A/N: Hey Kids! I'm Back! So this little piece (actually the longest stand alone chapter I've written, so not really little) is just something I've written over the past couple of days. It's Malfoy / OC, set in the year 2013, DH compliant, slightly Epilogue compliant, (I've made quite a few changes just for the sake of artistic license) So I guess I could call it a tiny bit AU. It's a first-person narrative, and I've tried as hard as I can to not make the OC a Mary-Sue, but who knows if I actually succeeded, anyway, enough of this prepping, just read the story! ^^ I've contained some notes in an A/N at the bottom explaining a few of the changes.

Disclaimer: Everything is J.K's, I don't own anything, apart from Lucinda Grey, and maybe Alice Zabini.

CRASH
Well Bollocks, I think as I hurtle down the third floor corridor towards a staircase, blood pounding furiously in my head. I mentally calculate the chances of getting to the fourth floor and hiding behind the mirror that used to lead to Hogsmeade…
"Oh Deary, Dear…" A scratchy voice breaks through the sound of the pounding of my heart.
I consider my chances fairly depleted.
How the hell Filch is still able to sneak up on students is beyond me, he must at least be 90. And I mean, a professor asks him to deliver a message and suddenly, dear god, he's got a horrifically, crippling limp. But when there's a student out of bed? Old Filchey moves faster than a freaking muggle-Olympic athlete.
He's panting a little as he draws closer, (the only sign of his old age) but his face portrays an elated, slightly sadistic grin of pure glee.
Well Bollocks.

"A student out of bed, tut, tut," he smirks, a gruff chuckle emanates from his throat, and I momentarily fear for my life, or at least for my currently free Saturday afternoons.
"Follow me…" he grins and I trudge behind him, defeated.
If only I had Harry Potter's famous invisibility cloak, then sneaking around wouldn't be an issue. But to be fair he's a national hero and I've never met him, so me getting my greasy little mitts on it looks as likely as Hagrid getting pregnant and giving birth to a pigeon. Wow I have a weird imagination.

I'm so wrapped up in my own messed-up musing that I don't even notice that we've reached our destination, which much to my dismay is, Professor Malfoy's office. Granted I am in Slytherin, so I don't really know why Filch'd take me anywhere else, but a girl can dream right? I mean, I really do love my Saturday afternoons…
"Professor Malfoy," Filch says in his scratchy little voice, "I have caught one of your students far from bed, on the third floor corridor," he punctuates his sentence with a smug little smirk, as if awaiting praise for his achievements. Ruddy old coot. Wish he'd go retire already.
"Ah indeed you have," drawls the Head of Slytherin from behind his dark mahogany desk (seriously he was working at this time? This man has no life.) "Leave her to me Filch, she will be dealt with…accordingly," his lips curve into a scary looking smile, and a little shudder runs down my spine.

Professor Malfoy is possibly the youngest Head of House Hogwarts has ever seen, and he very nearly didn't get the job. If Harry Potter hadn't worked his ass off to clear Draco Malfoy and his mother's names, our dear Professor would undoubtedly be in Azkaban now. Headmistress McGonagall was doubtful when Malfoy applied for the post six years ago. But she must have seen something in him; similar to what Dumbledore saw in Snape all those years ago, because she gave him the job. I just hope Malfoy doesn't kill her like Snape did Dumbledore, because I quite like the old hag if I'm honest. (Yeah I know Snape was a good guy in the end but Dumby still got killed didn't he?)

Anyway, Professor Malfoy must have really loved his Godfather, because according to all the parents, he's got the whole potion's master/ head of Slytherin scary ass act down pat. I don't even know what Snape was like but if Malfoy's anything to go by – he must have an arse. Who was terrifying. A terrifying arse. I gulp and meet the Professor's silver-grey eyes. I have to admit, he may be as scary as an acromantula with a serious case of ugly but he is bloody well goddamn gorgeous. I've heard about a group of third years who started a Malfoy fan club and quite frankly looking into his eyes makes me want to buy one of their badges and sign up to be a life-time member.

"So Ms. Grey, care to explain your little adventure to me?" he drawls, lazily conjuring a chair for me to sit on. I'm surprised to find it's actually comfortable, but I let it slide, it's probably just the calm before the storm.
"Yes well you see sir, I was feeling a little sick, so I was heading to the Hospital Wing…"
"The Hospital Wing?" he asks cocking his eyebrow, "The same Hospital Wing that is on the first, not third, floor?" I go a pleasant beetroot colour. Busted.
"Um, yeah?" I try and smile my way out of it.
"Detention this Saturday, Grey." Smiling didn't work. He leans back in his chair a little.
"Gah, fine," I sigh exasperatedly. And then I realise that probably wasn't the politest thing I could have said.
"That should be "Gah fine, Sir" to you Grey," he says smirking, and the smirk is almost a smile. Oh my god Moody Malfoy is smiling! And I'm so goddamn surprised that he's smiling and that I just got away with being rude that I can't help blurting:
"You have a cute smile," I smack my hand over my mouth in shock as soon as the words pass my lips. Oh God. I'm dead!
His smile drops from his face like a ton of bricks. There is a line with professors. And I just crossed it; hell I just fucking flew over it naked on a thestral.
"That was inappropriate Grey. Make the two detentions. Now get out." Malfoy grinds his teeth, a snarl licking at his words. I leave his office faster than fiendfyre destroys a horcrux and twice as red.

Why did I just say that? WHY DID I JUST SAY THAT? Professor Malfoy is well a fucking professor! And I just go and tell him he has a cute smile? Am I high? Have I turned into a Gryffindork? Oh Voldemort's nipple!

I run through the dungeons and find an empty classroom to hide in so I can sort my head out. I sit on a desk and bury my head in my hands, completely mortified. First and foremost, as I've mentioned before, Malfoy is my head of house, and my professor. Secondly, he is old. We're talking like 33 fucking years old here. Thirdly he has a son, who will be coming to Hogwarts in four years, a son who is only 7 years younger than I am. I suppose the good news is he's divorced and perfectly eligible, so adultery wouldn't be a problem – why am I thinking about that? He's a daddy! And he's over twice my age! And he's a teacher!

But Merlin's beard is he fit. He flies every weekend so he's managed to maintain a lithe body and successfully avoided the butterbeerbelly sported by most men his age. He has gorgeous silky blond hair a girl would die for, eyes like molten silver, and that gorgeous smile, that caused this whole fiasco in the first place. Why did he have to smile? If he were better at being a moody git, this wouldn't have happened! And now I have two detentions. Which will probably be with him resulting in even more inevitable chaos and hippogriff shit.
Well, Bollocks.

The next morning finds me bleary eyed from lack of sleep and desperate to avoid Malfoy all day. Which is potentially problematic when you have double Potions with the guy last lesson. Maybe I could conveniently die at lunch? I slump in my seat (how very un-Slytherin of me) and reach for the coco-pops. I keep my head firmly down, and my eyes looking everywhere but the staff table. Alice Zabini takes her place to my right and automatically scolds me for my posture. Alice's dad is Blaise Zabini, one of the only neutral Slytherins present during the Second Wizarding War. After being declared (and rightfully so) innocent in 1998, he quickly got jiggy with it with his girlfriend Lisa Turpin (a Ravenclaw – how controversial), who he proceeded to marry when they found out she had a bun in the oven. The bun was of course the lovely cupcake-y goodness that is Alice, my bestie of the first-order, despite her knack for correcting me in etiquette. I fucking hate that.

You see a lot of people in our year are what we call ourselves the post-war-baby-generation (not very catchy we know). Some families (like the Potters and the Weasleys) waited maybe ten years after the defeat of no-nose before the babies started coming. But a select few (including Alice's and my parents) cut straight to chase and had kiddies straight away. So unfortunately we are the awkward middle generation who are too young to know the War heroes and too old to know their kids. At least when we go looking for jobs we won't have so much competition…

Alice makes a joke about Professor Longbottom's choice of robes and I look up at the staff table, completely forgetting my previous determination to absolutely not do that, and I find myself locked in a gaze shared between myself professor Malfoy. It seems that he was already looking at me when I catch his eye, and a small blush creeps onto my cheeks at that realization. All thoughts of Longbottom's robes depart from my brain and I find myself unable to look away from Malfoy's gorgeous ice-y eyes. They make me feel all melt-y inside and it makes me want to thaw him with the best heat possible – wow Lucinda Grey stop that train of though right there! We are not imagining sexytime with a teacher. It's not happening. No chance in hell.

I break the gaze and cast a glance at Prof. Longbottom. A chuckle bubbles up my throat. Our dear Herbology professor is wearing robes in a very unpleasant acid green.
"Oh God!" I giggle clutching Alice's arm, "You'd think he was the new Dumbledore!" Alice's laugh rings in my ears and for a few minutes of playful banter, I forget all about Draco Malfoy and his patronus eyes, and revel in the simple joys of being a 15 year old girl with her best friend.

Classes pass by pretty quickly, and a heavy feeling of dread starts building in my stomach like rot. I think about how at this particular moment I'd rather do anything to be anywhere other than double Potions. I know I probably shouldn't even be that embarrassed; it was a pretty innocent slip of the tongue really- typical of any hormonal girl. But the point is. I am embarrassed. I'm so embarrassed. I just want to die in a hole. I'm storming through the corridors, thinking desperately of a way to skip class in a manner that wont simply land me in more detentions with the man. Because I really just can't face him, I'm mortified; I think I'll die in the middle of the classroom…
BAM
I walk straight into a wall of black squishy human. Long slender hands reach out and rest on my waist, steadying me. I look up to see who the unfortunate fellow is, and my heart drops about fifty feet. My eyes meet molten-silver again, and my face flushes red. I practically have to break my neck to look at him he's so fucking tall. It's then that I realise that he's still holding on to my waist. A sharp current of electricity emanates from his fingertips and jolts up my spine. Even more blood rushes to my face and I briefly wonder if all this blood stays in my face could I get a job as being part of the furnishings in the Gryffindor common room?

The professor appears to catch himself and lets go of me as if he's been stung.

"Watch where you're going Lucinda," he drawls, regaining his composure, placing a well-practiced sneer on his lips. But there's a spark in his eyes that I have seen before, and it excites me to think, did I cause that? But then I realise he's speaking again so I tell my brain to shut the fuck up.

"One would think a pureblood such as you would have a little more grace," he sneers, turns on his heel, and strides away, his robes floating around his ankles like deformed wings.

Ouch. I have to admit the jab at my heritage cuts me a little deep. Blood may not be so important now in these post-war times but I am still a Slytherin. And any negative comments on etiquette, grace or otherwise are hardwired into our brains as being deemed as an insult.
I growl, frustrated and a little wounded. It was his fault too! He wasn't looking where he was going either! Goddamnit he annoys me! I shake my fringe from my face, straighten up and continue on my way to Transfiguration. I still don't want to go to Potions ever again, even more so now, but I accept my fate. Maybe if I'm lucky I'll get hospitalised in the next half an hour, I waltz into the classroom, a second before Professor McGonagall enters herself.

The Potions lesson has passed by in a blissfully uneventful manner, and I silently thank Merlin for not making any other embarrassing shit happen. There's only so much blushing I can take. The whole class is packing up their things after an hour of attempting (and the majority failing) to brew the calming draught. I have to say I'm pretty happy with my attempt, and I kind of can't help but pack everything else up first, as if to preserve it's existence a little longer in it's little pewter cauldron, the clear liquid shimmering inside. I'm just about to vanish it when a hand rests on my wand arm, I'm not even surprised to see Malfoy standing by my desk, a look I can't quite pinpoint in his eyes.
"I was impressed by your work today Ms. Grey," he says, in a surprisingly non-sarcastic or evil manner, no trace of a snarl of a sneer in sight. Ten points to Slytherin for charming the king snake. "This potion is actually the only one in the class that is usable. I'll be giving it to Madam Pomfrey. Keep up the good work." I almost splutter at the compliment. I don't think I've ever heard him compliment anyone, ever.

"Um, sir, are you sure? Shouldn't you test it first?" I ask worriedly, imagining how my mother would react if I accidentally killed a student due to my insufficient potion-making skills. I'd be so dead.
"Are you doubting my ability as a Potions Master?" he asks drawing back his shoulders a little, I swear I think he's flared his nostrils. He reminds me of an animal, putting out his chest in defence.
"No sir!" I practically squeak, desperate to avoid another detention. Malfoy nods in a haughty manner (every damn mannerism of his is haughty, the stuck-up ponce) and he begins to walk to his office, but before he reaches the door he turns his head over his shoulder and says "Oh and Ms. Grey, you will be serving your detention with me tonight, 8 o'clock sharp." With that he slams his door with a resounding thud.
Well, Bollocks.

I've never really dreaded a detention before, and as a fifth year I've had my fair share. But this detention? I'm fucking bricking it. Don't get me wrong, I've always found the Potions Master attractive, ever since I was a dewy-eyed eleven year old, clamouring to get a front seat in his lessons, practically passing out every time he asked me a fucking question. But something has changed now, I've told him he's got a cute smile for fuck's sake. He's touched my waist! True I'd just pelted headfirst into him but the point remains, I've crossed a line. Thus making this detention inevitably fucking awkward.

At 8 o'clock (sharp I might add, terrified I may be, but unpunctual I am not) I knock on the door and bite my lip. A muffled "come in" issues from the depths of his office so I open the door and step inside. Malfoy walks out of a door I'm presuming leads to his private living quarters and I let out a little gasp.

He looks fucking divine.

He's discarded his outer robes sometime between dinner and now and his white shirt is open at the collar by two cheeky-ass buttons, revealing a delicate triangle of pale chest, punctuated by two gorgeous collarbones. I'm such a fan of collarbones and wowwowowow are his edible looking or what. Merlin's beard. His hair is a little ruffled and his slacks are a tiny bit creased. He looks like he's just been fucked and Gods does that turn me on and then some. I realise that I'm currently impersonating a goldfish so I shut my mouth and blush. My new favourite pastime; being a tomato. Unicorn turds he must think I'm retarded.

"Nice of you to join me, Grey," he drawls, walking towards his desk but not sitting behind it. Personally I think it's a bit cheeky of him to act like I'm late when I'm here bang on fucking time. Stupid man.

"I would say my pleasure, but we both know I'd be lying," I retaliate, a faint smile on my lips. I'm already in detention, might as well be a bit cheeky too. But of course in reality, it really is my pleasure to be here, that's how sad I am. With Professor Malfoy looking like that I could happily serve a thousand detentions, ten thousand, a hundred thousand, no a million! Stop that.

"Cut the cheek," he says sharply, opening a draw in his desk and beginning to search its contents. I scowl a little and cross my arms, unsure of what to say or do whilst he continues his rummages. With an "Aha!" he straightens up, his hand clutching a sprig of what looks like fluxweed, an ingredient for the calming draught. We must have wiped out the stocks in today's lesson.

"Okay Grey, today you'll be helping me make a few batches of calming draught for Madam Pomfrey, seeing as your potion in class was so successful. Follow me," he then turns and leads us to what appears to be his private lab, which looks like something you'd expect to find in the Ministry. I get over the momentary goldfish moment of awe I get upon seeing all the hi-tech Potions stuff, and quickly get to work.

The detention is passing in a pretty boring haze, akin to that of our potions lesson earlier that day. I let myself become in the monotonous task of chopping and stirring, I'm currently on my third batch of the draught and I'm just about to add some asphodel when I hear the Professor sigh. I look up to see Malfoy running a hand through his hair, a little crease appearing between his eyebrows. He stops mid-hand-run; his lips parted as he narrows his eyes at some potion he's been working on by himself for the past half hour. In this moment, he is perfect. I just want to run over to him and ravage him… I don't know when he looks over to me but our eyes meet and I'm sure he can tell my pupils have dilated and I have a little flush of desire brushed across my cheeks. For a second I think he's looking at me in a whole new light, where I'm not a student and he's not a teacher… But then he looks down to my hands and then to my cauldron and gasps. My eyes quickly follow suit and I realise that I've slowly been adding asphodel to my cauldron for the past who-ever-knows-how-many-minutes. The liquid inside is bubbling ferociously, gaining height and quickly eating up the cauldron as it rises to the brim. Malfoy reaches out to grab me just as a large BOOM fills the room and echoes off of the walls.

I open my eyes, forgetting when I even closed them, suddenly aware that I'm pressed against the Potions Master, his arms wrapped tightly around my body, his head resting on top of mine, effectively shielding me from the blast. My hands are pressed against his chest and I flex my fingers a little, feeling slightly perverted as I use the opportunity to briefly touch him. Wow I'm creepy.

I feel him shift his head above me and I look up at his face, bracing myself to be pushed violently away, bracing myself for the sneering, shouting and detentions. I almost wince. But they never come. His arms stay firmly encasing me, like a strong, protective cage. He holds my gaze, lets me continue to stroke his chest with my fingers. His pupils are black gaping holes, so deep I'm scared I'll fall into them, surrounded by perfect silver circles. I glance at his lips to see them parted, his breathe coming in and out of them heavily, and then I flick back to his eyes.

Ever so slowly, he starts to lower his head towards me, and my heart beats like a drum, determined to juxtapose his agonisingly slow movement. It seems to take forever, he's so fucking tall, but every inch closer sends another spike of adrenaline through my blood. I keep expecting him to snap out of it, whatever 'it' is, but this 'spell' doesn't break just yet. He's coming closer and closer, so close that I can smell him, sweet cinnamon mixed with soap and sweat, but he's not close enough. My breathing is mirroring his and my eyes are practically begging him to come closer, just a little closer. He's merely an inch away now, our exhalations of breath dancing in the tiny sliver of space between us. I have to shift my eyes to his lips to avoid going cross-eyed. Those beautiful pinkie lips that are parted so sinfully, still moving closer, and I'm expecting to wake up back in my dorm to discover it was all a dream…

And then it happens. His lips touch mine for the faintest of moments, and that's all it takes. Something sparks inside our skin and we awaken like beasts from hibernation. We're hungry.

His lips press against mine again, more persistent this time, pulling at mine, kissing, sucking, urging me to let go, to come undone. I kiss back with reckless abandon; I even move my hands to tangle my fingers in the soft silky strands of his hair. He seems to like that and he elicits a little growl, pulling me tighter against him, moulding his body to mine, our two pieces tessellate, and I find hardness there, and I moan. He runs his tongue over the bottom lip of my open mouth, pursed in a perfect "Oh" and I let him slip it inside. Our tongues dance against each other, pushing and circling, I tighten my grip in his hair needing him closer still, closer, closer until we melt into one, I graze my teeth against his tongue and he pulls at my lip with his. And then his lips are like fire on my neck and jaw, his hands setting me alight as they slide over my hips, my waist, my breasts. I pull him into another kiss, desperate for him now, needing him like a drug, like an antidote. My kisses are fiercely filled with Desperation, and I practically plead against his sinful lips; "Malfoy."

And then the enchantment breaks, like glass shattered on the floor. In uttering his name I've spoiled everything. And it comes crashing down on me like that glass. Shame on you. Shame on you. He pushes me away, a strangled cry escaping his throat. He looks horrified, disgusted. I whimper at the loss of him, at the loss of his warmth, of his protective arms. But he's gone; he's hurrying down the black corridor of escape, into the Navidson's hallway to a place where I can't follow. He's gripping a desk, his knuckles are white. He mumbles a "get out", but I don't hear him. I've already fled.

A/N: Okay, just some quick notes on the fanfic as a whole to avoid flames;
+ As you can see the fic is based between Harry's 7th year and the Epilogue of DH, I did some calculations to try and make this as valid as possible and I roughly calculated that the fic is set in 2013.

+ Obviously it's not completely canon, as Malfoy is head of Slytherin, Potions Master, and divorced. There are a few things where I've gone a bit wild with artistic license, like with the character Alice Zabini and her parents. (and who her parents are, and the fact that she exists.)

+ Regarding the Calming Draught, it's only briefly mentioned in Ootp, so I couldn't find any ingredients listed anywhere, so the fluxweed and asphodel are again artistic license, I don't know if asphodel is particularly reactive or not, but for the sake of the fic let's either say it is or it reacted badly when added in access to other ingredients.

As It stands, this will be left as 'In-Progress' but whether I decide to continue it, or leave it as a one-shot I will let you know.
Thanks for reading, feel free to review!