Chapter 1 Gryffindor Guilt

Hermione Granger was in trouble. Of all the people she could have snuck into the Room of Requirement with last night, why bloody hell did it have to be Draco Malfoy? Sure he was good looking in a pale, angular sort of way, and she had been stealing looks at him during Potions all year and thinking sordid thoughts, but he was also arrogant, cruel, and not to mention a Mudblood-hating Death Eater for Merlin's sake – just the type of person that she, as a Gryffindor and a Muggle-born, was predisposed to hate with a passion. And before last night, she was certain that she did.

At first she had tried to convince herself that it was simply a result of copious amounts of alcohol consumed at The Three Broomsticks, but the more she thought about it, she realized she only had 4 butter beers and a Firewhiskey, and after countless nights keeping up with the legendary drinking habits of Ron and the twins, she knew that drunkenness was not a plausible excuse for sleeping with Malfoy. Ever. Slytherin wanker that he was. Is, she silently chided herself, still is. She could not pretend that he was something else just because her lapse in judgment had given her carnal knowledge of the tall, pale, blonde. But she couldn't worry about that right now. She had to find all of her clothes and get the hell out of the Room without waking the snoring, still naked Malfoy. She had to admit, he looked rather fit against the black satin sheets the Room had provided for them – platinum hair uncharacteristically messy against his pillow, pale skin thinly concealing lean muscles across his arms and chest, the light pooling flatteringly on his toned abs. Hermione felt a pang of guilt as she realized she was somewhat disappointed that the sheets prevented her from seeing any lower…

Snapping back to reality, Hermione scanned the room and found her dress draped precariously on the lamp on the nightstand, her bra and panties at the foot of the king sized bed. Her shoes were nowhere to be found, but Hermione knew she had to get out of there, fast. Her ballet flats, like her dignity, would have to be a casualty of this catastrophic bout of temporary insanity. She could get new shoes; she could not get caught sneaking out of a bed containing a disrobed Draco Malfoy. She inched her way carefully out from under the covers, moving painstakingly slowly to avoid disturbing the slumbering scumbag next to her. She had to admit she found a bit of twisted satisfaction knowing that the impeccable, flawlessly manicured, controlled Pureblood prat Draco Malfoy snored and drooled in his sleep. She winced as her bare feet slapped the stone floor much louder than she had anticipated, but glancing back at Malfoy, she breathed a silent sigh of relief to see that he was still sound asleep. She pulled her clothes on quickly and quietly as she reached them, noting with considerable shame that the events of the previous night left her blissfully sore between her shapely thighs.

She got all the way to the door before a sleep-thickened but still oil-slick voice drawled "Where are you off to in such a hurry, sugar tits?" Her jaw instinctively clenched at the sound and she growled through gritted teeth "Call me that again and I'll hex off your pathetic excuse for a prick, Malfoy". She glared at him over her shoulder, a look that he was all too familiar with, although she usually wasn't pulling a dress over her delectable breasts and sporting a formidable love bite on her neck when she narrowed her wide brown eyes at the smug, pale face with piercing grey ones. He smirked at her roguishly before he looked away in search of his own clothing.

She smoothed her jumper down quickly before hurrying out of the Room, praying that she could get through the corridors and up from the common room before Harry, Ron, or any of her fellow Gryffindors noticed that she had tragically misplaced her shoes.

Luckily for Hermione, it was just before 6:00 AM, and the corridors were empty. She made it back to the Gryffindor common room without incident, unless you count a rather judgmental look from the Fat Lady as she swung her portrait up to let Hermione into the Tower. The common room was also deserted, and all the girls in her dormitory were sleeping soundly as she silently climbed into bed to try and sleep away the events of the past 12 hours. However, the harder she tried, the more apparent it became that she was not going to be able to sleep, thoughts of Draco Malfoy's impossibly pale, muscular form dancing through her head. Might as well embrace it, she thought. Maybe if she retraced her steps from the night before, she could figure out why, to borrow a phrase from her ginger-haired best friend, in the name of Merlin's most baggy y-fronts, she had decided that sleeping with Draco Malfoy was acceptable and rational behavior. She let herself drift into hazy memories as she settled languidly under the covers of her four-poster.