Harry Potter 1. Chapter 1

DISCLAIMER: Characters and places all J.K.'s.

I used hp-lexicon for all my potion and books stuff, and the poem mentioned is Shakespeare's Merchant of Venice.

A/N: I was amazed that I had a story idea that complied with all of Deathly Hallows! I figured my HP fanfic days were done, but I guess not! However, this story is going to be pretty hard for me to pull all together, so posts will take way longer than usual for me, and I'll need all the advice and comments I can get from you readers out there to make it as good as possible. It will be my first time trying to write three different perspectives. This chapter will be Hermione third person omniscient.

This idea came from a collection of many different inspirations. One I'll share with you now is how much it bugged the crap out of me that Rowling talked about O.W.L.'s and N.E.W.T's throughout the whole series and then Harry himself never ends up taking them.

This story is about an odd series of events that transpires while the golden trio are at the school overnight during the summer in order to take their N.E.W.T.'s and finish all the requirements to earn their diploma and graduate from school.

Some of it will be pretty dark and farfetched, but I hope you'll bare with me. Hermione will do some pretty out of character things but it's almost unfair to call it OOC because Rowling never put her in a similar situation so we don't know how she'd react. Plus she's older and now had the time to address certain issues she was otherwise too busy to.

Warnings: light non-con, multiple pairings and angsty (and thanks to me, very longwinded) emotions. It may seem a bit femslashy at first but that's as far as it goes.

Anyways, on with the 1st chapter!

… … …

Wiping the humidity away with the palm of her hand, Hermione gazed worriedly at her own reflection in a small circle of the foggy bathroom mirror. She hadn't gotten a lot of sleep, having stayed up most hours of the night at Ron and Harry's insistence of last chance adolescent frivolity, and it was obvious.

However, the worst part, in her opinion, was that the faint bags under her eyes _weren't_ the most noticeable blemish on her otherwise flawless complexion. It was the purple hickeys up and down the left side of her neck that stood out like a giant at a tea party.

"Bugger…" she muttered to herself with frustration as she clutched her damp towel to her sternum and leaned further over the bathroom countertop, trying to see closer in the mirror, wondering what the hell she was going to do about the embarrassing marks. Hadn't she told him to take it easy?

There were three swift knocks, "Hermione?" she heard Ginny call through the door, "That you in there?" she asked.

Hermione paused her inspection, "Yes?" she called back, assuming Ginny was only wondering how much longer Hermione would be before it was her turn to use the shower.

She was proven mistaken when Ginny opened the door slightly and slid in, completely unscathed by Hermione's exposed backside.

"Don't mean to be pushy," she said, pulling her night shirt up off over her head, "Mum's freaking out of course, didn't think she'd ever have to wake _you all _up to make the Hogwart's Express again…"

Hermione froze a little, wobbled wearily and then thought better of it. They were both girls after all, and nearly both adults, and Ginny was obviously comfortable with nudity anyways. Why her initial reaction to situations like these was always nervousness she didn't know, but if her younger friend could think nothing of it then she should be able to too.

Ginny smiled at Hermione through the mirror since Hermione had her back to her.

Perhaps sensing Hermione was already in a poor mood or maybe even the brief moment of tensing up, Ginny asked, "You okay?" in a somewhat concerned tone, drawing her left hand to her mouth and using her teeth to wrench a ring off her finger. "Can't lose this," she added jokingly, setting it on the counter next to the toothbrush holder.

Hermione eyed the diamond engagement ring suspiciously, as if it were a living thing… preying on her when she wasn't aware, eager to jump onto her finger as well, latching on with little diamond and sterling silver teeth…

"Holy hell, what has my brother done?" Ginny remarked with a laugh upon noticing Hermione's neck, stepping out of her shorts and panties.

Hermione drew her shoulder up to her ear in shame trying to hide it, "Is it that noticeable?" she pleaded.

Ginny, her grin unmoving, decided not to say anything, which only made Hermione sure of the answer.

"Damn it," she moaned, "Any day but today…"

Ginny, despite now being stark naked, opened a bathroom drawer and began rummaging nonchalantly. "I shared this bathroom with twins. There's got to be some Bruise Removal Paste in here somewhere, does wonders for me…"

Hermione peered over to her friend from the side of her face. She hated to admit it, but sometimes… not very often, of course… but at least, _lately_… she wished Ginny would just… go away a bit. She was so fiery and free, she had always been. But all of the sudden Hermione felt this indescribable pressure.

Pressure to rush things. Get certain things over with. To be, so it seemed, more like Ginny.

Ginny with her perfect fiancé. Ginny, with her confidence and grace. Ginny, with her sparkly engagement ring. Ginny with her decided future. Ginny, who knew who and what she wanted and had for a long time. And knew how to get it.

"And of course she could get it," Hermione thought pessimistically to herself, assessing Ginny's waif frame and small perky breasts. Her skin was white as milk and she had long legs and slight hips she had to jut out to emphasize her sensuality with a stance. That flicker of fierceness was always on her pretty face, strong and seductive. What man wouldn't go crazy for a girl who didn't mind walking around naked? She was a woman and proud of it.

Hermione returned to her own reflection, slowly lowering the towel she had been clutching to herself, testing to see if she really could handle being naked to naked.

She was fuller in every way; lips, hips, breasts… But she was slender as well, and a little taller. She had been down this path of thoughts before, and already knew she was being silly. She was just as much of a woman as Ginny, despite their different varieties. She just didn't control it, didn't _own _it like Ginny did. A fact that had become awkwardly clear ever since Harry and Ginny lost their virginities to each other.

She thought she could talk to her best friend Ron about anything… well, almost anything. Ron could still be ridiculously obtuse, but it wasn't ever intentional. But now… well Ron wasn't exactly her best friend any more. She didn't know what the hell he was actually. They've never really talked about it… just one more thing plaguing her.

If they couldn't even talk about whether or not they were "boyfriend and girlfriend" how were they ever supposed to talk about sex? Something she was certain they were both thinking about. How could they not with their other best friend and sister now going at it?

She knew she was being ridiculous, that she should just talk to him. It was Ron after all! But that's just it… it was Ron. She was pretty sure she knew his opinion on intercourse already just by judging the evidence left _after_ snogging. Not to mention how handy and focused he was _during_. Wondering how he felt about engagement… about MARRIAGE… well that just freaked her out!

So damn Ginny and Harry for making it a relevant topic!

"Found it!" Ginny said triumphantly, drawing Hermione back to the present. She dabbed the thick, yellow paste on Hermione's neck and rubbed it in.

"Thanks," Hermione muttered with a twinge of guilt from under appreciating a good friend.

"No problem," Ginny said with a flip of her ginger hair as she spun around and stepped into the shower.

Hermione resumed drying her hair with her wand, pressed now to get a move on. She supposed Mrs. Weasley was right to worry, they were probably running late. How many times had she and Harry imposed upon her and the Burrow now? And they always did cut it so close…

"Hey Hermione?" she heard Ginny call from within the raining faucet.

"Yeah?" she answered, rinsing her mouth of toothpaste and looking for her mascara.

"Sorry if I gave you a bitchy look last night," she said, "I was being stupid. I think I'm getting my period or something… _thank god_," she added.

Hermione gave a small laugh but was a little confused, "What are you talking about?" she inquired.

"At Sirius's house, when we were over there rearranging Harry's new furniture."

Hermione still did not recall "a bitchy look", "Yeah?" she said with an elongated inflection.

"You know," Ginny insisted, "When I found you two alone together by that family tree…"

"Oh," Hermione answered, not realizing that Ginny had glared at her at all. "_Ooooh_," she said again, finally catching on, "Ginny! Never would-"

"I know, I know," Ginny interrupted with a laugh, "I already said I must be PMSing!"

Hermione heard the water shut off and a feminine arm appeared from behind the curtain as she grabbed for a towel, reappearing as she dried herself off.

"Just Harry and I hadn't had a "Hermione" talk yet," she continued matter-of-factly, "Don't worry though, I took care of that."

Hermione was back to being confused, "A "Hermione" talk?"

Ginny looked at her skeptically, but then seemed to find her confusion genuine, "Oh c'mon, Hermione," she drawled impatiently, "You know you're were one of the prettiest girls in your year. And most popular. At least everyone had a crush on you at some point."

"They did?" Hermione asked, her surprise too funny and cute for Ginny not to find humorous.

"Um, _yeah_," she insisted.

Hermione couldn't help but feel flattered, she had always known Ginny as the prettiest and most popular in _her _year. Not that what other people thought really mattered of course, but still… it was nice..

"I mean, of course I trust you and Harry," Ginny went on conversationally, "but I just, you know, had to make sure."

"That he didn't fancy me?" Hermione spat, "Harry? Like me? That's ridiculous."

Ginny now had her hair flipped over, performing the same siphoning charm Hermione had just done. "Well I'm sure you always knew but it's not like anyone else could tell. You guys were inseparable after all. He was so possessive of you. It was either going to be him or Ron who would try to go after you, or even in the most scandalous speculations, both."

Hermione scoffed with disbelief, she never would have guessed she would be the subject of any rumors or speculations. But she couldn't help but smile shyly. Mere moments ago she felt inadequate and immature when compared to other girls, but now she was feeling much more at ease. "So you had a "Hermione" talk," she repeated again.

Ginny flipped her hair back up, "Yup," she answered, "He said I was being insane and that he loves you like a sister, always has."

Hermione smiled, having always thought of Harry as a brother as well, "That's sweet," she said.

"Makes sense too," Ginny managed to say with a cheek full of toothbrush, "Since he also said you remind him of his Mum."

Hermione's smile quickly turned into a disenchanted frown.

… … …

"Look a little more pathetic, mate," Ron insisted to Harry as they stepped off train at Hogsmeade Station.

Harry merely glowered, but he was still pouting. He had complained the whole ride about how much he already missed Ginny. Ron did not take kindly to their very public, and graphic, kisses goodbye.

If only there had been more people around to distract them, Hermione might have been spared their bickering. It was so odd though, the train being practically empty.

"Well get used to it, she's still got a whole year of school left," Ron went on, "The new term starts next week and then _she'll_ be the one getting on the train. That means you won't see her till-"

"Hey look," Hermione pointed up the lane, eager to distract an irritable Ron from a moody Harry, "Neville and Dean."

The old friends joined up, slapping hands and chattering while climbing into a carriage together. Ron, who wouldn't admit he was put off too, had to help Hermione up. Her first time seeing thestrals made her uneasy.

"I liked it better when they were invisible too," said Neville kindly.

"That's nothing. Practically the whole school will be able to see them now. I've had to deal with them since 5th year," Harry said.

"There he goes, bragging about how special he is," goaded Ron jokingly.

"Bigger celebrity then ever now though, eh Harry? Maybe I should get you to sign one of my many Prophets you've been the bloody cover of for the last three months? Might be worth something," teased Dean.

"So that wasn't you I saw giving an interview in the muggle section then?" Harry rebutted smugly, "Your life in hiding with Goblins and Ghouls?"

"Now, now boys," Hermione said, eager to put her own memories of life in the limelight behind her and trying to settle them. They were practically graduates after all. They shouldn't be seen acting like first years, and they were almost to the castle.

"I read your editorial for "Teen Witch", Hermione, it was really good," said Neville calmly.

Hermione smiled sheepishly as her attempt to use her newfound fame for something good, urging teen witches to keep current with the politics and welfare of the world, was called out. But luckily Dean distracted everyone with his laugh.

"Ha Ha! What are you doing with a copy of Teen Witch?" he guffawed.

Neville was mumbling something about his Grandmother's subscription when Ron interjected how beautiful Hermione looked in her picture for the story, causing her cheeks to glow pink.

Dean and Neville fell silent and surveyed the two blankly, most likely wondering if they were finally an item.

"Where's Seamus?" Hermione asked quickly, trying to gloss over any awkwardness.

"He took them on the first make up session," Dean answered.

"Oh yes," Hermione said, forgetting that's what most of her year did when the original test date was ruined by the Battle of Hogwarts and everyone was sent home a few days early.

"Battle of Hogwarts" she thought oddly, still not fully believing that's what the newest edition of history books would call it, and that her name would be mentioned.

So would everyone's name in the carriage she was in actually… how weird, making history. But a full blown attack on the school was probably the only reason the Wizarding Examinations Authority would accept for cancelling N.E.W.T.'s and offering a make up session. Well, two make up sessions actually. One for the students who had been in their N.E.W.T. classes all 7th year and therefore ready to take them in the "Beginning of Summer Session."

But the only _other_ reason they would allow anyone to take N.E.W.T.'s anyway, despite committing the heinous crime of dropping out of 7th year, was because they were somehow involved in the fight against the most evil wizard time had ever revealed or hiding for their very lives because of said wizard.

Hence, the "End of Summer Session" was born and was reserved for those who had otherwise been too occupied with Ministry investigating and questioning and "much needed recovery time," as the papers put it, to attend the first session, and very few qualified to sign up for it. "A special exemptment for very extenuating circumstance," was the official statement from the Wizarding Examinations Authority.

It had taken the Ministry, mainly the Auror office, nearly two months to complete their reports, during which they showed no restraint in requesting needed details and information from anyone acutely involved in how and why Voldemort ended up at Hogwart's that night, and most importantly, what finally and officially killed him.

If Hermione never had to talk about Horcruxes and Deathly Hallows again she would die a happy girl. Such miserable business. Thankfully, the Ministry was about to declare the case closed, only a few more loose ends, periodic Ministry owls wanting to confirm a date or time growing more and more rare.

Unfortunately, despite the legal and judiciary interest waning, the public's was not. Mr. Weasley decided to put back the protection around the Burrow, just to keep the Paparazzi and reporters away from his family and his famous houseguests.

"I'm so glad none of the press got wind of this," said Hermione conversationally, referring to their unprecedented invitation to Hogwarts during the summer holiday, just days before the school was about to start it's new year.

"No kidding," contributed Harry, "Have they been all over you two too?"

Dean and Neville nodded.

"I got bombarded by Rita Skeeter after coming out of the Ministry of Magic," told Neville, "She wanted to know why I was there instead of at the first retake. I had to tell her a million times it was confidential Ministry business. I didn't want to tell that leech I was the one keeping the DA alive, didn't want her thinking she found herself someone she could use for a public interest piece."

Hermione gave an empathetic nod.

"Wow," Dean said as the carriage pulled up to the main entrance, "It's almost done. Blimey, it almost looks like nothing ever happened."

He was right. The Castle was almost completely repaired, only two or three scaffolds on the east side filling in a few more brick holes. A funny feeling erupted in Hermione's stomach. She underestimated how much she loved the place, how excited she was to be back, even if for just a few short days, challenges for her mind awaiting.

"N.E.W.T.'s ov'r here!" bellowed a familiar voice.

The trio smiled at each other.

"Hagrid!" beamed Harry.

" 'Allo, 'Allo," he ruffed, "Did they give you any time to study? Can't believe 'em, making you take 'em so soon."

"They have to Hagrid," defended Hermione, "They want to send all the scores back at once, and those who are already done are eager to apply for internships and jobs."

"Still," wavered Ron, "We've been through something traumatic. Can't possibly have studied right? They should've compromised and just given us all E's."

"Just because you didn't study doesn't mean that it wasn't possible," said Hermione icily.

"Hagrid," broke in Harry, "We wanted to visit the cemetery. Is that okay?"

"Sure, sure," answered Hagrid, "Of course. Meet us in McGonagall's classroom. C'mon then," he referred to Dean and Neville, "I'll take you lot."

The group parted ways as Harry, Ron and Hermione headed off the green grassy slopes of Hogwart's grounds as Dean and Neville followed Hagrid up to the Castle.

It was an undisputed and unanimous decision to lay those who died that night to rest next to Dumbledore. Sadly, it was now quite a full little cemetery.

Fred's grave was first along their path, although they passed many tragically familiar names. The bold "W" etched into his handsome headstone made Hermione's stomach clench and her eyes burn. "Beloved Son, Brother and Friend; Your memory shall forever live on in the sound of laughter," were the heartbreakingly true words engraved beneath the impressive letter. Ron laid down the bouquet of Sunflowers his mother had sent with him, his face bright red and tight.

Hermione took his hand. He gave her a small but genuine smile and his shoulders seem to lower. It made her feel good knowing she comforted him.

They made their way silently down the row to Lupin and Tonks, who laid side by side under a single elongated headstone. Hermione reread the poem she had loved, and found so perfect for the couple.

How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank!

Here we will sit, and let the sounds of music

Creep in our ears, Soft stillness and the night

Becomes the touches of sweet harmony

It was then that she let the tears drop, slow and quiet. How bitterly wonderful it was to think of Lupin, the moonlight that had unceasingly haunted him finally sleeping, forever with Tonks on an endless and beautiful night, music in the air and eternal peace between them.

It was only then, when Harry bent over to change withered flowers for fresh ones did they notice a photograph propped up against the stone.

Ted Jr., Harry's godson, wiggled at them, rolled up in swaddling blankets, a mere few months old.

Harry's brow was furrowed, and Hermione was sure he too was wondering who brought such a touching gift to the parents. Perhaps it had been Tonk's mother Andromeda, but it was strange no one had mentioned she made another visit to her daughter's grave since the funerals. Surely the Weasley family, who had all but adopted the now lone widow, would've joined her…

"We better get going," Ron said, breaking the solemn quietude.

The longing and eagerness to be at Hogwarts faded speedily once she crossed the threshold of the vast doors. She didn't even have the mental capacity to notice how strange it was for the school to be so lifeless and empty, as she had never been there while it was still summer holiday before. She noticed something else instead; the pounding of her heart thundering through her body, how it was suddenly hard to breath, her breathe shallow and desperate. She was overcome with a surprising anxiety attack.

She always grew anxious before tests, and while this was the most crucial test of a wizard's life, she had never felt this physically sickened before.

"Hermione?" Ron inquired, putting his arm around her, trying to stifle her shaking, "Are you okay?"

"Yes," she insisted, wiggling out from Ron's grasp. She felt claustrophobic under his heavy arm.

She guessed he would've otherwise felt wounded by her rejection of his comfort attempts but was probably too distracted by her ghost white face.

She knew it. She knew it! She knew something like this was coming. It had been biting at her heels all summer. Well… once the shock of what had happened between Harry and Voldemort finally seemed to dissipate and she actually had a second to consider anything else outside of _saving the world as we know it_, it had been pecking at her. She knew what "it" was before it even introduced itself. And she slammed the door in it's face. But much to her dismay, it seemed now to be sneaking in through a window.

Not now. She didn't want to deal with that now…

But she couldn't fight it, it came like an avalanche anyway.

What the bloody hell was she going to do with herself now that there was no more Dark Lord?

The goal that had defined her, motivated her, focused her… Who was she without that? What was her purpose? What now?

These tests, these bloody tests. They would determine everything. And Ron, the man next to her, so would he. And Harry, who dictated who she was as well with how he portrayed her to the public, he had a say as well.

Sorry Granger, too many chefs in the kitchen already. We'll let you know what we decide. No, no, thanks but no thanks, we don't need any more input. What's that? It's your life? You should have a say?

Her ears filled with the sound of imaginary laughter. She wasn't ready for these tests, despite making three copies of the preparation workbook she received by owl after signing up and completing each of them, and reading every help manual she could find on N.E.W.T.'s, probably studying more than anyone who had actually been in attendance all year.

But what would they say about her? What area would she score highest in? Who would review her grades and offer her a job? What career did she even want?

It was all coming at once now. Her envy of how easy her peers had it. It just wasn't fair! They had had guidance counseling and practice tests, time to think about what they really wanted to do after Hogwarts, time that she had to dedicate to keeping herself and everyone she cared about alive, packing that abyss of a pocket book and relocating her own parents. And not only were her impending career options terrifying her, what about healthy social development? Chances to live an average teenage life, laugh with many different friends, have romantic trysts with a variety of compelling suitors? What if Ron was only interested in her because she was the only female there was to choose from these last long months? What if the only reason she responded so well was because she too believed there was no one else. Were they being stupid not realizing there's a whole sea of fish they had barely dipped a toe in? If they had other options… would they still end up fancying each other?

All things seemed to conclude that she would never get to know.

How horrible, she didn't want to be with someone solely because she never got to know anyone else, and him latching onto her simply because no one else was around wasn't exactly a fairytale either. She was so angry with him sometimes, like it was all his fault they were isolated together. But then came the guilt. Ron was a wonderful guy, who had always been there for her. She was being a wench. She felt so bad... But now she had gotten so emotionally carried away that she was bracing herself against the wall of the entrance hall.

"Ms. Granger?" came the familiar shrill voice of her favorite teacher. She felt oddly comforted, then instantly embarrassed by Ron and Harry surrounding her worriedly.

"Are you alright child?" McGonagall inquired.

"Yes Profes- er, Headmistress," Hermione said eagerly, "I'm fine, just didn't realize I grew out of breath from the walk."

McGonagall smiled warmly. After all these years she had grown quite fond of the three of them, it was obvious.

"Very well then," she said, returning quickly to her strict and professional poise, "Professor Flitwick is in the Transfiguration room, aiding Mr. Thomas and Mr. Longbottom in the rules and regulations. Please join them Weasley and Potter, Ms. Granger, if you'd please come with me…"

The boys looked over at Hermione invasively, but all she could do was give a small shrug indicating she didn't know what was going on either.

"Quickly now," rushed McGonagall, placing a hand on Hermione's shoulder steering her around and giving the boys a small waving off.

Before she knew it she was in front of the two gargoyles that guarded the Headmaster's office.

"Ten-pin bowling," McGonagall said, and escorted Hermione up the moving staircase.

The office was just how Hermione remembered it when Dumbledore occupied it, except for one startling difference.

Severus Snape lifted his nose and shoulders slightly with a barely detectible sneer of haughtiness as Hermione approached the grand oak desk. His portrait hung to the right of Dumbledore's and had caught her completely off guard.

She never expected to see the dark penetrating eyes or cloaking raven hair that was his image ever again.

But of course, he had been a Headmaster of Hogwart's … and, as it astonishingly turned out, an accomplished and useful double agent who put himself in considerable and constant danger due to the request of Dumbledore himself.

She hadn't had time to give Snape much thought since the truth about him was revealed, other than his was a life of tragic emptiness. It was odd now to realize that she, along with everyone else, owed him so much gratitude.

It was hard though, for he had been such a demanding and impossible to impress instructor, taking what seemed like extra pleasure in taunting her genuine and heartfelt efforts to master the art of potions. Never once was any of her hard work acknowledged.

"Well I suppose you're wondering why I require your private audience," McGonagall spoke finally, breaking Hermione's thoughts as she sat importantly down in a large lush chair behind her desk.

"Oh… yes," said Hermione, refocusing her attention and taking an arm chair herself.

"Unbeknownst to anyone but the teachers here, I entered your name for nomination as Head Girl in the middle of your 6th year, when such things are started to be considered."

Hermione's mouth dropped. She had forgotten all about anything like that.

"Professor, I'm…" suddenly she didn't know what to say next… was this a lecture for dropping out? Surely McGonagall understood why. Had Hermione let her down anyway? Embarrassed her by not even showing up after McGonagall stuck her neck out for her? "Well, thank you so much for thinking of me," she went on nervously, "I would've been so honored-"

"Well, you probably don't know either, that this last year," McGonagall seemed to pause for a deep breath, as if just thinking about last year was exhausting in itself, "was the first year in Hogwart's history to go without a Head Boy and Girl."

Hermione frowned, as McGonagall was, wanting to do anything that showed she may understand what her point might be.

"Severus," she went on, saying his name plainly, "as you can imagine, wasn't really interested in such customs by then."

Hermione nodded, but she didn't know why.

"He didn't touch many Headmaster duties actually. Busy of course, with his other assignment. Him being Headmaster was merely a guise for Voldemort, to go along with the muggle wrangling..."

Hermione nodded again, this time understanding but still failing to see any relevance.

"Even this office was left all but the same as when Albus was here," she went on, her voice softening slightly. "In fact, I found these-" she said, pulling out a bundle of stacked parchment from the desk, "-completely untouched."

Hermione stared at the letters, wondering strangely if she finally knew where this was going…

"I examined them. It appears every member of the faculty had turned in their ballots and Dumbledore must have gone through them just days before his death. I recounted the votes just to be sure. You were Head Girl Ms. Granger."

Hermione swelled with pride and joy, her smile went from ear to ear. "That would've been so wonderful," she said, thinking of the opportunities that would've opened up for her, all the honors and awards she would've received, what that would do for her résumé…

Suddenly she felt very irritated. She could've used clout like that to really take her time with things, feel offers out, get into various different fields, change her mind if she wanted even, get recommended somewhere else if need be.

With Head Girl under her name she would've been an instant hire for any position, anytime, anywhere. It was maddening, knowing she was left to fend for herself without what should have otherwise been rightfully hers after six years of excruciating work!

McGonagall must have detected her growing scowl. "So, despite you not being in attendance for 7th year to fulfill your title, a special Head Boy and Head Girl N.E.W.T. is always allotted and sent along with the standard set of exams, and this year was no different. You are still eligible to sit the advanced version and potentially earn the extra credits and awards, as there was no other Head Girl named after you by Snape."

Hermione's whole face lit up and she flashed a look at Snape's portrait, suddenly finding it easy to be thankful and warm towards such a standoffish person. She never imagined she would be glad he was too busy pretending to be a Death Eater.

There was a soft knock on the door.


	2. Chapter 2

Annoyed beyond all hell and stuck in the Great Hall, Draco Malfoy was waiting for Potter and Weasley to pass. But that damn Granger was holding them up for some reason.

He rolled his eyes and looked out the window towards the cemetery. His anger started when Potter disturbed the picture he had just delivered. He knew that Lupin made him Godfather, but he also knew that he had only gone to visit Teddy three times since he was born! His Aunt seemed to think that was adequate, and since he was still heavily focused on maintaining the newly requited relationship he wasn't going to argue with it for now.

"Stupid little…" Draco began muttering through gritted teeth, wanting to curse Granger for taking so long but struggled for a proper name to call her. She was going to make him late damn it. If only he had gotten there a little earlier, then he could've met McGonagall upstairs without them having to see him.

But the Auror outside his hotel room insisted on bombarding him with a million questions, convinced the real Draco Malfoy had just been killed and that he was an imposter who had taken polyjuice potion, someone trying to mole their way into secret Auror information… bleeding idiot…

"Malfoy?" he heard a man yell out.

He groaned, afraid they might hear his name being called, "What?" he growled.

It was Proudfoot, another Auror who met him at the gate of the school, "I'm off duty now, Savage has arrived, he's out front. Everything looks good," he said.

"Thanks so much for the necessary information," Draco drawled sarcastically.

Proudfoot glared at him, "Yeah, well seeing how we have nothing more important to do than baby-sit a little snitch, we figured we'd take extra special care of you. Of course, we could stop if you'd like… not like you'd get your throat slit the second we turned our backs or anything."

It took all he had to bite his tongue, he still wasn't accustomed to being talked to like that from anyone, "_Alright_," he hissed, hadn't he had enough reprimanding from Aurors? Funny how their tone changes when you're bailing them out for having no leads.

His attention went back to the entrance hall, it sounded like it had cleared out. He quickly headed towards the Headmaster's office. He gave the password, raced up the staircase and stopped outside the room, pausing for a deep breath and to smooth his robes. Time to work his magic.

Draco knocked softly on the door, then opened it and slid into the room.

"So sorry I'm late Headmistress, I'm staying in Hogsmeade and didn't realize-" Draco's best charming and sincere tone was cut off upon seeing Granger turning out of the armchair in front of McGonagall's desk and staring at him, wide eyed and not at all hiding her shock.

"… That there would still be extra security to go through if I walked," he finished, recovering rather well. He did not look at Hermione Granger again, but could still feel her unbelieving eyes on him.

"It's quite alright Mr. Malfoy, I've been informed of your special circumstances."

"I apologize for the inconvenience," Draco said, still utilizing his sweetness.

"Nonsense," said McGonagall, "It's not your fault. No matter, I was just about to explain your exams."

Draco took a seat in the armchair next to Granger's. Surely she was still staring at him in disbelief. Well, he should probably try to get used to that. Everyone he'll come across will be surprised he's not in Azkaban with the rest of them.

The notion angered him, and only fueled his motivation to ensure that, since it was impossible to avoid completely, it would be as brief an era in his life as possible. Just until all the connections he was utilizing would renovate his reputation.

In fact… perhaps even this unpleasant combination could too be turned into something of his advantage. Certainly out of that horrible threesome, she'd be the easiest, he had always been an ace with females. Perhaps things would really work out okay, he'd had a series of the most wonderful luck after all.

No, not luck, more like opportunities. Ones he, with his sharp cunning and cleverness, had manipulated marvelously to bare even more name-saving fruit.

First Kingsley's astonishing offer, then his Mother's sister reaching out to them, and he couldn't forget Snape having put his name in as Head Boy, and now, a chance to create civil terms with a more perfect symbol of his "repentance" than he could dare dream of; a muggleborn friend of the Boy-who-lived-again.

He and his Mother would be alright. He could do this. He had to. He refused to accept the pitiful and unimportant future of a Death Eater turned rat outcast.

"Yours will be much different then the others," McGonagall began to lecture, shattering Draco's reverie. "It will be a combination of multiple disciplines in four parts."

"In the first part you will be given a test template naming a few out of many ingredients to an unknown potion and some of the steps in brewing said potion in a random order. Using open book research you are to identify the potion by the clues given and fill in the missing ingredients, steps and give a thorough description of the potions effects."

Draco nodded to show McGonagall he followed and that she could go on, and saw out of the corner of his eye Hermione nodding as well, but not as confidently as he had. He felt the corners of his mouth twitch, aching to form his habitual smirk. Their N.E.W.T. would focus on potions, the only subject he ever got any recognition for when it came to her.

"You will need to keep in mind the potion showcased in the exam will be somewhat controversial," McGonagall went on, her voice a bit cryptic, "That being said, parts two and three will be first, the offensive of brewing the potion and providing a sample, and secondly, the defensive, of being able to perform the spell and/or wand work needed to protect one's self from the effects of the potion. This all but tells you it may not necessarily be an antidote, but perhaps, wand work," she finished with obvious hinting in her voice.

Draco nodded once more, only this time intentionally ignoring Hermione's reaction, as the latter part of defensive magic did annoy him somewhat. That might take some digging on his part, and he didn't want to know how difficult or not _she_ gauged it to be.

"The fourth part will require a bit more critical thinking," McGonagall went on, "Like I said, the potion will be somewhat controversial. You will need to decide on a position, regarding whether or not the potion should be considered dark magic, and defend your assertion persuasively in a five roll essay."

Draco all but groaned and this time gave the briefest of nods. He hated essays. What did they have to do with being good at magic?

"You will turn in your essay with your potion sample, then demonstrate the magic needed to counteract it. All four parts are to be completed in 36 hours time, where we will meet back here for your demonstrations."

McGonagall paused for a breath and surveyed the pair of them.

Draco smiled smally back at her, and after smoothing her robes and clearing her throat with a silent cough, she continued to speak, "Now, if you will please follow along with me, we will go over an example together."

Draco looked down and saw that a small parchment had appeared with a puff of air on his lap. It had a daunting watermark set behind the text, a wand wrapped in ivy leaves and the curly Latin wording "Aut Disce, aut Discede" forming a circle around it. "Either Learn or Leave." The official seal of the Wizarding Examinations Authority.

"You will see the two ingredients given; eels' eyes and banshee wart. Ms. Granger, do you know the effects of eel eyes?" she asked inquisitively.

Hermione's expression wavered, and Draco couldn't help but smile, he had never seen her not know an answer right away before. Perhaps she was still put off by his presence.

"It's a memory aid… I think?" she answered quietly.

McGonagall gave a small nod, "Yes…" she agreed, with an air of something more in her tone.

"It's actually the most effective substance in sharpening one's memory isn't it?" Draco said matter-of-factly, "Clears the mind."

"Correct Mr. Malfoy," she praised, "And banshee wart?" she challenged.

"It lowers your defenses, or inhibits your normal ability to react," he answered coolly.

"Right again," said McGonagall, then she turned to Hermione, "Next it says it needs to be heated to 347 degrees Celsius, what does such an intense heat tend to do Ms. Granger?"

Hermione looked intently at McGonagall and nothing else, "It concentrates the potions powers, causing it to work instantly."

"Very good," their Headmistress continued, "And folding the mixture at least ten times is the last step, what would be the point of that?"

"To…" Hermione began slowly, entertaining Draco even further, "try and- to make it thicken… forming a skin to protect it from interacting with any other potions that might be in the takers system," finishing with what sounded like much more confidence.

"Right then, so we have a potion that will relax the ingester and give him mental clarity. The brewer wants fast results and nothing to get in the way of his potion, making his purpose seem urgent and important. Any idea what we have here?"

Draco naturally gloated. He knew answer, but found that the rare chance to see Granger struggle wasn't something he wanted to end quickly.

"…Veritaserum…" Hermione said quickly and quietly, almost as if she was asking.

"Well done," McGonagall praised, "You can see by the example what they mean by controversial. And never minding the antidote, the counter magic to protect yourself from Veritaserum is rarely known, so it will not only take research, but much practice to perform."

Draco gave another single nod, while Hermione nodded too earnestly, giving away her relief of coming up with the answer.

"Now, if you would please sign this parchment, it will not only register you for the Head N.E.W.T., it will complete the Fidelius charm of which I am the Secret Keeper, so that you may not discuss this specific exam with anyone else over the course of the next two days."

Hermione took the quill offered to her hurriedly, and with a flash her pretty and neat signature burned into the charmed contract.

Draco reached for the quill and slightly brushed her hand with his fingertips. Hermione retracted her hand so fast it was almost as if he had given her an electrical shock. He tried to grin secretly to himself as he too signed, knowing Hermione was examining her hand discreetly, probably amazed he had left no burn mark.

"Very good then," said McGonagall, "Well the time begins with the signature, so I'll leave you two to it. I'll be in my prior office if you need me," she informed, "I'm still transferring my belongings, you see. Didn't realize I had so many filing cabinets full of paperwork…"

Draco wondered if she in fact preferred her old office. Maybe this one was just a little too weird and depressing given that the last two who inhabited it were murdered, and happened to be old, long time colleagues of hers as well.

"It is quite comfortable here, though," she added, almost as if she was worried she had insulted the place, acknowledging the plush chairs and tea table set around a handsome fireplace, "with many of Dumbledore's personal books still accessible, so you may continue to use this office if you'd like, as well as the library, or whichever classroom you find suitable.

"I do recommend you stir clear of your house common rooms though, as they may be distracting, other students will have much more free time than you two, you see. However, I do suggest you sleep. Despite the temptation to work nonstop, I assure you a good nights rest has shown better results in the past. Well," she said, finally giving them a small smile as she arose from her chair, "Best of luck, I'm certain you'll make Hogwart's proud."

Draco followed her exit out of the office, the tail of her robes disappearing with a click of the door, then turned to face Hermione.

She instantly got up from her chair and walked over to Dumbledore's bookshelf, intent on pretending he wasn't there. Ignoring what he was sure she considered to be unsuitable company.

Tempting as it was to use this situation to make her even more uncomfortable, he knew he would have to resist.

"Here goes nothing," he thought, as he too got up and surveyed the room, wondering how he was going to approach this. He saw two manila folders on McGonagall's desk. Despite all that talking she must have forgotten to give them their actual tests. Hermione was too frazzled to notice this. She was pretending, he was almost positive, to be deeply interested in Dumbledore's library, probably expecting him to go away.

"Granger?" he asked, feeling her startle and stiffen, he had scared her by sneaking up behind her, speaking into her ear.

"Yes?" she said plainly, not turning around, knowing his face was right there, continuing the ruse of going through titles. She snatched up one, as if finding what she had been looking for.

"Um, how do you know what books you want when you haven't even looked at your test that I have here?" he said friendlily, knowing she'd have to turn around and face him now.

She spun around haughtily on her heels, focused on his hand holding up the manila envelopes, and grabbed one. She had completely avoided his eyes.

"Your welcome," he said, careful to be subtle on the sarcasm.

She mumbled something that sounded a little like thank you then quickly hurried back to her armchair, eagerly ripping open the official wax seal of her envelope and reading her test clues.

Draco sighed. This was going to be harder than he thought. It's not like he was going to whip out an unforgivable curse on her or some other irrational nonsense.

Didn't anyone else realize they were on the cusp of a huge paradigm shift? Voldemort was dead. Gone. So was everyone else who used to matter.

The time was ripe for a whole new breed of powerful. Things were going to be forever different, the world was going to work in a new way, and positions for operation were wide open. If you want to win, you have to play the game.

He wasn't going to ruin his second chance by bullying the latest "heroes" of the new age. He wasn't an idiot, as the most recent gimmick of the public eye, muggle sympathy was at an all time peak.

"Good God Granger," Draco blurted, noticing for the first time soft smudges of gray on her porcelain skin, "Who ate up your neck?"

Hermione's face exhibited total horror as her hand instantly palmed the left side of neck.

But Draco was already snickering, "You and Weasley then?" he guffawed.

Then he quickly tried to stop, choking on his laughs. She was clearly not amused. He better quit while he still could, there was just too much to tease, and he couldn't do that. He mustn't!

"I thought I took care of it," she mumbled.

"What'd you use?" Draco asked interestedly, determined to come off as helpful.

Hermione looked at him with hesitation and confusion, "Bruise Removal Paste from Weasleys'-"

"Wizard Wheezes," he finished, undoubtedly portraying himself as the hickey hiding expert that he was, "Yeah, check the expiration date. Mine went bad in three months," he explained, "Wears off in a few hours and they come back a little."

"_You _shop at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes?" she asked with an accusing glare.

He forgot how cheeky she could be. "Don't fight with her!" he told himself firmly. But he could think of nothing else to say… It didn't seem to matter though. She was back to her test, a leg crossed over the other, bouncing lightly as she read, a triumphant look on her face. "Bugger" he muttered, giving it up as a bad job for now.

Eventually Draco returned to his chair as well, pulling out his test template too. It was on a thick card type paper, the same watermark present in the background as on the example sheet.

"Asphodel," he thought, reading the first ingredient of the mysterious potion he would have to identify and eventually brew, "known for it's association with the afterlife or underworld," he knew, assessing what he was dealing with, his interest instantly stimulated by the rare and supernatural leaf. "Sneezewort," he read on, "used to befuddle," he thought confidently, "Wonder what happens when you mix that with Asphodel… Unctuous Unction? Hmmm…" that was tougher, he knew he had read about it somewhere, "…makes you think the person is your best friend, I think. I'll have to check up on that one right away…"

His eyes scanned the rest of the list, skipping the common and mundane ingredients, ones whose effects were too generic and universal to give away the purpose of the potion, "Polyvinyl acetate? What the hell is that?" He had never even heard of that one before.

He thought strenuously for a moment, crinkling his forehead. Finally he had to admit it himself he did not what the potion was yet. He was actually going to have to get a few books for this one. And surprisingly enough, it was going to be hard, even for him. Which could only mean that surely Granger could benefit from his assistance.

"Funny about the fidelius charm don't you think?" he finally thought to comment, straining to get her to relax.

Hermione's brow immediately furrowed, like she couldn't believe he was actually trying to talk again, "What do you mean?" she asked, an awkward combination of unsure and aloof.

"Well, gaping loophole right?" he went on, "Think it's a test of honor? Or one of those deals about Heads working together in the name of school unity?"

"… I don't believe I follow…" she answered skeptically.

"Wow," he thought, he must really throw her off, she was defiantly slow today.

"We can talk about the test," he explained plainly, "With _each other_." 

He watched her face transform slowly, that brow of hers furrowed even more and her mouth turned down into a gradual frown. Next she looked angry, insulted even. Draco just continued to watch, confused, waiting for her to explain her transition to frostiness.

But she didn't. She just scoffed bitchily, gathered up the books she had chosen from Dumbledore's shelf and exited the office without a word, only a hefty slam of the door.

Draco's confused expression only deepened, but it quickly morphed into annoyance. What was that about? He didn't sneer at her or call her a name or anything! He was being nice for Merlin's sake!

Maybe trying to win her over wasn't worth it. He was willing to work as hard as needed to pull him and his Mother up from the bottom of the food chain, but if he couldn't even get her to speak more than three words to him… well he wasn't going to _beg_ the little magic stealer to bloody talk to him.

Perhaps she was too hard, there was too much bad blood between them. Even with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named gone and Draco being of no threat at all, her loyalty to her friends and her own personal pride… maybe that was a little too much even for an expert charmer like himself.

But still, what an asset it would be -if when put under scrutiny for his involvement in the whole ordeal, when he would claim he was coerced and misunderstood- to have her vouch for him.

He could imagine her now, in just a few years, sitting at some huge desk in an important, fancy office, penning a letter to a politician or important business associate, or even making a statement at some bullshit fundraiser to the press…

"We were completely misinformed about Mr. Malfoy," she would say, "He's a kind and generous man, who was unfortunately connected to Dark ideals and ways by an insane Father who he, himself, personally saw to being detained and administered mental health care. Not even his enormous contribution to…" his daydream faltered, "-insert silly cause here-" he thought hurriedly, "orphan hospital, or protecting Dragon habitat or some other codswallop…" he concluded, pressing on with arrogant optimism, "can begin to compare to his sincere and heartfelt regret towards the tragic days of He-Who-Is-Thankfully-Gone's reign of terror. Needless to say, we are honored to have his highly revered support on this project."

"'But Chairwomen,'" he mocked what the reporters would say next, "'Healer- Professor- Secretary Prime Mistress- Astronaut-'" Whatever! Draco didn't care, "'What about the allegations that he is still prejudice? Rumors that he still in fact favors Purification?'"

To this Granger would give a diplomatic laugh, "Mr. or Ms. Random Daily Prophet Reporter," she would goad sincerely, "Draco and I, that is to say, Mr. Malfoy, are old dear friends from school. Not a Holiday goes by without the exchange of Christmas cards, nor three months pass where we do not call to congratulate each other on our respective profits that quarter.

"I do not think I need to remind you, or your avid readers, that I am proudly of muggle heritage. And yet sadly, some presume to think Mr. Malfoy would have those non-magically born, like myself, segregated out of the community. Such barbaric and out-of-date controversy," she would dismiss decisively, "I thought perhaps we could focus on issues of relevant importance, such as what an outrage it is that our own government's Floo Networks haven't switch over to "Pollutionless-smoke Flames"! Did you know that 48 of England's carbon monoxide…"

Blah, blah, blah. Granger would be good at distraction with her little environmental or humanitarian causes or whatever it was that she was on about.

Damn. It would be so nice to have her. Sure, there were others who could eventually do what she could, and he would get them, but geez, she would be amazing.

No, he was never one to give up. People like him never gave up. He would keep trying. He had to get her to tolerate him. Not even like him yet, just tolerate him. The like would come later, when he would repay her handsomely for her allegiance by actually funding her little crusades every now and then. If she'd polish his wand, he'd polish hers. Again, if you want to win, you've got to play the game.

McGonagall burst in through the doors, startling Draco and causing him to jump to the edge of his seat.

"Mr. Malfoy," McGonagall asked looking around the room, a bit frazzled, "Where is Ms. Granger?"

Draco stalled for a moment, "Uh, I believe she went to the library," was all he could think to say.

"Oh," she ruffled, "Very well then. I thought you'd like to receive this in private anyway," she said, delivering him a letter. A bright scarlet letter.

Draco's shoulders sunk and he stared at the Howler in disbelief. He took a deep breath. Might as well get it over with.

"DRACO? DRACO?!" shrieked his erratic mother, as if looking for a small child who disappeared into a crowded carnival, "YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO OWL WHEN YOU ARRIVED! HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME? HOW COULD YOU FORGET? _THERE HAS BEEN UNCONFIRMED APPARATION NEAR DURGES AND BANGES_," she tried to scream, but he heard her voice start to waver from the get go. Then she broke completely, the anger dissipating and huffy sobbing began.

"Cissy, Cissy," said the voice he recognized as his Aunt, trying to calm his Mother. "I'm sure he's fine, you need to relax, you'll hurt yourself."

It sounded as if Andromeda had taken over the Howler, "Draco, my dear, please owl you Mother as soon as you can, alright? Thank you sweetheart."

It fell to the floor in an anticlimactic clap.

He shook his head in agitation. "Headmistress," he said sweetly again, "I apologize once more for all the inconveniences I burden you with. First with your generous security, and now my Mother pestering you with her deliveries."

"I do declare," McGonagall asserted, "I can certainly understand a Mother worrying about her Son. Especially one in your situation."

Draco nodded gravely. He felt oddly encouraged to go out on a limb, "There isn't any…" he began slowly, trying to decide his words carefully, "_leads_, are there? I mean, from _your_ end, The Order of the Phoenix," he uttered the name delicately, "about where they might be?" he finished anxiously.

"I'm afraid we don't know much different than the Ministry," McGonagall answered almost guiltily.

Draco, for the hundredth time, just nodded. He figured as much.

… … …

A/N: Few things, sadly my beta gal has had her computer crash and respectfully resigned as it's kind of hard to edit something you can't access, which means I'm wondering if there is anyone else out there who would be kind enough to correct my embarrassing type-o's for me?

I always loose track of the wonderful folks who have volunteered in the past and I've told many users I'd love to use them next time, so it's back open for random choosing, please PM or email me.

I hope it wasn't too awful, but I looked over this chapter myself, and we all know how apathetic I am to grammar rules…

Anyways, another random little tangent about this story: Lily Potter rocks my face off. I'm fascinated with her and the men who loved her. She just seems like a way cool person. Wondering about the blank spaces Rowling left of her life makes my imagination go crazy. Hmmm, no idea why I would mention _that_…

Also, I need to mention again how much I've used HP Lexicon. The potion ingredients I mentioned are really from the universe, as are the "effects" Draco describes. However, the "mystery potion" they're assigned to figure out is of my own invention and nothing even close to it was ever mentioned in the series, so please bare with me.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: There's supposed to be a little confusion and mystery at the beginning, but, if I didn't suck too bad, you're supposed to get (most of) it by the end. Please let me know.

Also, I still need a good beta match (someone comfortable with adult scenes and somewhat dark angsty stuff, please email), so sorry if this is littered with errors, it didn't get checked by a second party.

… … …

It humored him enormously how much she jumped when she saw him. Especially when he realized who she was. Her eyes doubled and her cheeks tightened, her full, wavy hair bounced as she came to an abrupt stop. Very entertaining indeed how he intimidated her.

But, like a predictable Gryffindor, she quickly regained her composure. Smoothing her robes and casting her eyes down to his stone cobbled floor, she dumped her books onto one of the many empty work stations and lit a flame under a cauldron.

Then, intent on ignoring him or that the sight of him had frightened her, she waltzed over to one of his cupboards, digging around his stores. Something led him to believe she was already frazzled before he had scared her, which was unfortunate because he would've liked to have taken all the credit. However, her eyes did dart back over to him quickly, then returned back to the ingredients she was looking for.

If he was one to smile much, surely he would do so now. But he kept his delight to himself. He was hung right at the head of the classroom, he'd be a terrible thing to avoid, and little Miss Incessant Raise of the Hand would be distracted.

He heard her swear quietly to herself, and move impatiently over to the next cupboard. Apparently there was something she couldn't find.

"_Need_ something?" he asked, breaking the cold silence of the dungeon with his deep, encompassing voice.

She controlled her startle better this time. Perhaps she had already wondered if he would talk to her, maybe even felt his eyes on her. Gryffindors, he rolled his eyes, stubborn bravery.

"Asphodel leaves," she answered carefully, surveying him like a skeptical appraiser.

"Really?" he said, truly surprised, "What do you need that for?" he asked, intrigued.

"My N.E.W.T." she said speedily, as if she talking to herself, and not an actual person.

Well, he couldn't really hold that against her now could he?

"About time N.E.W.T.'s became more difficult," he said sternly, insinuating that any test question that included Asphodel must be challenging, "Too many average wizards earn far too much credit."

"It's actually the Head Girl N.E.W.T.," Hermione explained, then seemed to regret it by the way she pursed her lips closed, as if wishing to suck the words that just left her mouth back up.

"Wondering why she's bothering to talk to me?" he wondered cynically. "Well perhaps I can be of some use to the girl genius in her extra hard test," he thought sarcastically.

After all, the similarities never did go unnoticed. He had planned to help _her _with her Head Girl N.E.W.T. since the day she got her Head Girl letter. Of course, he never got the chance. By the end of the year she had refused to even look at him, -not that she ever even had opportunities too, what with that stupid stuck-up prat shoving his tongue down her throat at every bloody chance- and he himself, growing all the more occupied by his own group of friends and their time consuming gatherings…

But funny now how he had a new chance to help yet _another_ annoyingly brilliant muggleborn girl who also happened to have an unfortunate fondness for a _Potter_.

"Well, you're in luck," he said, "I just so happen to have dried Asphodel leaves in my storage closet."

She nodded curtly but he saw her ears perk and her demeanor take notice of the way he claimed the classroom. Merlin, she was so much like her. Curious and oh so observant, with the youthful energy to manage both.

She walked over to the closet door and turned the knob.

"Top shelf, right side," he added after she disappeared into the small room of shelves.

She reemerged holding a jar, setting it near the cauldron she had prepared. She seemed to shift nervously in place, unsure of what to do next.

"Thanks," she finally said.

"Some students need all the help they can get," he insulted backhandedly.

It was as if he confirmed something she had been undecided about. Her face sharpened, and she looked at him firmly, her fear of him controlled, "Do all Headmaster's have two paintings?" she asked.

Snape merely cocked his head to the side, as if he didn't hear her correctly.

"I mean, in the Headmaster's office," she expanded, "do you travel between the two, like Phineas Nigellus Black does?"

Snape glowered coyly, "Do you think I'm connected to a second location?" he asked, afraid for a moment she would detect the bitterness in his voice.

But she didn't appear to, she just paused with her thoughts -her nose crinkled in the exact same way when she was trying to work something out too- wording her answer carefully… It was almost just as pretty. She was so young… and bright… and vivacious.

"No," she finally concluded, "You look- this painting of you… you are much younger."

"So no, then," he answered sharply, "I must not be affiliated to that Headmaster Portrait."

Hermione nodded, but looked unsatisfied, probably full of a million more obnoxious questions.

But she contained herself and focused back on her work space, Snape guessed she was going to experiment on each ingredient, trying to figure out their attributes and effects.

He had to admit, he was disappointed when she dedicated herself so fully to her work that he was basically nonexistent. It was boring. Not that talking to the little swot was enticing, but it was better than nothing. And it was with that thought he realized how desperate he was for interaction.

Sure, he had just been pulled from that disgusting dust pile, but it would be a capital crime to compare that turn of events to the intellectual stimulation he so ravenously craved from a worthy companion.

In reality, if reality even applied to him, her presence lit a fire in his chest were decaying cold ash had been for years.

Years? Did he even have years? It occurred to him he didn't even know how time worked where he was. Eternity was the exact opposite of time. It was the complete _lack_ of time. But still, some parts of him, those silly human tendencies, still thought in terms of time. He swore he almost comprehended how long he had truly been in there, all alone.

Because of this he watched her with resentful attentiveness, like an eagle soaring stealthily above a mouse, oblivious and scurrying aimlessly in the grass.

Every time she carefully turned a page, every time she scribbled a small note with a delicate flourish, every time she held up a petri dish, turning it evenly above her head as she observed the contents while the torch light shined on it, then referred back to her test template with irritation, he watched…

She was always one of the stand outs in class. She seemed to really care about the subtleties, the delicate balances of potion making. She wanted to understand every step, every change, that took place. How simple leaves and animal parts could transform into a magical, reality-altering solution, -obtaining powers that outstretched even the wildest of imaginations- with just a little heat and a few stirs…

She could really go far in the art, if she could remain humble. Much too often brewers grew cocky with their skills. Forgetting that potions was to be respected and observed left no room for progression, for growth, for evolution.

He wouldn't let her get too confident, it was his duty as her teacher.

It was truly too bad she didn't let him instruct her like he knew he could have. But she chose such repulsive colleagues, and he could not tolerate it. She had potential, and they sucked it out of her, held her back with their simple minds and bare minimum work ethic.

She was a studier, patient and methodical, like he was. It was tragic he failed to nurture it out of her, shape her into a brilliant mind. But he couldn't. Not if she was going to choose the environment she had. You can't grow roses in depleted soil. It was exactly for this reason she irked him so. What a waste.

He continued to watch her as her work station grew more and more crowded with ingredients, parchments of notes, books littered about and opened to certain pages. He reminisced of days when he made the classroom look like that, when he had assignments that ensnared his mind as he worked all night. But all that was behind him now were nice neat rows of desks, mirrored just opposite of how they were arranged in the actual classroom.

His heavy mahogany desk was at the front of the class before the blackboard. One wall was lined with washbasins and the other cupboards with his stores, the occasional torch hanging angled around the perimeter. His back drop was exactly the same classroom, only twenty five years back in time, before he was even a teacher, but only a mere student. This is where he was stranded, this was all he had; an old potions lab in a dark and chill dungeon with nothing left worth working on.

Occasionally she got back up to recheck the cupboards or get more samples. With her shiny black mary-janes making that all too familiar click on the stone floor, she walked with patience and grace, as if, never minding the severe difficulty, the challenge to her mind was soothing and soulful, filling a need most satisfyingly.

His envy of her worthy mental task was suddenly put on hold when to his disbelief -after watching her go back to collect more ingredients and ending up referred to the same certain books repeatedly, performing the same actions over and over again, drying the leaves in that particular fashion, the rare squeezing of the sneezewort and boiling it's oils for the fumes opposed to typically collecting and chopping it's roots- he figured out what the N.E.W.T. potion must be this year.

The _irony_ of it all! He bit his lips firmly, it was all he could do not to chuckle. It was too grand. Too amazing. That _he _should just happen to be there as she worked so determinedly…

He must have snorted because she glanced up towards his wooden picture frame momentarily before returning to her paragraph. She even kept her place with a dainty, sharp index finger like she did.

He began to watch her work even more carefully. It impressed him to see that she was at least on the right track, he estimated that she probably had never even heard of the potion she was expected to brew before.

His excitement heightened as she picked up an old worn leather bound book. _Moste potente Potions. _He wanted to smile with pride, thinking perhaps he had judged her too soon, but to his dismay, after a quick scan of the table of contents Hermione snapped the book closed and shoved it away, returning hastily to _Magical Drafts and Potions _by the dull and predictable Arsenius Jigger.

Snape groaned disapprovingly. Was the little Dark Lord Slayer afraid of the nasty old potions book? He noticed for the first time as well she was reluctant to look at _Confronting the Faceless_ too.

Did she want to pass this test or not?

Snape sighed. He knew the type.

How stupid they were, willingly choosing blind ignorance, completely ignoring what they knew damn well to be great and powerful magic. The wealth of knowledge and power to be had… Sure, sure, it had evil potential when put in the wrong hands, but didn't that make it all the more important to understand it? Study it? Control it?

If one is to truly call himself a Wizard Master they must understand all aspects of magic. To not embrace a larger view of all that is magical, dark or light, is to remain narrow and novice.

"And where would that get you?" said the very Slytherin voice in his head, "Nowhere."

It was then he decided to aid her along. He was her teacher after all, it was his job to help her come to the right conclusions.

And thus began the easily defined immaturity of snorting and smirking as she worked. He wasn't proud to admit what he had resorted to, but honestly, who was there to try to impress?

He could tell she heard him too, her head which give a slight jerk or her quill would pause when he would add his rude interrupting noises to the only sound of bubbling cauldron.

He clucked his tongue and shook his head when she turned up the burner. She gave him the briefest of glances before sticking her tongs and beaker into the flame anyway. When her armadillo bile boiled over and crystallized she scowled, making the mistake of letting her eyes look up at him again as he gloated victoriously.

She begrudgingly took his obnoxious noises under consideration though, when he gave a little cough as she was about to add Dragon Vinegar to her Ashwinder eggs, an action that would've resulted in an explosion. While she was relieved she didn't make such an absentminded first year mistake, he could tell she was furious at herself for listening to anything he had to say. She wiped her brow with her sleeve, looking tired and stressed, most likely wanting a break but refusing to give herself one.

He couldn't help but be reminded of himself in that regard.

She soon adapted to working right through him quite efficiently, trying to convey that she was not going to let him win, that his unwelcome criticisms and discouragement meant nothing to her. Silly girl, he was trying to help, didn't she see that?

It was amazing that things went on in such a manner as long as they did. She must have worked relentlessly for over two hours, all the while Snape contributed his low whistles and chortles. Eventually he would give small huffy laughs or sigh with relief when she finally did something right, something that put her further down the path of discovering what the potion was.

She did give a few more fervent glances towards _Moste Potente Potions_, but Snape watched as she always scrambled back to another more _pleasant_ book with new vigor, as if she was determined to side step what she knew must be done, believing the delusion that the test could be completed, and completed well, without resorting to research materials that explored darker disciplines more open mindedly, as if on a personal quest to prove such a thing was possible to herself. That you could just pretend the Dark Arts weren't there.

Her quest must not have been going well, because she got up, revealing more bad temper than she intended and went back to the cupboards, raiding them savagely.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing to my supplies?" Snape said, overjoyed with a good excuse to bark actual words to her again, opposed to just petty sound effects.

Hermione glared at him and disappeared into the storage closet.

"Wasn't there books in here?" she came out with an irritated and raised voice.

"Obviously not," was all Snape answered.

Hermione glared even more deeply, "I need _Advanced Potion Making_," she exasperated, "There were old textbooks and worksheets in here last year…" she added defensively.

"Slughorn finally got around to cleaning out all of my belongings," Snape drawled in response, "_Personal_ belongings," he added with malice, not at all attempting to cover up his distaste of the teacher, "All my books and instruments, all the data for my research, even items of sentimental value… How else do you think I came to be where I am today?"

Hermione did not understand.

"Do you really think Slughorn would pass up an opportunity to say he taught _me_?"

Realization rose upon her face. She knew he was practically as famous as little Potter now. And how romanticized he had become.

The lone ranger, brave and mysterious, risking his life at the cruel clutches of evil Lord Voldemort for dear old Albus Dumbledore. How he had killed him at his own request, how he successfully lied to the most gifted legilimens of all time for years. Even a select few were privy to the knowledge that he did it to protect the Boy Wonder, that he did it because he loved _her_. What a cultural icon.

"He's barely containing himself," Snape went on, "He can't wait for the first day of class, for the first time a student points to me and asks. Makes me sick, honestly."

Hermione gave an solemn nod of comprehension, "How long were you stored in the closet?" she inquired.

"A long time," he answered cryptically.

"Well what else was in there?" she asked.

"I don't see how that's any of your business," he responded meanly.

Hermione looked offended, "There were some books-"

Snape thought instantly of Potter having the nerve to take credit for his annotations all year, "Going to steal all of _my _work like you little friend then? Hoping to find another handout?" he interjected.

"How do you know about that?" she asked abruptly.

"Know about _what_?" he hissed, irritated she wasn't following his lead in the conversation, arrogant enough to all but interrupt.

"That Harry had your Potions book," she said, her desire to understand not depleting, "That happened to the real Snape, and _after_ you must have been painted. How do you know about something that happened to someone else? Or do you know, did you experience, everything Snape did, even as he continued on without you? You talk much more than the other paintings here. How do wizard paintings even work? I thought photographs and portraits were just an imprint of a person, a small piece-"

"If you're so keen on learning then why do you ask so many damned questions that it's impossible to answer them all?" Snape finally butted in.

"You see? You _treat_ me like the real Snape, but how do you even know who I am? You must have been long finished drying before I even got my recruitment letter."

"Let's just say I'm special," he answered, "That's probably all you'll understand about it anyway, judging by how much progress you're making with your N.E.W.T. potion."

"You know what my potion is?" she challenged, obviously mad at his insult, daring a tone she never would've to him in the flesh.

"You could say I know it like the back of my hand," he uttered slickly.

Hermione's shoulders heaved as she gave a defeated sigh, "So there are no more extra copies of that text here?" she asked, attempting respect for her teacher but failing to rid the tone of "whatever, I'm done with you" from her voice.

"No, obviously there are not."

Again she sighed, and for some reason thought out loud, "I suppose I'll go to the library then," and closed the cupboard doors she had left hanging open, grabbing her test template and tucking it under her left arm.

"But I do have copies in here," he said very quickly, suddenly growing very anxious at the idea of her leaving.

He didn't want her to leave. He didn't want to stop their abusive conversation. He had missed it too much.

Hermione looked into his dark eyes curiously, "I can go in there?" she asked, looking beyond him to the very same classroom only decades younger.

"I've already told you once, I'm special."

Hermione looked hesitant.

"This portrait of me was painted while I was taking my practice N.E.W.T. during my 6th year. You can see the guides here. Perhaps you could benefit from those as well."

Hermione squinted to make out the sheets of parchment on the far desk.

Snape just waited, leering into her eyes, daring her to accept his invitation.

Slowly Hermione approached, obviously apprehensive but set on not showing hesitation. She used Slughorn's chair as a stepping stool, left hand outstretched. It came right through his only portal to the real world in a way he was not allowed. He embraced the hand firmly and pulled Hermione through the picture frame.

She jumped down onto his floor and looked around with awe and amazement.

"It's just like the real potions room," she gasped quietly, touching a desk to see if it was solid.

"Almost exactly," he said, and saw that she was suddenly aware she was all alone next him. He loomed over her, the top of her head barely higher than his nose.

It was strangely exhilarating, having company. An actual person in his proximity. He had forgotten about the tiniest change of pressure in a room when someone else was there. He had forgotten about body heat… forgotten about the feel of someone else's breathe…forgotten that some girls had the sweetest smell. They were both oddly tense.

He had the bizarre urge to reach out and touch her cheek, it looked so soft and supple.

"Over there," he indicated finally, his heart ceasing its fluttering.

Hermione seemed to break out of a trance as well and headed quickly over to the storage closet. Unlike in the classroom she was just in, this one was full of various items. She rummaged through an old crate, pulled out a copy of _Advanced Potion Making _and smiled warmly.

"I was told later that had this practice essay been the real thing, it would've earned an O," he explained with intentional dullness, sliding his work across the table as she sat down with her book, "I would suspect modeling the same format would warrant you at least the same grade," he didn't want to sound at all like he was bragging, but it did please him when she looked at the sheets of parchment with admiration.

He sat down in a wooden chair across from her.

"Thank you," she uttered timidly.

"Your welcome," he drawled.

She hesitated, perhaps wondering if he was really going to just sit there across from her and watch her work. When he gave no indication of moving, she picked up her quill and began working again. Intent on pretending she was alone, she copied down a few notes and ideas from the text and Snape's essay.

"You wrote this all yourself?" her question came out of the silence.

"Yes," answered Snape.

"In your 6th year?"

"Yes," he slithered again coldly.

"But you don't…" she was studying his face when she trailed off, intimidated and unsure.

"Look sixteen?" he finished for her.

"Yeah," she enthused.

"The person who painted me thought it would be amusing to guess what I would look like a few years older, after Hogwart's."

Hermione furrowed her brow. Was she detecting that he was created out of fun? As a strange inside joke? That he was the result of a friendship that had since been shoved in a cluttered closet?

"Shouldn't you be working?" he hissed, interrupting her thoughts on the matter of his origins, "At the rate you're going you don't have a second to spare."

Hermione scowled, "Well if I'm so sure to fail why are you still here? Why do you insist on distracting me by rubbernecking and snorting?" she fired.

What cheek she had.

"Excuse me?" he struck back, "I believe you recalled that 'Ashwinder eggs, while widely known for their uses in love potions, also serve in a subcategory as an effective hallucinogen, taking real life images, sensory memories and associations within the takers subconscious and twisting them into very vivid and realistic daydreams'," he read verbatim from her notes, "only _after_ you read my paragraph on Amortentia," he scathed.

"Well-" Hermione protested angrily and surprised, "of course, but only because you let me use it."

"Forgive me, but I just couldn't stand watching you struggle pathetically anymore," he responded cruelly.

"You know what?" Hermione exclaimed, pushing herself away from the table and rising to her feet, "I don't give a flying dragon shit what you say or think! You've been nothing but a heartless and discouraging arse since the first day you supposed to _teach _me!"

Snape's eyes narrowed with malice and he rose from his chair too, but Hermione persisted, "I'm a bloody good student," she yelled, "and if you never acknowledge that then it's only because you're a bitter, prejudice, bastard who can't stand that I might be just as good as you _without_ growing up around magic!"

How dare she!

"You're a lot tougher when I'm twenty years younger," Snape snarled, "But as good as me? Ha. Very doubtful, but alright, let's see. What is the potion then, Ms. Granger? What are you being tested on?"

Hermione chewed her lips hatefully. Snape slide around the table cockily, till he was right in her face, "Don't know?"

"It's some kind of mind altering solution obviously!" she spat, still trembling with anger.

_"And it's called…?_" he provoked.

Hermione looked like she was about to cry, but still ferociously furious, "I don't know!" she finally screamed, "I don't know! I know what Asphodel is, and bloody sneezewort, but Polyvinyl Acetate?! Linseed Oil?! Those are muggle compounds, a bloody- sticky- polymer!" she stammered, "I've never heard of them used in a potion before! It must be some kind of, of, of glue or, or…"

"Or what?!" Snape inquired intensely, he was palming the desk tightly, eager for her to figure it out, to breakthrough, she was so close…

"It's some kind of…" she thought desperately.

"Some kind of _what_?" he insisted, growing more and more insane with frustration.

But all he did was tighten the pressure around her, drive her even more mad, he saw her grasp weaken, her thoughts discombobulate…

He growled with suspense, he needed her to figure it out. She had the mind for it!

"Lazy and arrogant," he muttered impatiently, "Just like your counterparts, you expect everyone to finish jobs for you."

"Leave my friends out of this," she stormed.

"Why should I? You're relevant aren't you? And there is no distinction between you and them. I thought there might be, but what a fool I was, turns out you're just as simple and lackadaisical as they are."

"You don't know what you're talking about!" she refuted, "I almost have it!"

"Yes, yes, you do, so finish!" he pleaded hysterically.

"I- I-," Hermione stammered desperately.

Snape couldn't take it anymore. Surely she was doing it on purpose. Stalling, expecting a handout. She just wanted him to push her over the bump when she could damn well do it herself. It was ridiculous, she was so close!

"She can do it herself!" he thought maddeningly, "She _has_ to know the answer, it's in there somewhere!"

He wasn't sure when he pulled out his wand, or when he spoke the words "_legilimens_!" But next thing he knew, Hermione was before him, sprawled across her blankets in a dark bedroom, crying into her pillow.

Next she was sunk down into a sofa, Ron Weasley practically on top of her, kissing her wildly, smearing his lips all over her mouth, rocking his head in a side to side motion.

Hermione sat there lifelessly, occasionally rubbing his back with encouragement, but unsure of what else to do. She was stimulated and responding, but still too uncomfortable and nervous to be fully enjoying herself. Ron had clumsily slid his hand up her torso over her shirt, terrified, but not enough to not want to try, and groped her chest, tickling Hermione and causing her to cringe…

…He saw her pouring over her preparation workbook at three o'clock in the morning…

…Ron was trying to make out with her again, his fingertips uncomfortably high on her inner thigh…

…He saw her scolding Harry and Ron for not working on their workbook...

…He saw Ron always trying to pinch her bottom whenever he came to stand beside her, then diving in for wet, tongue-laden kiss, Hermione tilting her head back and away in response…

Hermione's scream was heard from within the memory, "Get out!" she bellowed and with no training in occlumency that he knew of, she must of have shoved him out of her mind by pure instinct.

"Snogging the Weasley boy?" Snape spat with a scoff, "And studying? _That's_ what plagues your mind?" he criticized.

Hermione was hunched over, gasping for air and huffing angrily.

"You-" Snape began.

"_Legilimens_!" Hermione screeched, her wand pointed and face contorted with retaliation.

Snape felt an overwhelmingly full presence inside his cranium, like hot air inflating between his skull and brain.

…He was back in the exact same potions room, only it was full of other students, a much younger Slughorn lecturing at the front. The class was divided into Slytherins and Gryffindors, the invisible boundary drawn down the middle aisle. Only a crumpled piece of parchment dared cross it. Enchanted to roll by an inconspicuous sender, in knocked into Snape's shoes.

"You won't believe it!" he read the cheerfully pretty handwriting, "I think I finished it! Told ya I could make it, now you owe me 100 chocolate frogs. I'll show you tonight when we meet here to study."…

…Next was Lily's face, giggling mischievously.

Snape shifted his feet insecurely. His arm curled over parchment like he was trying to work as she stirred a can of paint vigorously, then mixed colors on her palette.

"This is a stupid idea Evans," he said, "I bet we'd get in big trouble for making that. And now you want to use it?"

"Oh c'mon, it's just a bit of fun. Where's your sense of adventure?" Lily answered, flashing her pretty smile and began stroking the canvas with her brush.

"Slytherin's don't have a sense of adventure," he said sternly.

"Yeah, but we manage to forgive you boring old snakes," she teased, "Now why don't you just work on your test and hold still, I want to get your nose right"…

…"C'mon Sev," Lily whined, leaning over him, griping his thigh, "_Please_?" She was whispering and it was very dim. They were in a broom closet.

Snape just laughed awkwardly, he looked very unsure and nervous. He was pale and practically sweating, "But why?" he exasperated, "This is weird."

"I'm just curious," she said defensively, "I've never seen one before," she practically pleaded, "We're best friends aren't we? We can do this kind of thing. It's no big deal."

"It _is_ a big dea- oooh," he groaned, stopped midsentence.

Lily's hand disappeared into Snape's school robes and her eyes grew wide, "Wow," she said, "It's so hard."

Snape scowled, completely torn between shyness and ecstatic pleasure of an impossible dream come true.

"Does this feel good?" Lily asked, innocent as a child.

"Yes," Snape choked, "It does."

Lily continued to explore his manhood with fascination while Snape squirmed in his seat.

"I didn't realize it would be so warm… and fat…" she went on, "Do you like it when I do this?" she inquired, squeezing tighter and sliding her grip up and down his entire length.

"Yes," he choked again, braced up by his shaky, locked arms.

She continued stroking him for a long while, watching him close his eyes tight and try to breath studiously.

"Can I touch your balls?" Lily asked with a grin.

"No!" whispered Snape sharply, but apparently Lily ignored him because he twitched up violently, grabbing a broom handle and clutching it with an intense grip.

"Aaah!" he moaned.

Lily giggled. "Interesting…"

"Lily," he groaned with a grimace, "I need to-" he tried to explain, "But I can't when you-"

Lily squinted with confusion.

Snape grabbed her hand and directed it back to his shaft. Lily did as she thought he was instructing.

Snape sighed with relief when Lily resumed her exploratory stroking, but then he quickly arched up slightly as she continued enthusiastically, "Oh god," he exclaimed, and then he moaned loudly while Lily shrieked with surprise.

She began to laugh uproariously as she looked at the creamy, white fluid that was now all over her hand and a little on Snape's robes.

"I felt it coming!" she told him excitedly, "It's not as gross as I thought it would be," she commented, surveying the seamen, "I wonder what it tastes like…" she added, drawing the palm of her hand closer to her face with intent curiosity.

"_Don't_ taste it," barked Snape, snatching her wrist and holding it away from her mouth, "Scourgify!" he commanded quickly, cleaning himself and her. "Merlin, Evans you're the oddest girl ever."

"Why?" she challenged, "Because I'm not ashamed of what I want to know?"

Snape just shook his head and tried to laugh but it came out more like a scoff, "I should've never agreed to kiss you in the first place. Now look what you're getting me into?"

"Please," she said, "It's not like you knew what kissing was like either."

"Not _french _kissing," Snape tried to lie…

… Lily was sitting up against a tree trunk, crying softly into her knees, her broomstick lay in two snapped pieces on one side of her, Snape kneeled down on the other.

"I'm fine," she insisted, wiping her eyes, "He was just joking, it was only practice anyway."

"Well someone needs to tell that prick what's what," said Snape furiously, "If he thinks those kinds of jokes are funny he'll die laughing when I show him the humorous little jinx I just came up with…"

"No Severus, don't!" she ordered quickly, "Your jinxes are sick! Besides, I can take care of myself. I just don't get why he's such an ass," she finished earnestly.

"Because the idiot likes you," Snape answered.

Lily scoffed with doubt, "Yeah, "likes" me. That's likely. Well whatever the hell his problem with me is, I don't care, I'm going to tell that little twerp he better get over it and start being nice to me."

"No don't," said Snape hastily.

"Why not?" asked Lily.

"Because he might actually listen to you if he thinks it gives him a chance."

"Well," said Lily with a shy smile, "Maybe it would…"

…Another incident of making out was pulled out from the deep depths of his guarded memory. Then another. In detention. In the quidditch locker room. In the broom closet again. And again. Always a playful Lily and a reluctant Snape, until…

…"Here?" Snape whispered worriedly.

"Almost," whimpered Lily, taking his fingertips and pinpointing it to the right spot, "Right here," she said, "It feels… _amazing_," she explained.

Snape massaged that defined spot between her legs and she threw her head back with pleasure.

"Oh man," she moaned, "Oh god."

Snape licked his lips hungrily, watching her facial expression intently, desperate to please her, desperate to do it right, the way she instructed him to.

Lily started shaking. "Faster," she whispered huskily.

Snape obeyed and Lily started moaning, louder and louder.

"Oh. My. GOD." she screamed as she rose up onto Snape's lap, clutching her arms tightly around his neck as she reached an unexpected orgasm…

… "I can find it by myself now I bet," Snape tried to brag persuasively.

"Not now Sev," Lily responded, flipping through the pages of her library book.

Snape looked around, surveying if they were alone. "We could sneak into the restricted section, it would be an _adventure_," he tried.

Lily just shook her head, bored faced and not looking up from her book.

She gave a heavy sigh. "Why hasn't he asked me to the dance yet?" she whined.

"Because he's a dickhead," cursed Snape.

Lily gave him a disapproving look and then returned to her silent pity party. "Am I not pretty?" she asked.

"Evans," Snape moaned uncomfortably.

"Severus?" she said earnestly.

Snape tried to look at anything but her; the table, her book, his school bag, but his eyes finally gave in and rested on hers, "You're beautiful," he whispered.

Lily finally gave him that knockout smile he was hoping to see, the smile he knew meant he had made her happy, and she opened her mouth to respond when she was interrupted.

"Oi! Evans," called a teenage Sirius Black with a smirk, "Got something for ya," he said jubilantly, "_Snivellus_," he acknowledged, giving a cocky nod in Snape's direction.

"What is it?" Lily asked excitedly, cutting Snape off from responding.

Sirius casually tossed a note onto the library table they were sitting at and strutted away without another word.

"Oh!" squealed Lily, after ripping the note open, "It's from James!!"…

Snape snarled with hatred and threw Hermione from his mind.

"You bitch!" he cried. And without reason he once again turned his own wand on her, back in her mind, desperate to find something as private, as humiliating, as she had.

But, shockingly, all he saw were his _own_ memories. Him pressing Lily roughly up against the lockers.

…"Oooh," Lily had cooed, "I like it like this."…

Her thoughts were focused on his eyes, dark and penetrating, then his lips, skilled and nimble. His hands that slid expertly up from her hips to her throat, clutching her and kissing her deeply.

This is what Hermione was thinking about. Him. Him pleasuring a women.

Snape released himself from the insights of her mind, feeling sucked backward by gale force winds and back into the very spot he was standing. He stared at her in disbelief.

She was panting and holding herself up against the table, her cheeks glowing pink and her lips swollen, looking back at him terrified.

The images that she saw of him, exploring Lily's body thoroughly and the first experiences she gave him… it intrigued her. It attracted her. It aroused her. He was sure of it.

Snape was upon her in a flash and before she could utter a word she was up against the stonewall, his mouth crushing against hers.

His tongue scoured her mouth, sliding it around hers with aggressive force. She let her jaw open and she was limp beneath him, pressed against the wall, his chest melded against hers. He wrapped his arms around her waistline, pulling her pelvis tightly against his. He released his vacuum seal from her mouth and burrowed into her neck, sucking and nipping an her tender flesh.

"Professor…" she whispered as his hands roamed up and down her sides and he continued kissing her delicate neck.

"I'm not your Professor," he hissed against her skin, feeling the shiver it caused.

His right hand slid down the side of her leg, then over to the left and back up her thigh, tickling near her feminine core.

He couldn't explain it. But he needed to devour her. Ravage the muggle Gryffindor like no other. He had no one for years, and she was just like _her_.

Hermione whimpered as his other hand squeezed her breast and he carried along with his awakening touch between her legs.

Hermione let out a sharp, short gasp when his hand went from her thigh to the crotch of her panties, sparing not a second between the transition and the beckoning of his fingertips. He felt her knees give out at the sudden intense pleasure, she was held up only by his body. He could find it by himself now.

Her head was lolling back and forth before he captured her lips with his again. Her tongue stroked back timidly as he intensified the massage below her waist.

Because of his precise circular motions on her clitoris he could feel her growing hotter and begin to dampen her panties through the fabric. Her body was now pushing back against his.

Damn she felt amazing, so small and feminine in his arms. Helpless and desperate for him and the pleasure he could give. She tasted like dewy, sweet fruit and her juicy lips tingled against his from the friction he applied to them. It was liberating to have someone again, someone like her.

His eyes were screwed tight and he thought of Lily and how alive he felt when she kissed him. Hermione could be Lily. She could easily be Lily.

Swap the physical features and delete the fear of broomstick flying and you had Lily. She was brilliant like Lily, determined. Compassionate. Too damn trusting for her own good. Curious about sex and what passion felt like. She even kissed like Lily, so deep and oblivious to her own sexiness.

He quickly hooked her panties over to the side and penetrated smoothly with his middle finger. There was shocked gasp as he slid against her private insides.

Barely noticing Hermione had wrenched her arm up and out from beneath his pin, he felt the burning sting of a smack right on the side of his face and he staggered backward.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: You know, for all the hits and alerts this story is getting most of you sure aren't helping me finish it by telling me what's good and what's bad! Thank you so much for those of you who are telling me what you think, and thank you in advance for those of you who are going to start! Hint, hint. Anyways, just to warn you this chapter is a long one, and smutty. Hope you like it.

… … …

Hermione smacked him so hard her hand stung. He doubled back in surprise and dropped her to the floor.

She dashed back to the bizarre rectangle along the wall of the surreal potions classroom and climbed through it, coming tumbling out the other side. She could hear him laughing manically as she ignored the pain and pushed herself up from the stone floor. Starting to run and refusing to look back, she heaved the heavy dungeon door open in a flash.

She was running, racing through the deserted, dark halls, hearing her pounding feet echo throughout the castle. She couldn't believe what had just happened. She had just been sexual assaulted by her _potions teacher_.

She was running, dashing away, getting as much space between herself and that painting as possible. She was positively distraught. There was only one person she wanted. One person who could comfort her.

She was amazed how it seemed like she ended up in front of the Fat Lady in a blur. She didn't want to see another bloody painting.

"Just let me in," she heaved.

"Fine, fine," the Fat Lady said tartly, "There's no password yet anyway," she snapped, getting out of the way.

Hermione burst into the common room. She could see the dusky light of a setting sun from the tower windows. She had been in the potions room so long without daylight she hadn't realized the whole day was gone.

She wondered for a moment if those taking the standard N.E.W.T. weren't done with their first half yet, but then finally she noticed someone in the mostly still and surprisingly empty room. Harry was lounging in a chair by the fire, writing a letter, most likely to Ginny.

"_Harry_," she thought, an image of his Mother twirling her tongue erotically into Snape's mouth flashed before her eyes. No! How could she possibly talk to Harry right now, after what she learned about Lily… after a part of her she was sure no one else knew about was revealed? But it was too late.

"Hi Hermione," he said cheerfully, "Heard you're Head Girl! Congratulations. I was just telling Ginny."

Hermione managed to smile weakly, and was relieved to realize her heart was slowing and her insane panic had decreased somewhat, "Thanks," she murmured.

"How's the N.E.W.T.?" he asked innocently.

Her stomach lurched, "Hard," she squeaked quickly, wanting to get away from him, "I'm real worn out. Where's Ron?" she asked, still so oddly in need of him.

Harry laughed, "With the guys. They wanted to explore the girl's dormitory," he explained, "Last time I saw them they were climbing up the slide."

Hermione rolled her eyes. Even though they had the school to themselves she didn't need him goofing off right now of all times, "Got a lot of work done today then didn't they?" she forced sarcastically, trying to imitate her normal self.

Harry just shrugged, "They did alright."

Hermione shrugged back, not wanting Harry to worry about anything and headed to her usual side of the common room, when she heard peculiar noises coming from beneath her feet as she climbed the steps to the girl's bedrooms. She wondered if the boys were no longer up in the dorms but perhaps down under the staircase.

She whirled around and went searching along the curve of the staircase until she came to an inconspicuous cupboard door. She looked back at Harry who was so engrossed in his letter he hadn't even noticed her come back down. That probably indicated he hadn't noticed the boys either. But she heard another distant thud from behind the door.

"What are they up to now?" she thought as she climbed through the small doorway she had never noticed before and into a dank, cobwebbed hall. It was very dark and she could barely see except for the faint wand light coming from deeper inside the surprisingly big storage space.

Hermione could hear the excited laughs and whispers of Ron, Dean and Neville. "Boys?" she called, and then yelled out in surprise as she almost tripped and fell on her face, the sound of clattering glass and rolling bottles filled the entrance.

She caught herself on the cold brick wall, but not before crashing into a rickety wooden crate, another loud noise erupting in the small space.

"Lumos," she commanded, after drawing her wand out of her pocket. She looked at the floor where she had tripped; empty Firewhisky bottles, at least ten of them. She held her wand over what she ran into as she almost fell.

The crate was tipped over, its contents scattered across the floor. After surveying her surroundings Hermione concluded the closet started out as a reasonable space to store extra or unused school furniture. There were end tables stacked on top of each other linked by spider webs, extra chairs, the wood rotting with age, a box of aged framed paintings she nearly knocked over as well. All of it seemed decades old.

Except for the crate, the items in the crate weren't old at all. She recognized them at once. Fanged Frisbees, skiving snack boxes, all things she tried to confiscate her fifth year as house prefect! It looked as though students had hid incriminating evidence in the unnoticed closet for years. Hermione couldn't help but be reminded of a certain form the Room of Requirement took, but had never realized the closet existed, having never needed to dispose of whiskey bottles or banned toys herself.

From the sound of uproarious laughter, clattering and jeers she heard coming from further within, she suspected the boys had just discovered the place as well, judging by the sound of their excitement. They didn't even come to her aid when she made all that ruckus. They probably hadn't even heard her.

Irritated, Hermione pursued deeper into the storage room, evading more things to trip over. She heard a male voice yell out excitedly, "Oh my god, guys! Look at this!" and she wondered if it was Ron who was so pleased.

Finally she came to where the room opened up, Neville and Ron were at Dean's shoulders, he was holding up a magazine.

"See!" he called triumphantly, "I told you she posed for "Playwizard"! I told you!"

Hermione realized Dean was holding open a centerfold, and Ron and Neville were on looking with shock.

She knocked over a candelabra in her hasty distaste.

The boys looked up, instantly flushing. Dean dropped the magazine. It landed on the floor face up and Hermione recognized a younger, naked Madam Rosmerta lying on her side upon a purple satin sofa, winking and blowing kisses, shaking her large, bare chest back and forth teasingly.

"Hermione!" said Ron in total surprise.

"Never mind then," Hermione said snippily, "I see you're busy!"

She turned quickly to run away, hearing Ron call out after her.

But she didn't want to hear it. Just when she needed him the most, he was looking at porn with his goofy chums. She didn't want to be anywhere near him! God damn males and their bloody obsession with sex. It didn't matter where it came from either; they didn't even need a real woman but were perfectly happy getting off with _paper_ for Merlin's sake. Was nothing worth having standards for?

She didn't know where she was going when she bolted out of Gryffindor tower, she didn't really care. Ron had let her down and she had no idea who to turn to about Snape.

And that's when it occurred to her; no one she could tell without dying of embarrassment would really care. Maybe "not care" wasn't the right way to put it, but what did she expect them to do about it exactly? It was a uniquely absurd situation. Would anyone believe her anyway? Since when were Hogwarts paintings sexually deviant? And why had she let him kiss her for so long before she tried to get away?

Never mind, she didn't want to know _why_. Why she allowed him the chance to penetrate her so intimately when she knew damn well that's what he was going to do when he first slid his skillful, manly hand down between her legs. Why she even went into that bloody painting at all, despite that suspicious look in his eye. But something about him, the painting, drew her in, pulled her…

Her breath gave a tingling shudder at the memory.

She knew with a reserved sigh this would be just one more thing to bottle up and keep to herself.

Finally she recognized she was at the library. Of course this is where her legs would carry her in a time of confused desperation. Even in a state of stress she was still remarkably predictable. She just _had_ to keep working on her test didn't she? She suspected she'd still feel an intense and desperate obligation to stay and finish her N.E.W.T. even if the Castle's walls were crumbling down around her in an earthquake.

"And what's so bad about that," she thought cynically as she walked along the shelves of books, brushing their binds affectionately with her fingertips as she passed. Studying had always been something that soothed her. It took her away from other pressing matters, always giving her a much needed break.

And thank goodness she had some sort of coping mechanism. Anyone who thought it was easy to be friends with Harry Potter and Ron Weasley was an idiot. Not a year went by without almost having a complete psychotic breakdown.

Did she really have to recount each and every terrifying threat that followed her around every year? Alleged madmen on the loose, monsters released from secret chambers, Voldemort constantly lurking in the shadows. And there she was, guilty by association just because she didn't want to leave Harry to fend for himself, a bull's-eye all but tattooed on his chest.

It was unfair to expect a teenager to handle so many life or death situations. It was a wonder she wasn't in the loony bin. Studying had always been something stable, something distracting, during those maddening times of uncertainty.

She was headed towards the potions section. Might as well. It's not like she was going get any sleep tonight anyway, what with Snape's advances and Ron's wandering eye wreaking havoc on her mind. At least if she was at the library something constructive would get done.

She rounded a corner to where she knew the choice of books she would need to be when she stopped short at the sight of a lantern burning a top a table in between the two towering shelves of literature.

From the light she saw numerous books stacked about, some sprawled open. Pieces of parchment were equally scattered, a quill was laid next to a fresh well of ink. Next to that an open silver flask.

Hermione picked it up a surveyed it suspiciously, sniffing the contents.

"Didn't know you were much of a drinker," came a hauntingly familiar voice from behind her.

Draco Malfoy had appeared back at the table, his arms loaded with a stack of thick books, his pale pointed face flickering in the lantern light.

Hermione tensed up just like she did when she saw him for the first time that morning. It was unnerving! It was unjust! How could a Death Eater be prancing around Hogwart's without Aurors appearing out of nowhere to tackle him to the ground and strip him of his wand? Why wasn't he in Azkaban?

It dawned on Hermione that the biggest reason he surprised her so badly was because she had all but forgotten about him. For what a huge role he set himself up to play, he had certainly fizzled out. She recalled the last time she had seen him was actually at Hogwarts during the siege that was laid on the school. But whatever threat he was there paled in comparison to Voldemort and his more powerful, more experienced Death Eaters. It was easy to see why she wouldn't remember.

"No wait," she thought. The last time she had seen him _wasn't_ when he was cowering in the halls, hoping he wasn't hit in the crossfire.

It was at the Ministry of Magic, in Auror department, just a day or two after Voldemort finally died.

Hermione was just leaving an interrogation room after hours of giving an account of her experiences and had come out into a holding hall. An Auror was leading her down the hall and her eyes, tired from crying, glanced over to the other people she was passing by.

He was there, sitting in a chair next to Kingsley Shacklebolt, looking as if his nervousness had literally exhausted him.

While a small, angry red flag did go off in her mind; Hermione had been so occupied with what was going to happen to her, Ron and Harry that she barely even noticed him. He had, after all, seemed insignificant and small sitting there. And he was erased completely from her awareness when the Auror distracted her with what protocol said she would be doing next; a cross examination.

And then finally, she figured it out. Something similar to what she hurriedly assumed earlier that morning, but now she was sure. _Why_ Kingsley had been with him and _why_ he wasn't in Azkaban...

It was something the Ministry was very concerned about. They didn't want a repeat of last time; Death Eaters getting away. They asked her over and over and over again who she saw and if she was absolutely sure. There was nothing anyone could say this time, Imperiused, threatened, blackmailed, family held hostage, it didn't matter. They weren't going to risk it. Not with all the Crabbes, Goyles and Pettigrews out there, the Lucius' who lied and hid and cried 'coerced' to get out of punishment the first time.

If, god forbid, a new dark wizard were ever to try to rise to power, the Ministry wanted to make certain there wasn't a batch of willing power-hungry followers ripe for the picking. They would not make the same mistake as last time.

But Draco hadn't been of age at the time of his involvement. And minors were always complicated. So he cut a deal. Voldemort functioned out of his own home after all. He could name names. Give away the secrets of where the Death Eaters who weren't caught that night would try to hide. He turned rat.

Hermione couldn't believe she hadn't seen it coming. And there he was, smug as always - his father in miniature.

Hermione's tenseness turned to glaring.

"Please," Draco continued, referring to his flask she was still holding again, a slight sneer in his face, "It's a very top notch Firewhisky. Help yourself; you look like you could use it. This bloody test can really get to you, can't it?"

Hermione placed the silver flask firmly back down on the table. "Sorry to disturb you," she said coldly, "I didn't realize this area would be taken."

She was turning to leave when Draco spoke again.

"There's plenty of room for two, you know," he called out, "I know you'll need these books as well, I don't want to hog them."

Hermione turned around and looked at him fiercely, angry he was rubbing it in that he got there first. …But his face didn't look sarcastic or teasing. Hermione was taken aback with surprise.

But then she realized what he was up to, and scoffed.

"You know, trying to cheat off me didn't work this morning either, but I admire your persistence," she uttered harshly.

Then it was Draco who looked sincerely surprised, then annoyed, "Cheat off you? What the bloody hell are you talking about?"

"'We can talk about it, with _each other_,'?" she repeated his words from earlier that morning in McGonagall's office with mock.

Draco scowled at her, "I just meant helping each other," he spat defensively, "Merlin, Granger. I don't need to cheat off you on a _potions _exam."

Hermione heard the conviction in his voice, and felt an irritating swell of embarrassment. He sounded like he meant it, and he was good at potions after all… Perhaps she was wrong.

"Merlin, so sorry for trying to be nice for once," he rattled on.

"Why would you try to be nice?" she asked abashed, thankful he made obvious the disturbance she was struggling to name.

Draco rolled his eyes and shrugged, organizing the books he had just come back with into stacks, "I don't know, everything else just seems so stupid now, you know? So teenaged."

Hermione didn't know what to make of his excuse, it was so unlike him. But she was distracted by the books he had.

"Where'd you find that?" she asked insistently.

"What? This?" Draco questioned, holding up a copy of _Advanced Potion Making, _"Slughorn's office," he explained, picking up the drink Hermione had returned and taking a swig, "So glad he's not here right now," he added with a roll of his eyes.

"So that's where they all were," she mumbled with irritation.

"What?" Draco asked, not hearing her inaudible complaint.

"Nothing," she dismissed with a shake of the head.

With Draco's aggravating presence she had almost forgotten about what had happened with Snape. But she shivered when she thought of it again. She didn't care what he did for Harry and Dumbledore anymore, anyone who leave an image _like that _behind was a bad wizard.

With the textbooks so easily available from Slughorn's office, she now knew without a doubt that that painting wanted to get her inside it from the second she showed up to work, a horrible trap laid by Snape for anyone who came across it.

Or had Snape not intended it to be so wicked? It would've been the real Snape who shoved it in the back of his storage closet before Slughorn dug it out again. Was Snape trying to protect people from it? Why didn't he just get rid of it completely? It seemed so much more alive than any other painting she had ever seen. And he kept saying he was "special". Would it have hurt Snape to destroy it? Was it like a Horcrux?

Hermione did not like dwelling on such unsavory notions, but she hated not understanding. She looked back up to see Draco leaned back on two legs of his chair casually, apparently unperturbed by anything. When he went to take another swig from his firewhisky the sleeve of his robes slid up slightly, revealing a glimpse of his Dark Mark.

Draco. Of course! He knew more about dark magic than anyone else her age.

"Malfoy," she dared ask slowly, "Have you ever heard of a painting that…tricks you? A painting that seems… more powerful… more _alive_… than most other paintings?"

Hermione didn't know what to make of it when Draco didn't seem confused by her odd question but instead smiled smugly.

"Figured it out too, huh?" he said conversationally, "Have you started brewing yet? I have. Just waiting for my sneezewort oil to fumigate. I didn't think you had talked to McGonagall since this morning though. Did you find your own polyvinyl-whatever-it-is or something? What color are you going to dye your sample? I can't decide between green or black. And have you had any luck on the counterattack? I think I'm stumped… fucking defensive magic… it's so hard."

While that was the most Hermione had ever heard Draco say in her entire time at school without using the word mudblood, not a single sentence or question made sense to her.

"Huh?" she asked dramatically, feeling like an idiot.

"You know, '_Vita Brevis, Ars Longa'_," he said cautiously.

Hermione mouthed the Latin words silently, "'_Life is Short, Art is Long'_?" she translated out loud, bewildered.

"Yeah," Draco said, looking at her skeptically, "You know, _the N.E.W.T. potion_," he emphasized.

Hermione's face dropped, "That's the name of the potion?" she asked incredulously.

"What are you playing at?" Draco asked, a hint of irritation in his voice, "You just said you figured it out."

"No I didn't!" Hermione protested.

"Yes you did!" Draco insisted, "'A powerful, alive painting'?" he repeated her own words back to her, "The kind of painting you'd get if you painted with '_Vita Brevis, Ars Longa'_."

"The potion is paint?!" Hermione spat.

"Yes," Draco said, clear and loud, like he was talking to someone mentally handicapped, "Enchanted paint."

Hermione just stared at him, unable to digest what she was hearing. The polyvinyl acetate, the linseed oil, of course it would make paint!

"Come off it," Draco scolded, "Why are you acting like you didn't know? You just asked me about it!"

"Yeah, I know that now," was all Hermione could say, "But not because I had figured it out… I think I must've found one. One of those paintings painted with it, that is."

Draco tilted back up onto all four chair legs and leaned over the table, "Here?" he inquired, "At Hogwarts?!"

"Yeah," Hermione answered breathlessly, still unwilling to accept the irony.

_"I know it like the back of my own hand," Snape had said._

That smug bastard. He knew what she was trying to make. He was one of those, one of those 'Art is long' things. He was made from enchanted paint. She was sure of it.

The draw to him, the unexplainable interest. How he convinced her to go in, how real and vivid the whole thing seemed.

"…I think I'll take some of that whiskey now," she added, things finally falling into place.

"Well where do you think you saw one?" Draco was asking extremely interested, while passing her his bottle, sharing nonchalantly.

Hermione ignored Draco's question and took a large gulp, "Tell me more about this potion," she pleaded after gasping for air, the unfamiliar liquid burning her throat, "Anything made from this enchanted paint is evil?" Hermione asked.

"Evil?" repeated Draco, "That's a bit strong don't you think?"

"No," said Hermione, thinking gravely of how Snape had lured her into his room under false pretences, the unspoken promise of helping her - a lie, "I don't. Why? Do you think they're not?"

"I don't know, not really" Draco mumbled.

"But McGonagall said it was a controversial potion," Hermione reminded him, and herself, "Is it Ministry restricted?"

"I don't think so," explained Draco, "I guess it would be, if more people knew about it. But it's rare."

"Well why don't you think its evil?" Hermione questioned, wondering if Draco would even consider changing his opinion of it if she told him one just molested her.

"Evil such a strong word. It's just a little mischievous isn't it?" he responded.

"I don't know," Hermione confessed, "I don't know anything about them."

"Well, they're alluring and hypnotic by nature, capturing anyone who looks at it too long, because of the Unctuous Unction and Sneezewort. And whatever it paints, it just makes all of its attributes more dramatic." he offered.

"What do you mean?" she asked, desperate to know, to understand.

"Well, if a… puppy," he decided, "was painted with it, it would be the cutest, most irresistible puppy in the world. You'd want to play with it, probably waste away _hours_, enthralled with it. If it were a painting of a beautiful beach, you'd want to see it, be there, and then maybe get swept away by a tsunami or hurricane or something. "

"What if it's used in a painting of a person?" Hermione whispered nervously, "A person who really lived?"

"Then it would just exaggerate all the basic traits of that person," he answered, "…which I guess would be why it's controversial," he mused, "Most people are harmful when stretched to their bare essentials anyway. I mean everybody lies every now and then… cheats, steals. Secretly thinks badly of other people, hoping they are more successful in their own endeavors than their competitors. I mean, we never admit it but it's true.

"This paint would strip away all that cover up and fakeness. So unless it was of Helga Hufflepuff or some other sodding saint it probably wouldn't be a very flattering rendition of the person. We're jealous and selfish animals when it comes down to it," he went on, "Our fundamental impulses are to eat, sleep and fuck. And if we're really being honest with ourselves, we'd like to destroy anything that got in the way of doing any of that," he said conclusively. "Hey, that's not bad," he told himself, reaching for his quill and making a note on his rough draft, "I think I'll use that somehow…"

"But that's a horrible thing to think!" Hermione said, "People aren't that bad."

Draco gave her a condescending look of agreement, "Sure," he quipped.

"They're not!" insisted Hermione, offended he would insinuate she was naïve or something.

"Really?" Draco dwelled, "So you weren't hoping you do better on your N.E.W.T. than I do?"

Hermione hesitated in her response, slinking back down into a chair, "Not because I hope others aren't as successful as I am," she stammered, "But only because…"

"Because?" Draco poked, not letting it drop.

Something about Draco's all too familiar, irksome raised eyebrow and patronizing tone made her fume.

"Because you don't deserve it!" she found herself shouting, "You don't deserve this opportunity. Honestly, how do you sleep at night? After all you've done, after all the damage you've caused, receiving preferential treatment? Just because you squealed on all your little colleagues in order to save your own skin…"

Hermione instantly felt terrible. She never spoke so meanly to anyone, even him. She thought she was above it. But, for the countless time, she was surprised by his reaction.

He was perfectly calm and undisturbed, "You see?" he said plainly, "You think badly of others yourself, and hope you do better than them. A painting of you using '_Vita Brevis, Ars Longa' _would result in the most insufferable, suck-up, know-it-all swot ever, you'd be insanely competitive and never sleep for studying."

Hermione turned sour. She didn't know how to explain to him how he was wrong to generalize everyone like that, assume under the surface everyone was conniving and cut-throat. Not everyone was as self-absorbed as a Slytherin…

"And just for the record," he went on, "I won Head Boy fair in square just like you did. The teachers voted for me too. If the W.E.A. wasn't going to recognize me, then they wouldn't have been able to recognize you either."

Hermione felt feeble, avoiding his eyes crossly.

"How did you know I cut a deal?" Draco asked after a short moment, still not angry, but curious, or so it sounded.

"I guessed," She admitted reluctantly, "It's the only explanation really."

Draco nodded sadly, "Everyone will figure it out, won't they?"

"Pretty much," Hermione concurred slowly, "…Who did you name?" she dared ask.

"Everyone," said Draco, unashamed.

"And that won you…?" Hermione inquired.

"Well I just wanted my mum to be acquitted," Draco explained, and Hermione felt an unexpected tug on her heartstrings, "But I guess the information I had was really valuable, I mean, I don't think they had any idea where to start to be honest."

Hermione was watching his face closely, and it was as if remembering the outcome of the details seemed to sincerely surprise him to this day.

"They came back with another offer," he went on, "If I could help them with any of their questions, sort of be like a consultant, you know, they would acquit me as well, even give me protection, let me take this N.E.W.T., stuff like that. I mean can you blame me? I saw an opportunity and I took it. I don't know anyone who wouldn't do the same. I just had to go with some Aurors on a stake out basically."

"You went with them?" Hermione asked, stunned by the danger.

"Yes," said Draco humbly, "They stormed a hideout I told them about, a killing curse was like this close to my head," he showed with his thumb and index finger, "and the whole place ended up burning to the ground. We barely made it out. They arrested about ten Death Eaters that night though."

"Wow," she whispered, taking more sips of Draco's flask, "I didn't realize there were that many left after who they caught here that night."

"Oh yeah," Draco insisted, "There are Death Eaters no one has ever even heard of! I can't tell you who of course, and trust me, you're better off not knowing. People you'd never ever suspect. Even some abroad. They were very careful about remaining secret."

"You mean like Umbridge's husband?" Hermione wondered in amazement, remembering the headline in the paper: "Ministry Official's suspicious connection to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

"Yup," Draco nodded, "Umbridge had no idea he was involved either."

"That was you who turned him in? Wasn't she investigated too?" Hermione asked with a satisfied grin, "Aren't her accounts frozen and her house repossessed as evidence?"

Draco just nodded in affirmation.

Hermione visualized the scenario triumphantly. She was taking another drink of whiskey, as it no longer seemed to burn her anymore, when there was a loud pop that caused her to spill on herself with surprise.

It scared Draco too as he looked around for the source.

There was an exceptionally short House Elf at Draco's side. He looked at it weirdly.

"Mr. Malfoy," he squeaked, "Headmistress McGonagall was sent me to wake you, sir, and deliver a message, but you were not in your bed. Headmistress said it was important, so, forgive me sir, but I have tracked you down."

Hermione gulped nervously, wondering what time it was.

"That's fine," Draco told him, "What is the message?"

"Headmistress wants you to know that you are going to be fine sir, but your hotel room was broken into this evening. Again, Headmistress wants you to know she is confident in the security of the school. Aurors arrived within minutes of your sneakoscope going off, but they found no one there. And your Mother is confirmed safe at the Tonks home. McGonagall said to wish you well rest, and she will see you in the morning."

Draco gave the little Elf a curt nod, "Thanks," he said, a bit unnerved, "Oh and, McGonagall doesn't need to know I wasn't in bed yet okay?"

The elf gave an obedient affirmation and disapparated with the same disrupting pop he appeared with.

Numerous questions shot through her mind after the news she overheard but Hermione couldn't help looking at Draco with fear, the most urgent of the Elf's news disturbing her most, "What does he mean your hotel room was broken into?" she demanded.

"I was staying in Hogsmeade until testing time. They must have found me," he explained quietly, looking angrily out into the dark library.

"Who is 'they'?" she wanted to know.

"Death Eaters they haven't caught yet," said Draco hastily, as if it was so unpleasant he didn't want to talk about it.

And she didn't blame him. The idea horrified her, that there were still Death Eaters on the loose, hiding from the public and hungry for revenge. He surely had a death sentence on his head for what he had done. They probably wanted him more than her, or even Harry. What he did, that was personal.

There was a long still silence between them. And in that time Hermione felt years of hate seemingly melt away from her body. When she looked at Draco, she didn't feel dislike, but pity.

"What happened to your Dad?" Hermione finally asked.

"He's in Azkaban. Double Life sentence." he answered shortly, gesturing for his flask back and knocking back a drink when he passed it to her.

"You couldn't get him acquitted too?"

"I didn't try," he answered, somewhat harshly.

"Oh," Hermione quipped quickly, scared she crossed a line by his tone, "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Don't be," he suddenly barked, "I'm not!"

The look of astonishment on her face didn't go unnoticed by Draco, but he didn't seem to care. In fact he seemed invigorated.

It was utterly absurd, what he shared with her next, and had she not experienced it firsthand she never would've believed Malfoy capable of revealing such vulnerable, personal feelings and experiences to anyone, least of all with her, but he did.

It all came pouring out. The force and intimidation Lucius Malfoy used on his Mother and him since before he could walk or talk. The garbage he taught him to believe and the punishments he would receive if he didn't emulate those beliefs exactly. How Draco didn't really care at all how someone learned magic. How Lucius swore up and down to his Mother that his ruthless scheming for power was over the first time Voldemort fell and the family was nearly destroyed by the accusations and dangerous cover up.

And then he described in graphic detail how terrible the fight that erupted was when Narcissa found out he answered the call of the Dark Mark; how Narcissa earned her black eye and fractured wrist and what a first class ticket to hell he had bought them all for the next three years, what with the failure with prophecy and his first stint in Azkaban, getting Draco involved in his dirty, murderous business and then ending up host to Voldemort himself in their own Manor.

Draco admitted he didn't realize what a monster he was until it was too late, but with the anger and hatred he had for what he got him and his mother involved in, well it just made it that much worse. He was positively seething and Hermione was a little afraid, not knowing what she would do if Draco Malfoy lost it in front of her. Give him privacy? Comfort him?

But in the end, when Draco's eyes looked like they were swelling with reluctant tears, not tears of sadness, but tears of fury, she found herself feeling for him.

Not that anything _excused_ what he did! Nothing excused that, he was still accountable for all the terrible choices he made… but it certainly did _explain_ how he could make such choices. How such a young person could find themselves so deeply involved in such monstrous hatemongering societies, responsible for such horribly unthinkable actions.

And then she remembered how extensively he was put in his place. How he choked when it came down to committing murder. How he fearfully denied recognizing them when they were brought to his house; just the idea of witnessing more murder, especially of someone he knew, of someone he would be responsible for, too much for him to bare.

She felt so sorry for him. That his father kept him so afraid and powerless feeling that he honestly believed there was no one he could turn to for help. She sat there quietly for a long while with her sympathetic thoughts, surveying him discreetly as he tried to regain his composure.

"So…" Draco finally spoke again uncomfortably after an awkward silence was allotted for the water in his eyes to dissipate, he looked determined to show no sign of embarrassment from all that he just revealed, still intent on being his cool and collected self, "Weasley really has been sucking on your face then?"

Hermione couldn't help but laugh out loud in surprise. There she was, all but deciding not to hate him like she had every right to, and he reminds her perfectly of what a rude, arrogant prat he could be, homicidal prejudices or not.

It was probably due to the lateness of the hour and the hell of a day she had had, but it was a little humorous, after all, and she decided not to mind.

"I guess you could say that," she answered jokingly, "Who are you to judge anyway, not like you're not known for your fair share of action."

Draco chuckled, "I wasn't judging," he said friendlily, "Figured you'd be his girl eventually," he added, revealing too much notice of her affairs.

"Well," she began, "We're not actually dating," she said, not knowing why, for the hundredth time that day, she was doing what she was.

Draco cocked up a casually interested eyebrow.

The small thought of "why would he care and why am I bothering to divulge?" pecked at the back of her mind, but Malfoy seemed so harmless, so inconsequential, that she felt an ease, an urge, to continue.

"I mean, we're not boyfriend and girlfriend," she explained, "Yet," she added clumsily, "Well, I don't know if we will be, that he'll want me I mean, or that I'll want to be his girlfriend, if he were to ask me that is," she stammered on nervously, "Not that I expect him to or anything."

Draco just laughed slowly, "Merlin, Granger, relax. Is he your first boyfriend or something? Didn't Krum ever seal the deal?"

"I didn't sleep with him if that's what you mean," Hermione asserted.

"So, you _are_ all virgin territory," he goaded, and she couldn't tell if he was teasing or sneering.

"Well, we snogged a bit," she said defensively.

"So Ron has at least one famous quidditch player up against him already? No wonder he's too chicken to ask you out proper."

"Do you think that's it?" Hermione wondered insistently, despite Draco's joking tone, "Viktor?"

Draco grinned and shook his head, "Well I'm not saying I understand the mind of a Weasley, but as a guy I know it's a bit unnerving when a girl is more experienced than I am."

"I'm not experienced!" Hermione blurted, then immediately felt like an idiot dork as Draco burst out laughing. She blushed hotly and embarrassed, but couldn't help but laugh too, as Draco's had an air of understanding to it.

"I could've guessed that," he teased.

Hermione scowled, "So what? A girl can't cut a break; either she's a prude or a slut."

"You're right," Draco agreed, and Hermione was surprised by his sensitivity, "I'm glad I'm not a girl."

Hermione was silent for a moment, contemplating on whether or not Draco Malfoy would be a good source, a reliable source, to confide in. To answer a question ever girl wondered about at some point.

"A muggle boy on a ski trip, holiday of my third year," she said finally.

"What?" Draco asked, confused.

"My first snog; his name was Bryce. Well, there was a boy who would chase me around and kiss me on the playground of my grammar school, but that doesn't count. So, Bryce, Viktor and Ron," she listed, "A guy I never saw again, a "famous hunk" and my best friend. Be honest, is that slutty? Am I just a troublemaker?"

Draco seemed to really take a second to think about it, "No," he finally answered, "Seems just right to me."

The comfort that blanketed her was completely unexpected, but very much appreciated, "Really?" she asked.

"Yeah," he assured sincerely, and Hermione finally felt relief from a chokehold that had had her all summer, that she was abnormal.

"Well," he went on, a joking sparkle in his eyes, "For you anyway, I don't think you'll ever escape the prude bookworm that is Hermione Granger."

Hermione glared teasingly back, oddly exhilarated to have someone to speak candidly about "images" with, "Oh, because losing my virginity second year is so cool," she said, "We can't all be Draco Malfoys."

"It wasn't second year," he sneered and Hermione laughed, pleased she picked on him as successfully as he did her.

"It was fourth," he corrected nonchalantly.

"Fourth?" Hermione gasped, "You lost your virginity when you were fourteen?"

"I was fifteen," he insisted, "I turned right before Christmas, and it was at the Yule ball."

"Well Pansy was still _fourteen_," Hermione explained, still shocked that joking turned to seriousness, "Don't you think that's a little young?"

"It wasn't with Pansy," Draco told her, "It was a fifth year from Beauxbaton."

Hermione was confused and it must've been obvious, "But… weren't you dating Pansy?" she asked.

"No," answered Draco.

"But you went to the dance with her," Hermione was certain she remembered right.

"Yeah…" answered Draco slowly, "But that was just a dance; I didn't make her my girlfriend till fifth year."

"But," Hermione started, surprised at his coolness when she was so distraught, "She was your _date_ that night, and you just went off and screwed some foreign exchange student?"

"She got over it," Draco insisted.

"You told her?" Hermione spat.

"Well, I didn't 'tell her' necessarily, but eventually she got it out of me."

Hermione was felt very troubled, "Wasn't she sad?"

Draco looked annoyed, "I guess," he admitted, "But she knew we weren't 'together' together."

"But you knew she liked you," Hermione insisted, "And that that would hurt her."

Draco just shrugged, "Shit happens. That's life."

Hermione didn't understand what she felt, and she never would've placed it as disappointed. "Well was it even good? Having sex for the first time with someone you hardly even knew?"

Again Draco shrugged, "Not really, but the first time never is right?"

"It can be," Hermione asserted, "If you plan it right."

"Like it ever works out that way," he dismissed.

"It will for me," Hermione claimed boldly.

Draco scoffed, "Yeah, right," he said sarcastically, "Until you get burned. Just wait till you get screwed over Granger, then you'll learn what's worth the effort and what's not."

"No one screwed you over," Hermione pointed out, "when you screwed over Pansy."

"Well, I'll have you know that your little innocent victim Pansy got ass-backward drunk and made out with Blaise Zabini at a party I was hosting."

"And so you cheated on her before she could cheat on you? Like you knew she was going to or something?"

"First of all, we weren't even dating so it wasn't cheating, and even if we were, yes. You gotta get people before they get you. It's not even that personal. You need to look out for yourself first Hermione," he said insistently.

Hermione just scowled. She suddenly felt very depressed and uncomfortable. She missed when the conversation between them was light and enticing.

"Are you disgusted by my whorish ways?" he inquired in a tone that seemed to want to bring it back to a less serious place as well.

"No," Hermione finally answered, realizing it was really none of her business and she shouldn't let whatever Draco Malfoy wants to do in his sex life bother her, "It's not like we all didn't already know you were the schools biggest man-slut," she tried to joke.

"Not quite," he conceded, "There's one guy who still has more tallies than me."

"More tallies? What do you mean?" Hermione asked, unsure if she even wanted to know.

"Don't Gryffindors keep track?" he asked.

"Keep track?" Hermione repeated, confused, "Of how many girls they've shagged?! No!" she spat, "At least… I don't think so… I'm not sure actually," she said with a crinkled forehead, "I wasn't here at all for 7th year though. I would hope most of that stuff would at least take place with the older students…" she finished, finding herself once again trying to sneak her own standards imposingly onto him.

Draco just shrugged and gave her an amused smile.

"So I take it Slytherins keep… 'tallies'?" she asked.

"Yeah," Draco admitted, slightly embarrassed now, "Some do. You see, there's a particular dorm that the more… popular… students stay in," he explained carefully, and Hermione couldn't help but be reminded of Ron and Harry's room. "Some of the past students have scratched tallies into the wall. It doesn't say what it means, but, everyone knows anyway," he finished.

"Who has the most?" she was surprised she wanted to know.

"Some bloke with the initials H.B.P.," answered Draco.

"Snape?!?" exclaimed Hermione.

Draco spit out his whiskey at the suggestion, spraying some of the table, "What?" he cried, "I said H-B-P," he repeated.

"I know," Hermione insisted, "That's what he called himself, the 'Half Blood Prince',"

"Are you serious?" Draco scoffed in disbelief.

"Well is there any other H.B.P. Slytherin?"

"No, we even tried looking it up once."

Hermione laughed, "So did I! So I'm sure HBP is Snape."

"Well I guess that makes sense," he said finally, "I've heard stories from his days at school. I just figured he never wrote on the wall."

"_Stories?_"

"Yeah," he continued, rolling his eyes, "You think I'm bad? He was something, let me tell you. I'm pretty sure he dated my mum!"

"You're joking!" Hermione exclaimed.

"I wish," he muttered, his face weary with disgust, "And he fooled around with my Aunt, it caused a lot of drama I think."

"Wait, wait, wait," Hermione insisted, "Severus Snape and Bellatrix Lestrange _dated_? And he cheated on her with her sister, _your mother_?"

"I wouldn't say 'cheated'…" Draco insisted the point again, "They weren't really dating, just fooling around. And that was official," Draco pressed firmly, "It was known it was nothing more. My Aunt was kind of… _that kind of girl_," he admitted reluctantly, "That one actually pissed her off though, I think she really might've actually liked him, that's why she hated him so much even when they were older."

Hermione's face gave away her disgust.

"I know, I know," he agreed, "But apparently he was big man on campus."

"Really?" she gaped, "I thought he was teased?" she offered.

"Snape? No, no. He was 'very cool'."

"But… Harry's Dad and his friends picked on him all the time…"

"Oh, well, yeah," Draco huffed, "Gryffindors hated him. But only because he was their "worthy opponent" from Slytherin. It's not like the big guys from my house didn't get their own punches in on Potter and Black and everyone else. I'm sure if ever they got Snape alone they ganged up on him."

"Interesting," Hermione mused. It had never occurred to her that there was a whole other side to the stories she had heard from Harry. She felt foolish, because it made a lot of sense. Of course Snape would be the Slytherin's James Potter. And in all the memories Harry saw, Snape had been alone, no other Slytherins around to help him.

She remembered how easy it was to punch Malfoy himself in the face even with two chums there. And while all the Gryffindors insisted Harry was king and Malfoy was a loser, it was exactly the opposite in his neck of the woods.

"I just can't believe all this time it was Snape who was such a cherry-popper," Draco commented, still looking awed.

Instantly his words plummeted her back into her earlier terrible feelings toward Snape, realizing she had miraculously forgotten about him - even had a little break from the whole horrid ordeal.

It was funny how talking to Draco had distracted her so well; even put her a little at ease by shedding light on the mysterious nature of the predatory painting. And all the insight into the male mind he so honestly and uncompromisingly shared with her had been so comforting. She was strangely thankful for him.

"…Listen, Draco…" Hermione started after another awkward silence, where she was wondering if Draco thought it was odd they had spoke so civilly and openly to each other for so long too, "I think you may have been right earlier, we're probably allowed to talk about the test on purpose, Heads generally supported each other…"

Draco was looking at her curiously.

"What I mean is, would you like to work together? I could probably figure out the defensive magic quite well, and I really could use a hand brewing this '_Vita Brevis, Ars Longa'_ stuff."

Draco gave an odd, overly satisfied smile that made her a bit uneasy, and she wondered if she would regret her daring offer.

"Well," said Draco, holding up a piece of parchment with wet, ruined ink running down it in droplets, "Seeing how I've spit whiskey all over my instruction sheet when you told me it was Snape, I suppose I do need to look on at someone else's."

"Oh," Hermione thought dismally, her stomach suddenly clenching again in horror.

She just remembered she left her test template in the painting of Snape…

"I should really go send a quick Owl to my Mother," Draco said, interrupting her horrid realization, "I'm sure McGonagall already did but ever since I've had Death Eaters trying to kill me… well you can imagine she's a little worried these days and she'd appreciate hearing from me… Do you want to go get your materials and meet me back here?"

Hermione inhaled deeply. "Sure," she finally agreed. Now that she knew she was dealing with a cheap form of dark magic, she was going to get her bloody stuff back.

… … …

Her legs were shaking the entire walk to the dungeons, but she was determined to ignore it. Just like she was determined to ignore the odd tingling sensation in her low, low belly… the burning in her cheeks whenever she pictured his younger, sharper face. However old he was really supposed to be, he looked twenty-five. Fit, agile and in the prime of his life. More powerful than she had ever guessed he would've been in his younger years.

She groaned fearfully when the stupid potions door squeaked on its huge, rusty hinges. She peered in slowly.

The lack of a subject in the painting was obvious, even from the back of the room. Hermione narrowed her eyes suspiciously. She approached with the same bravery she tried to invoke the first time she entered the room that day.

When she was a mere few feet away from the frame she saw it. Placed directly in the middle of the table, face up to taunt her, was her test template. She tried in vain to look around the wooden pieces of frame, but apparently it didn't work that way, it was still only two dimensional to her.

Mustering up her courage she stepped intrepidly back up onto Slughorn's chair and experienced the uniquely weird waterfall sensation for the second time as she crossed through the eerie veil of canvas.

Her heart was beating rapidly, but not as fast as the feeble thoughts flying through her mind, "Maybe he'll leave me alone. Maybe he left out of shame," she wondered shallowly as she climbed through, "I wouldn't want to show my face again after I acted so piggish…"

She headed straight for the table, to overcome with cowardice to look around. Snatching her test template and folding it up, she shoved it hastily into the pocket that adorned her skirt.

While one large hand clamped over her mouth from behind her, an equally strong arm snaked around her waist, drawing her back into a tall, broad, body snuggly.

"You must fancy another go," he hissed huskily into her ear, rubbing his face into her curls, inhaling her scent, "Coming back like this…"

Hermione clawed at his hand, her scream an inaudible muffle. It was no use; she was no match for him.

He flipped her around and clutched her by her shoulders.

"Let me go!" she ordered, "I've only come for my things! You will let me pass!"

Snape just smiled wickedly at her, and something in his eyes made her stomach erupt with butterflies. She had discovered the hard way that she had no control over this kind magic at all.

For the second time his mouth came crashing down on hers, but she was intent on not kissing back this time… no matter what. She tried to get her arms in between them, to push him away, but she failed as his grip on her shoulders tightened and his tongue pushed thoroughly against hers, leaning her backward.

"STOP!" she shouted when he broke away to survey her. Again he just grinned wickedly.

"You fool," he whispered, "Your voice says stop when your swollen lips and heaving breasts say more. You should really learn how to lie better."

"I'm not lying," she insisted with panic, "I want you to stop and leave me alone!"

"Really?" he challenged, "Then why…" his arm snaked up her skirt again, rubbing her panties against her, "are you _steaming_?"

"I…" her voice wavered as she got lost in his deep black eyes and the sensation of his touch.

Her chin tilted up slightly to meet his next kiss. He deepened it, biting and sucking on her bottom lip, sliding his other hand around her and squeezing her butt, pushing her harder against the hand between her legs, still rubbing the outside of her womanhood sensually. She began to relax and sink down against his hands.

"No!" Hermione cried again, responding with outrage to her own concession, trying to push herself away from him again.

Snape was obviously growing tired of her attempts to fight him and angrily flipped her around. Still pinning her arms to her side with his hold, he walked her into the ledge of a nearby table that met the height of her waist, standing himself directly behind her and bending her over it.

It was unbelievable how fast he reached around, slid his palm down her stomach, and had two fingers within her panties directly on her clitoris, sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body that made her paralyzed with surprise. She knew instantly it was Lily who showed him how to have this kind of effect on a woman, and she let her top half all but collapse on the table, her arms shaking as they weakly held her up.

Sandwiched between the table and his body, Snape ran his free arm up her shirt and cupped her breast with his palm, kneading it desperately.

She heard him moan with approval, "So supple…" he murmured, rubbing his erection against the bottom of her ass. She felt herself growing wetter and wetter by the way Snape rubbed her creamy juices around as he continued his massage.

"Tell the truth, Granger," he demanded, "Has anyone ever touched you like this?"

"No," she whimpered.

"But you like it, don't you?"

Hermione roared, furious he was using that against her and desperate to release the build up of scream that was mounting in her throat.

Once again, he slid his finger into her and she felt him brace his lower half more firmly against her in order to hold her up because her legs gave out with limpness. His erotic presence was all she knew. He felt so strange and new inside her.

"Mmmm," he moaned, "Could you be anymore innocent?" he drawled.

Hermione was breathing shakily against the tabletop when Snape withdrew his teasing hand. She couldn't explain why, but she just froze in place and made no attempt to fight him when he clutched both sides of her collar in closed fists, ripping the buttons off of her robes and white blouse with rippling pops.

He cast the destroyed shirt and robe to the floor and she felt his hot, strong hands glide down the flesh of her back admiringly, then he unhooked the clasp of her simple white bra and let it slide off her shoulders down onto the table. He cupped both her free breast in his hands, twisting her nipples softly between his thumb and for finger as he devoured the back of her neck in kisses, rubbing his now even more bulging groin into her. She could feel the residue of her sex from one of his hands as he played with her chest.

She whimpered profusely as he delighted her senses further, escaping into the ecstasy. How quickly he made her arousal escalate, just with the sound of his voice whispering in her ear, his dominating touch and the feel of his body right up against hers.

Holding her in place with one arm, she heard the rustling of fabric as he opened his own robes and freed his cock from the jingling belt and zipper of his trousers. Then he snatched the hem of her panties into a grasp and yanked them down.

Now in nothing but her skirt, Hermione gasped in shock as he slid his whole length into her, feeling his fat, engorged tip press firmly against her delicate walls. Why she didn't feel ashamed that her own slick, wetness made it so easy for him, she did not know.

Pressure spread throughout her groin and up into her stomach. All she could do was moan; loud and long as he held himself tightly against her, letting her feel every intricate and accommodating adjustment her body made to his large, pulsing presence.

When he slid out the friction caused a violent shock of reverberating pleasure, and she felt her entrance tighten around the inflamed head of his penis as he lingered there, and again he evenly rammed himself back fully inside, stopping only when his pubic bone nestled firmly against her shapely ass.

Somewhere between his thorough and dramatic entrance and rhythmically ramming her hips bones painfully into the sharp ledge of the table as he humped her, he increased his pace. Hermione could do nothing but dip the small of her back down, sucking her stomach up from the flat surface. She needed to use the ample curve of her bottom as a bumper, absorbing all the pleasure of his thrusts without being smashed into the hard piece of furniture, presenting her ass to him in a most encouraging way.

But even more so unbelievable, was that it was her voice shrieking so ecstatically. That she was moaning and begging and pleading, not for him to stop… _but for him to not stop._

Her face was practically tilted all the way up to the ceiling, throwing her hair back in a fit of passion. Her mouth hung open and she kept her eyes closed tight, afraid the ecstasy was a dream.

He persisted, fucking her hard and rough with no sign of ceasing. She never imagined that it would feel good to have her breasts rock back and forth slightly in his hands, matching the tempo of their throws, but his possessive touch ignited her with fire, and wherever his palms met her body the skin might as well have turned to gold.

It wasn't long before her hands were planted firmly on the table, and she was forcing her backside back roughly, meeting Snape's thrusts with a sharp smack of flesh on flesh. There was something growing, a heat, a power, stemming from where the end of him was still beating into her incessantly, and rippling outward, gaining momentum.

Suddenly her screams of passion were silent, and she was airless, immobile, as something exploded inside her and Snape gave an exceptionally pleased yell of enjoyment. She felt herself clench onto him extra tightly and vibrate erratically for what seemed like an insane glimpse of eternity. When her body finally released the euphoric pleasure still lingered and she smiled dreamily, letting her upper body finally collapse onto the table.

But Snape wasn't finished as she thought herself to be. He turned her around, and she tossed like a rag doll.

The hungry look in his glinting eyes caused her to straighten again. And he lifted her with ease onto the table, sitting her on the edge and spreading her legs.

Positioned to face him, she now knew what was plummeted so ravenously within her, and the sight of his erect and glistening flesh only sparked her desire to see more of his body. Learning from him, she yanked on the fabric of his robes so hard the buttons flew off, and after pushing it off down his shoulders she scooted up the hem of his shirt for him to grab, pull off and toss away.

She drank up the view of him; chiseled and rippling, his cut abdominals led up to a broad chest and thick arms, his face staring at her seductively, chunks of stringy, sweaty hair falling in front of his eyes as he licked his lips like she was something to eat.

Dragging her fingers down his chest and clawing him with her nails made him snarl with arousal and she returned his engulfment by kissing ferociously back against his mouth. She wanted to wrap her arms around his neck, but he grabbed her harshly by the wrists in protest.

She ignored his rejection of an embrace as she sucked wildly on his neck, pressing her chest against his, exhilarated by the exchange of body heat; she felt a moan rumble from deep within his chest.

He pulled away and pushed her back, gripping her hip with his left hand and sliding his right hand up her stomach, between her breasts and laced his fingers around her neck snuggly. The crawl of his skin against hers made her shiver and his grip reminded her of his strength. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he repositioned his tip into her entrance, utterly glossy with her arousal.

It was completely different, when she could see the look on his face while he fucked her. It was so rough and satisfied, as he grunted his pelvis forward. One hand roamed her body greedily but the other hand around her neck held fast, telling her, despite the obvious euphoria on his face as he moved in and out of her savagely, how disposable she was to him.

Telling her that every inch of her was intended, designed, for his supreme sexual satisfaction. Her purpose was his pleasure, and should she ever fail to fulfill that purpose… well, his hand would just grip tighter and she would be dismissed.

But his victoriously sneering face blurred as her eyelids fluttered. She felt the energy mounting in her core again.

"God damn," Snape snarled a curse as her pussy tightened once more, choking him as he stroked. She exploded in another orgasm, shuddering with exhaustion.

Snape chuckled evilly, "You're such a good little girl," he uttered through gritted teeth, still maneuvering his member within her.

"Professor…" she whimpered.

"_Severus_," he demanded, taking a handful of her hair in a fist and yanking her head back.

"Severus," she cried, the syllables of his name sizzling on her lips.

"You always were my favorite student," he whispered, leaning down to flick her nipple with his tongue, rolling his hips into her with a grind, enjoying the feel of just being in her soft, velvety depths.

The change of his tone, the hint of affection, troubled Hermione, almost enough to break the spell of raw sexual intrigue he had on her, and she locked eyes with him for a brief moment, begging for an explanation for this, any of it.

But his blissful smile turned into a sneer at her desperately inquisitive look and he once again quickened his pace, banging into her harshly.

Her cries were desperate now, despite the pleasure as he built her up to come again.

"Has the Weasley boy ever made you feel like this?" he demanded, digging his fingers into her hips.

"No," she gasped, "Never- Not like you…"

The room filled with the sound of her scream for the third time and her body shuddered more violently then ever, going numb and limp as the lingering tingles drifted away.

"Severus," she pleaded, her clitoris starting to burn from too much friction. Her legs were starting to ache from being spread open, and her insides were sore from his repeated ramming. Despite the carnal desire to feel him surge his ejaculate, hot and creamy inside her, her body could not take another orgasm.

She needed desperately the satisfaction of him climaxing then falling on her in a warm embrace before feeling him exit her, but every muscle in his body was flexed and frozen. He was not letting himself. It was as if he intended to fuck her forever.

The pleasure mixed with pain, and her face screwed up in discomfort.

"Severus…" she pleaded again, "...Snape…"

"No," Snape yelled heinously.

"Please," she begged, trembling.

"No!" he yelled again, "You're not leaving."

But his face contorted with worry. He couldn't help it. His own cock couldn't take much more stimulation without burning either.

"No," he bellowed, "Oh God," he roared, and Hermione felt him enlarge with a surge through her; emptying his seed while he yelled and literally vibrating.

He fell into her, but not warmly. He gasped for air frantically, his dead weight pinning her to the table. Finally he pushed himself up with exhausted arms.

"You're staying," he hissed with desperate malice, and Hermione was overcome with fear from the insane look in his eyes.

"Granger?" came a stunned voice.

Snape's face followed Hermione's as they looked out with a dart.

Draco Malfoy was standing in the middle of the potions room, his jaw hanging loose and his forehead crinkled with confusion.

Snape roared monstrously, pushing himself off of Hermione and disappeared into thin air.

Hermione, unsure how she was able to function, covered her topless, bare chest with her arm and slid off the table onto her knees.

She managed to rise to her unstable feet and charge towards the eerie window-like portal back to the real potions room, falling through and landing heftily in Malfoy's arms.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Few important things: First off, so sorry this took so long. If any of you have read my stories before you know I'm usually a very fast updater. But I just moved up in my job and have a bunch more work to do that I am still learning _how_ to do, so sadly, my favorite pastime of aimless writing has been hard to squeeze in. I do plan on finishing the story though, no matter how long it takes, and I hope you'll bare with me till the end.

Also, to be perfectly honest, this story needs to be on adultfanfic, I'll be surprised if it doesn't get kicked off. It is practically a play-by-play and very graphic. I have no idea where I come up with this stuff! I can't truthfully say I've even seen an x-rated movie, and my own love life is neither way over active or non-existent, but healthily average (although I have always been very curious, open and honest in every area of my personality…)

I used ideas that some girlfriends and I came up with (obviously, we're very close friends, I never write a sex scene without their help, haha) and this time we've ended up with pretty shocking stuff.

Many of you may find it disgusting. However, others might even be intrigued. And then of course, there will be some who aren't necessarily all for it but understand how others might be. And that's kind of the point I was aiming for. Everyone has their own little things that do it for them, different unexplainable turn ons and turn offs. I hope to explore that idea further in future chapters. But either way, what I'm trying to say is there is a major warning for very sexual content.

And to any fans out of there who ship my previous D&H stories and are frustrated with H&S, I apologize but I thought I stated every place I could that this would not only be _multiple _pairings, but somewhat dark and controversial in certain character perspectives.

Of course, as evidence by this next chapter, I still love Dramione. But my infatuation with Snape has certainly grown and I have no intention of denying it, hehe. I must admit its not so much Snape in the novels that does it for me (although he certainly broke my heart by book 7), its Snape from the films. I'm sorry, I know he's nearly twice my age but Alan Rickman is sexy as hell. Nothing is more attractive than talent to me, and he is amazing. He was never what I pictured when I read, but I love his adaptation of the character whenever I watch the movies.

Anyways, for those disturbed by the "forcefulness" of the last chapter, you might be offended by the alluded "manipulation" in this one. Plus it's a bit crude in some ways, as I am trying to capture a male perspective. Not that I'm saying "_all_ men are pigs _all_ the time", because I'm certainly not. I have nothing but respect and realistic expectations of men in reality, it's just that in the particular time and place for this character he is very sexually graphic. And there is a very graphic scene included at the end. Something that can sometimes be viewed as degrading to women in certain situations, but I assure you in my_fictional _story it is not intended to be so. Please skip now if you do not wish to read such things. I don't wish to offend or impose on anyone, but I don't know how else to warn you other than the warnings I've already given.

If you're still with me, please let me know what you think.

… … …

Damn he felt good. Strangely good. He practically wanted to skip down the halls. Only almost though, Slytherins _don't_skip. But he underestimated how pleased he would be to earn Granger's trust. He had to admit, he was a little worried after the fiasco earlier that morning. To think, she thought he wanted to cheat off her… And then when he couldn't bloody find the little twit again all day he had all but given up.

But then it happened: she walked right into him. It couldn't have been more perfect. And he did it. He got her to sit down, to talk to him, to drink with him, to _laugh _with him. Yeah, she was going to be a great "friend" to have… but still… to feel _this _elated about it?

Maybe it wasn't just what he could use her for in the future. Maybe it had a lot to do with what he vented. That, after all, was never apart of the plan.

The second the stunning words of pain and remorse left his lips he felt lighter. Freer. He had never, _ever_, told anyone anything like that before and he knew, deep down, halfway through _finally _spilling the truth about his father - about what being a Malfoy was really like - that he was probably revealing too much. Showing too much of himself. All those embarrassing thoughts and feelings…

But there was something about her that convinced him it would be okay. Even with her obvious dislike for him, she still seemed to hold him to the same expectations as everyone else, value his existence and potential the same as a best friend or a stranger on the street. She was such a good listener. And she had the warmest eyes, caring eyes… eyes that looked like they could find the good in anybody.

"What a sap," he thought smugly, blowing off his own gratitude. He knew she wouldn't ever repeat anything he told her to anyone, that he could rely on that. After all, she had certainly gotten personal as well hadn't she? Confiding in him about her "intimate" experiences thus far in her life. That all but guaranteed her silence. So no point in dwelling on all the information he had the odd urge to confess. It was over now, and it seemed he had won some of her good graces. And after he helped her with her N.E.W.T. she would never think of him in the same way again.

Just like his Aunt, like Kingsley, like McGonagall. These were good friends to have,

"Maybe I should leave something for Slughorn," it occurred to him as he reached the top of the steps and entered the Owlery,

"He's just a wand's length away from all kinds of important people…"

Draco called for a school owl and scribbled out a quick letter of acknowledgement to his Mother; he was fine, the castle was secure, relax, thank Aunt 'Dromeda, love, the usual.

"Or maybe send him a gift with a copy of my N.E.W.T. score when I get it back," he thought more, "Tell him 'I learned all I know from him'," he added with a scoff, reminiscing fondling of what a remarkable teacher Snape was.

A strong wind whistled eerily through the shabby rafters of the owlery, and Draco shuddered. Summer was definitely almost over, nights were getting colder. He tried to survey the night sky of the changing season but couldn't see passed the dark silhouettes of the birds and was reminded briefly how much he hated all the creepy, glowing eyes of the owls on him and moved on to wonder what he was going to do this fall. His letter from the Ministry said his application for an internship was still 'pending'.

He scoffed in annoyance all over again. Of course they saw the last name on the file and immediately panicked. They were scurrying for a legitimate reason, any reason, not to give the position to him. He was flawless on paper after all; top grades, previous experience, and he even managed to get his criminal record erased, so they couldn't even use that as a reason. He was Head Boy damn it, that meant he should get any damn job he wanted. What was their problem…?

A loud scuttling from behind him made him whip around in his place.

It was just two owls fighting over the same perch. Damn birds.

As he relaxed the jolt that had unexpectedly clenched his body, he yawned. He was tired; figuring out the potion wasn't that difficult, it was right in _Moste Potente Potions_after all, it was researching the damn counter-magic that was making him sweat.

He exited the owlery, slightly uncomfortable for the brief moment of exposure to the unlighted outdoors. He thought nervously of the words he sent to his mother, "the castle was secure". _He _had penetrated castle security before hadn't he? Was it safe to assume it wouldn't happen again?

Suddenly he wished he was back at the library with Granger. Not because he wanted to be around her of course, but just so he had somebody with him.

During the walk back his irrational fear only mounted. The castle was just plain creepy when no one else was there. It was stupid how one pathetic thought led to another; strange sounds, suspicious shadows… He began walking faster through the dark, still halls.

"Damn it," he spat when he reached the table he told Hermione to meet him at. She wasn't there. He checked his watch. What was taking her so long?

A part of him was utterly relieved that there weren't any other students at school with him. If anyone had seen him break into a sprint through the castle like an idiot, looking over his shoulder in panic, he'd have a lot of explaining to do. But if there had been other students there with him then he wouldn't have gone and bloody spooked himself in the first place! It was amazing what having rogue, vengeful Death Eaters after you did to the mind.

Every other corner he convinced himself he was being a moron and would stop running. But by the time he took another turn he was sure someone, something, was following him, and all but run at full speed again.

"Where's Granger?" he thought irritably, "She's annoyingly brave. And a huge DADA geek…" he remembered, brief images of her dueling Death Eaters twice her size in the very same halls flashed in his memory.

He found himself reaching the dungeons, probably drawn to its safe sense of familiarity. He pushed the door of the potions room open, needing a moment of shelter, a second to shake the nonsense off, to get it together. No one was following him! He was being stupid-

"Severus," moaned a wanton voice.

Draco looked toward the head of the classroom. There was much commotion coming from the picture frame that hung there. He squinted and slowly stepped forward, he saw two figures gyrating atop a table, exposed flesh and intertwined limbs…

"Severus…" the figure beneath moaned again; a sexy female with long legs wrapped around the man bearing over her. A sight of curve that alluded to ample breasts were pressed into his chest. Her long, amber curls hung messed with passion, "...Snape…" the girl whimpered again.

"No," the man he suddenly recognized as his Potions Professor snarled.

"Please," the girl begged. Her whole body was shaking, but to Draco's utter disbelief, it was obvious Snape kept driving himself into her again and again.

"No!" Draco heard him bellow, "You're not leaving."

But Draco recognized the tell tale signs of coming as Snape's biceps and leg muscles bulged and he stiffened.

"_No… _Oh God," he strained as he undoubtedly blew his entire load into her. Then he collapsed on top of the girl, heaving.

After a few seconds he lifted himself up, finally giving Draco a view of the girl's flushed but terrified face…

"Holy hell," Draco thought, frozen in place and completely stunned.

"_You're staying_," said the voice of his old teacher, twisted with rage and insanity in way he had never heard before.

"_Granger?" _Draco was finally able to utter.

Both of the faces belonging to the entangled bodies snapped in his direction.

Snape gave him the most evil, hateful glare he had ever witnessed before roaring angrily and vanishing into thin air.

Granger covered herself as she slid off the table, and then came running desperately towards him.

It was the strangest thing he had ever seen, a live person spilling out of a portrait, and it was amazing he was able to react fast enough to catch her deftly in his arms.

Hermione immediately wrapped her arms around his neck, burrowing her head into his shoulder, her hair shielding her face, and started balling.

Draco, still unable to process anything he had just seen, decided to run. Get this half naked, sobbing girl away from the snarling, unaccounted for potions master was all his mind could concoct.

It didn't take long; it was just the opposite hall at the bottom of the stairs, before he was in the Slytherin common room. He dumped Hermione onto the velvet, emerald green sofa and quickly turned away.

Driven by an unspoken rearing in high class chivalry, he unfastened his robe as fast as he could and thrust his arm out towards her, "Here," he demanded, taking care to keep his face turned away from her indecent exposure.

Through raspy sobs she reached out and relieved him of the garment. The full effect of what he just saw was still not completely realized. After a small moment of allowance for her to put on the robe Draco turned to face her.

She was laying on her back propped up against the arm of the sofa, wiping her face as tears streamed down her cheeks, and though her breasts were covered she was too distraught to button up, the robe remaining open down the middle. A line of creamy skin and her little bellybutton was visible before her skirt began, the pleated hem ending at her knees, which were clenched firmly together.

She must have taken his concerned expression as an invitation to spill her guts.

"Oh god," she cried into her hands, "Oh god, what have I done?" she squealed hysterically, going into a fit of violent sobs.

"Granger," Draco said, "Granger," he repeated over her loud cries, wanting her to get a hold of herself, to explain what the hell was going on, "It's okay, clam down," he said as he knelt down next to the sofa.

Hermione continued to sob, huffing up and down. She was clutching herself, trying to be still. She must have felt the flask in the pocket of his robes because she withdrew it, recognized it and hastily unscrewed the top. She tried to gulp down the liquor while still crying, choking on her lack of air and worrying Draco even further. He had never seen someone so upset.

"_Hermione_," he pleaded, "It's okay, you're going to be fine, I swear. Just tell me, what's going on?"

But Hermione just shook her head, inconsolable.

Knowing he'd be the last person she'd want to help her, accepting himself to be unskilled in the area of consolation anyway, and completely unable to think of anything else to do, he begrudgingly said "Come on," and reached for her hand, "I'll take you to your friends."

"No!" she screamed with fright, recoiling tighter into herself, "No, please, no!"

"Why not?" Draco asked, stunned. They were the last people he wanted to see, but he imagined it was going to be inevitable given the situation, until she surprised him with adamant protest.

"I can't see them! I cheated on Ron," she squeaked frantically. "I cheated on Ron! I gave my virginity to my Potions teacher! I _slept _with my _Potions teacher! _Oh god," she wailed, "It will destroy him. He'll think I'm disgusting. They'll never speak to me again."

She fell into another violent fit of crying, and Draco, at a loss for what to do, tried to utilize a calm soothing voice.

"Was that it? Was that the '_Vita Brevis, Ars Longa'_? It's of Snape?" asking what he already knew to be correct now.

Hermione nodded her contorted face.

Surprised didn't cover it. That a '_Vita Brevis, Ars Longa' _rendition of _him _would exist was one thing, that it's ambition was to fuck Hermione Granger was quite another. He guessed that was as sure a confirmation as anything that the Slytherin legends were true. If he could get the knickers off of Granger… well then he could get the knickers off of anyone. It was just unfortunate that she obviously regretted such a thing. And now he had to try and console the deliriously enraged and guilt ridden girl.

He could barely believe the insane situation and was already angrily regretting being where he was when he was, now feeling unable to leave her in such a state. He was no good at this sort of thing. What had he gotten himself into?

"Hermione," he said again desperately, just wanting her to stop, "It's okay, it's okay. You didn't cheat on him, it wasn't real. You're fine."

Hermione paused and gave him a pained look, "What are you talking about? Of course I did!"

"How could you cheat on him with someone who isn't even real?" he insisted, relieved she ceased sobbing, "It was just an enchanted painting, _a painting_! You didn't really give it up to anybody, not really."

"But he…_felt_ real," Hermione choked, looking like she was about to cry again.

"He isn't though!" he answered quickly, he would give anything for her to not make those awful noises again, "He's an illusion, remember? It's a potion. Not the real Snape. You didn't fuck the real Snape."

Despite his harsh description this seemed to calm her somewhat, and she sat up a little, trying to wipe her face.

"Besides," he added, eager to finish and be done with the situation, "Look at you, you can barely hold liquor and you said Ron wasn't even your boyfriend. You can't cheat on someone you're not dating, and being drunk gets you off the hook for whatever you shit you might pull."

Hermione scowled at him, "That's not the point," she whimpered sadly, "I'm not like you, cold and promiscuous. I don't rely on cruel loopholes and lame excuses. I_know _how he feels about me…"

"Well it's his own fault for not having the balls to tag you down," he started to persuade, sensing her growing upset all over again and afraid he was losing his ground, "And it's not like you have to tell him! What he doesn't know can't hurt him Hermione."

But when Hermione only seemed to begin crying harder to this, he knew he'd need a different approach than the unwritten laws of _his _social realm with someone like _her_.

There was a long, pained pause while she cried and he thought with strain. "All you did was fall prey to a power you never suspected, it could've happened to anyone," he tried, emphasizing the rules of magic, fact and theory hopefully convincing her, "it's not like you knew you should've been careful, that it would do anything like that."

"But I _did_ know…" she muttered guiltily, to ashamed to even look at him.

Draco looked at her inquisitively.

"Before, when I told you I thought I saw one…" she started shamefully, "I didn't just _see_ him. He invited me in…"

"He said he was going to help me!" she tried to explain desperately when Draco gave her a look that blatantly addressed her stupidity to accept such an invitation, "And then we got in a fight," she went on hurriedly, eager to end the retelling, "and we were yelling and shouting at each other, and then, and then, he just started kissing me, and I don't know why, but I kissed him back," she was pouring it out now, "But only for a second, I swear! When he tried to, tried to go _further_, I smacked him and ran away. I tried to go to Ron for help but, but he was busy. It was only then that I ran into you."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Draco spat.

"Tell you that Snape tried to _finger me?"_Hermione said incredulously, "Forgive me, but I didn't think you'd be interested."

"Granger," Draco drawled with a bemused shake of the head, "You should have never gone back there by yourself!"

"Well we needed my test template remember? I left it in there…" she explained forlornly, "Besides, that's what I'm trying to tell you… I don't know why," she practically whimpered, "But I… kind of… _wanted_ to go back," she confessed reluctantly.

Draco's astonishment must have been visible. He couldn't believe she would tell him something as intimately personal as that. That she was "in the mood", so to speak, to be treated like that.

"You think I'm disgusting don't you?" she insisted, "That I'm a pervert."

Draco didn't know what to say. But judging by the unexpected leap in his pants at the insane thought of Hermione Granger prowling for action, it wasn't that she was disgusting.

"Hermione, I-" he started unsteadily, shaking off the wander of his mind and rising up from his kneel next to her and sitting down on the coffee table instead.

"It's not like he was old or dead or anything!" she exasperated, apparently desperate to make excuses, "He said the person who painted him did it while he was still in school."

"Who painted him?" Draco asked, suspicious of anyone who would dare use '_Vita Brevis, Ars Longa' _right under the nose of teachers.

"I- I'm not sure," she stammered, and Draco had the strange feeling she was lying.

"Please," she interrupted his thoughts, "You must know, I don't normally do anything like that! It's just…"

"It's just what?" Draco asked, interested in hearing the inner workings of an otherwise passion controlled bookworm.

"I knew by his… attentiveness," she began slowly, "_his intensity_, that he was… _enthralled _by me. _Me! _I know it sounds shallow, but it felt good. I'm not used to that… _knowing _someone wants me so surely. It was nice, and I wanted to see what it was like. In all my, my _real_experiences I- I always worry too much, I start to doubt myself. I ruin the moment…" she admitted quietly.

Draco sputtered a laugh, breaking her serious, tell-all tone.

Hermione scowled at him and then broke into sobs again, "Oh god, what's wrong with me? I wanted my dead, old, potions teacher! Even _you_ think I'm a freak!" she howled.

"No! No!" Draco insisted emphatically, ignoring the inflected insult, "That's not it! There's nothing wrong with you Hermione, he wasn't dead or old, you're right, and besides, you were bewitched!" he all but yelled over her sobs.

She ceased again and looked at him desperately for more assurance.

"I'm sorry I laughed," Draco muttered quickly, "But it's just funny..."

"What is?" she spat.

"That someone so smart could be so dumb."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she cried defensively.

"That you didn't know how desirable you are until _Snape_ came onto you."

She gave him a look of utmost confusion.

Draco was all too familiar with conceited girls playing dumb about their looks, just fishing for compliments they're certain they'll get. And it was different with Granger. She really was lost when it came to blokes and what really goes on in their brains.

"Oh c'mon Granger," he exasperated, "thought that was a wand in Weasley's pocket every time you gave him a friendly hug?" he told her sarcastically, "Or that every male stared at you while you studied because they wanted to know what book you were reading?"

Hermione made to protest but came up speechless.

"Listen," Draco went on conversationally, "Next time you go all 'girly insecure,' just remember how you were Hogwart's number one fantasy before getting completely x-rated with an authority figure doppelganger again," he advised, the irking image of Hermione spread-eagle beneath Snape, letting him grind himself into her naked body, crept into his mind's eye again.

"What?" she asked skeptically, "Number one fantasy?" she repeated.

Draco just nodded, "I can't believe you really didn't know. Sorry you had to hear it from me."

"Nonsense, you're lying," she quipped, "Maybe a few Gryffindors found me nice because I was friendly to them, but not _every boy in the school _had a crush on me."

"There is a huge difference between a fantasy and a crush, Granger," Draco dictated coolly, "They didn't have to know you, or even like you as a person. It was the image of you."

"Of me?" she asked in awe, "Why me? I don't have that kind of _image_," she said determinedly, "Lavender and Ginny… They're the ones good at the make up and the fancy walking, drawing in boys… I'm so plain, so boring. And I don't mind, really. That's the way I want it! I'm only interested in my grades right now."

Draco smirked, "Oh really? Then why 'kiss back'?" he questioned her own words against her.

Hermione frowned.

"It's okay Granger," said Draco huskily, the air suddenly thick with unexplainable tension, "Everyone has a sex drive," he slithered huskily.

She remained quiet, still frowning but thinking to herself as well."And that's what I'm trying to explain," he went on, "You _tried_ to fly under the radar. That was the draw, that's why everyone ended up fantasizing about you. It didn't matter who you really were under the surface, the _reality _of you. Fantasy is just that; fantasy. And it wants nothing to do with what's real. You just seemed so snobby and detached-"

"I do not seem snobby!" Hermione protested.

"_Snobby and detached_," Draco repeated again, intentionally ignoring her with a sneer, enjoying his role as messenger in this controversial newsbreak a bit too much, "Too smart, too good for everyone else…" he listed as Hermione scowled even more, only egging him on, "So deeply dedicated to nothing but studying… well it couldn't be true. You couldn't be _all_ nerd. Not with a sharp, witty tongue like that. Too much spirit. Too much spunk. Don't you see? There's a wild animal in you somewhere, and every guy wanted to be the one to bring it out of you. To _corrupt_ the good girl. To turn you _naughty_."

Hermione gave him an odd, piercing look, long and thoughtful, "Every guy?" she scoffed with discredit.

"Quit sounding like you don't believe me," Draco said, "You haven't been the beaver-toothed, flat-chested, frizz ball for years now. We all showed up here as scrawny eleven year olds, and we all grew up so gradually…But the point is we grew up. But your determinedness to keep your distance only made it worse. Guys only want what they can't have."

She looked past him for a moment, perplexed and lost in thought.

"Feel any better now?" Draco asked impatiently.

"A little I suppose," she whispered, handing his flask back to him.

"Well let's get your mind completely off it before we get back to work, I'm really stuck on part four and I can't have you falling to pieces every other minute," he scolded.

"Okay," Hermione agreed after only a small hesitation, "Tell me then, what the hell is your Mother doing at the Tonks'?"

Draco laughed, "It's nothing really," he began, but Hermione leered at him in a way that showed she knew more than she led on, and he began to realize he underestimated how close she must've been to Nymphadora and their old DADA teacher.

"Well, if you must know," he sneered slightly, "After Voldemort fell and my Aunt practically lost her entire family, she must've felt it was important to cherish the members she had left… because she ended up reaching out to my Mother. They'd been estranged for years. Of course, my Mother was in no position to be picky, we needed a place to stay after all… and with the mutual loss of their other sister…" he trailed off, unable to hide a sense of compassion, "well they've actually come back together quite nicely. Turns out my Mum missed her dearly, but could never say anything to my Father," he explained.

"But you're happy about the reunion too," she said, although it wasn't a question.

He looked at her sternly and she had an amused smile on her face, "There was a picture on Tonks and Lupin's grave of Ted Jr.," she said.

"Teddy?" said Draco possessively, "Yeah, so?"

"You brought it for them," again she wasn't questioning.

"What if I did?"

"Oh Draco," she said, her smile even bigger, "That's so sweet of you."

Draco just scoffed and shrugged his shoulders, not looking at her approving face, "Merlin, look at the time," he changed the subject, "I doubt we'll get much further tonight… I suppose it's not that big of a deal though, it only takes a second to throw together, we could get yours going, find the counter magic and still have enough time to finish our essays before McGonagall quizzes us tomorrow evening."

"Are you sure?" she wondered carefully.

"Pretty sure," he nodded, "As long as we pick up right after breakfast and get right to work, and rush lunch just to be sure… I bet I could even get some house elves to bring us sandwiches in the librar-- oh damn," he realized out loud.

"What is it?" she asked.

"I forgot, I'm supposed to meet someone in Hogsmeade tomorrow," he explained.

"Oh really?" she responded.

"It should be alright though; I can just skip lunch and catch up to you later. Shouldn't take too long, it's a just a meeting, and hell, she might even buy me lunch," he answered smugly.

"Who are you meeting?" she asked curiously.

"Just a writer, wants to buy my story, Rita Skeeter. Think I'll make a bundle off her…" but he was distracted by Hermione's look of total disgust.

"Don't let her interview you!" she spat.

"Why ever not?" Draco inquired.

"She's a ghastly wench!" she insisted, sitting up more from the sofa, "Surely you remember! You were the one feeding her the garbage that is her usual diet fourth year!"

"Yeah, so? She got canned from the newspaper right after that; now that she's independent she'll pay anything for a good story."

"Who cares? She's horrible Draco. Don't do it. She'll make you look like a total idiot with her lies! And even if she doesn't, you'll still be making her even richer. How can you support such a liar and a fraud?"

"What do you care?" asked Draco, not liking her tone. No one told him what to do.

"You know it's not right," she insisted, "Did you even see the rubbish she published about Dumbledore?"

The name always stabbed him, and he grew angry with her use of it, "Why should I care if every idiot out there believes everything they read? All I know is she's willing to pay well."

"So you'll lower your own name to her level for a price?" she fired.

Draco's eyes narrowed, who did she think she was? His Mother? "Oh come off it, you're just pissy because she printed you were plain and unremarkable and you still haven't gotten over it."

Hermione looked offended, then coolly stern, "Like I care what she says," she hissed, "I'm 'Hogwart's number one fantasy' remember?" she finished with mocking seduction in her voice.

But whether or not she was being ironic, it didn't matter. Just the light suggestion caused an odd swirl in his abdomen.

Again being on the subject of males wanting her, Draco made the mistake of appraising her.

She really had grown up, that was unremarkable. But he didn't realize fully how well she turned out. She was such a subtle, natural beauty, careful not to draw gaudy attention to herself. He couldn't believe he hadn't really noticed before, but then he realized how odd it would be if he had, he was used to hardly given her a second thought.

But she had the most beautiful skin, the kind you wanted to reach out and touch. Hair you wanted to burrow your face in and inhale. And her shape went without saying, perfect. Perfect ass, perfect tits. Legs you wanted propped up on your shoulders.

"Juicy lips," he noticed specifically, making the mistake of imagining them massage his penis while getting a blow job. That was a big mistake, and he hurriedly forced himself to think of anything but her physical features.

But that's when he realized it wasn't just her physical features. It was that she was one in a few girls who were smart enough to figure out guys hated too much make up… "All that ridiculous glitter, bloody hell," he thought disapprovingly, "No, be natural, be real."

And it was that she _was_ smart, that she _was _witty, that she had confidence, maybe not in her sexiness but in her ability to jinx your balls off. It was that she wasn't superficial or fake or any of that other annoying slop. It was that she was honest and sincere. It was that there was no stupid game playing. It was a lot of things.

He was suddenly wishing he hadn't offered his robe so quickly like an idiot. While he got plenty of glimpses of her bare skin, he honestly didn't see her fully naked, everything had happened so fast.

Then just as suddenly he wondered how long he had been lost in thought staring at the strip of her body exposed from the unbuttoned robe because when he finally looked up she was giving him the oddest look, as if trying to see into his mind.

He was thrown off by her expression. Something had definitely changed in her demeanor.

"Did you ever fantasize about me?" she asked quietly, her face slightly changing into a guarded curiosity.

Draco gaped at her question, completely unused to not knowing what to say.

But Hermione seemed content on ignoring his lack of answer, "Fantasies are always ruined after reality though," she said oddly, "For whatever stupid reason I thought Snape would be… a lot more affectionate. But he was very rough…"

"Granger," Draco said shakily, still unsettled by the new body language emanating from her, "You feeling okay?"

"I feel fine," she answered, "I'm just saying…"

"Saying what exactly?" he wondered, unsure of her strange tone; soft yet firm.

"That I think people are wrong about me," she answered candidly, "I don't think I am what you say they think I am. I mean, it would be great if I was… who wouldn't love that, at least on some level… But, I'm scared. I'm scared it's all hype. That I'm a disappointment. …That Ron will be disappointed."

"Disappointed?" Draco repeated incredulously.

Hermione frowned slightly, as if she would give anything to have this crucial point understood, "I'm worried what happens when he finds out I'm incapable of showing my sexual side," she grumbled, "That soon or later I'll just remind everyone of a 'mom'," she said with obvious bitterness, and then there was a quiet pause. "…I don't know how to be sexy," she finally finished pointedly.

Draco scoffed, "Granger, you don't need to _try_. Haven't you listened to anything I told you?"

"Yes I do!" she insisted, "When fantasy ends and reality begins I'll still need a reason to believe the real me is just as wanted. I need the confidence. Confidence makes a difference. Why the hell do you think anyone would shag you? And why would I be stupid enough to climb into that bloody painting? Snape and you, you're both cocky bastards. And Lily? Ending up with _James? _It's confidence."

Draco furrowed his brow. Never mind the insult, Lily and James? Where the hell had that come from? What was she going on about? But his confusion was interrupted. She stood up hastily.

"Come sit here," she commanded, gesturing to the sofa.

Draco, unsure but obedient, did as he was told silent and swiftly. She repositioned to be standing in front of him. She seemed heavy with indecision.

"I've never asked you for anything have I?" she pointed, "Not that people usually go to _you _for favors, but really, you could stand to do a few good deeds… right? This is going to seem crazy… but…"

She trailed off leaving Draco confused. What favor would she possible trust in him to perform?

"Ugh," she scoffed at herself, "I must be a lunatic," she huffed "Although… it's not like you could tell anyone -why you'd think anyone would be interested is beyond me- but no one would believe you anyway… it's just that insane…. But honestly, I think you're the only one mean enough to tell me the truth," she said with a grumble, "And let's face it, _you'd _be the one to ask about this sort of thing anyway… and what's worse," she continued to complain, "despite how much I love books, unfortunately I'm prominently a hands on learner…"

She gave Draco the distinct impression of one trying desperately to convince themselves.

"I just really want to know," she added dejectedly, "I need you to be honest."

Draco cocked an eyebrow. Whatever she thought she was doing, she had his attention.

"Alright…?" Draco said unsteadily, thoroughly befuddled now, "Let's have it then?"

In one fluid motion, she slipped his robe off her shoulders, suddenly standing before him in only her skirt.

Draco's jaw fell loosely towards the floor. A million different thoughts erupted in his mind simultaneously; had she gone mental in that painting? Just how much had she had to drink? Had she always been like this? A secret exhibitionist? But his thoughts couldn't survive. The situation was too surreal to even bother to try and make sense of it. He just shut down. And stared. She was amazing, her body curved in the most erotic way, but her face was bothered.

Hermione slightly stuck out a hip, and then piled her long curls messily on top of her head, "Tell me, how stupid do I look like this?" she asked, her voice steady and unemotional.

Draco's mouth was bone dry, "You don't look stupid," he managed to say airily. He wanted to ask her what the hell she was doing, but was afraid doing so would result in her putting clothes back. And if he knew one thing for sure about the insane scenario, it's that he didn't want her to cover up.

"Are you serious?" she inquired.

"Yes," he said, he was serious after all; the last thing she looked was "stupid".

She let her hair drop and then held her own breasts, teasingly covering her areoles and exaggerating her wonderfully perky cleavage. It was cute, the way she tried to give him a coy look, biting her bottom lip. He never imaged she could strike such classically erotic poses. She looked like a pin up.

Draco gulped, "That looks good too," he mustered.

Hermione seemed to scoff. "I always thought my shoulders were too pointy…" she thought out loud.

"Don't be stupid. They're not," Draco answered.

"And my ribs, do they show too much?"

"No," he said firmly, "They don't." He licked his lips and began to wonder if his arms and legs were really going numb. She was dizzying.

"And my breasts?" she finally asked, slowly revealing them again, a little shyness detectable instead of the forced bluntness she had been aiming so hard for.

"Perfect," he managed to whisper.

"They've become such a nuisance," she complained

"They're perfect," he insisted again, surprised at his own tone. But the idea of anyone bashing them angered him.

Hermione narrowed her eyes, "Well what's the worst part about me?"

Draco lifted an eyebrow, "Nothing," he said with a breathless shake of the head.

Hermione's shoulders shrunk with skepticism, "C'mon, I can handle it. From you it's expected. There's got to be something."

"There's nothing bad about you Granger," he said, still hypnotized by her gorgeous nakedness, "You're perfect."

"_Please_," she drawled, "There's no such thing as perfect."

"Well," he began slowly, wondering if he dared, "I suppose I can't really say for sure… you could lose the skirt, I could really tell you then."

Hermione seemed a bit reluctant for a second, losing the impersonal professionalism she had been trying so hard to maintain. Standing naked in front of someone could never be free of sexual overtones, no matter how "educational" you tried to be about it. Finally she shook her head and laughed with irritation, "What am I doing?" she wondered out loud.

"I have no idea," Draco practically laughed with lingering pleasant shock.

Hermione clutched her forehead in her palm with frustration.

"Hermione," he said her name softly, trying to tell her something she could benefit from, "You don't have to worry about anything, okay? You just need to learn to relax. When you_feel_ sexy, you'll know you're sexy."

Hermione looked forlorn, "But I'm afraid I won't ever feel sexy until I know I can turn someone on."

Draco scoffed, "You've turned me bloody on," he exasperated.

She looked at him skeptically.

Draco tilted his head back with frustration and groaned, "Never mind, I made that up completely," he drawled sarcastically, growing tired of trying to convince her.

But Hermione took a step closer to him, determination etched strikingly on her pretty face. Draco swallowed hard as she came nearer and nearer. Before he knew it she had her hands placed on his knees, and she was staring him challengingly in the eyes.

Draco felt tingles all over his body from her intense gaze. One hand began to slide up his thigh to the crotch of his pants.

She gasped when she felt his erection. She looked at him with disbelief.

"I told you," he whispered with a moan. Her touch ignited him. She had leaned over so much that they were practically mouth to mouth and her hair hung off of her shoulders. He could feel her breath on his face, it was shaky and heavy. Draco saw something significant yet subtle change on her face. Perhaps the realization of her power finally overcame her. Was she suddenly aware of the thick, palpable tension in the air? Arousal you could practically taste. Surely she must have thought he had seen a million girls naked, that this would be no big deal. But she had been wrong.

And now, she seemed curious. As is if now that she knew the effect she had on him… what else could she do?

"Sit on your hands," she said, and Draco slowly complied.

Thoughtfully, carefully, she climbed onto him, a knee on the side of each of his legs. She was hovering above him though, and he had never wanted to reach out and touch something so badly. Any inch of her skin; her cheek, her neck, her breast, even to curl his fingers into a lock of her hair. Damn her for making him sit on his hands.

"Does this make you… harder? When I sit like this?" she asked quietly, although Draco was certain she knew the answer by the look on his face, the heat radiating off his body.

Draco licked his lips and nodded.

"And… this…" she asked even more shyly, sliding her hands down her hair and then sensually over her breasts.

"Oh god," Draco responded, knowing she knew the answer by the surge beneath her.

She gave a small, yelp-like "oh" when she felt it, then smiled a little, "What's the hardest you've ever been?" she inquired, running a hand through his hair, studying him intently.

"I… I don't know…" he said, he couldn't think about it. He didn't want to think about it. No one else existed but her.

"C'mon," she whined insistently, lowering herself slightly into his lap, "You can tell me, I want to know. Was it something Pansy did? What was it?" Her chest and neck were right in front of his face, so teasingly close. He was overcome with intense urges. He didn't know how he was managing to keep his hands to himself. He wondered if she didn't know how he was either.

"Hermione," he said with a gasp, struggling with himself severely, "You know what you're doing right?"

"Not really," she answered with a strained giggle, and then finally sat on him completely.

Draco moaned and realized she must have been knickerless after her ordeal in the painting. All his strength was focused on remaining calm. He couldn't handle much more.

"You need to stop," he said warningly.

"Why?" she asked innocently.

"Because," he insisted, "I can't take this."

"What do you mean?" she dwelled.

"You know what I mean," he uttered with strain.

"Am I making you want me?" she whispered, giving the slightest grind against him.

Draco gasped with a lurch and then chewed his bottom lip. She had no idea how close he had come to ripping his hands out from beneath him, to grabbing her and throwing her down, taking her right there on the floor. It would be so easy; having no panties on all but convinced him it was a sign that that was what she must truly want as well. But that was absurd!

What _was_ she doing? Never in a million years would he think her capable of anything like _this_. Perhaps she was figuring out that confidence thing after all. And, of course, what a damned fast learner. He wondered if it was the heat of the moment, the aftermath of her illusion with Snape that was making her act in such a way. He could swear she was hot. That she underestimated what the effect of feeling his excitement would have on her own. That she was as aroused as she was making him. He could have her… if he wanted.

But how could he want Hermione Granger? And how could she want him? Even if they didn't hate each other, they barely knew each other. At least not well enough to end up in this impossible position. They only knew each other by reputation, by image. And that's how everyone else knew them as well. And they knew by the definition tacked onto their names that they were certainly not allowed to… to be doing what they were now doing with_each other_. Could he really make it go further?

"This is torture," he whispered.

Hermione lowered her head till they were forehead to forehead tiredly, was she perhaps waging the same inner battle?

His groin was bulging against his trousers. She was certainly failing now, he could sense she was enthralled by the feel of him, enjoying sitting on him, wanting to feel more of it. Her face was flushed, she grew quiet and undoubtedly unsure of what to do with the situation she created, her breath shaky.

Subtlety he lifted his hips upward, pushing his mound into her hot spot and when her lips parted to gasp with stimulated surprise he opportunely flicked his tongue into her mouth. Licking her tongue, she instinctively clasped her mouth around him. Straining his neck, he pressed his lips into hers and she let the pair of them sink back into the sofa, twirling their tongues together heatedly.

Her arms wrapped tightly around his neck as her straddle widened and she slid further up his thighs till her belly was pressed against his abs, her breasts against his chest. As carefully as he could, he slid his hands out from beneath him. Softly, slowly, he grazed under the hem of her skirt, his fingertips gliding lightly up the sides of her thighs to her ass as they continued to kiss.

She whimpered and wiggled, and Draco latched onto her hips and deepened their kiss, not wanting her to change her mind. Again he lifted his groin up against her, rubbing what she had done to him back into her. He could feel her shudder at the sensation. His hands slid slowly up the sides of her body, relishing in the silkiness of her skin before he cautiously reached the sides of her round breasts and teased her nipples with the tip of his thumbs, feeling them peak and stiffen with immense satisfaction and pleasure, having wanted achingly to touch her breasts from the very second she undressed.

She grabbed his hands with hers and froze, holding them still.

"What?" he whispered. He had a terrible feeling he knew what she was thinking. He frantically began kissing her neck, giving her a long, wet suck on her collarbone. She exhaled airily and Draco hoped desperately he stopped her from speaking. He had to keep her arousal stronger than her reason.

He drew the tip of his tongue slowly down in between her breasts and started kissing. He could feel her heavy panting by the time he took her hard nipple into his mouth, her breast rising and falling against his lips. He suckled so intensely she hissed and rolled her hips deeper into his pelvis, taking handfuls of his hair into her clutches.

"Oh Draco," she moaned, "I shouldn't be doing this," she gaped.

Draco smirked as much as one could with their tongue out, drawing circles around her nipple. Sure she was saying that, but she certainly wasn't telling him to stop.

"But you will anyway," his eyes said with arrogant assurance. He knew girls found him attractive, and once he got going, irresistible. That he was blessed with a natural magnetism. And once he started on them, they always let him finish.

"Oh," she moaned again, grinding herself as expertly as a professional lap dancer, "I must be barking mad…"

He smiled. He knew girls always had to say such things. For their own peace of mind. So later she could blame it on him. So that in the end he would be the one who didn't stop it. Be the instigator.

"Isn't this what you wanted?" he asked with icy manipulation, pinning the blame back. He cupped her face in his hands and pulled her face in for more kissing, "For me to _want_ you?" he spoke into her mouth.

Hermione's eyes were closed dreamily now, "Do you _want_ me?" she whispered.

"Oh yes," he whispered back, kissing her deeply and grazing her naked back with his hands, feeling her skin chill.

"…And what is it that you '_want'_exactly?" she delved in a surprisingly sexy voice. Draco broke their kiss to survey her with a raised eyebrow. Did Ms. Granger want to talk dirty? He could die with joy. He had to be careful; she was so new to it all.

"I want to do things to you," he said carefully, baiting her.

"Oh really?" she tried to ask cautiously, but her intrigue was obvious, "If I were to let you do one thing to me…" she began slowly.

And again Draco smirked, "let" him?

"…What would it be?"

Draco thought very, very carefully. Of course, automatically he was strategizing how it would be easiest to turn one thing into every thing…

He leaned in to the side of her face, sure to blow his hot breath on her neck as he acted like he was sharing a deep, dark secret, "To taste you," he said in a low husky voice.

He felt her quiver in his lap. The suggestion was too strong.

Although unsure and nervous, she slid sideways off his lap, propping her back against the arm of the sofa again. Draco, not missing a beat, not even to spare a second to relish in his triumphant persuasion, laid himself out and over her in one fluid motion. He stared her intently in the eyes even as he gave her breasts long, wet kisses of what surely seemed like goodbye, then moved slowly down her belly, showering her with hot, sporadic kisses.

Then forcibly yet delicately, he gripped her knees and pried them apart. She seemed to tense with nervousness or anticipation, and Draco just smirked. He lowered his head, teasing her with suspense - letting his hair tickle her inner thighs - and inhaling her warm feminine scent before taking in the view of her.

She was glorious and breathtaking. He was right in his assumptions, she glistened with arousal. He wanted to devour her instantly, but once again held himself back. He knew this was momentous for her, and he was not going let her down. He kissed her softly on her inner thigh, then again on the other. He was having his desired effect on her. She had subtlety opened her legs wider, her stomach taunt and chest heaving slowly.

After licking the point her upper leg met her groin he finally flicked her clitoris ever so lightly with the tip of his tongue.

She tightened even further and he heard her sharp hold of air. Then, catlike and deliberate, he tongued the entire outside of her core in one hot lick, deep and flat, and she shuddered with the shock of unknown delight.

But she wasn't the only one. He underestimated her innocence. She tasted so unbelievingly sweet and pure; he uncontrollably repeated his lick, then several more excruciating times.

Her response was nothing but encouraging, her hips seemed to yearn upward, eager to meet his tongue. He marveled at the slick silkiness of her delicate skin. Her private depths and velvety folds were like heaven to his mouth. The flavor of her made him tremble. He traced around her clit expertly, working her up by contrasting the sensations of different areas. He was going to give her the entire experience. He peered up from between her legs, and saw her eyes screwed up tight, her hands sometimes messing, sometimes clutching at the root of her curls.

Finally he captured the swollen, pink mound that was her stimulated and waiting clit into his lips and sucked evenly. He watched with satisfaction as her mouth dropped and she gasped with pleasure.

"Oh Draco," she murmured, her fingertips gliding up and down her torso, causing the tingles he felt already reverberating through her to continue their ripple effect.

He could even discern the soft throbbing and clenching nerves of her delicious pussy against his mouth, which was now even more glossed with her sex. He released the suck he had on her, and began flicking her ferociously on the peak of her fragile bud.

She screamed at the sudden intensity and bucked her hips up violently. He grabbed her and held her down, feeling her squirm and cry out his name with pleasure. She wrapped her legs around his head in response to his pin, writhing around on the sofa. He was able to grip her legs and keep her from smothering him with his retaliatory strength, his work unaffected. He was ecstatic by the vigorous and almost combative response, loving a whole body experience.

"Draco," she screamed, a tone of longing in her voice.

"Hermione," he answered in tone.

"You feel so good…" she murmured unfinished.

"Do you want more?" he asked huskily, hot breath blowing lightly against her, hoping he made her long for what he had been leaving out.

"Yes!" she insisted.

Draco wanted to read in between the lines of her throes. He wanted her to want something specifically. He wanted to hear her say it.

"What do you want Hermione?" he asked icily, "Tell me."

Hermione seemed to sigh with frustration but Draco knew her desire would override her embarrassment.

"I want you," she began with a steamed whisper, "to fuck me with your tongue."

Draco shuddered intensely and almost came in his pants. The words came flickering out of her mouth with such erotic and ravenous suggestion and he hadn't expected the effect on his body, on his own arousal.

But he miraculously forged on, the motivation to give her what she wanted reason enough to keep it together.

He plunged his tongue into her entrance. He was deaf to her moans and whimpers; her hot, sugary insides drowned out the rest of the world. The heat and softness was indescribable and he uncontrollably began sliding his tongue in and out in wet, massaging motions.

"Oh god," she cried out, pushing herself instinctively against him still. He didn't mind. He wanted as much of her in his mouth as possible. She had a certain succulent sweetness he had never known before.

He continued penetrating her with his tongue like she so erotically asked, licking as thoroughly as he could and lapping at her private insides. Her whole body was thrashing up and down; she was clutching the sofa cushions. She was flushed all over, practically sweating with the heat he was building within her.

"Draco," she murmured again. He could tell by her desperation she needed him to give her release. He withdrew and felt her vibrate from the tickling friction and then he began lapping ferociously at her clit again.

She began moaning rhythmically, her cries grow louder and faster as he persisted.

"Draco," she whimpered, her cheeks burning red, "I'm going to come."

She gripped the sofa in even tighter fists when he refused to cease and groaned long and deep.

"Oh god!" she cried, "Ooh!"

Her back was arched, reaching for the ceiling. Her whole body was trembling. "I'm coming!" she screamed, "Oh god I'm coming."

Satisfaction engulfed him as he reveled in his ongoing accomplishment. He was not going to stop yet. She was still orgasming on his mouth, bucking and vibrating with pleasure - pleasure from him.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," she continued to cry incoherently.

It was an odd thing to have your mouth tired. His jaw was aching and his tongue was burning. But he had never wanted to see through the satisfaction of a partner so completely before. He wasn't sure how, but he managed to flick her clit even faster, with even more pressure, mustering the last reserves of his endurance.

Upon feeling him intensify, her babbling finally stopped she gasped in the wordless, airless summit of her climax, not able to take any more.

Her back came crashing back down to the sofa -and her pelvis, which she had been forcing hospitably upward in the urge of her orgasm, collapsed in a recline as well- releasing Draco from his wet, massaging lip lock.

Taking a much needed breath and wiping his mouth from her wetness and his own saliva with his forearm, he relaxed his neck and upper body comfortably between her legs, resting his head on her bellybutton. He could feel with immense pleasure of the aftereffects as her tingles subsided and her breath returned to normal.

But his pleasant reveling was quickly disrupted by the unsatisfied yearning in his own body. He was aching with stiffness. His dick was being pulled towards her like gravity. All those girls' complaints were true, sometimes it was as though it really had a mind of its own.

But while his body was certain Draco was amazed to find his mind was not. He watched Hermione catch her breath, her body slowly stopping its shaking. She was like putty. He could do it, like he wanted to since she initiated the whole ordeal. Like he aimed to when he convinced her to let him eat her pussy. To get her pleasure drunk then fuck her silly. It would be so easy. She wouldn't have the capacity to reason right now. And oh, how she would like what he would do.

But it was Hermione Granger. Virginal and pure. Spoken for, claimed. The war may be over but the sides were still there. She would never forgive herself for giving her virginity to him. This was no painting, this was real.

But was he really supposed to care? _She_ came on to _him_. She would have no one but herself to blame. It wasn't his problem. And he wanted it so bad. Which was also her own damn fault.

Merlin, he was enraged with confliction. His loins all but screaming to enter her, pulling him, begging him. But he couldn't tear his eyes away from her face. She laid out before him, eyes closed delicately and still smiling and humming sweetly to herself, enjoying the aftermath of her first orgasm. She was so innocent and unsuspecting…

And then she opened her eyes, and gazed into his.

She propped up onto her elbows.

"Show me how to make you feel good _that way_," she whispered.

Draco's violent indecision melted away and he was overcome with relief, with amazement. She had just received the greatest pleasure she had ever known, and instead of conniving ways to feel that way again all she was concerned about was sharing it with another. She was so fair, so generous, so sweet.

But this realization was gone in the blink of an eye. The offer to his member was immediately accepted, and his mind, not wanting to dwell, not wanting to find anything wrong with it, conceded.

In an instant he slid further up her body, straddling just below her breasts and she was surprisingly ready.

She curled up to meet him, cupping his butt with a hand and assessing the jutting appendage in front of her face.

"Like this?" she asked shyly, sticking her tongue out slowly, giving him a light, hot lick on his tip.

Draco shuddered, "Yes," he confirmed, "More."

She complied, licking softly, the hand not propping her up caressing his ass softly. He was just about to tell her, but then she did it on her own. He could only take so much teasing, and she began twirling her tongue around the entire outside of his tip.

"Oh yes," he hissed, feeling his whole body tingle. Her playful little tongue, her soft, warm lips, so pink and innocent like bubblegum. She was looking up at him, eye to eye, through long hazy eyelashes. He shuddered again.

"Are you okay?" he asked, stunned by the question coming from his lips. But this was all new to her… he wanted her to be comfortable.

Hermione nodded.

"Let me know…" he began, again shocked at himself, "…if it's too much."

Hermione nodded again, smiled a little and licked him again. Then she twirled around him some more, growing hesitant upon noticing him clench and flex.

"Now put it in your mouth," he whispered.

The heat, the pressure, of her soft, hot mouth was overwhelming, and her lips formed the most perfect ring around his cock, blocking blood flow, letting his nerve endings engorge with sensation. And she began tonguing the head inside her mouth, massaging deeply, a look of hesitation on her face. Surely she had never done anything like this before. But she was amazing at it. So naturally pleasing.

Draco moaned and her eyes smiled. Draco just smirked surreally. He loved the way it looked from where he was, apart of him hidden in that pretty little face.

He reached back and took her hand, placing it lightly on his shaft, and she encircled it delicately. He gave her a small nod, and she slid the ring her finger and thumb made from his base up to her mouth, and then she firmly, evenly, slid her lips and hand down his shaft.

"Ooooh," Draco sighed with relief, feeling his dick quiver and quake in response.

"Is this good?" she wondered worriedly, pulling back for brief reassurance.

"Oh god yes," he uttered hurriedly, "please don't stop."

She gave him a long lick up and down before putting him back in her mouth, growing less and less shy and unsure about holding him in her hand, about spit, about rubbing her lips into him.

She sucked more of him in, then went back to his tip, then up his shaft, then back, then up, over and over as she developed her stride with increasing confidence. It was euphoric, watching himself disappear into her gorgeous mouth.

"Oh yeah," Draco hissed, "suck my cock baby," he gushed, unable to help himself.

He grew nervous for a second, wondering if she'd find that demeaning. That's not what he intended.

But it was all for naught, because to his surprise she only seemed more encouraged. Perhaps all she really needed was the reassurance that when it came down business she was still as desirable as the imagination led to believe. But she was better than the imagination. And she finally seemed to understand that. She slid up and down his erection with more ease and naturalness.

And as she continued to relax - grow more comfortable to the large, long presence in such an inappropriate place - she sucked further and further down his shaft.

Draco was engulfed in hopefulness, just the thought made him surge with pleasure. Could she? It would be too amazing.

She continued to look him intently in the eyes. He loved that. It was so empowering.

Then he hissed again, watching with anticipation as she really lunged forward, taking immense amounts of him in.

She was about an inch from all of him and she seemed perfectly comfortable.

"Oh god," he moaned when she did it again, "How far can you go?" he asked airlessly.

Hermione gave him a determined look and slowly, making sure to relax, carefully slid her mouth along him, then strained just a little bit further down, engulfing his complete dick into her mouth, her nose pressing into his pubic bone.

"Oh, my, god," he moaned, reveling in the pleasure of every inch of him getting a chance to feel her juicy, warm lips, a chance to be massaged by her wondrous tongue.

She pulled off of him to catch a breath of air and giggled with shy triumph.

"You're fucking amazing," he moaned.

"You like it?"

All he could do was groan in response, there were no words.

She laughed at his response, feeling very confident now, and began pumping him up and down with her hand and focusing on his ultra sensitive tip, sliding it in and out of her mouth much faster than before.

Draco began to tremble; the pressure was building now, his balls tightening. But he didn't want it to end. He strained to enjoy it longer, swimming in the pleasure of his building orgasm. Every nerve ending in his body was escalating to that magic moment. It was going to feel so fucking good, to explode with ecstasy.

'Fuck,' he thought suddenly, realizing that he was unsure how this was going to end. What was she going to do? Swallowing was a bit extreme for someone so new, and who how she felt about that… but spitting was just so juvenile.

"Hermione," he whispered shakily, "I'm going to come."

God, why was he warning her? What had gotten into him?

But it was too late. There was already a look of intimidation on her face.

Draco tried to conceal his grimace, "Do you not want me to?" he asked painfully.

"No, no," she began, panting from the interruption at such a crucially intense time -much like himself- trying to be nice but obviously worried, "I just… I don't know about… I don't think I…"

"…want me to do it in your mouth?" Draco finished.

She must have detected his disappointment, and she bit her lip guiltily, "I want you to finish," she pleaded, "But, yeah, I don't…" she trailed off, knowing she was contradicting herself, "I mean, is there any other way?"

"I could do it on your tits," Draco blurted, his cock throbbing uncomfortably, angry with the pause, causing him to carelessly think out loud and then instantly he felt terrified.

But Hermione just looked at him intently, "Al-alright," she agreed slowly, and Draco tried to hide his shock, "Just tell me when," she said.

And before Draco knew it, she was gently, working her way, vigorously sucking and pumping his shaft, clenching him with surprising and relieving pleasure.

Incapable of thought, overcome by the sensations she drew out of him, he thought nothing of the absurdity, but only the insatiably arousing notion of marking her, claiming her in this moment, as his own. It appealed to him on such a raw, instinctual level. And she was going to let him do it.

His breath grew rapid as the pressure mounted, his eyelids fluttering uncontrollably as all the muscles in his body tightened.

"Right now," he groaned through gritted teeth.

Hermione released him from her mouth, but her hand remained wrapped around him, and he cupped around it, guiding her strokes.

Her chest was heaving with anxious breath and her face was transfixed on his member. She smiled shyly as he threw his head back in ecstasy and yelled out with pleasure, feeling the fluid rush through him and emerge with pure bliss.

Hermione gasped with airy amusement and astonished delight as he spilled out most intimately onto her. She watched him climax with such attentiveness and fascination. He in turn watched her flush with excitement. But her surprising enthusiasm towards such an act was nothing compared to his own. He had never participated in anything so satisfying, so ecstatic, so god damn orgasmic. _His_ seed all over _her_ beautiful, delicious tits.

And then they just looked at each other, panting for oxygen. Tingling electricity still coursing through the air. Dumbstruck smiles strewn on their mouths and subtly shocked expressions across their faces.

Hermione's hand drew to her chest and she absentmindedly, yet so deliberately, drew delicate circles with her dainty fingertips in the substance now spread out on her chest, as if needing to be sure it was really there, that she really let him do_that_. Something so extreme, so graphic. And that she liked it. And leaving Draco, all but stupefied, liking that _she liked it_more than she could ever imagine.


End file.

Harry Potter, Drama, Romance