He grabbed her arms and pressed her up the wall.

"Tell me," he whispered huskily, his hot breath warming the side of her face, "tell me you love me." But she did not answer, and instead freed herself from his grasp and kissed him long and hard. Their tongues intertwined, not unlike how they would soon find their lives to be. The sandpaper feel of his; hers smooth, delicate - they found each other and played about like two gambolling otters - each wondered if they tasted as wonderful as the warm, familiar feel in their mouth to the other, lavishing in every godsent moment.

A universe later, they broke apart, slightly gasping for breath.

"Is there a need, Draco?" she asked, with a smile that showed off her gorgeous row of pristine white, perfectly straight teeth.

Draco's arms found his way around her bountiful chest and slid against the smooth contours of Hermione's back, his clumsy fingers fumbling to unclasp her bra. Low gutteral moans sounded out of her mouth, and they collapsed onto the Hogwarts regulation bed - it was neither big enough or comfortably padded, but it would have to do - still locked in passionate embrace.

Draco stood stark naked save for his underwear ("Really? Chudley Cannons undies?" Hermione said, amused), which he kicked off a moment later, revealing a stiff, upright pole of a respectable length. Hermione let herself bask in the sweet, musty scent - Essence of Draco, no less - that filled her nostrils as he lowered himself towards her to kiss her again, his palms cupping her soft, round breasts and rubbing them gently in a circular motion. He could feel her heart beating against his as they lay on the bed, their knees locking together and their fingers grasping at each other, yearning, desperate for more. He was inside her - jacking like an overexcited terrier - his rough, stubby chin rubbing against her silky soft chest, his lips exploring the mountainous terrain. His tongue circled around Hermione's left nipple, inducing a soft groan from her, then worked his way down her slender curves to her belly button. She continued producing a long string of low moans, her arms stroking Draco's bare back and round his rippled abdomen.

"Merlin's fucking pants!"

Draco and Hermione paused their pantomime and looked up to see a large, dark figure at the doorway - Crabbe.

"I never knew he was capable of speech," remarked Hermione drily, recovering quickly.

But Draco hastily pulled up his underwear, his foreskin coming into contact with the cool, damp clot of cum that had gathered in it, and then his jeans.

"What are you thinking, Draco?" Crabbe spat, "What are you doing fucking tha - that filthy mudblood?"

What happened next gave Hermione a painful stab in her heart: "Mudblood maybe, but pretty as a nail. What, am I not allowed a night of harmless fun?" Draco replied, smooth as butter.

"Now if you please, before you send Snape up here."

Hermione felt like her heart was on fire, turning everything into ashes and soot. Her ears and mouth were being stung and stung again by a thousand wasps, her eyes blinded with a white foamy layer of liquid. She watched Crabbe shake his fist at the two of them and retreat downstairs but could not see - all she could see was the pale, handsome face of Draco contorted with a smirk, his blond hair swept to a side - a face that she hated and loathed more than anything in the world at that moment.

Her brain wasn't working, she had no idea what she was doing and knew nothing but the rage that bubbled in her body, the rage that spewed out of her mouth and hands as they reached out to slap that face that had turned to look at her.

"Am I just worth that to you? A night of harmless fun?" she hissed, her eyes thinning into slits. Her ears weren't working either - an angry buzzing, a disembodied voice that yelled "Jerk! Jerk! Jerk!", Draco's words a confused, indignant slur that Hermione heard but did not listen to.

"Coward."

Cold as a hailstorm in the winterest weather. Sharp as a thousand knives that pressed into his ribs. It hit him like an oncoming freight train an hour in front of its schedule, taking him utterly by surprise. A shadow of her slap stung his face as he saw, yes saw, her dress herself and storm out of the dormitory, his legs spello-taped to the ground, his arms flailing wildly, helplessly.

Mornings drove him crazy, nights haunted him, but evenings were the worst. They clawed at his insides at what could have been, what would have been had he not-

He wondered why he could not just let go of it. Dumping Astoria was a joke, and Pansy ditching him was almost hilarious. But this affected him like nothing else did, stung his heart like how her last slap stung his face. Catching a glance at her in the hallways, the torturous double potions, staring at her dark Hogwarts robes that hung loosely on her tiny frame, shaking with laughter at something that fucking Weasley said during mealtimes - they only made him hurt even more. If even possible, his hatred for those red-headed blood traitors had magnified by a hundredfold since the incident, for Hermione seemed to return to Ronald Weasley's side following their horrendous brea- their separation. He had tried to catch her alone, to apologise, but she slid away from him every time, laughed a little louder with her friends, smiled a little wider, just to spite him.

She was devastated despite the image of cold indifference she had decided to project, caring when she pretended not to. At times, she wondered if she had overreacted, that maybe she should seek him out and apologise for her rash behaviour, but the idea of humbling herself to a jerk, a coward, who cared more for his face than her love, was just inconceivable.

Two weeks since … since it. Two weeks of agony, of excruciating pain. Her breasts were tender at where he had fondled them, nauseous when she thought too much of his gentle touch and his striking blue eyes. Every movement exhausted her, as if his departure had taken away her strength and her stamina. She cried for hours at a time, thinking and thinking until she fell asleep in her fatigue.

At three weeks, she confided with Ginny, for despite her distaste at hearing his name, she said nothing against him, merely consoling Hermione and lending her a listening ear. Hermione told her of the her exhaustion and her illness following their fallout, for a bud of suspicion had begun to grow from the deepest crevice of her heart.

And when a Conceptus Potion confirmed her suspicion, Hermione began to cry in earnest.