Chapter 3: Reality's Imagination

Hermione was late for breakfast the next morning, and he smiled ruthlessly at her appearance. She looked ruffled, her uniform in a little disarray, her hear pulled back into a messy bun of curls. Her face was pale, with dark smudges under her eyes, like she hadn't slept. Good. Draco was happy to find he'd given her no sleep. A pitiless, muffled chuckle broke out, and he had to catch himself before he began to laugh aloud.

Oh, he was having fun. Yes, he was truly enjoying causing Hermione Granger mental anguish. She would give, with enough brow-beating, and he was happy to know it was going to be him.

He would have her, for reasons unknown to even him. Maybe it was the challenge; maybe it was just teenage lust. Maybe he just had a desire to rid the school of the most prudish girl on Earth, claiming victory over all, and creating a work of art.

Or perhaps…it was that look in her eyes when he found her. That terrible look of utter despair that made him see that maybe, just maybe, it was possible that she wasn't so different than him after all.

He was smiling as he watched her take a bite of toast and a sip of juice before rushing out of the Great Hall.

Let the games begin.

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Shite, I'm gong to be late for Advanced Charms! Hermione thought to herself as she hurried along. Still chewing the bite of toast she'd taken from Ron's plate, she slung her pack over her shoulder. It was lighter than what she expected, and she groaned when she couldn't remember picking up her Charms book. There aren't enough hours in a day to get everything important done!

Juggling her bag, she stopped for a moment and flipped the cover on it up, shoving her hand deep inside searching for the thick text. Damn that Malfoy for keeping me up all night! I can't even think properly! Unable to sleep after their encounter, she'd lain awake in her room, rolling back and forth in her bed and disturbing Crookshanks. Finally he'd growled at her and she'd gotten out of bed to leave him in peace. She'd left her room to curl up in front of the glowing warmth of the fire in the heads common room, managing a meager two hours of sleep before Dean woke her up. Hermione had smiled embarrassedly and mumbled about how she had been unable to sleep, so she'd come into the common room to read and must have fallen asleep in the process. Dean had looked at her curiously when she had no book to prove her alibi, but thankfully asked no more questions, leaving her to rush through her morning routine.

"Yes, I left it in my room! Oh! I'm going to be so late!" she cried, swinging the bag back over her shoulder. With a frustrated sigh, she turned the corner and promptly bumped into a warm body.

"Oh! Hermione! What are you doing out of class?" It was Lavender, smiling brightly, obviously not caring that she was late also.

"I left my Charms book in my common room. Hopefully Professor Flitwick will forgive me," she said, smiling through her tired stupor.

"He will. Tell him you were having womanly troubles. That'll back him up!" Lavender exclaimed with a cackle. Hermione started a little at the sound of her laugh. It always made her jump.

"I'll keep that in mind," she murmured, giggling half-heartedly.

"Take care, Herms!" With that horrid nickname for an end note, Lavender bounced away, leaving Hermione standing, shaking her head.

Hermione turned and continued on to her room. Whispering the password to the tapestry, she ducked through the common room, grabbing her book, and rushed out, letting the tapestry fall back in place behind her. Hoping Professor Flitwick wouldn't be too upset, she slowed her pace, too tired to care. She was late anyway, what was another minute?

Rounding the corner, she stopped short, and turned to take a detour.

"Hermione…" her name was drawn out, teasing in its wretched delight. Malfoy had seen her, and she wasn't getting away. She paused, her back to him and glad she couldn't see his face.

"What?" Hermione asked, looking at her shoes with a troubled inward sigh. His loafers padded softly against the stone floor, halting inches from her back.

She felt his heat. He wasn't touching her, but her body was aware of him. Every curve, every ridge was outlined in her head, just from the heat, the sexual appeal he exuded.

"You are breaking the rules. You, mon charmant, are out of class without permission." She couldn't control the involuntary smirk. Mon charmant. My lovely. What would he think, if he knew she wasn't so lovely after all?

His breath was warm on her neck and she cursed her decision to wear a bun. "It seems I'm not the only one," she said. "You are out, also."

"Well, how convenient is it that we should be out together?" He leaned closer, the frightful lust screaming at her back. "Come. Let's make music."

"Sorry, Malfoy. I'm afraid my melody doesn't need a harmony."

Hermione couldn't stifle the shudder that wracked her body when his chuckle reverberated through her, making her stomach clench with an inconceivable fury. Desperately, she wanted to lean against him, to cease that foolish desire building in her core, but couldn't.

What would happen? What would be different?

His fingers pulled slightly on a stray curl lying against her neck, wanting her to lift her head.

How would giving into temptation change everything?

That chest, that lean, delicious chest brushed her shoulders as his head dipped.

Would it change me?

Moist breath lovingly fondled her ear when smooth arms enfolded her waist.

Would it change my relationship with my friends?

His breathing matched hers; they were molded, like a fusion she couldn't imagine even existed.

Would I be able to feel?

The lips against her earlobe were hot, almost blazing in their intensity.

Would it change him?

Curse that desire building inside her. It was terrible, wanting an experience she'd never desired before.

Does it matter?

"Stop! Just stop!" The words were painful, and she hated the way they sounded, but she couldn't give in.

Malfoy's hands stilled, but he did not remove them. She started to pull away, but his arms were frozen in place, and she couldn't escape.

"Hermione," she hated and loved her name when he said it. "Why can't you just let this happen?" His voice was soft, quiet. Turning slightly, she glanced at his face. He looked genuinely confused at her rejection.

"Because we live in reality, Malfoy, and you are the enemy. My role is to hate you, and visa versa. We do not mingle, and we most certainly do not have…passionate interludes. Is that reason enough for you?" she pushed against his chest, and he allowed her a little breadth, still not releasing her.

"Oh, mon cher, didn't anyone tell you? Reason is just a figment of reality's imagination."

Stunning. It was the only word that came to mind when she looked at him, turning those unpretentious words over and over in her head.

Is it really that simple?

At that moment, she wasn't sure.

"I'm dead. I'm just dead."

Of that, she was.