Author's Note: After a 4 years hiatus, I AM FINALLY BACKKKK! :D (For good, hopefully) In the past 4 years, I've graduated and went into full free-lancing mode, taking on as much jobs as I could. In this period, I've stopped writing because firstly, I didn't know how to develop the writings any further, and I wasn't motivated; I wanted to focus on theatre.

But no worries, I am back now and I plan to commit to this; I'm re-working my older fics as well, churning out new materials as I go along.

I will admit, my writing has gotten rusty so if there's anything, please feel free to PM me. :)

Hermione Granger's eyes swept through the bookshelves of the Restricted Section. She was looking for - Well, truth be told, she wasn't sure herself too. She sighed in frustration as she ran a hand through her hair.

The source for her frustration: Oliver Wood. Hermione had started dating him two months ago. They had gone on a couple of dates, all fairly sweet and romantic. On their last date - the day before she meant to head back to Hogwarts to repeat her 7th year -, he had invited her over to his house and had cooked a sumptuous 4 course dinner.

"Simply delicious!" exclaimed Hermione, as she settled herself comfortably on his couch.

Oliver joined her. "Perhaps, a 'thank you' kiss then?"

Hermione smiled and obliged enthusiastically. Oliver's kisses were soft and gentle. Everything about him was sweet and dreamy. Basically, the perfect man any woman could ask for. She seemed to have drifted off with her thoughts because before she knew it, his hands were under her jumper, skimming her belly. He looked at her, his eyes seeking permission. This was the furthest they had gone; there was a slight moment of hesitation before she nodded, and Oliver went back to placing tantalizing kisses on her neck. His hands were moving higher up now, and soon enough they were cupping her breasts through her soft, cotton bra. He massaged them as he sucked on her ear lobes, pressing himself onto her. Both their breathing quickened as his thumbs traced lazy circles around her nipples. Hermione gasped in pleasure, her nipples hardening against her bra. This seemed to edge Oliver on. His hips began grinding into hers, and there was no mistaking of his arousal against her abdomen. His kisses became more urgent and his hands moved down towards her jeans to unbuckle and unzip them.

Hermione's eyes widened and her body stilled as he slipped his right hand over her underwear.

"Stop!"

Oliver froze and looked up at her. He quickly withdrew his hands from her jeans and sat up. "I'm so sorry, Hermione. I shouldn't have rushed this. I thought –"

"No, it's just –" she stopped herself. Did she really want to admit that she was inexperience? From her understanding (through Lavender's and Pavarti's conversations), men seemed to be afraid of bedding virgins. ("You know, some girls tend to be a little clingy after their first time; and men are afraid of that sort of commitment," Lavender had reasoned.) Hermione had rolled her eyes then. Yet, it seemed to all make sense now.

"I just think that we should take things slow. You know, to make it more interesting?" She added. Oh lord. That was the stupidest justification she had ever came up with.

Oliver pulled her towards him, wrapping his arms around her. "It's okay. We'll wait," he smiled, kissing her forehead. Like the true gentleman he was.

And there she was, in the library, trying to make up for the lack of sexual knowledge she had. She wanted to make sure she was well prepared for what was to come. To at least know what the hell she was supposed to do when the opportunity were to arise.

There has to be something about this somewhere. When it comes to research, no one and nothing could get in her way.

And alas, she has found it! The Art of Concubitūs.

The book cover was made of worn, dark leather. No doubt, the book was at least a few centuries old; perhaps it would provide her with enough information to make a more informed decision.

With a deep breath, she opened the book.

Merlin! What she saw next was enough to make her burn in embarrassment. The moving illustrations embedded in the book were extremely detailed and descriptive. With every page that she turned, she was positive that some of the illustrations proved to be - for a lack of a better word - humanly impossible. She was utterly speechless; every thought seemed to have fled her mind.

And if she had been more observant, she would have noticed the shadow that was over-casting her. Because honestly, she would not want to be caught dead – or alive – with this book in her hands.

"Tsk, tsk!"

Hermione jumped. Before she had the chance to snap the book shut, someone has grabbed it from behind. Hermione braced herself; she had to reason her way out of this. She would just tell Pince that she just happened to come across this; and the title was strangely similar to another book that she was looking for - like The Art of Con- Con- Conception! Yes, The Art of Conception!

"Well, well. What do we have here? Granger caught red handed with such an explicitly vulgar book in her hands."

Merlin. It wasn't Pince. It was Draco Malfoy. At that very moment, Hermione wanted to just melt into ground, into her own pool of shame and embarrassment.

"I wasn't - just came across it - I didn't mean to - Looking for The Art of Conception," she tried to argue, rather unconvincingly.

If anything, Malfoy's smirk widened. Hermione groaned silently. He was not going to let her go so easily. He would harp on this for the next few weeks, until he finds another exciting piece of gossip to chew on.

Malfoy flipped through the book lazily as he leaned against the bookshelf. "I wonder what Pince would say if I handed in this piece of evidence to her. How disappointed she would be to see her favorite student abusing the Restricted Section pass."

Hermione's eyes widened. "No, no, no. I was just curious and wanted to do a little bit of research."

Malfoy lifted his eyebrows questioningly, as she fidgeted nervously under his stare. Oh lord, her face was burning up. She bet her face was as red as Ron's hair by now. "You know, Granger, there's no shame in trying to educate yourself in something so... primal."

There was an unreadable expression on his face now. Hermione cleared her throat and reached out her hands. "Give it back, Malfoy."

Ignoring her request, he tucked the book into his robes. "You know, not everything can be learnt via theories. Some knowledge is gained via experiments."

"What are you suggesting?" Hermione tapped her foot impatiently.

Malfoy leaned in close to her, and whispered suggestively in her ears. "I can offer you practical lessons. Invaluable knowledge that only I can provide you." And when Hermione protested, he added, "Oh, I pity the unlucky bloke who decided to bed you. If you change your mind, you know where to find me."

And with that, he turned and strutted out of the Restricted Section.

Hermione was furious. How dare he! And now, the only book available in the library was inaccessible. She buried her face in her palms. She didn't have a choice, did she?

The next morning at the Slytherin table, Draco Malfoy received an owl:

I'm in.