Draco leaned his cheek upon his hand, looking down at his book with unseeing eyes. What he really wanted to do he couldn't. He couldn't look at her. If he did, they would surely see, and he'd never hear the end of it. He managed to steal a glance at her when she raised her hand to answer one of the professor's questions, but even then he couldn't look at her properly, but had to sneer and poke Crabbe in the ribs, muttering, "insufferable know-it-all," just loud enough for her to hear.

He saw the blush creeping up the back of her neck and had to look away quickly. He knew that if the rest of the day would be lost if he spent one more second looking at her neck…rising milk-white from the collar of her robes…Damn her for wearing her hair up today, he thought darkly.

He managed to relieve some of his feelings by wadding up a piece of parchment and throwing it at the back of her head. His cronies laughed thickly as she turned round to glare at him with that fire in her eyes, her mouth hanging open slightly as if she wanted to yell at him but didn't dare for fear of detention and sullying her reputation as teachers' pet. Draco's stomach clenched as he forced his face into a smirk and she turned back around. That hadn't made him feel better after all.

He managed to lag behind his friends when the class was finished, as he knew she would be the last person to leave the classroom. He glanced up at her through his hair as it fell across his forehead; she was gathering her things and putting them into her bag. He didn't move until she had slung her bag on her shoulder and was walking down the aisle he was loitering in. When she reached him, he stood full in the center of the aisle and she couldn't get around him. She tried one way, then the other, and then sighed and looked at -him with an annoyed expression.

"Excuse me," she said pointedly. Draco smirked at her, his stomach tensing and his heart speeding up.

"What, for living? You don't have to apologize to me, love," he drawled, and her eyes flashed with anger again.

"State your business, Malfoy, or get out of my way," she growled. Draco laughed, and leaned forward, closing the distance between them in one swift motion, and bent his head so his lips were hovering inches from her ear. He could smell her shampoo.

"I need you," he breathed, watching the goose bumps emerge along the slope of her neck from her ear to where her shoulder began to curve and disappeared into her robe, "to help me with my Transfiguration homework."

She leaned back suddenly and looked as if she were going to slap him. He closed his eyes and braced himself for the impact that never came. When he opened his eyes again, she was stepping over a chair to get to the next aisle.

"Will you help me, then?" he called to her as she walked to the door, not sparing him a second glance. She stopped.

"Hmmm," she hmm'ed. Then she turned and looked at him as if she'd never seen him before. She narrowed her eyes and shrugged her shoulders. Draco let out a breath he hadn't even realized he was holding.

"Tomorrow is Hogsmeade weekend," he said quickly. "Meet me at the Shrieking Shack at 1:00." Hermione's mouth dropped open.

"The Shr—you can't be serious! Why the Shrieking Shack?"

"Because I can't be seen associating with Mudbloods, Granger, even you should know that," he replied, adopting his brusque manner once again. He made a grand show of brushing imaginary dirt of his robes and she opened her mouth to protest again. He stopped her with a wave of his hand.

"I know you can't stand to see someone do poorly in their studies, so you won't stand me up," he said, sweeping past her and out the door. "And if you do stand me up…let's just say that I can make you regret it." Hermione shut her mouth and glared at him murderously. Ha! He knew that would get her. He turned on his heel and left her standing there in the doorway, gaping after him. "Oh, and Granger," he added over his shoulder, "make sure you come alone."

The next day dawned dreary but dry as the older students made the pilgrimage from the great castle into Hogsmeade. Draco whistled tunelessly as he walked, hands in pockets and feeling very light and carefree. He wended his way through the crowd of students pressing their way through High Street and soon found himself walking quite alone up the hill toward the Shrieking Shack. If he knew Hermione at all, she would come.

He paused for a moment at the gate and peered up at the old building. He remembered as a child being afraid of this place, but now that he was older he knew there was nothing to fear within its walls. No, the real fears lay far outside this tiny village, and Draco knew just how frightening they could be. This place was merely a dilapidated, quiet old house, and the perfect place for his meeting with the Mudblood.

Speaking of the witch, he heard rustling footsteps behind him and spun around. There was Hermione, looking rather harassed and breathless as she trudged up the hill toward him. He smirked at her.

"Didn't cause you too much trouble, did I Granger?" She sniffed in reply and brushed past him with her nose in the air on her way up to the Shack. This might be more fun than he thought.

He followed a few paces behind her and entered the main room of the old building. Hermione was busy clearing a space for them to study in the middle of the floor. When she seemed satisfied, she began to unload her bag and spread the contents out around her. He watched her for a few moments, grateful for this chance to look at her properly.

Her hair fell in her face; she kept impatiently pushing it aside. Draco memorized her every movement, including the way she held her tongue between her teeth as she worked. She probably didn't even realize how beautiful she was, she wasn't really the kind, he mused. But the way her eyes blazed at him whenever she was especially annoyed or angry was the reason he baited her so often; it lit her up from within, that passion, and he was rapidly becoming addicted to seeing her looking like that.

Hermione finally stopped and looked up at him expectantly. Draco pulled himself out of his daydreams and sat down near hear, but not touching her. She sighed.

"Tell me what you need help with."

"It's that theory paper we have to write this weekend," he lied. He knew perfectly well that he had already completed said paper, and that he had no trouble understanding it. He just wanted to be alone with her, to have the opportunity to talk with her for more than just a few insults here and there.

She immediately came to life in a way Draco would never have suspected. She explained the theory in a way that ignited her passion in an entirely different manner than when she was angry or upset. She was so animated, she gestured with her hands and spoke in a fashion that was completely mesmerizing. He couldn't take his eyes off her, and she seemed to take it for his interest in the subject. So much the better.

"Did you understand?" she finally asked. Draco shook his head a bit to clear it. She misunderstood and sighed heavily. "I can explain it again, if you like. I don't understand why you don't get it, though. You're smarter than this," she added.

"Sorry," he apologized lamely.

"If only you'd just apply yourself more, it's like I'm always telling Harry and Ron—"

"Not those two wankers," Draco groaned, cutting across the end of her speech. Her eyes blazed as she looked at him incredulously. There was that look again.

"I'll not have you insulting my friends."

"I'll insult whomever I please," he retorted, standing up. He really didn't come here to hear about her precious Potter and that idiot Weasley. She stood up as well.

"You will not, Malfoy. I came here to help you, not hear you abuse Ron and Harry. If you don't want my help, I'll leave." She turned around and began picking up her books, as if to prove her point. Draco groaned. This was not working out at all.

"Don't."

Hermione glanced up at him, frozen in the middle of bending to pick up another book.

"What?"

"Don't go."

"Why shouldn't I?"

"Because—because I want you to stay."

She straightened up and studied his face for a moment, searching his eyes.

"What is it that you really wanted, Malfoy? I've seen you in class. You don't really need my help."

Draco shifted his weight from one foot to the other while he thought about what to say. He could lie, of course, and he thought, for just one crazy moment, about telling the truth. Would it really hurt anything to tell her?

"I wanted…I wanted to be alone with you."

"Why?" she asked, her eyes widening a bit as she glanced around. He chuckled, a low sound deep in his throat. Did she think he was going to attack her?

"Because I never get to look at you or talk to you properly in school," he answered. She gave him a wary kind of look that clearly said she didn't know what he meant. He sighed. He didn't know how to go on; the words weren't coming out right. Pacing. Pacing seemed like the thing to do now. He began to walk up and down the length of the room, pausing at the door to cast a Colloportus spell, just in case Hermione decided to run. Of course she could get out if she really wanted, but it would slow her down.

She didn't seem worried that she was locked in with him. She didn't even seem angry. A moment before he would have described her as apprehensive and a bit annoyed, but now she seemed…he couldn't tell. Her face was impassive and she continued to stare, just stare at him as he paced. A long minute passed in silence, where Draco had no idea what to say and Hermione watched him, the silence broken only by his heavy footfalls on the dust-covered floor.

"Draco," she said finally, quietly. He stopped dead in his tracks and spun around to look at her sharply. Draco? He fumbled around in his memory and tried to think if she'd ever used his first name before. "What are you trying to say?" He gaped at her a moment, mouth hanging open.

"What am I trying to say? …Do you really want to know?" he asked more quietly.

He didn't wait for her to answer. He didn't want to give her the chance to tell him that she didn't want to hear anything he had to say, so he rushed on, letting the words spill out of him that had been building up for the past eight months. He began to pace again, furiously this time, waving his hands wildly as he poured it all out, consequences be damned.

"I can't stop thinking about you…your eyes, your hair, the way you yell at me, the way you sit in a desk, even the way you tie your damn shoes…everything about you is driving me crazy…I might already be crazy, actually; I'm here, aren't I?" He shook his head and chuckled to himself. Hermione was watching him intently, standing perfectly still in the middle of the room as he paced wildly around her.

He finally slowed his mad pacing and slumped against the nearest wall.

"I…I think you should go," he finally said weakly, waving his wand half-heartedly at the door to lift the charm that locked it.

He turned his face away from her; he didn't have to look at her to see the shock and horror on her face, didn't want to see as she gathered up her things and stormed for the door. But suddenly, inexplicably, he felt a warm hand on his shoulder and looked up into deep amber eyes full of…what? Certainly not horror or disgust.

"I'm not leaving…not yet. Not until I understand."

"Understand?" he ground out. His sudden flash of anger didn't seem to faze Hermione one bit. She lifted her hand tentatively, hesitating a moment, before brushing a lock of hair out of his face gently. Draco closed his eyes and tried to steady his breathing.

"The strange thing," she mused, seemingly to herself, "is that I think I do…"

Draco's breath hitched in his chest and his eyes shot open again; Hermione didn't seem to notice as she went on.

"I actually thought I was going mad, myself, but…" She closed her eyes and dropped her hand from where it had been resting on his shoulder. The next words came out in a rush of air and were so quiet he had to strain to hear them. "I can't seem to stop thinking of you, either."

Draco felt like all the breath had rushed back into his lungs in one glorious moment and he thought he must be dreaming. Some wonderful, wonderful dream.

Hermione opened her mouth to say something else, but he didn't need to hear any more. He didn't want to hear her rationalizing, to hear her say that they could never be together. He knew that much on his own. But tomorrow, or even twenty minutes from now, didn't matter; all that mattered was that somehow he had slipped into one of his wildest, craziest daydreams and Hermione Granger was standing in front of him, telling him she felt the same way about him as he did about her.

He wrapped his arms around her before she could notice or pull away, and leaned down in one fluid motion to capture her lips with his. When she didn't make a move to escape or withdraw from his embrace, he deepened the kiss and pulled her tighter, before that brilliant mind of hers had a chance to whir into action. She whimpered and softened under his lips, and somehow her hands were tangled in his hair and he had turned her so her body was against the wall. She was kissing him back and Draco drank her in, tasting her slowly, memorizing every detail of her body as it was pushed up against his own. Her soft feminine curves were unfortunately quite hidden away under her school robes under normal circumstances, but now as she was pressed completely into his own firm body, he was able to fully appreciate the contrast their bodies made against each other. Soft and supple; firm and unyielding. Female and male. Girl and boy.

For a moment they were just that, a girl and a boy, holding onto each other for dear life. In that one shining moment everything else melted away, all the animosities and petty disagreements of the past five years, all the battle lines that had been drawn all around them, the choices that were being made for them, the choices they themselves had made. The outside world didn't exist. Voldemort didn't exist. School, friends, family, blood, all of it didn't matter.

He was merely a boy in love with a girl. And the rest of the world could wait.