gently over, moving in a slow circle, before taking the nipple into his mouth—flicking and sucking. A long, loud moan escaped her, it just felt so _good._

"Mm, Draco," she murmured, her voice barely even a whisper, and suddenly the amazing sensation ended, and Hermione was left in a confused daze. Her eyes opened slowly, question and desire radiating from them.

"Malfoy?" The hardened look in his gaze made Hermione feel as though someone had thrown a bucket of cold water on her. Slowly, gently, he loosened his grip on her, and he guided her back to the floor. How decent of him, she thought with contempt. And here she had been half expecting him to graciously let her fall to the ground on her arse.

"Don't…say my name," he ground out with annoyance. What? What was he talki—oh. And suddenly she was angry, and trying desperately to ignore the tingling, wet desire between her legs. She felt like she could murder him with her bare hands, and not because of any animosity between the two, but for the simple fact that he had left her high and dry with this insane desire and no one to fill it.

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

**Step five: Coming to terms with the realization that maybe you were never really enemies at all. **

"What, Malfoy? What's the problem? Did you suddenly realize you were about to shag a filthy mudblood, or did you suddenly realize you were about to shag me?" She waved her arms wildly about her like a mad-woman.

How could she concentrate when the heat in her knickers was nearly driving her up the wall?

Draco didn't respond. Instead, he merely studied her with amused interest, his lips still swollen and his hair more than slightly mused. He looked yummy, but she couldn't think about that right now, what she needed to focus on was what was going through that unstable brain of his to cause a grin like that?

"So you really are in love with me. Who would have thought?"

What?! Oh for the love of Merlin she would never understand the man in front of her.

"That's rich. You wish Malfoy," she glared.

"I don't think your boyfriend would approve," he said haughtily, examining his nails in disinterest. She rolled her eyes.

"I don't have a boyfriend."

"I can think of one red-haired weasel that would be awfully upset to hear you say that," he taunted, quirking an eyebrow in her direction. Hermione gritted her teeth trying desperately to keep her patience in check.

"Ron isn't my boyfriend."

"Can't even snag a weasel, Granger? What? He found out you were shagging Potter, then?"

Hermione fumed, her face turning red with anger; and they called her insufferable. He took the definition of the word to new heights. Her hand twitched at her side with the inane desire to slap some sense into that beautiful head of his.

She inhaled deeply, and released the breath slowly through her teeth as she tried to remind herself that violence was not the answer.

Fine. If that's the game he wanted to play.

"I didn't realize you cared so much, _Draco_." she retorted sweetly, making sure to emphasize his name as she took a tantalizing step toward him. "If only I had known, maybe things would have been different between us…" Draco wrinkled his nose in disdain.

"Don't be daft, _Hermione," _he countered, backing away from her advances. "Things are exactly as they should be. This," he motioned with his hand between the two of them, "never happened."

She took another step forward, causing him to back into the shelves. Poor lad almost looked unnerved.

"Oh, but Draco, s_omething _did happen; you know it…and I know it," she leaned in close to his ear, running her hand slowly up his chest, "and I think you want it to happen again. I think…"

Her thought was cut short, though, as the storage room door burst open with a loud thud, and Snape appeared in the doorframe. His beady black eyes surveyed the rather odd and unexpected situation in front of him, causing a thick black eyebrow to raise in question. Hermione stepped away from Draco without an ounce of shame, and as she did so she heard the patronizing boy in question let out a low, long breath. She couldn't resist the wicked grin that spread across her face.

"Out," Snape growled, obviously deciding to pass off what he saw as a trick of the lights.

"I think, Malfoy, that the truce is over," she continued, her expression and tone revealing nothing but boredom.

She glanced at him loftily before stepping around her burly professor and disappearing around the corner, leaving two rather dumbfounded men staring after her.

Oh well, she thought with a triumphant grin, scratch that last step.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

She wished someone had told her, well, she didn't really know what she wished someone had told her, but _something_ would have been nice. Maybe then she wouldn't be in this horrid predicament. No, that's a lie. In all honesty, it wouldn't have done a bit of good because she probably wouldn't have listened anyway. She was stubborn like that. You know when mothers tell their children don't touch the stove because it's hot? She was _that_ kid, the one that had to go touch the sodding stove.

_They_ (who in the bloody hell are _they_ anyway, and why are they always right? A bit irritating really) always say to never fraternize with the enemy, let sleeping dragons lie (how fitting), etc. In the back of her mind she knew _all_ of this, and if she had just listened then she could continue living in her blissfully ignorant little world, which at the moment was completely tilted off axis. All because she had to go fraternize with the enemy, tickle the annoyingly arrogant sleeping dragon, etc. Well, nobody is perfect.

With a rather loud, obnoxious groan Hermione buried her head into her hands, earning several concerned glances from her friends, as well as a few startled glares from many of the other scattered occupants of the Gryffindor common room.

"Alright there, Mione?" Ginny asked as she curiously observed the obviously distressed girl sitting in the chair opposite of her.

"Fine," Hermione muttered from behind her hands. No, I'm not bloody alright! She wanted to shout out at the top of her lungs. She wasn't alright! Hermione Granger had finally lost her marbles; she had gone stark raving mad. It was bound to happen sooner or later, some would say, and it was all the sodding ferret's fault.

"I need to take a break," she stated with finality, removing her hands from her face and standing up out of the chair. "I think I may go pay Dobby a visit."

Well that was a bold faced lie if she ever heard one; she had no intention of going anywhere near the kitchens—not if it meant she would be closer to _him_. She wanted to be as far away from him as physically possible, thank you very much. Just knowing the fact that he was lurking somewhere in the castle irritated her to no end. How dare he.

"Do you want some company?" Harry questioned, already preparing to pack away his materials.

"No," she held out her hand to stop him. "You guys need to finish that essay. Besides, I won't be gone long; I just need to take a breather."

"Okay, if you're sure…"

"Could you bring back some of that treacle tart?" Ron asked excitedly, his eyes lighting up at the idea of a snack. "All this homework has really worked up my appetite."

"Sure," she replied with a smile, though inwardly she was groaning. Now she _had_ to go down to the sodding kitchen. "I'll be back in a little while."

As she turned to walk out the portrait hole, Harry stopped her from across the room.

"Wait, at least take my cloak with you. No telling where Filch is hiding."

Oh! Why hadn't she thought of that? Merlin, maybe she should just go to bed, and forget that this day ever happened. If only.

"Thanks, Harry," she responded as she watched him bound up the stairs two at a time, only to return a few short moments later with the cloak in hand.

"If you're not back by morning we'll just assume Filch got a hold of you," Harry teased as he passed the cloak to her.

"Har Har," she replied with a grin. "I'm too smart for Filch"

"That you are," he grinned, saluting her. "Be careful."

"Will do," she said over her shoulder as she disappeared out the portrait hole.

Once outside, she wrapped her self tightly within the safety of the invisibility cloak. Her feet began to move down the cold stone staircase, and she wasn't really sure where they were taking her at all, and she didn't really care either. She just wanted to go—_somewhere, anywhere._ Restlessness didn't settle easy with her (it didn't settle well with anyone, though, if she really stopped to think about it. She didn't). No, usually she was calm, cool, collected. That was usually, though, this is now. _Now_ she was an absolute mess, and she wasn't sure if it was because that prick of a pureblood had the gall to actually kiss her (among other things that she was trying desperately hard not to think about because, _oh,_ it had felt so good) OR because she had submitted and thoroughly, thoroughly enjoyed it. The world was ending, the apocalypse was nearing…she could feel it. There was no other logical explanation.

Something in the back of her mind told her that this went completely beyond logic. Hell, it was miles and miles down the road from logical, and that, she reasoned, was why she found her mind, and hormones, in complete upheaval. Hermione Granger based her life on logic, and _this_, this was just way beyond her comprehension. She didn't like that at all.

Nor did she like the fact that maybe, just maybe, she had been wrong to leave the warmth and comfort of the common room. Hogwarts was the safest place in the world to be, but that didn't nullify the fact that it was also the scariest—at night that is. Long corridors shrouded in darkness so thick you could practically feel it weighing against your skin, disembodied, ghostly sounds echoing off the stone walls, stairs creaking and stones grinding, the gentle snores of the paintings occupants…it was definitely something straight out of a horror movie. You never knew what was lurking in the darkness, although in all likelihood the only things roaming the halls that she had to be nervous about were Peeves, and of course Filch and that blasted cat of his. Miserable man.

None-the-less, she quickened her step, feeling the insane urge to glance over her shoulder. She had no idea what she expected to see really, because she couldn't see _anything_. Not even her nose (and yes, she did try). She wrapped her fist tightly around the wand in her back pocket, and that familiar feeling of security calmed her. Paranoid bint, that's what she was.

With a sigh, she continued on with her aimless journey, trying desperately to expel all thoughts Malfoy from her mind. Pink butterflies. Fluffy bunnies. Cute round babies. Did this actually work for people? She sure as hell hoped not; it made her want to gag. Malfoy standing in a field surrounded by fluttering pink butterflies and fluffy bunnies hopping at his feet. Oh look, a butterfly just landed in his hair; and that sickeningly cute baby just shat all over him.

There, much better. Pink really wasn't his color, though.

She hated him, she loathed him; there really was no way she could put into words exactly how strongly her feelings ran because there were no words to describe. He made her insides boil, her teeth grate, and her mouth spit fire. So what was the issue? Ha, easy for you to say.

She had kissed guys; she had kissed lots of guys. Guys that she actually _liked_, and kisses that she enjoyed; but none had left her reeling in their wake. Except this one. It was mortifying. It was beyond mortifying; it was unthinkable, blasphemous, and down right ridiculous. She felt like a silly little school girl pining away over some silly little boy. Hermione Granger did _not_ pine. She wasn't pining. Honestly! She was…

Damn him. She really did loathe him.

Climbing the spiral stairs to the divination tower, Hermione paused for a moment to gaze out the window. It was a beautiful night, clear black skies specked with millions of glowing diamonds. The moon hung high overhead, big and white, illuminating the expansive fields below, reflecting off of the great lake, and filling her with a great sense of peace that was sorely welcomed. Hogwarts really was a fantastic place, she admired. The beauty outlaid before her nearly made her forget all of her troubles, but only nearly. It would be so much more beautiful if he wasn't there.

He was the 'enemy,' it was plain and simple really—and there in lie the attraction, she decided as she clambered the rest of the short distance to the divination class room and found a comfy cushion on the very top row. Malfoy was the forbidden fruit; he was the apple _and_ the serpent combined into one very tempting package. If she wasn't careful she could easily give into temptation, and, well, we all know the disastrous results that would bear. It was unthinkable.

Hermione sighed—a deep, defeated sigh—and rested her head gently on the wall behind her. How is it possible to dislike someone so strongly, yet still have this inane, stomach wrenching desire for them? It was a matter that went completely beyond her comprehension, and that was the most maddening part of all. It wasn't as if she cared for him, she could really care less about him. It would be a lie to say that she didn't want him, though. Merlin's beard, what had she gotten herself into?

It was all sodding Snape's fault.

Enough! She mentally scolded herself with a tightly clenched jaw. Musing over the situation wasn't helping anything at all; it only resulted in one very large, very painful headache, and that made her hate him even more. She didn't expect a damn thing from him, so what good was it doing her to think the situation to death? Well, naturally, she was a _girl_, and girls do tend to over-analyze every minute little detail. It's a bloody menace.

The familiar image of a red-headed freckle-faced boy-not-quite-a-man popped suddenly into her mind, and she groaned out loud. Hmm, not exactly the change of thought she had been hoping for. Arithmancy would have suited her just fine. Yet the image was there, and more than likely was there to stay until she figured out a solution to her pending dilemma.

And to think, life had been so blissfully simple yesterday.

Well, the best thing to do was to approach the situation head on, but with grace and couth. She would have to be honest with him, while sparing his feelings at the same time. Ron was a sensitive sort of fellow, so no matter how she handled the situation the outcome would not be pretty. Maybe honesty wasn't the best way to go, but _honestly,_ what other options were there? Why couldn't he have just kept his feelings to his self? Stupid boys, always had to go complicating things…

It was enough to make her want to claim celibacy for the rest of her life; at least that way she would never again have to go through the trouble she was going through now. There were more logical things to worry about—like N.E.W.T.S.

Yeah right.

With the impending doom of her already barely existent romantic life hanging about her like the plague, it was difficult really to focus on anything else. When had she become such a _girl?_ She blamed it on the war; it seemed to have put her rather meaningless existence into a very harsh perspective—matters of the heart were beginning to take precedence over matters of the mind. How utterly irritating.

Would she ever be normal again?

Her mouth settled into a line of grim determination. Yes, yes she would—starting now. No more, she decided with finality. She was astounded that she had allowed herself to waste so much time concerning her self over something so trivial, but she also knew that when the heart is involved, nothing is ever trivial.

Thankfully, her heart wasn't involved. It was other parts of her…anatomy…that were the problem, and that is something else _entirely_. Not to mention, a problem easily dismissed…

There's nothing wrong with fooling yourself every now and then. It was her only chance for survival.

With determined resolution she stood, feeling better about her self than she had all day. Hell, she felt better about herself than she had felt since…well, in a long time to say the least. Control, logic, priority…those were things that she understood, matters that she was familiar with, and it felt good to have them back after a momentary lapse of sanity. She would handle the 'Ron situation,' and would then proceed to erase the episode with Malfoy from her mind while very effectively pretending like he doesn't exist.

The sound of feet shuffling across the stone floor caused her eyes to widen fearfully and her breath to hitch. Filch. With a speed she didn't know she possessed, she sunk back down to the cushion and barricaded her self behind Harry's invisibility cloak. Just in time, too. A large black figure came stumbling into the tower, and as her eyes adjusted she realized that it wasn't Filch at all. Bloody brilliant.

There he was, the source of her turmoil, the bane of her existence, the…well you get the idea; and he wasn't alone. Well _that_ was an understatement…wrapped around some bimbo while effectively trying to swallow her whole would be a bit more accurate.

Clenching her jaw tightly, she squeezed her eyes shut and breathed slowly through her nose. Ten…nine…eight…a deeply aroused moan exuded the bimbo as he backed her up against a table, causing Hermione to just sort of…_snap_. Her patience level really just wasn't what it used to be. She wasn't even jealous, not even close; she was just so _damned_ tired of that smug face of his. It was _plaguing_ her.

"You have _got_ to be kidding me," she spat out heatedly as she stood up and revealed her self from underneath the cloak. The couple in question broke apart abruptly, startled and disheveled, two heads whipping in her direction so quickly it almost looked painful. She almost laughed out loud at the expression on their faces, the personification of a deer caught in headlights, but her annoyance prevented her lip from even so much as twitching.

Malfoy quickly regained his composure, unlike his little companion who looked to be on the verge of tears. That infuriating smirk settled across his features as he turned to face Hermione fully. With the first few buttons of his Oxford dress shirt unbuttoned, the tail pulled out of his trousers at rather odd angles, and his hair disheveled in all directions, Hermione couldn't help the images of earlier that evening that flashed through her mind. She wanted to scream.

"You wouldn't be stalking me now, would you Granger?" Hermione crossed her arms over her chest, her face displaying nothing but contempt.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you Malfoy?"

He glanced over his shoulder to the girl who had managed to right herself during their brief exchange. Hermione caught a glimpse of her face in the light through the window, but didn't recognize her.

"Run along now," he ordered loftily to the girl. She stared at him wide-eyed and disbelieving before realizing that he was indeed serious. Shooting Hermione a rather venomous glare, the girl glanced once more toward Malfoy before storming out of the tower.

"You'll thank me someday," Hermione called after her, poor girl.

Malfoy crossed his arms over his chest, mirroring Hermione's rather annoyed stance, and leaned casually against the table behind him with his icy gaze fixed intently upon her. She returned the gaze heatedly, absolute abhor boiling inside her.

"Alright Granger, you have my attention…now that you've ruined a perfectly good evening." He was annoyed, she could tell. Good, let him be; it was the least she could do after the turmoil that he had caused since their incident earlier that evening. Bloody hormones were a menace. As much as she hated him at the moment, she hated herself even more. Not only because she had allowed herself to be completely defenseless against his charms, but also because even now she wanted nothing more than to lay him out across that table and have her way with him. So much for the resolve she had conjured before he had so rudely interrupted her solitude. She had to get out of that room and as far away from him as possible.

"I have nothing to say to you," she stated with finality as she climbed her way down the rows of seats and onto the ground level. It took all of her self control to not simply run for the door. She would like to think that she had more dignity than that. Instead, she turned and walked slowly, with her head held high, towards the door.

Just as she reached the door, though, he pushed his way off the table, and his solid frame was in front of her, blocking her way to freedom. How in the world had he moved so quickly? With her face set in grim determination, she prepared to push past him, but he wrapped his long fingers around her wrist, locking her in place.

"Ah, ah," he tsked quietly, his breath warm on her face. Oh Merlin he was so close. His body was pressed tightly against hers to keep her from moving, and his face was so close to her own. Please Gods, she begged silently. She was a good girl. Sure she wasn't perfect, but what had she ever done to deserve this?

"Let me go," she hissed, trying to twist her wrist from his vice grip, but he was too strong for her. She wanted to scream; scream and scream and throw a complete mess of a fit, but, well, she'd look rather loony if she did, wouldn't she? Maybe she could settle for a swift kick to the shin, or even better, a knee to his-ahem-goodies. Yes, that definitely sounded promising…

"You don't really think I'm going to let you get by that easily, do you?" he taunted, his voice much too quiet and his grin much too jovial. "Come now, Granger. I know you're smarter than that."

Hermione sighed before she turned her face to his, her expression and posture reeking of impatience.

"If I remember correctly, Malfoy, we found ourselves in a similar scenario not even hours ago; I'm really not in any hurry to see a repeat performance. Once in this lifetime is once more than I would have ever liked to experience. This story needs a new ending."

"I agree." She raised her brow in question before glancing down to where he still held her wrist in a firm grip.

"I hear what you're saying, yet I can't figure out for the life of me why you still feel it's necessary to man-handle me. So help me Malfoy, if I have a bruise on my wrist in the morning you _will_ regret crossing paths with me."

"Is that a threat?" He seemed almost impressed.

"Consider it a warning."

"Such animosity from such a tiny creature," Malfoy grinned, tilting his head slightly as he studied her. His piercing gaze cut into her, and she felt as if he could read her every thought. She thanked Merlin, Morgana, and any other deity that she could think of that he indeed could not read her thoughts. She was already mortified enough with her self for the desire she felt toward him. His grin melted into an expression of contemplation. "You're not fooling anyone, Granger. I can see it in your eyes."

Damn him. Damn him straight to hell. Was she really that transparent? Or was he just much more perceptive than she gave him credit for?

"You wish," she stated quietly but firmly, looking him squarely in the eyes. Malfoy sighed before hesitantly releasing his grip on her.

"You irritate me."

"Likewise," she glowered, gently rubbing the circulation back into her wrist.

"Unfortunately, that doesn't change the fact that I want you."

Hermione looked up sharply. Merlin, that was…quite unexpected. Her stomach fluttered uncontrollably at his words; had Draco Malfoy just openly admitted to treachery? It gave her a little consolation to know that she hadn't been the only one affected by their earlier confrontation. She didn't know how to react to his confession. Should she tackle him to the ground? Should she walk away and pretend like none of it happened? Luckily, she didn't need to make a decision. He made it for her.

He lowered his face to hers, so that only mere centimeters stood between them. Her breath stuck in her chest as she anticipated the feeling of his lips on hers once again.

"I always get what I want," he murmured huskily before joining their lips in a gentle kiss. Hermione released the breath she had been holding as their lips touched, but her heart seemed to pick up pace three-fold. She couldn't even begin to understand the affect that he had on her, and in that moment she made the resolve to not question it. It was above her; just let it be, she decided.

This kiss was so much different from the kiss they had shared earlier. He was gentle, and she was accepting, and together their mouths moved slowly, almost hesitantly together--so much different. She purred into his mouth as his hands carefully grasped each side of her face, and her arms wrapped around his lean torso of their own accord. It would seem that something very, very small inside each of them had changed in the few hours that had passed since they had left each other at detention; something so small that she could barely feel it, yet it was there. Tolerance? Acceptance? She wasn't sure, but it was quite enjoyable, whatever it was.

Begrudgingly she pulled away from him; he was such a delicious kisser. As delicious as he was, though, she was still Hermione Granger, and like hell she was going to let him keep the upper hand. She looked up into his face, her hands resting comfortably on his chest, and his arms slid down to her waist. She enjoyed the feeling. It almost felt normal. Quietly, she took in the sight of him, and she could tell that he was as affected as she. The thought delighted her.

"I'm going back to my room now," she informed him as she stepped away slowly and began to head for the door.

"Can I join you?" he asked with an impish grin. She paused mid-stride and turned slightly so that he could see her smirk.

"No. I'll see you around Malfoy." And she strode confidently out of the room, leaving a grinning Malfoy behind her.

Once the door closed behind her, she sighed, and couldn't fight the smile that was pushing its way to the surface. And so the games have begun. Malfoy had proved himself a worthy opponent, and she knew to expect retaliation. The prospects were exhilarating.

Life, she could tell, was about to get a lot more interesting.


End file.
