Up against a cold, castle wall. Nowhere to go. A madman slowly advancing towards me, with a curled lip and maniac gleam.

Not my idea of a pleasant Saturday evening, if you ask me.

My heart was pounding so hard, my fingers became thumbs and when I scrabbled for my wand, the fiendish monster quickly accio'ed it and flung it behind him.

Well, shit.

With each step he took, my fright levels soared. He was stronger than me, and had magic on his side. If he reached me, Merlin alone knows what he'd do. Did I not have any weapon available to me at all? A loose rock in the wall behind me, maybe? Always worked for Nancy Drew…

Keeping my eyes on him, I started digging into the mortar that held this castle's ancient stones together. Funny, you'd think it would be magic that did that…

For Merlin's sake, Hermione, concentrate!

Come on, come on…

Abruptly, the monster stopped its slow stalk.

Leaned against the kitchenette's table and sighed, rolling his eyes.

'What's up with the wand, Granger?' Malfoy asked wearily. 'Don't you know it's rude to brandish your wand at a person, if not for the purposes of attacking?'

'I'm defending myself from certain attack!' I retorted. Good. I retorted. Not showing that I'm the slightest bit terrified. At all.

Malfoy spread out his arms. No wand clinging to the end of either one. Even turned out his pockets. Unless he's come up with a way to make his wand invisible…

'Almost-certain attack,' I amended.

'Granger, I'm not going to attack you.' In fact, Malfoy had crossed his arms and was contemplating the ceiling. Then his stunning silver eyes returned to me and began a slow inspection of my body –

Stunning silver eyes? What the hell is wrong with me?

Harry and Ron said it would happen one day. At the time, I gave their opinion the attention it deserved. But it appears they were right. Obviously I have crammed so much knowledge into my head that I've caused permanent damage to my brain, to whit, the part that should be giving me appropriate guidance as to what 'good' looks like when it comes to boys.

Are eighteen year-olds called boys or men?

'Granger! Get your head out of wherever it's gone to and listen to me. Please.'

His 'please' was late, but not even I could argue it was merely tacked on as an afterthought.

'Can I stop looking for a weapon to defend myself with?' I asked suspiciously.

His lips quirked in a brief, beautiful grin. 'Yes, Granger, you can stop looking for something to kill me with. Not that you'd succeed.'

'Oh, yeah?'

'Oh, yeah.'

Funny how two words have completely different meanings, depending on where you emphasise.

'Wanna bet?' I asked.

Crap. Two of the stupidest words ever to say to a Malfoy came tumbling out of my mouth.

Malfoy smiled. Regretfully.

'Another time,' he replied. 'Now, would you like to make yourself comfortable, or would you prefer to continue holding up the wall?'

I considered. 'Wall,' I decided.

'Suit yourself.'

Silence.

More silence.

Even more silence.

This is stupid. 'I thought you said you had something to say,' I said impatiently.

He sighed and ran both hands through his hair. 'It's not easy talking to you, sometimes.'

'Really? All these years you've called me rude names, said hurtful things about my teeth, my hair, and – '

'As I said. It's not easy talking to you.' His eyes glittered.

Hmph. Clever dick.

'Well, how about I get you started?' I snapped. 'Here's a nice, gentle question for you to warm up with. What in the name of Merlin were you doing, stalking me like a mange-ridden werewolf that hasn't had it in months when I just got in a few minutes ago?'

Malfoy looked offended. 'I don't look like I have mange!' he sputtered.

Trust him to only get offended about that.

Well, I suppose he has a right to be. I'd be blind and delusional if I said there are other boys better-looking than Draco Malfoy. Because there aren't. Simple. Sure, years ago he was a pale, skinny ten-pound weakling, but sometime over the years when I was doing my best to ignore him, he went and bloody well grew up, didn't he?

On our first day back at school last September, having been informed that as newly-appointed Head Boy and Head Girl, we'd not only have to (shudder) co-operate with each other in the school's best interests, but we'd also have to freaking live together in the Heads' dorm, you can forgive me if I didn't immediately notice how tall he'd gotten. And how well his Quidditch uniform looked on him. And how toned his arms were when he wore t-shirts.

And how he'd given up slicking back his platinum hair (which just made him look like a creepy miniature version of his old man) and now had one of those 'casual' hairstyles that look like you just got out of bed, but in reality you spent forty-five minutes applying product and swearing at the bathroom mirror to get the look perfect. Malfoy's hairstyle is: how it looks when he gets out of the shower.

I swear, I don't know what he looks like when he gets out of the shower! I don't! I haven't looked! It's just… I can hear the water in the bathroom stop running. Between then and the time he comes bounding, or slouching, down the stairs (with his clothes on, need I point out?) to the common room, there's simply no time for hair-play.

Ha.

Wish that were true for me.

Don't get me wrong. My hair's much more manageable these days. It's just that there's so much of it! Lately I've been experimenting with up-dos. Today, for example, for our trip to Hogsmeade, I wore my hair in a French twist. Upon Ginny's advice (and she's always right) I also wore gold hoop earrings. So everyone knows I have ears. Well, obviously I do, but no-one sees them. Because hair.

Wow. I really do get side-tracked, don't I?

Back to Malfoy, who, eerily, was waiting for me to return to the present.

He cleared his throat. 'Well, aside from the fact that I obviously do not look like I have mange' –

I waved my hand in a 'get on with it' motion –

- 'I didn't see you this morning when you left for Hogsmeade.'

'Yeah. And?'

'And I had a Quidditch game, so I couldn't go into Hogsmeade with the others.'

'Yeah. And?'

'And, I was tired after the match, which we won, thanks for asking, so I didn't go into Hogsmeade with the other players.'

'Yeah. And?'

'Stop saying that!' Malfoy flung his arms into the air and shoved a nearby chair away from him. It made an unpleasant screech along the floor. I hate that noise. My whole body broke out in goosebumps. They washed over me like a wave.

'I've got no idea what the hell you're talking about, Malfoy!' I did some arm flinging of my own. 'What does you not going into Hogsmeade have to do with scaring the living daylights out of me?'

'Look at what you're wearing!' Malfoy hollered.

Silence.

OMG.

Did he just say…?

He did!

Just look at him. His chest is heaving and his fists are clenched. His face is a picture of rage.

'Damn it!' He clutched his head at his temples and spun on his heels, striding angrily to the settee. Which he promptly kicked.

Then he turned and looked at me, still clinging to the wall and totally flabbergasted.

Softly, he said: 'I wasn't supposed to tell you that way.'

'Hermione.'

His voice was measured. His breathing was calmer. He held out a hand, and I saw a look on his face that I'd never seen before. On any other person I'd say it was regret.

I've never made him lose his temper before. Even after seven years. All the taunting, back-biting, insults, even battles – he'd always kept this sneer permanently cemented on his face. Usually followed by a derisive laugh and a look down his nose.

So, I'd never seen a passionate Malfoy before. Not that it's something I want to see. Not in this way. My mind (the brain-damaged part, obviously) wondered what it would be like to be in bed with him, what he'd look like when he moved inside you. When he came. When he made you come.

Why would I think Malfoy was the type that made sure his bed partner enjoyed herself? He's one of the most selfish people on the planet.

Also, from my experience (Ron), let's just say that the woman's pleasure comes a distant second to the bloke getting his end off.

What am I doing? This is no time to think about sex!

Not when he's standing right in front of me!

He spoke again. 'Hermione, I'm sorry.'

The wall moved under my hands.

I swear it did.

The great Draco Malfoy apologised, without being forced, to ugly old Mudblood Granger.

I'd never had vertigo before. If this is what I'm experiencing, it's not very nice, I can tell you.

He sighed. 'I'm going to take the advantage of you being temporarily speechless and tell you what I've been trying to get the courage to say for a long time.

'You're beautiful. That was what I meant to say before. Look at you.'

This time, those words were said so softly I only just caught them.

'Malfoy,' I whispered. I can't help myself. I talk. Sue me. 'I'm only showing my knees and a shoulder.'

He smiled. Not smirked. Smiled. 'Then I'll tell you what I see. You're wearing soft, suede ankle boots with a narrow heel. The heel gives shape to your bare legs… makes them look even longer than they already are.

'You're wearing an oversized jumper that falls to the middle of your thighs. At first glance, it looks like you're not wearing anything underneath, but when you move, I see that you're wearing a tapered black mini-skirt. Sexy, and practicable. Quintessentially you.'

Is it getting hot in here? Why are my cheeks burning?

Malfoy continued, his eyes never leaving mine.

'The jumper's large, but it clings to the shape of your breasts. It slides down your shoulder, baring it and the strap of your bra. The dark copper colour brings out the warm tone of your skin.'

Oh, dear God.

He wasn't done.

He stepped closer. 'With your hair up, your graceful neck is exposed. Has anyone ever kissed you on the pulse of your throat, then put their tongue to it? Do you know how that feels?'

My lips opened, but no sound came out. I looked away.

'Hermione.' His voice was low, hypnotic. 'I want you to know how it feels.'

No. I can't look. This isn't real. I'm just having a very intense, erotic dream.

Footsteps moved away. Feeling oddly lonely, I looked back at him. He was leaning against the table with his arms crossed. Looking at the ground. Unsure.

Another first. An unsure Malfoy. His ancestors must be spinning out of control in their crypt.

'Malfoy.' My voice cracked. Happens when I'm silent for too long. 'What you said was…'

He tensed.

… 'beautiful.'

He looked up, and all I saw was his silver eyes.

Yet I wasn't going to make it that easy for him.

'How can I trust what you say now, when for seven years we've fought like cats and dogs? We've both said horrible things to each other.'

He acknowledged. 'You want the short explanation or the long explanation?'

I considered. Do you know how sexy a man's collarbones are, peeking out of his shirt? I know, right? Not sexy. So you can see what state of mind I'm in.

'Short, please.'

He smirked. But this time, it was cute. 'Okay. The condensed, condensed, version is: I was raised to hate Muggles. Then I met you. You were hard to hate. So I had to do more to make myself hate you. Later, I accepted that what I'd been raised to believe was wrong. And that I could be honest about my feelings for you. But I was worried that too much damage had been done. You had every right to hate me. So I put space between us. Well, I tried to.' He rubbed the back of his neck. 'It's hard to stay away from you. Especially when we're in the same dorm. Also, you're quite intimidating.'

Intimidating? I'll file that away for later.

'So,' I said, 'what makes you think I'm interested in you?'

Now Malfoy really smiled. 'Shall we test it?'

I quickly retreated back to nervousness and the comfort of my wall. 'What do you want to do?'

'Can I fuck you up against the wall?'

'Too soon, Malfoy.'

He laughed and threw me a heart-breaking grin. 'Kidding.'

He unbuttoned his shirt. One button at a time. Not taking his eyes off me.

That man owns the colour black. It's like the colour was invented just for him.

When he got to the end of the buttons, he opened his shirt and drew it over his shoulders and arms.

My hand went to my mouth.

He had the most beautiful upper body. Honestly. Twenty out of ten. He was muscular and toned. I itched to move my hands over the contours of his biceps and pecs. The ridges of his abdomen showed, just as he was standing and breathing normally. (Unlike Ron, who had to suck in his breath. Just saying).

He undid his belt with one hand, eyes not moving from mine.

When he undid the top button of his jeans, I stopped breathing.

He left it there, and the jeans settled lower on his hips.

I think I whimpered.

He raised an amused eyebrow.

His lateral muscles tapered in at his hips. A line of fine blonde hair started below his navel and traced down, to an area still concealed by his jeans. He was erect. Not that I could see it, but its outline was prominent.

It was a big outline.

'Hermione?'

What? Oh! Am I interested in him?

I'd been touching my lips with my fingers, tracing them. Imagining his mouth on mine. I closed my eyes and licked my dry lips, catching my lower lip with my teeth. He muttered a slightly strangled oath.

I opened my eyes. 'Don't you dare hurt me, Draco Malfoy.'

'I promise,' he whispered.

I stepped away from the wall.

He met me in the middle of the room. He brushed away a tear that I hadn't known I'd cried, took my upturned face in his hands, and forever sealed our fates.