Spoilers: All four books

Summary: After the death of Lucius Malfoy, Draco Malfoy takes over his place in the
Death Eater’s inner circle. Draco’s first task is to get Hermione Granger as a pawn by
seducing her and getting her pregnant with his child. The need for siring a child is to ensure
Hermione’s permanent bond to the Dark Side.  It is not an easy task to begin with, but
emotions, pride, and Ron make things even more complicated. Worse, Voldemort has
other horrible plans for Hermione and the child which nobody knows, not even Draco.
If the plans push through, it will be the ultimate downfall of Harry Potter and the Light Side.

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK
Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic
Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no
copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

A/N: Please review so I’ll know if my story was able to entertain you even if for just a
little while. Flames are welcome so I can improve my story.

Content warning: This story is rated R as a whole. This chapter is one of the reasons
why this story is rated R. This chapter has sexual content.  Don’t worry—this chapter
and this fic is still within the bounds of the R rating. However, it remains as that—this
is for mature readers only. Be reminded that the characters are older here, so they
deal with mature stuff. If you do not like to see the characters that way, then do not
read this. You’ve been warned.

Sometimes, people think they know how they feel about each other but they
don’t until they do.
–from ‘My Best Friend’s Wedding’

Dark Child

by bohemian vixen
 
 

Chapter 7
 

Severus Snape scowled at his reflection in the mirror. He wasn’t used to seeing himself
looking like this. Heck, he had never seen himself looking like this, not even in his imagination.

“You should try looking like that always. It suits you,” crooned the mirror to him.

Shut up. I’ll break you to pieces,” Severus snarled while patting his ponytail a bit
self-consciously. Personally, he liked his hair the way it was—loose and free. But
Dumbledore said that if he wouldn’t tie his hair in a ponytail, he would have to have
it cut short so he could look like an average middle-aged muggle. Severus would
never have his hair cut short, so he opted for the ponytail grudgingly.

“I was just giving you a compliment,” the mirror reasoned in a very small voice,
apparently afraid of Severus.

Severus quickly reached for his wand inside the deep pocket of his slacks. He pointed
the tip of his wand at the mirror. “One more peep from you, and you’ll know how well
I keep my word,” he muttered darkly.  He then pocketed his wand again with a bit of
difficulty. He hardly wore slacks, because he preferred wearing robes. He was wearing
muggle clothes today—black slacks, charcoal-gray long-sleeved polo, and black leather
shoes—only at Dumbledore’s insistence. Severus was going to a muggle place today,
and he had to look the part of a muggle. He looked back at the mirror again for one glance,
checking to make sure that he convincingly looked like a muggle. Fortunately, the mirror
kept quiet.

He looked at his muggle watch. It was half-past three already. He went out of his sleeping
quarters in the dungeons and started out for the school’s front doors.

Severus was going to visit #2 Magnolia Crescent—a muggle place—for business matters.
This was where Arabella Figg lived, just a couple of streets where the Dursleys lived.
Arabella was sent as a muggle to Magnolia Crescent by Dumbledore after Harry was left
with the Dursleys almost seventeen years ago to provide the protection Harry needed.
Hiding in the muggle world was far easier than hiding in the wizarding world. In the muggle
world, a spell can work stronger because there was no magic in the air that could interfere.
Also, Dumbledore believed that hiding was what Harry needed the most before he reached
the appropriate starting age for Hogwarts. If Harry grew up in the wizarding world, he
could possibly grow up being a spoiled brat, because he was famous and everything. In
Severus’s opinion, however, the Potter kid was as spoiled as a kid could get. He always
got away with any trouble he brewed up. And not only did the Potter kid get away, he
even got rewards for breaking rules.

Even after Harry turned eleven and left for Hogwarts, Arabella stayed at Magnolia
Crescent to continue providing protection for Harry during summers. And it was not
only Harry who she was looking after. Unaware to the Dursleys, Arabella looked
after them everyday even though Harry was at school. And so for almost seventeen
years Arabella had worked undercover.

He sighed heavily. Arabella was not the only one who was working undercover. He
was, too. After the tragic Triwizard Tournament three years ago, he did what he had
to do—return to Voldemort, pretending to be a follower who was willing to spy on
Dumbledore. But in reality, it was the other way around—he was sent by Dumbledore
to spy on the Dark Side. It was difficult to convince Voldemort that he was still a
faithful servant. Severus was never accepted again in Voldemort’s inner circle of Death
Eaters, but nevertheless, he was recognized as his follower…or was he?  Severus
found the way Voldemort treated him as strange. The Dark Lord didn’t give him
information or tasks, didn’t call him for meetings or anything of the sort, and didn’t
tell him of plans. The Dark Lord didn’t even ask information from him, considering
that Severus was supposed to be spying on Dumbledore. It was very rare when
Voldemort would summon Severus—and whenever the Dark Lord would summon him,
it was just to administer the Cruciatus Curse on him, for the supposedly unsatisfactory
jobs Severus did. He smirked. What jobs? The Dark Lord didn’t give him jobs.
Voldemort was just using that as an excuse to put him under the Cruciatus Curse. It was
as though he was just a Death Eater by name, and not by virtue. Sometimes, he felt that
Voldemort knew that he was a fraud, and that the Dark Lord was just playing with him.

Severus didn’t want to think of what Voldemort did to his ‘toys’ after getting bored with
them, but an image of Igor Karkaroff floated in his mind. He remembered how Igor tried
to flee into hiding, but Voldemort caught him. After that, the Dark Lord subjected Karkaroff
to the Imperius Curse. For a time, he treated Karkaroff as a form of amusement, subjecting
him to humiliating gymnastics. And then Karkaroff died. It had been a headline in the Daily
Prophet—Igor Karkaroff committed suicide by cutting himself up into pieces, and his body
parts were strewn all around his bloodied disembodied torso. But Severus knew that it had
not been suicide. In the end, Voldemort used the same Imperius Curse to force Karkaroff to
kill himself, slowly, painfully, and brutally.

He was lost in his thoughts that he didn’t notice that he had reached the front door already.
He pushed open the huge oak door, and stepped outside the flight of stone steps. It was a
bright and sunny day, and many students were at the grassy grounds and lawns of the
school, walking and playing around as if it was a Sunday picnic. He gulped nervously. He
was not supposed to go out under the sun. He knew the consequences, but he dared to
risk using the potion to protect him from the rays if the sun which would be fatal to him.
The potion worked at all the times he had used it before, during the rare times he went
outside during daylight. Still, today was exceptionally sunny. He shook his head. He made
the Sunshield Potion strong this time. And he was an expert when it came to potions. He
had trust in his own abilities.

“Severus, where are you off to in those clothes? And in broad daylight, too!” An incredulous
voice cut through Severus’s trail of thoughts.

Severus had been gazing afar at the school grounds, and then he abruptly looked directly
in front of him upon hearing the voice. He saw Remus Lupin standing before him a couple
of steps down. Lupin was dressed in simple black robes and was carrying a suitcase. On
his face was a mixture of surprise and amusement upon seeing Severus in such a get-up.

Severus looked at him with disdain. ‘He just has to bring it up,’ he sarcastically thought.
Lupin had found out about him the night Dumbledore talked to both of them after the
Whomping Willow incident way back in their school days. It was the main reason why
Severus kept quiet about Lupin being a werewolf all these years.

“I see that you’re back from your Auror-training seminar from Spain, Lupin,” he drawled.

“Oh yes I am. It has been a busy week, but it was good meeting other Aurors and trainees
from around the world, because we all need to work together,” Lupin said pleasantly. Then
he looked at the school grounds. “I tried to get back before four in the afternoon so I can at
least teach the Hufflepuffs today, but it seems that classes are suspended. Why?” Lupin asked.

Severus never grew to like Lupin even after three years of working together for the Light
Side, but he remembered what Dumbledore said earlier to Minerva and him. They alone—
Dumbledore, Minerva, or Severus—should explain everything to Lupin as soon as he came
back from his seminar. So with a heavy heart, he explained to Lupin everything that
happened earlier in the morning.

And as a conclusion, Severus said, “I am off to Arabella Figg. It turns out that she has
to stay undercover even after Potter graduates. She needs to stay there to look after the
Dursleys, in case things with the Dark Lord got worse. I’m also going to check on the
neighbourhood, to be on the safe side.  I have to go now; I have to catch the train to
London.”

Lupin set down his suitcase on the step where he was standing on. “Why don’t you just
Apparate as soon as you get out the school?” he asked curiously.

“Dumbledore thinks that it’s better to travel without magic so I can make observations
of the surroundings. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have better things to do,” Severus said
impatiently and rather unpleasantly. He started to walk down the steps.

Lupin stepped aside and he picked up his suitcase. “Pardon me, Severus,” he called to
Severus’s retreating back. Severus didn’t look back. Lupin shook his head. He and
Severus could never be friends. Lupin didn’t expect it anyway, even though they were
more alike than Severus would ever want to accept to himself. He walked up the steps
and opened the oak door, his thoughts wandering to what Severus said to him about
what happened. He would talk to Dumbledore later.
 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Many students took advantage of the free day and of the bright sunshine. Almost
everyone was hanging out at the vast school grounds. Small circles of friends dotted
the lush green grass of the sloping lawns. Some younger students—probably first
years—were playing tag. Others were flying low on their broomsticks, just hovering
over the grounds. Most people were wearing muggle clothes. It was a lovely, clear,
breezy day.

Hermione leaned against a wall, feeling the wind pass her face. Ron and Harry were
sitting in an Indian-sitting position on the grass, playing wizarding chess. Ginny looked
over Harry’s shoulders, cheering on Harry to win, which of course would not happen
because Ron was a chess expert. The other Gryffindors were within their immediate
vicinity, talking and minding their own businesses. Some students from other houses
were also milling around near the unofficial territory the Gryffindors staked.

Hermione watched and listened as Dean played a muggle guitar, surrounded by his male
friends and female groupies. Dean was a good guitarist, and he played the songs of the
popular wizarding rock band, the Dragon’s Breath.  After a few minutes, her attention
turned to her friends.

“Really, only the two of you will play chess outdoors. I can’t believe I’ll be saying this,
but why don’t you two play Quidditch? It’s a lovely day. You can always play chess
even during winter,” Hermione said to Ron and Harry, who didn’t mind what she said.
They were lost in their own chess world.

Ginny laughed lightly and looked at Hermione. “That’s the same game they were playing
inside the common room after lunch. They don’t want to break it up,” she explained. She
tucked a strand of flaming red hair behind her ear when a light gust of wind blew.

“That’s still the same game? That was about more than two hours ago,” Hermione said
incredulously.

“It can go on forever,” Ron said, his brows furrowed in deep thought. “You’re getting
good, Harry,” he continued. “Have you been giving him chess lessons these past few
months, Ginny?” He looked at Ginny suspiciously. Ginny laughed again.

“Of course I have. He’s my boyfriend,” Ginny rubbed it in. She smiled at Ron’s pained
expression.

Ron winced a little. “Don’t remind me, please,” he muttered. His eyes then focused
again on the chessboard.

Harry suddenly let out a little whoop. “Aha! Checkmate, Ron!!!” Harry said gleefully all of a
sudden. Harry’s green eyes lit up. Ginny and even Hermione looked eagerly at the chessboard.

“You moron! It’s not yet checkmate!” Ron’s king cried shrilly as it indignantly trudged to a
safe square. This time, Ron let out a little whoop. “You missed that, Harry,” Ron said excitedly,
pointing to the square where his king was now standing.

“Oh,” was all Harry said.

Ron looked up to Hermione. “Told you it could go on forever,” Ron said to her. Then he
noticed that Hermione was standing. “Maybe you want to sit down on the grass?” Ron asked.

Hermione shook her head. “I can’t sit down, Ron. I’m wearing a short dress, in case you
haven’t noticed,” Hermione said exasperatedly. Leave it to Ron to never notice things like
that about her. Maybe he had stopped noticing—again—that she was a girl. Any other
guy would have noticed her. The only consolation she had was that she knew that more
than a few guys turned their heads to look at her.

‘Malfoy would have noticed it if he was here…drat Hermione, stop thinking about
that ferret-boy! You’re just asking for confusion. You’ve managed to put him out of
your mind relatively well so far.  Hmmm…come to think of it, where is he?
Hermione, I said stop it!!!’ She berated herself as her eyes stubbornly defied her will,
scanning the grounds, looking for Malfoy. There were Slytherins lounging on the grass, but
Malfoy was nowhere in sight. She felt a pang which horribly felt like disappointment. Then,
in the corner of her eye, she saw Pansy showing off a dragonhide coat to her gang of
Slytherin girls. Pansy’s friends were fawning all over the coat. ‘That must be outrageously
expensive. I wonder if Malfoy gave it to her?’  she bitterly thought. Suddenly Hermione
felt a vaguely painful pang which she could not explain.

Ron turned to look at Hermione again. He must have finally noticed that Hermione was
wearing a short pastel-pink spaghetti-strapped sundress—and that she looked very good
in it—because he turned bright red after looking over Hermione. Hermione missed that,
because she was thinking about Malfoy in spite of herself.

“I like your dress, Hermione. Can I borrow it from you sometime? All I have are jeans
and shorts,” Ginny said, who was wearing a pair of khaki shorts and white sleeveless top.

“Sure! Anytime, Gin,” Hermione said to her closest female friend. She smiled distractedly.

Harry turned to look at Ginny and said enthusiastically, “You in a dress? I’ll bet you’ll
look great in that. I can almost imag—” But Harry was violently cut off by Ron’s protest.

“Harry, no perverted thoughts are allowed,” Ron drawled threateningly.

Whatever Harry was about to say as a response was forever left unsaid, because they
heard an excited shriek from a small group near them.

“Oh my God! Is that Snape?! Oh my God, I didn’t know he could be remotely handsome!”
Lavender said in utter disbelief, pointing towards a figure on the stone steps in front of the school.

“Where, where?” Parvati squealed excitedly, in between giggles. She stood up from the grass
and looked over Lavender’s shoulder.

“There, look! Girls, come see!!! He’s wearing a ponytail!!!” Lavender yelled in delight, pulling
Susan Bones, who just happened to walk by with Sally-Anne Perks. Lavender let out a low
unlady-like whistle.

“Hey, the other guy’s Professor Lupin! He’s back!” Parvati squealed again. Lupin, despite
his werewolf reputation, had become known as the students’ favourite professor. He returned
to Hogwarts to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts when Harry’s batch was in fifth year,
and he had been teaching the same class ever since. The Defense Against the Dark Arts
teaching slot had been seemingly cursed before, but Lupin had no problems about it—except
occasionally getting a few sneers and jeering remarks from the Slytherins—ever since he
returned.

It didn’t take long for students to gather around Lavender and Parvati. Almost everyone was
happy to find out that Lupin returned after his week-long seminar. And everyone was curious
about Snape wearing a ponytail. Even Ron and Harry abandoned their overdrawn chess game
to take a peek. Of course, no one dared to come up to Snape, so all they did was stare and
gossip from afar.

Soon everyone was talking about Lupin’s return, and Snape’s outfit. However, the attention
was focused more on Snape. Snape was always severe-looking (which suited his first name
perfectly) and always wore plain black robes. Seeing him in muggle clothes and sporting a
ponytail was amusing, surprising, and slightly disturbing.

“I wonder why Snape looks like that?” Seamus wondered aloud, straining his eyes to get a
better look.

“Is the world coming to an end?” Ron said.

“It’s his business,” Hermione hissed. If Snape caught the students gawking at him, he could
become really mad, and all blame would fall on Hermione, as she was Head Girl. In her head,
she can almost hear Snape say, “Why don’t you tell your fellow students that it’s rude to stare?!
One hundred points from Gryffindor, for you being an incompetent Head Girl! And detention
until even after you graduate!”

Fortunately, Snape was too busy talking to Professor Lupin to notice anything.

Hermione also wondered what Snape would say if he knew that some of his students thought
that he was hot. She wrinkled her nose in disgust. The Potions master didn’t look half bad, but
he was still Snape.

After a while, Lupin entered the school through the oak door and Snape walked down the stone
steps. The students started to mind their own businesses again after the two professors parted ways.

It seemed that a lot of students—mostly male—wanted to become Aurors after graduation. A
whole lot of them—Harry and Ron included—started talking about going up to Lupin at the very
moment to ask about the Auror-training seminar. But they decided against it because they had
the foresight to think that they should leave Lupin alone first because he needed to rest.

Ron and Harry resumed their chess game. Ginny returned to watching the chess match over
Harry’s shoulder, and Hermione again leaned against the wall, watching the scenes in front to
of her idly.   Harry and Ron might be completely immersed in chess to notice anything, but at
least she had Ginny to talk to. However, a few minutes later, Liesl—Ginny’s brunette,
willowy friend and roommate—came up to them.

“Hey guys! I’ll borrow Ginny first!” Liesl said with a laugh. She tapped Ginny on the shoulder.
“Mia’s got some teen muggle magazines. The mags are kinda weird coz the pictures don’t move
at all. She’s gonna show them  to us. Kathleen and Patty are there already. Oh Gin, you gotta
see them! There’s a gorgeous muggle, I think her name’s Nicole Kidman, in the mag, and she
looks just like you! She could pass off as your older sister!” Liesl said to Ginny while pointing
to a small group of girls to the left. “Hey, Hermione, wanna join us, too? You gotta see the
mags,” Liesl pleasantly said to Hermione. Ginny stood up excitedly. “Hey people, I’m gonna
join Liesl and the gang first. See you later at dinner!” Harry looked up from the chessboard to
look at Ginny and gave her hand a small squeeze before focusing his attention back to the game.
Ron only grunted, and Hermione nodded. However, Ginny grabbed Hermione’s hand. “C’mon,
Hermione, let’s check out those magazines,” Ginny said. Hermione didn’t budge.

“Thanks Gin, Liesl, but I’ll just stay here,” Hermione said with a smile at both girls who she
thought of as her little sisters.

Ginny stood on her spot and looked at Hermione. “You sure? Harry and Ron will bore you to
death,” she said with a roll of her eyes at the drawn-out chess game. Neither Harry nor Ron spoke
up to defend themselves, obviously immersed in the miniature kingdom of their chessboard.

“Sure. I’ve been bored to death many times by these two guys before—you know, when they
play chess and talk about Quidditch—and I‘ve managed to resurrect every time,” Hermione
said dryly.

Ginny laughed out loud. “You can always join us if you change your mind, Herm!” Ginny called
back as she and Liesl began to walk away.

Hermione looked after the two girls, and part of her wanted to join them, but she knew that
she would just be unwittingly left out. Ginny was Hermione’s closest female friend and confidante,
and so Ginny’s friends became her friends, too. However, Hermione knew that she didn’t really
and completely belong in their group. Ginny and her friends were from the same class and they
were roommates. There were things that they could not help but talk about which she couldn’t
relate to. Another reason was that Hermione was labelled as part of The Trio. Most people—
mostly the younger ones—could not help but look at Harry, Ron, and Hermione with, even at
the very least, smallest bit of awe. A few people looked at them with hatred (and possibly,
envy)—like the Slytherins—but most of the time, Hermione could feel that most people put her
and her two closest friends up on a pedestal. She remembered when she first talked to Liesl and
Mia, who were two of Ginny’s closest friends. They had been very intimidated of Hermione,
which frustrated her to no end.  It took a while to convince them that she was not as uptight and
serious as they thought she was, but her being a prefect then a Head Girl could never really make
them totally at ease with her.

Her gaze wandered to her right, where Parvati and Lavender were talking animatedly with
some Ravenclaw girls.  Hermione was grateful that at least, that after through the years of
being together, the students from her year treat her more or less as an equal. She could now
say that the Gryffindor girls from her year were her friends. Of course, she was Head Girl,
so students would always be a bit cautious around her and would always try to be in their
best behaviour.

Hermione could not help but smile bitterly at the irony. She was definitely one of the most
popular girls in school, but because of reasons that were entirely different from the reasons
behind the popularity of the Patil twins and Lavender Brown. Padma, Parvati, and Lavender
were popular for being beautiful. Parvati and Lavender were more well-known with their
love of partying and fun. When Parvati and Lavender would get into trouble, people find it
amusing and in-character.

On the other hand, Hermione was popular because she was the class brain, the Head Girl,
and the best friend of two of the most sought-after guys in school (and one of whom was the
Boy Who Lived, no less). If she got into trouble, people would make a big fuss over it. She
was not supposed to do wrong. From an objective point of view, even Hermione could not
help but think that it was indeed rather boring.

‘I have girl friends, but they’re not what I can call my own group. It’s The Trio that I’m
part of, everyone thinks that. I love Harry and Ron to death, but it would have been nice
if I had a set of all-female friends all this time in Hogwarts,’ she thought wistfully. Would
I have enjoyed giggling and gossiping about the latest fashions? Would I have had fun
spending nights having little slumber parties up in the dormitories? Would I have had
time for dates and less time in the library? She had always thought that she would not, but
now she really did not know. Maybe I would not be as clueless about boys and men. Maybe
I would have been smart enough not to be a pawn to anyone’s game, she bitterly thought
as a smirking image of Malfoy suddenly formed in her head. Then a naked Malfoy materialized
in her mind. She felt her cheeks grow hot and she shook her head to get rid of the unwelcome
image. She concentrated her attention on Harry and Ron.

The chess game was more potent than the Dementor’s Kiss, it seemed to Hermione.  Harry
and Ron looked like two statues, for they were each deep in concentration and oblivious of the
surroundings. Hermione decided that she should join the other girls now, and spare herself of
regrets. Regrets only hurt.

Hermione walked down the grassy slopes and approached the Parvati’s circle. Hermione
spotted an empty foldable stool at Lavender’s right. She could here snippets of the animated
conversation—“rather sexy”, “has potential”, “slimy grease-head” “enigmatic”, “take a bath”,
“horrible git”.

“Hey, can I sit here?” Hermione asked brightly to no one in particular to the noisy group.

Lavender looked up. She was sitting in and Indian position on the grass, wearing tight and
flared blue jeans and a blue halter top, her blond hair in loose waves around her shoulders.
As usual, she looked gorgeous. Her blue eyes brightened upon seeing Hermione. “Herm!
Sure you can sit there. Lisa was sitting on it because she didn’t want to have grass stains on
her white pants. But now she said that her head aches and she wanted to take a nap first,”
she said in a bubbly manner.

“What were you just talking about?” Hermione asked as she flicked a speck of dust from
the hem of her dress.

“We were just talking about Snape. As I said, he’s rather sexy and he is enigmatic,” Lavender
said emphatically with a glare at Parvati, as if daring her to oppose the declaration.

“Well, he has lots of potential, as I said earlier. I just wish he’d take a bath more often. His
hair makes him look like a slimy grease-head. Admit it, Lavvie,” Parvati answered. All the girls
giggled, even Lavender and Hermione.

“A ponytail suits him best. He may be a horrible git, as you said earlier, Parvati, but those
clothes he’s wearing show off his toned body,” Mandy Brocklehurst said as she flipped her
staright raven hair over her shoulder. Mandy was a pretty Ravenclaw, and usually quiet and
rather bookish. It was kind of surprising to hear her talk like that.

All pairs of eyes stared at Mandy. Mandy began to blush. “We—ell, he’s not that far from
us for me not to notice that—that…aw, c’mon, gimme a break,” Mandy stammered, her face
looking like the setting sun. There was another round of laughter from the girls.

“I still think that Snape’s a horrible git. He’s merciless! And he always favour Slytherins,”
Hermione piped up. She heard Mandy sigh in relief now that the attention was not focused
on her.

Parvati nodded at what Hermione said. “Yeah, he’s so unfair, especially to Neville. Neville
improved a whole lot since fourth year!” she exclaimed.

Then the girls started to hoot loudly. The usually reserved Padma began to dance around
Parvati. “Hey sis, you really fell hard for good ole Neville!” It was Parvati’s turn to become
bright crimson.

Up until now, Hermione could not understand how Neville and Parvati got together. Oh
sure, puberty had been kind to Neville. He lost a lot of weight, and he got taller and leaner.
He could never be among the list of most sought-after boys in school, but he was definitely
cute in a boyish, innocent, and charming sort of way. Many of the girls found him sweet,
and Hermione knew that more than a few girls, mostly younger, had a schoolgirl crush on
him. Neville also developed substantial self-confidence. He was neither particularly suave
nor graceful, but he was not clumsy and fumbling anymore. Neville had always been likeable
(despite of his knack to destroy all things before), but ever since he had broken out of his
nervous shell, he was actually looked at as a cool guy. As for schoolwork, his grades were
average, and he excelled in Herbology, second to Hermione. Of course, he would always
be rather horrible in Potions—not because he was a dunce on it, but because Snape scared
him senseless.  However, Hermione noticed that Neville did improve a whole lot since he
got to Hogwarts. She didn’t find herself whispering Potions ingredients to Neville for quite
a time now.

Hermione thought that the Parvati-Neville item was a very good thing. She had never seen
Neville and Parvati as happy as they were in the present. She thought that Parvati, having a
reputation of being a flirt, would break Neville’s heart. But the couple was going strong—
they had been together for half a year now. Still, how Parvati—a stunning exotic beauty,
with her abundant black hair shimmering over her shoulders—who could have any guy she
wanted, chose to be with Neville. Hermione made a mental note to ask Parvati how she
and Neville got together.

Hermione was lost in her thoughts and was only jolted back to reality when Padma spoke
again. “Seriously, though. Snape is unfair, nasty, and has an attitude problem…but I have to
agree with Lavender. There’s something enigmatic about Snape. We may not like to admit
it, but he’s like a magnet. He can make us listen to him with hardly any effort. And he can
elicit fear and dislike—and even hatred—from us. Even though what he draws out from us
are negative feelings, just the thought that he can draw out something from us means a lot.
Not everyone can have a strong effect on people,” Padma said thoughtfully.

Hermione knew that Padma was an intellectual, and she fitted perfectly in Ravenclaw. If
Padma was as diligent as Hermione was, Hermione knew that Padma could have had become
holder of the titles Top One student and Head Girl. However, it was known all over school
that Padma’s intelligence was more of insight, creativity, and wisdom, and not so much of
logic and books. Padma and Hermione did not get to talk often, but Hermione always put a
high value on Padma’s opinion on things.

And from the look of things, Hermione was not the only one who was interested on what
Padma had to say. Every girl in the circle was looking at her expectantly.

“I’m gonna tell you something that you may not like to hear, but I’ll tell you anyway to make
my point clearer. I’m not going to be a hypocrite about it. We all dislike Snape and the rest
of the Slytherins, but I think we all have been intrigued with them at least one point in our lives.
There’s just something about the dark that’ll always draw even at least the smallest part of
ourselves to them, and we get guilty pleasure out of that. It’s because they symbolize what
we couldn’t be, and there’s always attraction towards the forbidden. Maybe it’s mystique.
Or charisma,” Padma said rather dreamily. Then she looked around at the girls, and from the
expression on Padma’s face, she was bracing herself for any protests.

But none came.

Maybe it was because Padma did not do anything but simply put into concrete words what
everybody felt deep down.

Hermione felt Padma’s words hit home. Hermione might be an all-around good girl, but she
was not a two-dimensional static person. She was guilty of being occasionally curious of the
enigma Snape had—how he could command attention with just his mere presence, and
without force. She also sometimes wondered how Malfoy could get the best of her and
bring the worst out of her. She remembered slapping Malfoy back in third year. She was
not the type to slap people—she was against violence, after all—but she had been suddenly
seized with the urge to do so back then. She also remembered how she walked out of
Divination class for good. It was in the same day she had slapped Malfoy. She never told
anyone else, not even Harry and Ron, but slapping Malfoy brought a mood of recklessness
out of her, which extended to her infamous walkout from Divination class. Then her mind
fast-forwarded to the present. She remembered ogling at Malfoy’s body. She remembered
sneaking out at ungodly hours to confront him with their potion, at the risk of being caught
by Filch. And she remembered how she grabbed Malfoy’s robe collars and kissed him. She
enjoyed that kiss so much that her body craved for more, despite the protests of her mind.

Hermione had guilty pleasures, all right.
 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Draco just left the Slytherin dormitory, where Crabbe and Goyle were sprawled on
their own beds, sleeping like babies. Draco snorted at that. He had never seen anyone
that looked less like a baby than Crabbe and Goyle. Still, they slept like a couple of
infants. They had been sleeping since after lunch, and most probably they would wake
before dinner. Then they would eat dinner, and then they would sleep again for the night,
and would wake again tomorrow for breakfast. ‘What an exciting life they lead!’
Draco thought sarcastically with an air of superiority; once again he was glad for being
himself and not being like Crabbe or Goyle.

Draco reached the oak front door and stepped outside. He looked up at the sky. The
sun was starting to set, and the blue sky was turning into a pinkish and purplish colour.
‘Perfect,’ he thought. This was the best weather for one of the things he truly enjoyed—
horseback riding. Of course, he preferred to ride magical horses, particularly the pegasus,
which was a magical horse with wings. Even though Draco had the money to buy one, he
could not, because the pegasus was an endangered species, and its sale is prohibited. It
was all the more reason for Draco to love the riding a pegasus either galloping across wide
stretches of grasslands or soaring through the sky.  Whenever Draco rode on a pegasus,
he relished the feel of air breezing through him, not to mention the power and speed that
came along with riding such a beautiful and powerful yet wild and rare creature. Draco
liked riding a broomstick, but he loved riding horses.

Unfortunately for Draco and his love for riding, students were not allowed to bring a pet that
wasn’t a cat, a toad, or an owl. That meant he was not able to bring to Hogwarts his favourite
black stallion out of the Malfoys’ stables of horses, Thor; and for that matter, he also wasn’t
able to bring his full-grown pet python, Saber.  At least he was allowed to take his eagle owl
Maximilian—or Max—with him. Draco often wondered how Weasley the Perpetual Shadow
to Scarhead had gotten away with bringing his annoying at to Hogwarts. Maybe because it was
so small that he had been able to sneak it in. Fortunately the horrendous rat was eaten by
Granger’s ugly cat a few years ago, which served the orange-headed Weasel right.

Granger. She crossed his mind again. He had managed so far during the day to keep her
off his mind until now. Damn, she was a distraction. Lately he found himself lusting after
her, which was a bad thing. Death Eaters were not supposed to have weaknesses, especially
weaknesses of the body. The hunger of the body for sex was the most primitive kind of
hunger. Draco, being a Death Eater, should have mastered the art of iron control by now,
and should not succumb to any urges, especially primitive urges.

He sighed. Who was he kidding? Well, maybe the other Death Eaters and maybe even the
Dark Lord. But Draco knew that he could not kid himself. There was still a part of him that
was essentially weak. When he was younger, a lot of things easily scared him. He remembered
when he was in first year. He got detention with Longbottom, Granger, and Potter, and as
punishment, they had to go in the Forbidden Forest late at night with the dumb giant Hagrid.
Draco had been scared out of his wits, and much to his dismay, he was not able to hide his
fear from Potter. Draco ran away from the forest like a chicken with its head chopped off. He
was also scared of Blast-Ended Skrewts. He tried his very best not to make it obvious, of
course. The Gryffindors would laugh at him. Too bad they shared the same Care of Magical
Creatures class.

And the dementor. He was scared of dementors the first time he met one and would still be
scared of them until his dying day. When he first encountered a dementor back in third year,
he had been overcome with coldness and a ringing voice in his head—the voice of his father
reprimanding him, scolding him, prodding him to do better with everything he did. In the
dementors’ presence, his mind had kept on replaying on a scene he chose to forget. It was
when he had raised his voice to his own father, telling him that he was sick and tired of being
pushed beyond his limits…
 
 

                  “Draco, these grades weren’t what I expected. These are worse than your first year grades,” Lucius
                  said while looking over the piece of parchment sent to him by an owl from Hogwarts. He walked
                  across the marble floor of his study room to Draco, who was standing by the oak door. Then he
                  looked up at Draco with a stern expression on his face. “We just lost one of our house-elves, Draco,
                  and I’m no longer a school governor. I expected your grades to be the Malfoy’s saving grace, but I
                  should have known better than trust you to have excellent grades. What can you say for yourself?”
                  Lucius said coldly.

                  “I told you, father. The school teachers all have favourites, and Granger is the all-time teacher’s pet.
                   It’s sickening!” Draco reasoned.

                  “Then I tell you again that you should be ashamed that a girl with no wizarding blood can beat you in
                  every exam!” his father bellowed at him. Then Lucius said in a low voice, “You don’t have respect for
                  family honour. You might just amount to no more than a thief or a plunderer.”

                  Something inside Draco felt like bursting in protest. It was not his fault that Granger was some kind
                  of a freak. He worked hard, he really did, but he was sick and tired of his efforts being belittled.

                  “I’m not going to be a thief or plunderer, father! And it’s not my fault that we don’t own Dobby
                  anymore! It’s not my fault that you were sacked as school governor! If you really cared about family
                  honour then you should have been more careful! You shouldn’t put all the blame on me!” Draco
                  raised his voice to his father. He forgot that he was just a scrawny little kid compared to the tall,
                  well-built Lucius. Draco was just twelve, going on thirteen at the time. But Draco never really had a
                  chance to be a normal boy. Being a Malfoy forced him to grow up beyond his years.

                  Lucius looked at him, with sheer anger in his eyes. Lucius grabbed him by the shoulders and shook
                  him hard until he almost felt his teeth chatter. “What did you say, boy? How dare you answer me like
                  that, you ungrateful child!”

                  In later years, Draco would always wonder what possessed him to say the following words,
                  “Ungrateful? What or who do I have to be thankful for? You? I have nothing to be grateful for!”

                  Lucius let go of Draco’s shoulders and struck Draco across the face. Draco staggered, but before
                  he fell to the cold black marble floor, Lucius grabbed him by the shoulders and pressed him against
                  the wall. “How old are you, Draco, to know that I am nothing for you to be grateful for? Look at
                  me, boy when I’m talking to you!” And Lucius roughly grabbed Draco’s chin to force him to look
                  into his eyes.

                  Draco saw anger and resentment in his father’s eyes…but he also saw something that remarkably
                  looked like hurt. Draco felt a twinge of guilt, but he would never let his father know that. Draco was
                  too much like his own father—proud, detached, and cold.

                  “You still have a lot to learn, Draco. You still have to understand a lot of things,” his father said
                   coldly. Then Lucius let him go. “Leave the room now and go straight to your bedroom. You’ll be
                   grounded for one whole month, and if you dare protest you’ll be really sorry,” Lucius continued
                   in his icy voice, and he pushed Draco out of the room and closed the study room’s oak door shut.
 
 

That was years ago, the summer after second year. And now his father was dead. Draco
felt that his father was not able to let him know everything that he was supposed to know.
Draco felt deep down that he still had a lot to learn, and he still had to understand a lot of
things, and now he would never know them, because his father was gone. Draco missed
Lucius. They never had a typical father-son relationship, and Lucius had been away to
business most of the time; but Draco knew that in the times that he and his father were
together, they had shared something as father-and-son and as man-and-man, in a sort of
twisted, bizarre and peculiar Malfoy way.

‘I’m getting soft in the brain. I’ve been standing here on the steps for too long,’ Draco
thought to himself as he went down the stone steps at the front of the school. He looked down
at the grassy lawns. A lot of students were milling around, and he caught sight of Pansy. He
decided to take a roundabout and longer way to Hagrid’s hut to avoid passing the Slytherin
girls. He finally reached the hut near the outskirts of the school grounds and the edge of the
Forbidden Forest.

He knocked on Hagrid’s door impatiently. Moments later, the door to the savage’s hut
opened, and Hagrid the hairy giant’s face appeared in between the open gap of the doorway.
Hagrid looked like he just woke up from an afternoon nap, but his face immediately took on
an expression of surprise, caution, and slight disgust upon seeing Draco.

“What d’yeh want?” Hagrid said looking suspiciously at Draco. Hagrid did not open the
door wide; instead, he left it just slightly open.

“I’m borrowing Serilda,” Draco said. “You said that we students should come down here
during our free time to study the animals for extra credit. That’s why I’m here. I’m going to
study about the pegasus through hands-on and practical approach,” Draco continued to
explain condescendingly, folding his arms over his chest. Hagrid would have no reason not
to allow him.

There was always no love lost between Draco and Hagrid, and now Hagrid looked pained,
probably because he knew that he could not deny Draco the privilege to borrow the pegasus.
Hagrid went out of his hut, closed the door, gestured for Draco to follow him and went to the
back of the hut where an improvised stable was standing.

“Yeh take care of Serilda. She’s jus’ on loan to the school. Don’ ‘urt her,” Hagrid said
as he opened the stable door and let the magnificent pegasus out. “Yeh’ll return her before
dark. And don’ fly outside school. Yeh’ll do wha’ yer told,” Hagrid, his eyes still narrowed
suspiciously at Draco, continued explaining to him. Hagrid held the reins in his hand, and it
seemed that he had no intention of letting them go and giving them to Malfoy.

“Yeah whatever,” Draco said dismissively, taking the reins off from Hagrid’s hands. A
saddle was already on Serilda’s back, and Draco easily and gracefully mounted the pegasus.
He held the reins in his hand and brought the pegasus to a canter.

Draco started on the path circling the Hogwarts grounds, and Hagrid called after him, “Be
careful of what yer doin’ with Serilda! She gets ‘urt easily!” Draco took no notice of Hagrid.
Draco was being gentle with the pegasus. Hagrid was just being a big baby with all the
creatures he taught about in class.

When he was along the newly created bridle path near the Quidditch fields, he marvelled
at the pegasus. Its shiny coat was black—the way Draco liked it—and its dark wings
spanned long and wide. It was a beautiful and imposing creature. And Draco was proud
that not everyone could ride the pegasus well. Only a few had the skill and grace, and
Draco was one of that few. He remembered during a Care of Magical Creatures class
when Potter tried to ride the pegasus down the bridle path. To Draco’s delight, Potter
had fallen on his face and had broken his glasses after Serilda went galloping wildly across
the grass lawns.

An idea struck Draco. He was a good rider, why hide it? During Care of Magical
Creatures Class, Draco was able to showcase his riding abilities, but not as much as he
wanted to because everyone was just given a short allotted time to ride Serilda.

Draco pulled on the reins and brought Serilda to a fast gallop. He steered the majestic
pegasus to the right, and directed her towards the grass lawns where the students were
hanging out. As he got nearer, he saw Pansy’s figure in a dragonhide coat rushing towards
him. He had a sudden urge to run Pansy over, but he fought against that. It would be too
much hassle in his part to get in trouble with Dumbledore.

“Draco! Draco! Let me ride with you!” Pansy said shrilly as Draco slowed down Serilda’s
galloping and made her canter to a stop. Soon, Draco was surrounded by adoring Slytherin
females and awed Slytherin males.

“Not now, Pansy. Some other time,” Draco said, trying hard not to let the irritation show
in his voice. The last thing Draco needed was one of Pansy’s what-did-I-do-wrong-and-
why-are-you-mad-at-me whiny speeches.

Draco tore his gaze away from the Slytherins and looked around. It turned out that the
Slytherins were not the only ones looking at Draco and Serilda. Almost everyone was
looking at them. Some people were curious, some looked awed, some looked envious,
while some looked on with disgust. Some people were probably disgusted because they
thought that he was a show-off. ‘Well, if you’ve got it, flaunt it,’ Draco mused to himself.

Then his gaze fell on a group of girls farther down the lawns. He picked out Granger
right away, who was looking at his direction. Draco picked up the reins. “Move over!”
Draco shouted to everyone in the way before he made Serilda fly low across the lawn
towards Granger.

He landed when he reached Granger and her companions. Up close, he was given a
good view of Granger, who happened to look too beautiful for her own good in a short
pink dress. She was sitting on a stool, and the hem of the dress rode up her thighs a
little, exposing long, slim, and toned legs and thighs. Mudblood or not, she was beautiful,
and he took time to admire the view. To Draco’s amusement, Granger was now looking
at anywhere and anyone but him. She was also turning into a lovely shade of a full, ripe
tomato.

“Hey, Granger, want me to take you for a ride?” he drawled lazily. He smiled a very
suggestive smile at Granger, which made her look more uncomfortable. Draco noticed
that the girls Granger were with were looking on, barely hiding their fascination.

Granger stood up from her stool and looked up at Draco defiantly. She was still red
in the face, but she now looked determined. “Sod off, Malfoy. I’d take points from
Slytherin for your careless handling of Serilda. Oh, right, five points from Slytherin for not
taking the bridle path! These lawns are not for horseback riding!” Granger said hotly.

Draco had to laugh. Little Miss-Goody-Two-Shoes was making a big deal out of his
‘offense’ when she herself had lots of skeletons hiding in her closet. Draco should know,
because those secrets involved late-night encounters with him.

“What are you laughing at?” Granger asked angrily, her face turning redder than Draco
thought was possible. Before he could respond, though, Weasel and Potty ran up to
Granger. ‘Oh great, here are the knights in rusting armour coming to the rescue
of a damsel in distress,’ Draco bitterly thought.

“You slimy git! Stay away from Hermione if you still want your balls attached to your
body and not scattered somewhere here on the grass after I severe them from your albino
self!” Weasley said darkly to Draco. The Weasel pointed his wand at Draco’s crotch.
The girls, including Granger, gasped with Weasley’s graphic threat. Even Potter looked
mildly shocked. Draco would have found the threat amusing if Weasel’s wand was not
pointed at his manhood.

“Your fat mother couldn’t teach you how to talk decently, eh? It figures. Being moneyless
wretches makes you used to dirt of all kinds,” Draco retorted just as darkly.

Weasley looked like he was about to burst into a thousand pieces. He was shaking
violently with rage. Potter lightly pushed aside Weasel towards Granger. Granger
walked away a little from the group, bringing Weasley with her. Then Draco saw
Potter standing beside Serilda. In a way that only Draco could hear, Potter said to
him, “Go away, Malfoy. I just saved your balls from Ron. But if you don’t go away
now, I’ll see to it that I myself will cut off your balls AND your penis as well with
the very painful Shredding Spell.”

Draco scowled at Potter, but moments later, Draco left with Serilda flying across the
lawns. He decided that he did not want to risk his manhood.
 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hermione could not help but admire the way Draco flew Serilda, his robes flowing with
the wind. She marvelled at the powerful force he flew Serilda with as he finally left them
after Ron gave him a scandalous threat.

Hermione felt someone tapping her shoulder. She turned to look, and saw Ron just
standing beside her. “Hermione, are you okay? What did that rabid ferret tell you?”
Ron asked Hermione, his brow furrowed in concern.

Hermione felt her lips twitch in a smile. “Nothing, really. He’s just being his annoying
usual self. But I can take care of myself, Ron. I even took points off from Slytherin,”
she said. “It’s you who got me worried! I know you, Ron. I know you would do it.
In the mood you were in, you’d castrate Malfoy as soon as you got the chance,”
Hermione continued, trying to keep her face serious even though she wanted to double
up in laughter on the grass. Ron’s threat was funny in a sick, toilet-humour way.

“Well, he deserves it!” Ron said with a passion. He tucked his wand inside the deep
pocket of his cargo pants.

“But you’ll get yourself expelled when you do that, Ron,” Hermione said. She caught
Ron’s eye and then she could not help but burst out in laughter. “But I have to say that
what you said was bloody funny! Thank goodness only seventh years heard you, Ron.
What you said wasn’t really for general patronage,” Hermione said to Ron after her
bout of laughter.

Ron just shrugged, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

Then Harry and the girls walked to where Hermione and Ron were standing. Lavender
approached Ron and swatted him playfully on the shoulder. “Ron! You bad boy!” she
said playfully. Hermione rolled her eyes exasperatedly. Almost seven years as Lavender’s
housemate made Hermione realize that Lavender was an incurable and congenital yet
harmless flirt. In fact, even though Lavender was rather too vain and girly for Hermione’s
taste, she was a pretty nice and friendly girl in general. Still, Hermione could not help but
feel slightly jealous.

She looked at Ron, and soon he was crowded by the girls. Ironically, Hermione found
herself at the fringes of the small group of Ron and the girls.  ‘Gorgeous girls, among
the finest in Hogwarts,’ Hermione thought savagely, white-hot jealousy surging through
her body. Ron was not called one of the most-sought after boys in Hogwarts for nothing.
And Ron, being the typical male, revelled in the attention. Of course, Hermione was
being unfair. There was such a thing as harmless flirting, and it was perfectly natural
especially for teenagers. But Hermione rather resented that because she was not a flirt
(never mind if that was unnatural on her part).

Harry walked up to Hermione. “Ron’s having a field day, right?” Harry said amusedly,
gesturing with a hand towards Ron and the girls. Then he looked closely at Hermione.
“You okay, Hermione?”

“Yeah. Malfoy was just going on with his usual verbal abuse, that’s all,” Hermione said
dryly.

“I’m not talking about Malfoy, Hermione,” Harry said evenly, as he looked at Hermione
first, then at Ron. ‘God, why does Harry has to be so damn quick and observant?’

“Then what are you talking about?” Hermione dared to ask. ‘Oh God Hermione, why are
you doing this to yourself? You’ve got problems with Malfoy, don’t add up Ron to it.’

“Do you really want me to say it?” Harry asked. Looking cautiously at Hermione, wanting
to know if she really had no idea what he was talking about.

“Oh go on. I might be assuming something which is totally different from what you’re
actually thinking,” Hermione explained. Hermione, you utter prat, you know he’s talking
about Ron. You just never openly talked about it but you know that Harry knows.
Hell, a lot of people probably know. Oh my God! Maybe even Ron knows.

“I’m talking about you and Ron. Are you okay?” Harry said. He nervously traced the
edges of the folded-up chessboard he carried in his left hand, probably waiting from an
angry outburst of denial from Hermione.

Hermione fought the urge to ask what Harry thought the deal was between Ron and her.
All along she knew what Harry meant. He was asking her if she was okay because Harry
thought that she was jealous of the girls hanging around Ron. But she realized that she did
not want to hear it blatantly.  It would be too painful for her, to see Harry’s pity. Hermione
knew that Harry had figured out that she liked Ron, but that did not mean that Hermione
was ready for a complete confession. Only Ginny knew the truth straight from Hermione,
and Hermione would like to keep it that way, especially if things looked like they were going
nowhere.

“Hermione?” Harry pressed on, as he ran his right hand through his jet-black hair.

“You’ve finally managed to finish the chess game with Ron?” she asked, nodding towards
the chessboard in his hand. She wanted to talk about something else, anything else. Just not
about what she felt for Ron. No, not that.

“Hermione, don’t change the subject. I’m talking about you and Ron. At the risk of sounding
pushy, I’m still asking you if you’re okay. Are you?” Harry said patiently.

Hermione forced out a laugh. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about. Harry, you’re
so weird sometimes!” Hermione said dismissively.

Harry looked unconvinced.

Hermione knew that she had to get away. She started to walk back to the school entrance.
“I’m going to the library; I just realized that I have to finish something. Bye, see you at dinner!”
she said loudly hurriedly in one breath to Harry, Ron, and the girls. She practically ran up the
lawns and the stone steps that led to the school entrance.
 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Harry tried to run after Hermione, but he felt that she did not want him to catch her anyway.
He looked after her retreating form, feeling very stupid. He should not have meddled, but he
could not bear seeing Hermione looking so sad and forlorn at Ron. Harry wondered if
Hermione was even aware of it.

It did not help, too, that Harry often saw Ron looking at Hermione in the same forlorn and
sad way. Hermione did not see it, because Ron would only look at her that way when she
was not looking or when she was at a safe distance from him.

It saddens Harry that his two best friends were both lonely, when they could be happy
together. Harry wished that both Ron and Hermione could feel the happiness he shared
with Ginny. If only his two best friends were not so stubborn (in Hermione’s case) or
too dense (in Ron’s case). They like each other; it was painfully and blatantly obvious.

He looked at Ron, and he saw that he was saying goodbye to the girls he was flirting
with.  Then Ron walked up to him, a big grin on his now-just-slightly-freckled face. “Hey
Harry! Wait up! Where are you going?” Ron asked cheerfully. Then he started to look
around, as if searching for something or someone. “Where’s Hermione?”

“Didn’t you hear when she left? She went to the library,” Harry explained.

“She’s at the library again, on a free day?” Ron asked, shaking his head in disbelief,
causing short red locks of hair to fall over his eyes.

“Yeah, she said she’ll be there,” Harry answered. Would he dare ask Ron? He put
Hermione in the hot seat. Nothing came out of it. It was just fair to put Ron in the hot
seat now, wasn’t it? Maybe something would come out of it.

Harry took a deep breath. Ron was irascible. Harry had to choose his words carefully
because he might wrongly strike a sensitive nerve and get Ron mad. And Ron was not
someone to come across with when he was mad.

“Ron, I know you like Hermione. You told me so, remember?” Harry asked, feeling
nervous again. He adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose.

Ron seemed to stiffen on his spot. “What are you getting at, Harry?” Ron asked flatly.

“I just thought—I just thought that maybe you could give it a shot, Ron. We’ll be
graduating soon, and we’ll be far away when Auror training starts,” Harry said, hoping
that Ron would see his point.

Ron laughed hollowly and bitterly. “Why did you suddenly bring this up right now?” Ron
asked in his same flat tone.

‘Because I saw how jealous and lonely Hermione looked when you were flirting
with those girls, Ron! She likes you! It’s in your face and you don’t see it! Haven’t
you noticed how miserable she seems lately?’ Harry thought. He desperately wanted
to say it to Ron, because it was the complete truth, but Harry did not want to embarrass
Hermione, even though she was not aware of this conversation he was now having with
Ron.

Harry decided to settle on a more generic truth. “Nothing. I just wish you’d tell her and
take the chance, Ron. Who knows, maybe she likes you back. In my opinion, I think she
likes you, too” Harry bravely said.

Ron faced him, and his eyes were blazing with too many emotions that Harry could no
longer distinguish one from the other.

“Harry, I know better about what I can have and what I can’t. Years of poverty taught
me that,” Ron said in a strained voice.

“And you think you can’t have Hermione?” Harry asked. In Harry’s opinion, Ron had
the most chance to be Hermione’s boyfriend out of all the males in the world. Why couldn’t
Ron see that?

“Yeah, isn’t it obvious?” Ron said bitterly. He shoved his hands in his pockets.

“No it isn’t. What makes you think that? You haven’t even tried,” Harry reasoned. He
looked into his friend’s eyes searchingly.

“Why should I?” Ron asked, now a sad note in his voice.

“Why should you? Why should you? I tell you why, Ron. You’re my friend and I hate
to see you lonely. Hermione’s also my friend and in case you haven’t noticed, she’s
lonely, too. I just want you two to be happy together. Ron, tell her. Be worthy of being
in Gryffindor. Be brave enough for your sake, so you two could be happy,” Harry said.
He knew that Ron could really get mad at him for saying that, but Harry was willing to
risk Ron’s anger if it would be for the betterment of everything in the long run.

But to Harry’s surprise, Ron did not get angry. Instead, his shoulders slumped, and a
tired pained look settled on his face.

“It’s not that easy, Harry. For one thing, I’m not even sure that she likes me. Probably
she’s in love with someone else right now. But that’s not the reason why I haven’t told
her. The truth is, I don’t want her to like me the way I like her,” Ron said softly.

Now Harry was really confused. He looked at Ron with a puzzled expression on his face.
“Care to enlighten me?” Harry asked after a pregnant pause.

“Hermione deserves better, Harry. I don’t want being with her when I don’t have anything
to offer her. No, it’s not out of pride or ego. I just think she deserves the best of everything,
and I can’t give that to her. It’s not fair to her,” Ron said sadly.

“Is it about money, Ron? Damn, Ron, who cares about—” Harry said, but was cut off
by Ron.

“No it’s not all about money, although that’s part of it. But it’s something else altogether.”
Ron paused for a moment, then continued, “I even haven’t found my place under the sun
yet. I haven’t got anything to give. I don’t want to be selfish and go after Hermione now.
I want to work hard and deserve her. If the time will come when I am deserving enough
of her, and she’s still available, I’ll tell her. If she already has found someone to make her
happy, then I’ll just leave her alone and I’ll not bother her. You understand that, Harry?”

Harry had never seen Ron look so sad and desolate. An overwhelming sadness flooded
over Harry. He just could not stand there seeing one of his best friends like that without
sharing a part of their pain.

“I can’t say that I totally understand you. I still want you happy together, but it’s your
decision. But I just have to ask you this. Do you realize that maybe you’re hurting her?”
Harry said.

“Do you realize that maybe I’m not? Harry, please, let’s drop this,” Ron answered simply.
His shoulders slumped lower, and he looked like a lost little child. The only other time Harry
saw Ron look like that was during the months after Mr. Weasley’s death.

Harry decided not to push it. He respected Ron’s pain. Harry might not totally get Ron’s
logic, but then again, Harry did not live Ron’s life. He knew that for Ron, it made perfect
sense. Harry knew that it took all Ron’s courage to say everything that he just said to Harry.

Then Harry smiled at Ron.  “You know what, I may never be able to figure you out completely,
but you couldn’t be more Gryffindor material if you were made-to-order,” Harry said to Ron.

Ron smiled weakly, and Harry grinned back widely. Soon, both boys were laughing, but
Harry noticed that Ron’s eyes still held the same heavy sadness.
 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hermione sat at one of the tables in the farthest and most secluded corner of the library. A
roll of parchment was on the table, neglected for the moment.

When she had gotten back inside the school, she went up to her room and gathered her
school things into her book bag. Then she went directly to the library, which was empty
of people except for her and Madam Pince.

She had been sitting for about a couple of hours since then.

She sat, thinking. Most people thought that she went to the library to study, and that was
mostly true. But Hermione also went to the library to reflect and think. It was her haven.
Here in the library she found solace. The Gryffindor common room was too noisy to be her
thinking place. Her dormitory room, was not conducive for thinking either…it was conducive
for sleeping. That made the library the perfect personal spot for her to think, not just about
schoolwork, but also about life as well.

And now, more than ever, she had a lot to think and reflect about. First, Harry. Harry knew
that she liked Ron. She might have said nothing but as cliché as it might sound, her actions
spoke louder than words. Harry was such a sweet friend, and Hermione knew that his
intentions were aimed at making her feel better, but instead she felt worse. It was obvious
that Ron did not like her the way she liked him. There were times when she thought he cared
back, especially in fourth year. He seemed bloody jealous when she when to the Yule Ball
with Viktor. And after that, she saw bouts of sweetness from Ron, directed to her. But most
of the time, Ron acted only like a very close friend, and nothing more. It did not help that Ron
was a hit among the girls.

It was ironic, really. Back in fourth year she had a crush on Harry. Who would not like
Harry? He was brave, kind, sweet, thoughtful, and cute. Her crush on Harry had been huge.
Even Viktor must have noticed it, because he had complained that all she talked about was
Harry, Harry, Harry. Hermione had secretly enjoyed the Daily Prophet false scoop, despite
of the loads of Howlers and hate mails she received.

Hermione had known that Harry saw her as a sister and friend. He liked Cho then, and
Harry would not give any other girl the time of day. And Ginny was pining over Harry at
the time. Hermione was Ginny’s confidante so Hermione felt guilty about having her
female best friend confide in her about Harry when she herself had feelings for the same
guy.

But Ron had entered the picture, and everything had gone haywire since then. She had
found herself acting very grouchy whenever Ron mooned over Fleur Delacour. Ron asked
Fleur to the dance when Ron did not even think of asking his own female best friend! And
the damn that kiss Fleur gave Ron! Okay, so it was just a kiss on the cheek. But it was still
a kiss. Out of jealousy and defiance, she had kissed Harry on the cheek when they were at
King’s Cross station at the end of their tragic fourth year. She made sure that Ron saw it.
Of course, a part of that kiss was a sort of closure for her and comfort for Harry. Harry had
needed all the support he could get, and Hermione knew that such a simple gesture was
worth a thousand comforting words. As for closure, the kiss was sort of a goodbye to Harry
the crush, and hello again to Harry the friend.

Now, Harry and Ginny were happy together. Ron and Hermione were going nowhere.
For all she knew, maybe it was just a one-sided matter, and Ron was none the wiser about
how she felt. ‘Did you love me only in my head, Ron?’ Hermione thought. ‘Damn it,
Ron, I’m moving on. I swear I’m moving on. I can’t wait for you forever.’

She hated feeling depressed, so she pushed Ron away from her thoughts, only to be
replaced by Malfoy. Hermione had a very strange feeling that maybe Malfoy could be the
one to help her move on. ‘No, Hermione, no!’ she thought angrily. But she admitted to
herself that Padma was right. ‘There’s just something about the dark that’ll always
draw even at least the smallest part of ourselves to them, and we get guilty pleasure
out of that.’ That was what Padma had said. Hermione felt that she was dangerously
drawn in a twisted way to Malfoy.

Hermione heard footsteps coming towards her table and she looked around. It could
not be Madam Pince. Madam Pince knew that this was Hermione’s unofficial spot, and
the librarian was thoughtful enough not to go there whenever Hermione was sitting there.
Hermione figured that Madam Pince liked her because Hermione had such high reverence
for the library. It was no secret, anyway, that the library was her territory. Hermione
knew that everyone knew just how she revered the library.

“Hello Hermione. We meet again…alone,” an unmistakable voice said. Hermione looked
up and saw Malfoy standing in front of her table. Malfoy then pulled up the seat across from
Hermione and sat down without invitation.

“I asked you to ride with me on Serilda earlier, Hermione. I don’t know why you turned
me down. You don’t know what you just missed,” he said smoothly.

She sat in shock and felt her face go red again, as it did earlier when Malfoy asked her to
ride Serilda. Hermione remembered her last meeting with him…that was when she kissed
him. Her face grew hotter. It was just last night! Last night! It seemed like an eternity ago.

“I’m surprised that Hagrid lent you Serilda. Or maybe you ‘borrowed’ her without permission?”
Hermione said acidly.

“Serilda was in my good hands. I happen to be the best horseback rider in this school,
Hermione. If I can’t handle her well, no one could. Even Hagrid knows that,” he replied icily.
His gray eyes narrowed dangerously.

“How modest,” Hermione muttered sarcastically under her breath. Malfoy must not have
heard it because he ignored her statement.

Malfoy reached out to the roll of parchment on her table. He scanned it idly with his gray
eyes. “I see that you’ve written the essay for Potions, Hermione. And I see that you—the
class brain, of all people—lied. You must’ve taken my advice. I, for one, know that your
dream wasn’t in the least bit funny.  It was chocolate that was in the potion, not a cotton ball,
remember? Unless of course, you think that me turning into a ferret is highly sexual and
arousing,” Malfoy said coldly.

It felt very disconcerting to hear Malfoy say her first name. She almost wished that he would
start calling her Granger, buck-toothed beaver, big bushy head…even mudblood, again.

Almost.

Whenever Malfoy said her name, it was in a sexy way that made Hermione jump a little.
She never thought her name was sexy but Malfoy made it sound like it was.

Now she would not be surprised if steam was coming out of her ears. Her face felt like
it was on fire.

“Give that back to me!” she said hotly, far more forceful than she intended. She reached
her hand across the table, trying to get the roll of parchment from Malfoy’s hands.

“But of course, anything that has to do with me is surely highly sexual and arousing,”
Malfoy drawled lazily. He then tossed the roll pf parchment on the table. Hermione
grabbed it, rolled it up, and placed it inside a canister which she pulled out from her
book bag.

“You’ve got some nerve, Malfoy,” Hermione retorted. She forced herself to look into
his eyes, so he would not think that she was nervous like a pre-teen girl or something.

Malfoy laughed hollowly while he shifted in his seat. He leaned across the table. “Who’s
got some nerve? You do. You just lied in your essay, Hermione. And that essay is for
Potions. For Professor Snape,” Malfoy whispered. Then he continued, “Are you aware
of the implications, Hermione?”

Hermione was well aware of them. She knew that she was risking a lot. Out if spite,
Professor Snape might give her the Veritaserum. But Hermione could not share her
dream to anyone, especially not with Snape. The embarrassment would be too
much to handle. She just had to take her chances.

It was Malfoy’s fault. Malfoy made her do things she would not normally do.

“Of course I know, Malfoy,” she answered shortly. She distractedly drew little circles
on the table with her finger as she said, “I still stick to what I said, Malfoy. You’re the
one who’s got some nerve. You were the one who stood naked before me the other
night,” Hermione said triumphantly.

“I was doing you a favour, Hermione. It’s about time that your virgin eyes had their
baptismal of fire,” he said condescendingly.

Hermione bristled. She abruptly stopped drawing circles with her finger on the table.
“What makes you think that you’re doing me a favour? What makes you think that you
know a lot about me?” she asked.

Malfoy leaned further across the table, his silvery-blond hair falling over his piercing eyes.
“Be glad, Hermione. I choose the women who I allow to see me naked. There are a lot of
women who want to get to know me in bed, but I’m the one who gets to pick them out.
I’ve been with lots women in the biblical sense, Hermione. I know a lot about women. I
know your type. The virginally pure type.”

Hermione felt something like pain and vague jealousy course through her body. The idea
of Malfoy being intimate with women left her feeling inexplicably sick.

She did not know what was going on inside her. She was so confused. Malfoy would not
leave, she knew, but she just could not sit there. She stood up and went to one of the
bookshelves nearest her table, desperately scanning the titles for some book that could
make her feel better. One of Hermione’s peculiar habits was reading a good book when
her mind was in chaos.

Suddenly, a hand grabbed her shoulders and she was pressed against the bookshelf. The
bookshelf was very solid against her, and she felt a slight pain starting to gnaw on her back.
She found herself face to face with Malfoy. His body was pressed against hers, and in his
closeness, she felt a hard poke coming through from his robes. She gasped a little upon
feeling the pressure. It felt good.

She should push him away, she knew. But she could not because he was far heavier than
she was, and pushing him away would be futile. And in truth, she knew she would not push
him away even if she could. Still, she was scared with the new feelings that welled up inside
her. She also had not forgotten that they were in the library, where they could get caught
anytime.

“Malfoy, please let me go,” she said unconvincingly.

Malfoy smiled menacingly. “You just don’t turn your back on me, Hermione. That’s not
part of the game, little player,” he whispered, his face so close to hers. He leaned over a
little and then their lips met in a very wet kiss. His tongue traced the outlines of her mouth,
then he on bit on her lower lip.

Hermione gasped at the pain, but a sudden realization hit her. She liked it. She liked the
pain that came along with the pleasure. She thought that that made her some kind of a
pervert. But what if she really was a pervert? She had no serious and real sexual
experiences before, so how could she know what she really wanted?

Malfoy’s tongue forced to part her lips, and soon their tongues met inside their mouths.
His tongue played with hers, and it traversed the deepest recesses of her mouth. Her
tongue also darted into his mouth, seizing her with a desire she had never thought she
could possibly feel.

As their lips welded to each other, Malfoy’s hands pulled the hem of her short dress up
her thighs. His fingers grazed the skin of her exposed thighs. The skin under his touch felt
red-hot, and she gasped against Malfoy’s mouth at the pleasure.

Malfoy pulled away from the smouldering kiss and looked into her eyes. “You want this,
don’t you? Little slut,” he said barely above a whisper. Then he brought his left knee between
her legs, grazing the moist heat between them with it through her underwear.

“I-I’m not a slut, M-malfoy,” Hermione managed to say in between her ragged gasps
of breathing. Her thighs involuntarily closed on Malfoy’s left leg, as if urging him to rub
her harder. ‘What’s happening to me? My body is betraying me!’ her brain screamed
in panic.

Malfoy smiled at her wickedly, “Sure I believe you,” he said in a way which indicated
that he really did not. He then lunged for her neck and sucked the smooth and sensitive
skin. He stopped at one point near her collarbone, and he bit hard. Hermione yelped
in half-pain, half-pleasure.

Hermione was not thinking straight. She felt like a drunk in a dream sequence. She knew
that her body was giving in when it should not, but her mind and willpower could not do
anything about it. She knew that lust was the most dangerous weakness of the body. But
even that knowledge could not help her now.

She ran her hands through his soft blond hair, and she enjoyed the silky feel of his locks
between her fingers. It was not fair to her for Malfoy to reduce her to a puddle of jelly with
his kisses and touches. It was not fair that Malfoy had control of her while it seemed that
she had no hold on him. Hermione was some kind of a control-freak, and it turned out that
even in frenzied passion, she too wanted to have at least part control of the situation.

Her hands went inside his robes and she felt the bare skin of his washboard stomach. She
caressed every bump of his well-toned abdomen, her hands marvelling at the definition of
his body. He really had gone a long way from being a skinny, scrawny little kid. She felt
Malfoy gasp against her neck, in the same way she had gasped earlier—helpless in pleasure.

What would Ron say when he saw her and Malfoy in this compromising position? He would
probably go to cardiac arrest right then and there. Not because he would be jealous, but
only because Hermione was ‘fraternizing with the enemy’.

That thought made Hermione more reckless and rebellious. She was rebelling against Ron.
Her hands reached out behind Malfoy and she traced the strong muscles of his back and his
sides. Malfoy kept on gasping in undeniable pleasure. His breathing was now also ragged.
She felt his erection throb against her stomach, and she let out an uncontrollable moan.

Malfoy put down his left leg, away from between her legs, and her body ached at the sudden
lack of pressure against the core of her femininity. She pushed herself against him desperately.

‘Hermione, what the hell are you doing?!’ a tiny voice struggling to be heard said inside
her head. But as Malfoy’s hand travelled under the dress to the moist heat between her legs,
she became deaf to every internal battle going on inside her head. After all, she was not
made of stone, but of flesh and blood.
 

 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Draco felt Granger’s touch on his skin. He was losing control. His erection was growing
at an alarming rate.

Still, he could not help but muse at how responsive Granger was. He had been expecting
a struggle from her, but she must have been really sexually deprived, and now that she
found release, she was more explosive than a volcano.

He put down his left leg, and he saw a flicker of pain flit across her face. Her eyes were
half-closed and she was biting her lower lip. Beads of perspiration dotted her forehead.
Damn, did she even know how sensual she looked that way? Draco could not help
himself but run his hands up her thighs and insert his fingers into her. She was tight, yet
moist and hot in there. He heard her moan his name.

“Malfoy,” she whimpered. Her fingers raked his back as he slid his fingers in and out
of her.

“It’s not Malfoy, it’s Draco,” he said huskily against her ear, in between his nibbling of
her earlobe.

He felt her pressed against him. Her breasts were full and firm; he could feel them on
his chest through her dress and his robes.

“Draco…” he heard her whisper.

That did it for Draco. This was it. He would screw Granger’s brains out right here and
right now. He would tear off her pink little dress, and he would ravage her in this place
which she hold with much reverence. Yes, that was the beauty of it all. Granger’s first
time would be a mutually-consented, rough sadomasochistic quickie in the library, of all
places, with Draco Malfoy, of all people. Very unlikely of Granger, but here they were.
Who would have thought?

Somehow, Draco knew that Granger was a virgin. He could feel Granger’s inexperience
from her touch, but she drove him insane precisely because of that. There was special kind
of satisfaction in knowing that he would be a girl’s first, and not just any girl, but Potter’s
female best friend. He briefly wondered what would Potter say about that when he found
out. He would probably be so shocked he would look like he was Petrified. As for the
Weasel, he would probably burst into flames out of fiery anger.

There was also something else about a virgin’s touch. It was not studied, not calculated.
It was not technical. It simply was raw and passionate. Draco was a bit tired of sleeping
with women who treated sex as if it was some sort if technical sport. But Granger’s touch
was just needy and lustful, making Draco just as needy and lustful as she was.

His free hand reached behind Granger and he started to unzip her dress. He looked at her.
Her hair was tousled, her lips moist. A flush of red coloured her skin, and her eyes were
still half-closed. The straps fell around her shoulders as the dress loosened. A hickey was
prominent on her neck where he bit her. She had a dishevelled and seductive look.

They had reached the point of no return. Draco’s head was hazy; he was aware of lust,
and only lust. He continued unzipping her dress, down to the end, while her hands frantically
tried to unclasp his robes.

In his haste, Draco pushed Granger harder into the bookshelf.

A couple of huge, thick books fell loud and hard with a thud.

The sound was like a wake-up call to reality. Draco was so surprised at the sound that he
stopped still. The whole of the situation must have registered in Granger’s mind because the
next moment, she gasped in shock and tried pushed him away.

“Oh God! Malfoy, let me go!” she pleaded. She was still panting heavily from arousal, but
her expression was already guarded and panicked.

Draco let her go without struggle. It just fully hit him that they had nowhere to go but have
sex in the library, had not for the two books that fell on the ground. All that Draco wanted
was to have Granger at the moment, but doing it in the library was too risky. They could
have been caught any time. So much for discretion if that happened.

His erection was causing him pain now that Granger was not pressed against his body. He
watched as Granger zipped up and fixed her dress. She tried to tame her hair a little bit. A
moment later they both heard footsteps, and he nervously straightened his robes and hair.

Madam Pince walked up to where he and Granger were standing, a disapproving frown
on her lips. “I don’t want noises in the library, even if there are just the three of us in here,”
she said sternly. Then she crossed her arms over her chest and looked at them suspiciously.
“And what were you two doing?”

Draco looked at Granger, and he saw the hickey. He then looked at Madam Pince, and
he traced his gaze. She was looking at the tell-tale hickey. It was not that hard to miss, and
that was just an understatement.

“Um, I was getting a book from the top shelf, and Malfoy tried to help. A couple of books
fell. One of them hit me,” Granger explained in a barely convincing tone as she touched the
red hickey.

Draco did not know whether Madam Pince bought the story or not. Most probably, she
did not, but maybe she just decided to give them the benefit of the doubt. There was no
other evidence, anyway, that they had just been behaving in a way that was inappropriate
for a library.

“Both of you, pick up those books and return them to the shelf. Then I want you to leave
the library immediately. I believe it’s dinner time already,” she said sternly before she turned
on her heels and walked away.

Granger picked up the books and stacked them back in the shelf. She then returned to her
table to retrieve her things. She was quiet all the time and she avoided looking at him. She
went out of the library, with Draco following her. They passed Madam Pince’s disapproving
gaze and soon they were out in the corridor.

“Hermione,” Draco said as he reached out to touch her arm. To his surprise, Granger pulled
back from him violently.

“Don’t touch me!” she said angrily. She clutched her book bag protectively over her chest.

“I was under the impression earlier that you enjoy my touching you…in intimate places, at
that,” Draco said smoothly.

“Leave me alone, Malfoy. You’re scaring me. Now isn’t that what you want? You want
everyone to be frightened of you so that could feel powerful. Yes, now I’m scared of you!
You’ve got your power or whatever now! So please just stay away from me and leave me
alone!” Granger shrieked out and she fled down the corridor. Draco saw the tears flow
down her cheeks before she fled.

“Crazy girl,” Draco muttered under his breath as he watched Hermione turn around the
corner.

If there was anyone who ought to be scared, it was him. Granger made him lose control…
and that loss of control could lead to exposure. He was warned by Voldemort that he had
to be discreet. If Madam Pince caught Granger and him while having crazed sex in the
library, surely they would be turned over to Dumbledore. The Head of houses for Slytherin
and Gryffindor, Professors Snape and McGonagall respectively, would also be told.

But did he think of that while he was pressed against her? No. That was what scared him
most.

In the first place, all he planned to do in the library was to tease her a little bit, make her
feel uncomfortable. He planned to take his mission slowly, surely, and discreetly.

He had not expected his arousal to go berserk and get the best of him.

No other woman could make him feel reckless. All the time before, the women he had
were the ones who had thrown cautions to the winds, not him. He was always the one in
control...until Hermione Granger came along.

Draco Malfoy was scared of what she could be. If Hermione Granger would become
fully aware of the power of her sexuality, he knew that she could have him wrapped
around her little finger easily.
 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hermione ran down the corridors, crying pitifully. Fortunately, no one saw her in such a
state, except for the paintings that were hanging against the walls. But the paintings usually
minded their own businesses, so she was not asked by anyone.

She reached the portrait of the Fat Lady. Hermione hastily dried her tears. The Fat Lady,
being the guardian of the Gryffindor dormitories, was prone to act motherly towards all
Gryffindors. Usually, Hermione didn’t mind that—she even found it sweet—but right now
she just don’t want to be at the receiving end of prying questions.

“Password?” The Fat Lady asked as Hermione stepped up in front of the portrait. The
Fat Lady took in Hermione’s red-rimmed eyes and asked, “Oh dear, are you all right?
Your eyes are all red!”

“Twinkle star,” Hermione muttered the password. The Fat Lady told everything to her
friend Violet from the downstairs painting, so Hermione knew that she must come up with
a safe answer. “I’ve got sore eyes,” she explained.

“Oh you poor dear!” the Fat Lady said as the portrait door swung open.

Hermione climbed inside and was relieved to see that the common room was deserted
except for a few first and second year students who were too busy poring over their
school work to notice any other thing. Most probably almost everyone was in the Great
Hall for dinner.

She ran up to her room. She flung her book bag on the bed as fresh tears flowed down
from her eyes.

She sat down on the bed and buried her face in her hands. She was scared of Malfoy
and of what he could make her feel. But more importantly, she was more scared of herself.

If the books had not fallen, she knew she would have gone all the way with Malfoy.
Malfoy! What was wrong with her? Was she some sort of a closet sex maniac?  Why
was she very weak? Why could she not resist? Was she doing it out of spite, because
of Ron?

She just imagined what could happen if Madam Pince caught them in the act. It would
be so humiliating. The whole faculty would know. The whole school would know. Her
parents, Ron, Harry, Ginny, the rest of the Weasleys…everyone she cared for would find
out, and they would get really angry and disappointed in her. Everyone would talk and
gossip endlessly about the whole thing, because the Head Girl and Miss-Goody-Two-
Shoes did it with the school rogue and Death Eater in-the-making.

Supposedly she and Malfoy had sex and they did not get caught. At least that was a
better consolation, but the situation would still be just as bleak. Was she ready for sex?
Could she handle the regrets after it? And did she want to lose her virginity that way?
Of course she wanted to have sex, but she preferred doing it with a man she loved. She
did not love Malfoy. She was attracted to him, all right, but she did not love him.

But she also could not deny a nagging voice inside her head. ‘You want Draco Malfoy!
You want to have sex with Draco Malfoy!’ the voice shrieked mercilessly in her head.
She wanted more than Malfoy’s fingers inside of her.

She now hated Draco Malfoy more than ever for messing up her life.

She got up from her bed and reached for her vanity kit near the mirror. She searched
through her kit and took out a bottle of liquid concealer that was charmed to take on the
exact colour of one’s skin once it was applied. She had to do something about the
damned hickey. Even if she changed into school robes, there was still a chance that it
would be seen. She did not want to take that chance.

She sat on the bed again. She was too absorbed in trying to untwist the tightly closed
cover of the liquid concealer to hear that someone knocking on her door. Hermione did
not notice that someone was opening the door. She did not notice that Ginny had
poked her head through the doorway.

“Hermione?” Ginny asked tentatively. Hermione looked up in surprise and alarm.

Hermione tried to cover the hickey with one of her palms but it was too late. Ginny’s
eyes widened at the hickey on Hermione’s neck.

“Herm, that’s a hickey on your neck! Who gave it to you?”
 
 
 

To those who are asking if this will still be a D/H romance fic...well, yes! :) In fact, this will be
more of a D/H romance fic than ever. It is just set against a bigger backdrop. ^_^

And of course, this will still be an essentially dark and LONG fic…with bits of humour here
and there (I can’t help it). It’s because of the dialogue. I don’t think Ron, Harry, and Hermione
can talk ‘dark’ especially when they’re together. They always have a funny comment for
everything. But I’ll make it up by keeping Draco dark, which of course, fits him so well.

In most fanfics, Draco and Hermione fall in love, and Draco changes…he becomes good. I’m
looking forward to something different. What about Hermione, why not make her change into a
bad girl? No, it’s not necessarily about Hermione becoming evil or traitorous (although the idea
of Hermione becoming evil is a very good one, I think). I’m just talking about loosening Hermione
up and making her more of a bad ass chick. Hermione’s not made of stone. She gets turned on, too.

So far in chapters 5, 6, and 7 happened all in one day. It’s just that the free day the students had
is a crucial part for explanations. After these chapters the pace will be quicker.

I didn’t plan the horseback riding scene, it just wrote itself. It was begging to be written. Draco
wanted to ride a horse—and a Pegasus at that—and I can’t deprive him of that. What Draco wants,
Draco gets. And I have this thing about Draco being a horseback rider. I can never picture Draco in
leather (sorry for leather Draco fans) or in a motorcycle. For me Draco looks like an evil aristocrat,
not James-Dean rebel-without-a-cause type (Sirius is more of a James Dean for me). And expect
Sirius and Remus to be around for a while, making cameo appearances. I love those guys, next to
Draco of course. I also love Ron very much, but still next to Draco. Draco is my number one!

Yes I’m a Filipina! I’m so glad that there’s a lot of Filipinas in ff.net! Ang saya-saya ko dahil nag-re-
review kayo sa stories ko! :) Mukhang marami na tayo sa ff.net ha! Maganda yun!

Shameless plug: Please read and review my fic, ‘At Night She Came to Me / He Who I Never
Knew’. It’s finished, short, real, and different, but it’s still romance. It’s worth a read, if I do say so
myself.  Among the D/H fics I authored, ‘At Night She Came to Me / He Who I Never Knew’ is the
dearest to my heart. ‘He Who I Never Knew’ is just a sequel. ‘At Night She Came to Me’ is a story
in itself, and it’s something I’m holding on to (you’ll know why when you read it). That fic was inspired
by a scene from book 4, which gave me an idea of a D/H romance…I won’t tell you what scene…
you’ll find it in the A/N of that fic. I’ll really, really appreciate it if you read and review that fic and
Dark Child. Thanks! ^_^ As for ‘Pssst…Do You Wanna Know Draco’s Secret?’ it’ll be on hold for
a while. I have to make some research for the details I want to add to that fic.

By the way, the meaning of names:

Serilda – means ‘armoured battle-maid’

Thor – means ‘thunder’

Saber – means ‘sword’

Maximilian – means ‘greatest in excellence’

Details of my fic as supported by details from the books:

1.) Wizards/witches don’t necessarily wear muggle clothes under their robes. I got this idea
from book 4, chapter 7, (Bagman and Crouch), when a wizard Archie insisted on wearing a
long flowery nightgown: There was already a small queue for the tap in the corner of the
field. Harry, Ron, and Hermione joined it, right behind a pair of men who were having
a heated argument. One of them was a very old wizard who was wearing a long flowery
nightgown. The other was clearly a Ministry wizard; he was holding out a pair of
pinstriped trousers and almost crying with exasperation.

Archie obviously didn’t have any idea what muggle men wear. And other wizards came to the
camp wearing kilts and ponchos—they obviously weren’t familiar with proper muggle dressing.
So I concluded that some wizards/witches don’t wear muggle clothes. :)

2.) Arabella Figg lives in #2 Magnolia Crescent. I deduced it from the following lines from
Book 3, Chapter 3 (The Knight Bus):

"Lumos," Harry muttered, and a light appeared at the end of his wand, almost dazzling
him. He held it high over his head, and the pebble-dashed walls of number two suddenly
sparkled; the garage door gleamed, and between them Harry saw, quite distinctly, the
hulking outline of something very big, with wide, gleaming eyes.

When this scene happened, Harry was in Magnolia Crescent. It’s obvious that Mrs. Figg
(Harry’s baby-sitter, from Book 1, chapter 2, The Vanishing Glass) is the same as Arabella
Figg (one of Dumbledore’s “old crowd” as said in Book 4, Chapter 36, The Parting of the
Ways) and that she was the one who called the Knight Bus for Harry when he ran away from
the Dursleys. The Knight Bus doesn’t come unless someone flags it down by sticking out his/her
wand (which Harry obviously didn’t coz he didn’t even know the Knight Bus existed before
that). I suppose Arabella was working undercover as a muggle to protect Harry from Voldemort
in the muggle world. I may be wrong, but I’m just putting two and two together.
 

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Chapter 8