I don't own Harry Potter. 6th year, Canon implied.

He thought, mistakenly, that she could purify him.

It was almost a joke.

Almost

The animosity between them was fueled by something more. He could feel it just as he could feel his blood pumping through his veins.

The hatred, loathing that they all exchanged, barely veiled threats and an overall desire to hex each other into oblivion.

But that was how it has always been. He remembers, he knows instinctively that it began even before they all boarded the train to Hogwarts back in that fateful year when the Boy Who Lived graced the famed school with his presence.

The hatred had only grown since then, turning into a burning desire to see actual harm done, to see faces twisted in pain and to be able to gloat over that pain, flicking his wand just so, just like Bellatrix does whenever she's enjoying a bit of fun.

Almost

There was something there, something that even he didn't want to admit to himself. A burning passion down in the depths of his soul that kissing his off-again, on-again girlfriend did not quench. Something that even scrambled floundering in random broom closets did not remedy. Something that only one witch could cure, something that only tasting the sweet kisses of her mouth would remedy.

It became an obsession.

She was bored.

Bored beyond belief. She was GOOD. She was one third of the Golden Trio, destined to eventually face down Voldemort and his ilk, saving the Wizarding World from destruction.

That was if she didn't die of boredom.

It wasn't that she didn't have enough going on, with keeping Ron and Harry out of trouble, and class work and all, but there had been this routine for quite a long time, and she was ready to spice things up.

And if she needed spice, he was a chili pepper.

Habanero. Her mind supplied. Scotch Bonnet. Thai Hot. She had learned about all these types of peppers once, when she had taken a summer cooking class with her mum, to bond. They both felt that she was slipping away, losing touch with what made her unique. She barely saw her parents anymore, spending much of her time among witches and wizards rather than the Muggles with whom she spent eleven years.

She needed HIM. She needed him to taint her, to pull her back into reality, to make her FEEL.

She did not want to admit that she felt empty inside, and that the fiery redhead she expected to fill her emptiness was no longer satisfactory. He was too good. As much as they quibbled and squabbled with each other, they were two similar. She was good, innocent, caring and sweet. And so was he.

Some part of her craved danger, and not just the danger of being best friends with Harry Potter, but the danger of being caught doing something she shouldn't be doing, of being somewhere nobody expected her to be with somebody nobody would imagine.

So she planned. If she wanted to be most effective helping Harry defeat Voldemort, she needed to be tainted, to be human, to feel passion about something.

She needed him to feel ALIVE.

They stared at each other from across the Room of Requirement.

"What do you want?" He spat.

"You've been following me around, and I want to know why?"

They were both breathing heavily. Exhausted after shooting spells at each other.

"It's none of your business you filthy Mudblood!" He spat.

"Oh sure, call me that now, but I double checked. You've been following me around for a week at least!"

He took a quick glance at the door. It vanished.

She looked worriedly at the door as it vanished. Damn her subconscious!

They stared at each other for the longest time. Breathing labored, fiery intensity burning, but it seemed as though the room itself was suppressing their magic, their ability to duel each other into submission. So instead they stared.

And then they crashed.

He was pinned against the wall as his obsession stared deeply into his eyes before planting a searing kiss across his lips. He moved his hand up around her back and pulled her in, before flipping her around and pinning her to the wall. Her hands wrapped around his back and pulled him in deeper.

They broke apart and he led her over to the couch that had suddenly appeared. Somewhere along the way their outer robes vanished into a pool of black and she sat perched upon his lap, linked together as if they shared a common lung. His fingers traced licks of fire along the back of her neck, and her fingers worked through his perfect hair.

His shirt was the first to go, along with her sweater. Underneath he wore a undershirt, and her short sleeved blouse dipped just low enough to make his breathing even more ragged as they continued to touch each other, becoming acquainted with each other as if they had never met before. Then she saw it.

The skull and the snake. The Dark Mark, nearly black and almost alive against his porcelain skin. She touched it with just a bare finger. She looked back deep into his eyes and saw a question.

"Does it bother you?"

She wasn't sure what to say about that. His molten eyes were dark with desire, and she could feel the heat radiating off of him. She needed that fire within him to consume her, to maker her feel alive.

She planted a searing kiss on his lips, and then in a bizarre move, kissed IT. She ran her tongue lightly over it. She could feel the magic of it pulsing under her lips. She then looked back up to meet his eyes, shifting her weight on his lap and causing a groan.

"I need you" she whispered.

And he could do little more than agree.

The Sunday morning sun peeked in, and he felt lighter somehow. He had learned from his late Grandfather how to tell time based on the light coming in a window. It was barely 6am, if he was not mistaken. A body shifted next to him and he honestly took in his surroundings.

The room was a tasteful blend of grey, green and blue, soft bed with softer sheets, and a dark mass of chocolate colored curls. He looked over and saw the Dark Mark peeking through the mass of curls on his arm.

"Damn it!" He whispered to himself, but the figure in his arms had heard. However, it had nothing to do with the owner of those chocolate curls.

Her eyes fluttered open, and she looked panicked, looking about for an explanation.

"Morning."

She stared into his eyes, and he could see fury building in their chocolate depths before recognition and understanding filled those orbs.

"Morning." She replied. With that, he wanted nothing more than to stay here forever, away from the things that would taint this experience for him.

He shifted and she snuggled into his arms. He wrapped his arms around her and breathed in the scent of her hair. Neither of them had any plans, nor would be missed until noon at least. His mind flashed to last night.

"Was I your…." he murmured after a time.

"Yes." She nodded and continued to snuggle down into his arms.

The weight of what he had done settled on his body.

"Don't worry. I wanted that. I needed that." She sighed. "I wouldn't' have it any other way." She rotated until she was facing out, his marked arm draped across her, a tableau against her pale skin.

He raised an eyebrow.

She flicked her eyes to his mark again, and sighed. "You wouldn't understand."

But he did.

She shifted again, facing him, staring into his eyes. Their lips joined again, and she wrapped her arms around his back, wiggling them underneath his back.

"Draco." She commanded.

He opened his eyes and looked up into hers.

"Hermione?" She shook her head.

"Call me what you called me last night."

He paused. "Mudblood?" Her cheeks flushed hot and her eyes darkened.

"Say it like you mean it." She commanded.

He raised one eyebrow. "And why should I, you filthy mudblood?"

"Because." And she lowered her head to plant another searing kiss on the lips that had just been tainted with the foulest of insults.

As her kiss threatened to melt his brain once more, he thought 'Maybe she was just as tainted as he was... She's certainly just as twisted, just as disturbed...'

Or maybe they were both just kidding themselves.