Winter break had arrived after what had seemed like a matter of only a few weeks to her. As quickly as her classes flew by, the time that she spent in the common room seemed to drag on and on due mainly to the company that she was forced to keep whilst in the midst. Hermione Granger was Head Girl at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in her seventh and final year. When she had first learned of her new position, she had been overjoyed and bubbling with excitement. At least until she had waited in the Head's compartment on the Hogwarts Express to meet her male accompaniment. The one person that Hermione disliked more than anyone that she could remember throughout her life, Draco Malfoy, had been selected to fill the post of Head Boy. She figured that it may not be as bad as she thought, since they'd only be sharing the same duties and classes as they had done when they were both Prefects.

She was wrong. Professor McGonagall had given them both a short briefing before the Prefects arrived, informing them that they are to be civil to one another at all times in public, but what they did in private was their own business. The two Heads were both confused about this until the Head Mistress informed them both of the location of their shared common room.

Since that day, endless quarreling had become second nature to Hermione, and she had even learned to become less angry as Draco insulted her with his bitter remarks. The small fact that she was beginning to get used to it seemed to bother him the most, so she allowed herself to appear completely unaffected by each witty comment that he made. She enjoyed angering him and made it a point to do so each day since the school year had started.

However, Hermione had grown quite accustomed to Draco reappearing each night at either seven thirty or nine thirty, depending upon his Quidditch practice, and beginning the nightly contest of who could throw their insults harder against the other. It was the first night of winter break, which she had decided to remain at the school throughout, when Draco did not arrive at the dorm at his usual time.

'Peace and quiet,' she thought, as she changed from her regular clothing into a pair of fleece sweatpants and a tank top, accompanied by a thick pair of slippers. She took leave of her bedroom and sat down in an overstuffed armchair in front of the fireplace, curling up with a book and her old cat Crookshanks. 'He must've gone home for the holidays.'

No sooner than she had finished the thought, the door into the Heads common room swung open and in he marched, staring at Hermione as if he were stalking his prey.

"Bloody wonderful," he said, throwing his cloak across the length of the sofa and falling heavily onto it. He looked up to her and continued staring. "My father is going to get quite the earful from me."

Hermione pulled her eyes from the text littered pages and glanced up to meet his enraged stare. When she said nothing, he seemed to think that she wanted him to elaborate.

"He went on holiday with my mother to Paris for the break and decided it would be a splendid idea for me to remain here!" he finally said, throwing his arms out to the side in frustration.

Hermione stared at him still, eyebrows raised at the audacity that Draco had to feel the need to whine about something so insignificant to his perfect life.

"Now I'm stuck here with you," he added, voice slightly disgusted as he eyed her comfortable attire.

"The feeling is mutual, ferret," she said, closing her book and placing it on her stomach. This was his signal that it was alright to continue insulting her. In all honestly, she really didn't mind it anymore.

"It wouldn't be nearly as bad if you were at least a half blood. Then I might've even been able to pretend that I could enjoy your company," he replied.

She rolled her eyes at the comment on her blood status. He always started with something along those lines, and she was beginning to be able to predict his words on a daily basis. "If you were even slightly decent in appearance, I may even be able to deal with you. Well, with the help of a silencing charm," Hermione countered, and small smirk flashing in his direction when she finished.

He stared at her for a moment, contemplating his next words carefully. The night's witty banter would be short, he could see, as he had cracked a smile already. He was flustered because of his parents and the normalcy of insulting Hermione seemed to calm him down sufficiently enough. "Touché, Granger. I could say the same for you."

"But I already beat you to the looks insult, so your game is off. I know you were planning that next," she said, running her hands through Crookshanks' long fur.

Draco watched her hand moving for a moment after nodding in response. He now seemed content, even in her presence. He was comfortable around her now, and it almost unnerved them both. They were past all of their old formalities and beyond the point of blindly calling each other by crude named. Draco and Hermione had formed their own special relationship throughout the last term of school and whether or not the other noticed, both seemed to enjoy it.

"Did you consider the possibility that your father actually wishes the worst for you and did this with all intentions of making you realize his hatred?" she asked, jest clearly evident in her words. Lucius could never hate his perfect son. After all, Draco was Head Boy and Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team.

He only shot a smirk her way and shook his head. She wondered what exactly was going through his mind. It almost worried her that there was really no retort from him at all. Usually in any matter that concerned his father, all that Draco would do was whine and moan until someone had detention with Mr. Filch.

"How could he possibly hate someone as perfect as myself?" he replied after a long moment of silence, a grin slowly crossing his lips. He allowed his eyes to land on hers and awaited her response.

"I'd gladly give him a few pointers. After all, Harry, Ron and myself have done such a good job over these past six years," Hermione said, doing her best to suppress the smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth. Even if two of her best friends did hate him, she wasn't so sure that she did. She'd learned over the past couple of months that even those who are seemingly impossible to tolerate were actually somewhat decent companions in small enough doses.

"Only six? Has it really only been six years since you've all started disliking me?"

"Well, for Harry and myself, yes. Ron has hated you for as long as he can remember."

"Only three days? Really?" he asked.

"Ron can remember more than three days ago. At least I think," she answered, her smile slowly succeeding as she looked away from him and back towards the fire.

"Six and a half, you mean."

Hermione looked back, raising an eyebrow in question.

"You and Potter. You've hated me for six and a half years, not six."

Hermione thought for a moment about whether or not she should correct him. She was unsure if it would be a wise decision to announce that she no longer felt those feelings for him. "Six years, three months, three weeks and two days to be more precise," she said, turning her eyes back to the fire. She couldn't help but notice that he looked a bit less crude and angry in the warm glow of fire. He almost seemed as if he were a kind-hearted soul that should be constantly surrounded by singing birds and small forest animals. She almost laughed at the thought.

"Touché, again," he replied, allowing his eyes once again to drift back to her. Hermione seemed at peace there, comfortable in what he could only assume were her pajamas on the gushy armchair, book in her lap, legs dangling over the armrest. The fire appeared to be keeping her occupied and unaware of his wandering eyes. So, for a short moment, he allowed himself to properly inspect her, which he hadn't done since he had first met her. She seemed taller than Draco remembered, probably since it had been six years since he had last looked her over. Her hair was messy, but considerably tamer than it used to be, and her eyes were a few shades darker than he had thought they were. Her lips were perfect, he thought, full and not too big or too small. He liked them, and with that thought, he subconsciously licked his lips. Her shoulders were pusher forward in response to the curvature of the chair that she took refuge upon. But even with the obstruction of her arms, Draco had no problem noticing her breasts. His eyes widened a bit and he almost had to cover his mouth to keep himself from spouting something stupid like 'When did those get there?' After a few more seconds of ogling, he forced his eyes to continue along their path. Her stomach was flat, he knew, but whether or not there was any muscle to her abdomen, he couldn't tell through the fabric that covered her. Her backside pleased him too. He apparently never noticed that in six years, either. Her legs were long and they appeared to be well toned and in good shape. Again, it was hard to tell through her clothing.

"Quit staring. If it could be anymore obvious that you wanted me, you'd be on top of me right now," Hermione said suddenly, shocking Draco and forcing him to peel his eyes from her form and look back to her face. He felt color flush into his cheeks at her words and quickly looked away from her, outwardly ignoring her comment. Did he want her? Really? The more he thought about it, the more it began to seem like an understatement.

She smirked. Her ability to force him into speechlessness still made her slightly giddy at times, but she couldn't help but wonder what he was thinking. She knew that if he kept up the silence, she'd just think about the insinuation more and more. Why did she even say that? It just kind of came out, she told herself. Or did it? Maybe she wanted him. Maybe she was just suggesting her own feelings. But maybe she wasn't. Maybe the thought of him on top of her only made her feel warm inside because it was something she knew she'd never get, but if she did, she'd be proving the entire school wrong. No one liked to prove people wrong more than Hermione Granger.

"Well," Draco started, choosing his words carefully. "Well, maybe you're right," he finally said, letting his eyes linger for a few seconds on the wall in front of him before they slipped back to her.

She was already staring at him, a wild hunger burning behind her dark eyes. She didn't say anything for a few minutes, but rather kept her mouth shut by biting the inside of her lower lip. "Maybe I am," she replied quietly, shifting her weight and seating herself correctly in the overstuffed chair. She felt slightly uncomfortable, but at the same time, she could feel her insides burning for him.

"Maybe," he said in a barely audible voice. "Just maybe," he added, moving slowly to get up from his relaxed position and walk toward her. He placed one knee on either side of her legs and leaned forward, one hand holding himself up against the back of the chair and the other cautiously weaving its way through her hair. He could feel her shaking beneath him as he inched closer and closer to her, silver eyes watching soft chocolate ones as they darted to his lips.

There was only an inch of space separating them as Hermione felt her heart rate increase dramatically. What was going on here? How could she be doing such a thing? Then again, how could she not? It was Christmas break and she'd have a few weeks to live it down. Although, how easy he'd make it, she didn't know. The feeling of his thumb rubbing lightly against the bottom of her cheek brought her crashing back to reality as she realized there was on only half an inch of space remaining that kept they two of them apart.

What he was doing, Draco didn't really care. All that he could see in front of him was Hermione. All that he wanted at that moment was her. No matter how much be tried to deny it to himself, he couldn't. The small space grew smaller, reaching about a quarter of an inch. It seemed like he could cut the tension in the air between the two of them with a dull blade. He could feel her breath on his skin and he knew that there was no point in trying to pull away.

Hermione allowed her heavy eyelids to fall so that all she could see any longer were his lips closing in on hers. She almost felt as if she would look to anyone else as if she were being taken advantage of, and quickly moved her hands, placing on his waist and lightly gripping the white button down shirt, and the other gently along the nape of his neck. She could barely hear the clock in the courtyard chime as it struck midnight on the grounds.