A/N: Hello again, lovely readers! Here is the next installment of my little story for your reading pleasure.
Thank you again to MrBenzedrine for her lovely beta job : *

Chapter 3

"What are you two doing here?"

Snape - or rather - Headmaster Snape, the infernal traitor that he was, did not seem pleased to see them.

"Detention, Headmaster," Malfoy answered easily.

Gods, his voice. The sound of his voice was grating and echoing and fucking with her mind—just like the man himself, she supposed.

"Who's idea was this?" Again, short and crisp, to the point and lacking any apology he should have been bursting with.

"Professor Carrow," she answered coolly. "She's ordered us to the dungeons to await your discretion, Headmaster."

Hermione could not help the derisive scowl that appeared on her face, but Snape ignored it. She was prepared for the worst. Whatever the Carrows could manage surely paled in comparison to what he was capable of. This was the man that had killed Albus Dumbledore in cold blood! Her rage grew palpable.

"Fine," he conceded. "I suppose there are cauldrons you could wash, ingredients from the other classes you can put away. Slughorn will appreciate the help. You may leave only when you are finished."

He turned from the room, and Hermione openly gaped at the retreating wizard.

Was that all? Surely there was some sick and twisted plan. He couldn't really mean to assign them such a simple task. Something so arbitrary and easy. Busywork, really.

"On with it, Granger," Malfoy demanded of her, as if he were in charge of her or something. "The sooner we finish, the sooner we can leave."

Begrudgingly, Hermione had to agree with that assessment.

She set about Scorgifying the cauldrons as Snape had not forbidden magic. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Malfoy do the same on another row.

Bloody Hell.

It had been a day - a day of grueling classes and harsh teasing - but Hermione had still been unable to wrap her head around what had occurred between her and Malfoy. She had initially woke up thinking it had been a dream. She might have been able to convince herself it hadn't happened had her lips not been bruised from the impact of Malfoy's kissing.

What would Ron say?

He'd have a bloody conniption, and he'd certainly never understand.

She didn't understand herself. What had prompted her to let it happen - to not have pushed him away - to have participated? It was so many levels of insane she couldn't even begin to fathom it all.

The only thing she knew was that kissing Malfoy had been what her body wanted - what it had craved - the only thing that had made sense in the nightmare she had currently found herself in.

A small, very small, cowardly part of her wished for it to happen again.

When he kissed her, gone were her worries and concerns! There was no reason to think; snogging was instinctive and natural. It was a welcome relief in a, thus far horrible, seventh year. It didn't matter that he'd spat cruel things at her right after. Who cared if he called her names and said her blood was wrong? For a moment, he had been as blissfully carefree as she was.

She chanced a glance at the blond, busy casting cleaning charms and not looking at her. Perhaps it would never happen again?

"That wasn't as harsh as I expected it to be," she commented carefully, not looking at him.

"You're making smalltalk now?" he challenged.

"Just observing." Merlin, but the man made her nuts! She felt like everything she did was under scrutiny and being evaluated for strengths and weaknesses. He was so bloody Slytherin.

"Snape doesn't care," he said dismissively. "He has enough to worry about."

Finished with her rows, Hermione felt her ire peaked. "Oh, yes, let's feel sorry for poor...Headmaster Snape, beloved by the new regime and thrust in a most coveted position of power."

Malfoy glanced up at her, grey eyes peircing. "It's not so black and white, Granger. There are many shades of grey in this world."

Hermione's retort died on her tongue. Malfoy seemed to have the uncanny ability to make her feel small. Did he believe her to be a child that couldn't fathom life's tiny nuances, that she couldn't understand? She could—the bastard.

She gathered up jars of ingredients, carrying them in her arms before depositing them on the table in front of the potions cabinet. She and Malfoy did this until everything had been rounded up.

"I'm sorry to hear life as a Death Eater isn't all rainbows and sunshine," she snarked. "Poor Professor Snape, indeed."

Malfoy didn't answer her, for which she was not surprised, but just continued putting potions ingredients away. She had almost forgotten her remark until he said something so quietly she had to strain to hear.

"Have you ever wanted something so badly but been disappointed when it finally happened? Like, it wasn't exactly what you'd hoped for...you saw the facade and not what it really was." For a moment, Malfoy was open and vulnerable before closing down abruptly and adopting a haughty face of indifference. "I suppose a Mudblood like you wouldn't know the half of it. Your kind are useless."

It was odd, or rather, it was crazy the way Malfoy could make her feel so many emotions in the span of mere seconds! She begrudgingly came to terms with the fact that he did, indeed, have a real talent.

Hermione wasn't sure where her retort came from, but she was helpless to stop the words from tumbling from her mouth. "Was I useless yesterday when you had me pressed against the wall, Malfoy?"

He paused as if stunned, and Hermione couldn't suppress the giggle that escaped her lips.

~oOo*oOo~

The scathing sound that left her throat sent his rage to blazing.

That she, a mere Mudblood, would poke fun at him? Draco had long since known she was barmy, but even this had rose her craziness to new levels in his mind. She was out of line! She was a pompous girl that could barely be referred to as a witch, and she had the audacity to question him!

She was far too close.

She had probably brushed against him a half dozen times in her quest to put ingredients away, and it was wearing on his nerves.

Whirling on her, he slammed her back into the cabinet and stepped so he was just a hair's breath away. "Do you think you can taunt me, can throw it in my face when you were whimpering like a whore? I don't think so, Granger. You wanted it, just like you do now."

A plethora of emotions passed over her face from fear to rage.

"In your dreams, Malfoy." She pushed him hard in the chest, taking him by such surprise that he actually stumbled backwards. "You forced yourself on me. I was just surprised was all."

"Surprised...and no reaction, save that?"

Granger looked wary, mulling over the challenge in his words. Injecting herself with mock confidence, she agreed. "That's right. The only reaction I had was disgust."

He stepped forward, caging her against the wall as he had previously. "Disgust?" His gaze became feral as Granger seemed to shrink before his eyes against the wall. "So you weren't wet for me?"

Granger gasped, but, for a split second, he saw raw need pass over her expressive features. "You wish, Malfoy, you absolute prat! I pity the witch who would be so desperate for your affections."

She was stuttering, her false bravado fracturing, and Draco was grinning like the cat that got the cream.

"Would that I believed you. There is only one way to find out."

Granger slapped him, much harder than she had in third year. The sound echoed through the dungeons. Her stormy eyes were fearful as she realized what she'd done. Of course, she would expect him to hurt her—it was what he should do, but it wasn't what he did.

The urge to cause her pain was powerful, but he did something else, instead. Resisting his desire to reach for his wand, he instead pressed his lips to hers, searing them in a brutal battle for dominance.

She made a half-ass attempt to wrench away, as if that was what she really wanted, but the effort was futile and in vain. He kissed her erratically - lips clashing and teeth tearing. He didn't care—that was how him and Granger were. His cheek still stung from her slap. Everything was a battle of wills between them, everything was an argument.

She was a wild beast, and he was there to break her.

With single minded focus, he deepened the kiss, relishing in her decadent taste which seemed to drug his senses. He could almost forget about his purposes, his carefully planned actions, so long as it was her taste on his tongue. It was true what they'd said…

...The forbidden fruit was really the sweetest!

He mistakenly thought he only required but a taste, and then she would be gone, erased from his system. Only she wasn't, and after their previous game, he was left only wanting more, craving her intrinsic flavor.

He would make her see.

He would make her want it, too.

His hands were more insistent this time, trailing along her curves in delightful patterns, eliciting delicious sounds from her mouth. He had wanted to hurt her, and so he had kissed her instead. Now his goal was to break her, to dissolve her into pieces before she could utter more words of denial she didn't really mean.

She was making him think this way…

...How bad was his tempting witch?

So long as he coaxed her, so long as he showed her who had the authority, then she would see! She would know it was senseless to refuse him, that this was the only way to break the bizarre binding that connected them, and then he would be free of her - she would be out.

Visions of her riding him, of her tonguing him, of her writhing beneath him assaulted his vision. Though crude, it was a basic need he couldn't deny. Once he had her, he could forget her! He surely wouldn't be sticking his neck out for her any longer. His cock hardened to steel against her thigh, aching with need.

His fingers grew greedy.

He caressed the slopes of her breasts over her shirt, delighting in the resulting keen she let out. He need only coax her, only convince her, and she was ripe for the taking. He would tell her filthy things, entice her, anything to get her to let him.

He broke away from her scorching mouth to nuzzle her neck, placing wet kisses on the column of her vulnerable throat. Her head lulled to the side, giving him the access they both wanted. Granger was like putty in his more than capable hands.

"Are you wet for me?" he rasped, his voice almost unrecognizable.

The question made her moan, and Draco became a man-possessed.

"I bet your second lips are just soaking for me." He smirked against her neck, his fingers playing at the hem of her skirt. "I just need a little taste. If I get a taste, I'll be able to get it out, get you out, Granger, and then we can go back to hating each other. Won't you let me, Granger?" The pads of his fingertips brushed along the silky skin of her inner thighs. "Just give in, Granger."

"Malfoy." She began to stutter, so lost and unsure. "I'm not sure- I don't think…"

He ran his finger down her cloth-covered mound, cursing the thin cotton that separated them. She was always so torn in her desire—it wasn't fair! He was giving in, so she should, too. He wanted her to shatter into a million pieces for him. He became obsessed with the vision of her finally submitting instead of always fighting.

"I can make you feel so good," he promised, the dark infection of his words humming along with his magic that had flared out in search of hers. It felt oddly good when their wild magic touched for the first time, oddly right.

She held onto him tighter, seemingly just as surprised as he was.

His fingers trailed higher, just at the hem of her cotton knickers, almost home. "Be the good girl you always are," he demanded huskily. "Let me see."

And she might have, she might have let him. No one was there to stop them, no Snape or Harry or Ron or unnamed student, just them. His hand had dipped under her waistband, almost to its destination, when she suddenly reared away from him, flying to the opposite end of the bloody cabinet and, with shaky fingers, straightening her clothes.

"No, Malfoy," she said decisively, her hooded eyes brimming with a mixture of lust and determination. "I said I don't want you."

Something that felt eerily close to rejection froze through his heated limbs and vessels. She was telling him no, the Mudblood? It was incomprehensible. He couldn't think; there wasn't enough blood rushing to his head. She couldn't possibly mean to refuse him. They both needed this. They couldn't break the insufferable spell until they had each other, until he had her.

~oOo*oOo~