J. K. Rowling owns Harry Potter.

-The Broom Closet-

Hermione felt like some force was shoving her backwards. She stumbled as it pushed her, and suddenly she hit a wall or something and everything was all dark, except for the thin crack of light near the floor.

must be in a broom closet or something, she thought. Some kind of hidden passageway out of the castle? Why?

She pulled out her wand to try and unlock the door, but she ended up elbowing something soft behind her.

It must be a person! she realized.

Why was there a person in here? Had they done this?

"Hello?" she whispered hesitantly, turning to face whoever was there.

She saw a glint of platinum blonde hair in the brief light from the crack under the door.

Was this who she thought it was?

And if it was, why?

"Hermione?" the incredulous voice asked her.

"Malfoy?" she asked. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Hermione," Draco whispered, leaning closer to her, his hands reaching out and finding her curly brown hair.

"What are you doing?" she asked, a bit frightened, but she was determined not to show it.

That was when she felt his mouth descend upon hers, and she felt like she was on that rollercoaster she had ridden over the summer, the one with all the corkscrews and loops and turns.

The one after which she couldn't walk straight for over an hour.

She felt the same way she had felt back when she had hit this same guy in her third year.

Blood boiling under her skin, anger and raw emotion and all that.

And now, now she was kissing him.

But why was he even kissing her? Surely he still hated her? Hopefully?

And why wasn't she trying to beat him up, anyways?

Her thoughts fluttered away one by one until the only words on her mind were his name.

Draco Malfoy. Draco Malfoy is kissing me, she kept repeating in her head.

And for some odd, mad reason, she wanted to kiss him back.

Hermione pressed herself against him, opening her mouth a little, feeling like she was being electified with heat and frozen to death in Antarctica at the same time.

He was a great kisser, she found herself thinking.

And there was nothing weird or mad about it.

He suddenly shoved her away, very abruptly.

"What am I doing?" he demanded of himself out loud, stuffing his hands behind his back.

The same hands that had previously been touching her hair!

Hermioneba quickly backed away, against the wall.

"Sorry," she found herself murmuring.

He was so beautiful-looking, she realized. An odd revelation, considering the fact that she could hardly see him.

"Alohomora," he said softly, and the door opened with a slow, ghostly creak.

She ran down the corridor and up the first stairs she saw, not even caring that she might not be going the right way.

And Draco just stood there, watching her, wondering what he had just done, and the question of the day sprung up again.

Why?