Author's Note: This flashback is from Ch. 1, and it takes place late in their fourth year at Hogwarts.

Library

A chair was pulled out across the table from her, and Hermione looked up to see Malfoy taking a seat.

"What are you doing here?" she hissed.

"Not that it's any of your business, Granger, but usually when I come to the library, it's to get some work done."

She glared at him. "I meant, why are you sitting with me?"

"If you hadn't noticed, most of the library is full. If I had another option, I wouldn't be here."

"You could always go back to your common room."

"As if you could drive me away," said Malfoy, smirking.

Hermione sighed and started gathering her books. She was already exhausted from long hours of studying, and the last thing she needed was to get in another argument with the slimy git. She hadn't been able to stop thinking about him since the Yule Ball several weeks ago, but he hadn't tried to get her alone since.

It was as if that night had never happened—the only thing that convinced her that something had happened between them was the absence of the pair of underwear that he had taken away with him. But at this point, she was willing to believe that she'd simply dreamed up the whole scene and coincidentally lost that same pair of underwear.

"Are you really going to run away, like a coward? So much for Gryffindor bravery," Malfoy taunted.

She glared at him. "I'm done working for now, so I'm going to turn in. I'm tired."

"Studying too hard lately, hmm?"

"What do you care?"

Malfoy leaned across the table, snatched her Potions textbook, and started leafing through it.

Hermione held out her hand. "Give that back, Malfoy."

He raised an eyebrow. "What if I don't?"

"I'll hex you, that's what. Give it."

"Fine."

Malfoy passed the textbook to her, and after putting it in her bag with her other books, Hermione marched swiftly out of the library.

When she returned to Gryffindor Tower, she took her potions book out and continued scratching away on a piece of parchment. Then Ron walked by the table and accidentally knocked her book over—a corner of the book had been protruding over the edge of the desk. A folded scrap of parchment fell out.

"Sorry," said Ron, picking up the book and handing it to her. His eyes fell to the piece of parchment on the ground, and Hermione picked it up. "What is that?" he asked.

"It's none of your business, and besides, I thought you weren't talking to me," said Hermione.

Ron muttered darkly as he walked away, and Hermione managed to catch something about bushy hair, touchiness, and Victor Krum. She shook her head and ignored him, looking instead at the small piece of parchment in her hand.

She slowly unfolded it and saw, in elegant script, "Meet me at half past one, where you last saw me today."

Hermione blinked a few times and looked around. No one had noticed the note she was reading. She carefully tucked it in her pocket and kept writing, but her mind was partially occupied by a debate.

Should she meet him? Her body quivered in anticipation; she'd been reliving that night in her dreams, and she always woke up with the same wetness between her legs and the same ache low in her belly. But she couldn't meet him! He was Draco Malfoy, son of a Death Eater, and well on his way to becoming one himself!

She closed her eyes for a minute, trying to clear her head. She needed to finish this assignment for Potions. It wasn't due until Friday of next week, but she still wanted to get it done so that she could finish rereading the Arithmancy textbook.

Around eleven thirty, people slowly started trickling out of the common room. Hermione was halfway done with her Potions essay, and still she was struggling to make up her mind.

Finally, at half past midnight, Parvati and Lavender got up from their seats on the couches.

"Don't stay up too late, Hermione," said Parvati.

"I won't."

The best friends went up the staircase to the girls' dormitories, leaving Hermione alone in the common room. She turned her attention back to her dilemma. Should she go or not?

About twenty minutes later, she groaned and slammed her book in frustration. She would go down and meet him, but only to tell him that she wanted nothing more to do with him. She would tell him off for bothering her and make it very clear that she would hex him into oblivion if he ever tried anything with her again.

With this in mind, she worked feverishly until it was half past one—she found that she rather enjoyed idea of making him wait for her. She put down her quill, rolled up the piece of parchment that she'd been writing on, and closed the book. Then she stood and exited through the portrait hole.

The walk to the library felt shorter than it had ever been before, and soon she was striding over to the table where she had sat earlier that day.

It was empty.

What time was it? She was supposed to be the late one. How late was she? Had he left already? Then she sighed. How did she not catch that before? He probably hadn't even planned on showing up; he just wanted to mess with her head by making her think that he wanted to see her again. She glared at the spot where he'd been sitting before.

Then arms circled her from behind, and she jumped in surprise. His breath was hot against her ear.

"You're late, Hermione."

She shuddered the same way as she had when she'd first heard him utter her name.

"Get your hands off me," she said evenly.

"I would… but is that really what you want?"

Before Hermione could respond, he had turned her around, captured her lips with his, and pulled her up against him tightly. She wanted to scream, wanted to bite his tongue when it slipped into her mouth and began to explore, wanted to reach into her robes and pull out her wand to hex him as she'd promised herself she would.

But she didn't.

Instead, she moaned into his mouth and slid her hands underneath his shirt to run across his smooth skin, stretched over well-developed muscles. One of his hands was fisted in her hair, and he deepened the kiss. She gently ground her hips against his once, and he groaned, lifting his mouth away from hers. She kissed along his jaw and then down the side of his neck, simultaneously undoing the buttons on his shirt. She left open-mouthed kisses on his now exposed collarbone and felt such a strange sense of satisfaction as he moaned her name softly.

She, Hermione Granger, had power over Draco Malfoy.

But she didn't enjoy this power for long; he ripped her shirt off and shrugged off his own, and when his arms circled back around her, the feeling of his skin against hers put her on fire. She felt surrounded by him, and it felt so warm, so safe.

She lifted her head and tentatively licked his lips. With a low growl he kissed her, hard, and she pressed up against him. She felt his arousal against her thigh and a thrill coursed through her. His hands were caressing her back, and she sucked on his lower lip.

Then Malfoy pulled away from her, and her eyes snapped open. She blinked, waiting impatiently for him to spit out whatever he had to say so that she could taste those lips again.

"You're mine," he breathed. "Say that you're mine."

"I'm yours," Hermione said without hesitation.

"Good."