"Pass the quill."

I nearly jumped a mile, when the voice spoke. Malfoy was looking at me, with a sort of expectant look on his face. Why was he looking so bloody expectant? Don't tell me he expected me to jump and ravish him there in the middle of Potions class, merely because he had admitted some sort of attraction to me the night before, in what was probably a temporary lapse of his sanity. Also, why did he have take the damn seat next to the right of me? Ron always sat there, and he damn right knew it! Didn't he realize that Harry and Ron were on the brink of wringing his neck, as it was? Did we have to completely antagonize them by sitting in Gryffindor territory? What was wrong with him; and why was he still looking at me so expectantly?

"Can you pass the quill,"

Oh. Right.

I passed him the quill.

I was on edge. I had shrieked when Harry had tapped me on the shoulder during breakfast, and snapped at Ron when he had asked me what I was up to last night. After my episodes, Harry and Ron went off to whisper in the corner about "her time of the month", and "damn, she's moody", in a way they deemed subtle and unable to be overheard, which was apparently not the case, as Seamus looked up, amused, and quirked a questioning eyebrow at me.

I had shot him a, 'don't even try it, Finnigan' look, and he had held up his hands in a mock surrender gesture, and then pointed at my two best friends as if to play the blame.

At the moment, I was pretending to listen carefully to what Snape was saying- something about idiocy, and how it was extremely prevalent in the Gryffindor House. As per usual. In actuality, however, I was closely observing everything that Malfoy did beside me, out of the corner of my eye. He was reclining in his chair, legs stretched out in front of him, either for comfort, or to really piss off Neville, who was trying to push his chair further out for more room, but Malfoy's shoes were conveniently in his way.

Noting Malfoy's highly amused expression, or rather, remembering that he was Malfoy, it was probably the latter.

His left hand was also fiddling with the quill I had just handed him.

"You're left-handed," I blurted out, speaking to him for the first time since last night.

He just looked at me for a second. And then suddenly, he leaned into the crook of my neck, to whisper in my ear, "Keen observation. But we've been practically living together for, what, a month now?" His proximity was somewhat disorienting. I could smell him; woody, musky, cloying, clean.

He smelled very, very good.

Suddenly, there was a series of loud, hacking coughs coming from my left. It sounded like someone was dying. The abruptness of the sound almost caused me to fall off my chair, whereas Malfoy merely lifted is head to glare at the offending cougher.

Snape spoke immediately, preventing the outburst of a few choice words that seemed to be on the brink of spewing out of Malfoy's mouth. "For God sakes, Mr. Potter, if you're going to purposely cough out your lungs, could you not do it in my classroom, and save us all the sight?"

I turned to look curiously at my best fried to my left, who was currently in the process of turning a dark red. He seemed to be deciding between whether to strangle Malfoy, or shoot something undoubtedly smart-assed back at Snape, that would inevitable invite a month long of detention with Filch. I wondered if he was smart enough to shut up for his own good.

I pinched him arm, just in case.

I heard him hiss slightly, but he didn't say another word. Smart boy. There was a chuckle from Malfoy on my right, and I could feel the veins in Harry's hand tighten under my hand as his fist clenched, in response.

I used my other arm to sharply slap Malfoy in the thigh. It wasn't intended to be a sexual gesture, rather more inconspicuous as it was done under the table and out of Snape's line of sight. However, Malfoy seemed to take it that away, as evidenced by his slow smirk and cocked eyebrow. The effect was slightly lessened by the fact that he was also rubbing his thigh at the same time.

"I already told you, Granger. Later." His tone was mocking, but his eyes held all seriousness. Malfoy had even made sure to say it loud enough that everyone within close proximity could hear, including Zabini, across the aisle, who let out a loud snort of mixed derision and amusement. Conveniently, however, Snape seemed deaf to both of the Slytherins' outbursts.

House loyalty and all, I figure.

I did not chance a look at Harry or Ron during the rest of the Potions class. I didn't need to; merely by looking at Malfoy, who was having quite the laugh to himself just looking at their faces, I could tell it wasn't pretty.

- - - - -

Potions was my last class for the day. I rushed off to the Heads' dormitory, before Harry and Ron could bombard me with questions, akin to: "why the hell was Malfoy looking at you like that?", or even worse: "why the hell were you looking at Malfoy like that?".

Of course, Malfoy was right behind me. He had quite the talent for always being exactly where he wasn't wanted. Like a cold sore.

Yes, exactly like a cold sore.

I hurriedly muttered the password to the portrait and climbed into the common room. Malfoy shut the door behind himself, after me.

I turned around to face him. "Why are you here?" I demanded, putting my hands on my hips.

He looked sort of amused at the question. But then again, when did he not. "Last time I checked, I slept here too," he muttered faintly, lifting his head up to look around the room as if to play up the drama of recognizing it for the first time.

I opened my mouth to snap something sarcastic back, but he interrupted me. "And you've been avoiding me," he accused lightly.

I took up a defensive tone. "Since when?"

To combat my defensiveness, he seemed to decide that it was the perfect opportunity to be condescending. "Since last night."

He had a point. During lunch, we were supposed to discuss switching Blaise Zabini's patrolling shift for Terry Boot's, because apparently, Zabini had quidditch practice on Friday night. I had a sneaking suspicion that Zabini merely felt that he was allergic to red hair and freckles. However, I had backed out of our meeting last minute, and bribed some small first-year Gryffindor girl into relaying to Malfoy the reason for my absence: I had a nasty bout of the magical flu.

I had given her some Weasley Wheezes that had been dumped unceremoniously upon me by Ron, after his oh-so generous declaration that, "they're extras from the new order in, and I've got no more space under my bed, so I figured I'd just give 'em to you." And after much more convincing of her on my part that, "Draco Malfoy isn't so bad," she was off. I felt rather bad about bribing the girl afterwards, but was somewhat placated by the fact that knowing Malfoy, he wouldn't hex a girl into oblivion.

Only unless she was part of the Weasley family; or, well, me.

"Come to think of it, you don't look very sick at all," Malfoy suddenly said, taking a step forward towards me. I was very proud of my willpower, that prevented me from stepping back as he approached. All that would've done, was let him know that he was intimidating and dominant. And even though he did look rather intimidating and attractive in his black trousers, white oxford shirt rolled up at the sleeves, and his dark green tie that was loosened at the neck, I wasn't about to let him know that.

And it was while I was mulling over his clothing choices, that he had taken a few more steps towards me, putting about three inches between our bodies, and bringing my viewpoint to his neck.

I tilted my head to look him in the eye, and gave him a look that I hoped screamed defiance and 'don't touch'. Apparently not, considering how instead of making a run for it, he lifted his hand to lightly brushed my temple.

"No fever," he murmured. His hand was warm, and his breath was minty cool against my cheek. I shivered, against my better judgement. And then, suddenly, his lips were on my neck. I could feel him trail kisses from my collarbone to my jaw, and his tongue… oh, his tongue was tracing lightly along my skin.

He had one hand on the small of my back, and the other, on my cheek. His lips were kissing their way to the corner of my mouth, and then, in what was probably a temporary lapse of my better judgment, I took my right hand and lightly pushed his jaw towards me, so that now I was kissing him. Full on.

If I had been sane at that moment, and not practically overcome with my hormonal wants, I would've realized that I was the one who had initiated the first kiss with Draco Malfoy. And in the hazy back of my mind, during a brief moment of hilarity, I thought: "Damn, he kisses better than Finnigan."

His mouth was amazing. The kiss was hard, and raw, and passionate. My hands seemed traitors, as one of them wove its way around his neck and into his hair, and the other made its way to press against the broad expanse of his chest. He seemed to be just as affected as I was, and he groaned. It was a raw, animalistic sound, in the back of his throat. His tongue was gently prodding against my mouth, to part, and I obliged. And then…

I suddenly pulled back from him, breaking out of his grasp, gasping for breath. He looked disoriented and confused. He was breathing hard, hair mussed, tie askew, looking extremely ravished. But it was his eyes that did it. They were a dark, cloudy gray, and intense upon my face.

It was him who spoke first, after a second of silence. "Goddamn, Granger," He growled, his voice hoarse. He didn't really look like himself. I was pretty sure that I didn't really look like myself either. His right fist was clenched, not in anger, but like he was trying to suppress something. There was a noticeable bulge in crotch area of his pants.

And then he was on me again, aiming to kiss me. However, I turned my face away last minute, and his lips made contact with my cheek. He growled in frustration.

"M-Malfoy… we can't," I stuttered very uncharacteristically of myself. It was hard to accept that Malfoy could have such an effect on me.

"Of course we can. Just follow my lead," He whispered huskily. The combination of his breathless voice and the feeling of his thumb rubbing hypnotic circles on my jaw, almost made me oblige. Almost.

"No. Malfoy, we have to stop," I said it firmly, even though my legs were trembling. It took all my willpower to push myself out of his embrace, even though every nerve in my body was screaming in protest. I could feel the cold air take up the space where his warm body had been pressed up against me just seconds ago.

He looked lost and dumbfounded for just a brief second. It probably wasn't everyday that Draco Malfoy was refused something. From the look on his face, it was probably something he really wanted, and just knowing this, contributed to some perverse personal satisfaction on my part.

I took advantage of his brief moment of disorientation and quickly booked it to my room. I was extremely shaken. I don't even quite remember how I even made it to my room and managed to shut the door, but I did.

- - - - -

I sat on the edge of my bed for a long while. After my inebriated and lusty thoughts settled a bit, and my rational sense came back, I started thinking the situation out. I had already planned out how to do the damage control. I would fix it. Kissing Draco Malfoy was the absolute end of this mess. I wouldn't allow it to go further than that. Finally, when I was satisfied with my thoughts, I shut off the light, and lay in bed.

But I didn't go to sleep for a long, long time.

- - - - -

A/N: This is my first author's note. Thank you so much for all the positive reviews! I've had nothing much to do this summer, so I thought, why not?

And as always, please review it. I'd love to hear what you have to say, and your opinions really initiate me to write more.