Hello - as I love you all very much, I decided to update in time for Christmas, as I'm staying at my Granny's, and as I recall, you can't update or access the internet on a type-writer. Such is my Grandmother's house. You know... the oil lamps, the penny farthing outside, the help, the scullery maid called Bella, and the lack of hot water. Or, water in general.

SO because you are all exceeding wonderful people, here we go...

Lots of love,

xari xxx

Following their conversation the previous day, Hermione proceeded to avoid Malfoy like the plague. Ginny, catching on, was by turns wildly curious about the scene she had missed and deeply disapproving at Hermione's behaviour.

"Look at yourself!" she snapped, colliding with Hermione one morning. "You're reduced to peering round corners to see if he's there or not!"

"I'm not," muttered Hermione, untruthfully. "And anyway, didn't your mother ever tell you it's rude to sneak up on people like that?"

"I grew up with Fred and George. Are you surprised? So, how's it going with Super-Stud?"

Hermione went red and muttered something non-committal. Ginny scowled at her as, having established Malfoy was not there, they strode down the corridor.

"You've been deliberately dodging him, haven't you? Hermione, what did we discuss?"

"Self-assertion," mumbled Hermione, distractedly, as she checked the next corner and moved on. "But, Gin, that's beside the point."

"How is that beside the point?"
"Well... I – fine, I don't know, but you didn't hear what he said last night. He's brewing up something nasty, and possibly painful. So, I'll just... employ evasion action until he forgets."

Ginny raised a sceptical eyebrow.

"You seriously think he's going to forget? Really, Hermione, I thought you were smarter than that."

"Yes – well – I can't talk about it now; I'm just about to be very late for Herbology."

"What, with stopping to ensure Malfoy isn't going to leap out at you from behind a suit of armour? Surprising!"

"Oh, shut up!" snapped Hermione, so incensed she forgot to check round the corner. Stomping round the corner, towing Ginny with her, she found herself nose-to-nose with –

"Hiding from me, Granger? Wow, that's really lame. Sensible, perhaps. But so lame. What? No risky little comment for me, today? What has got into you?"

"Not you, Malfoy, apparently," retorted Ginny. "Stop trying to stand on my foot, Hermione, it won't work. Really, Malfoy, are you that blind? A pretty girl makes you an offer, and you just let it slide? I'm surprised at you."

Malfoy looked at her with some distaste.

"Yes, I thought you'd have something to do with this, Weaslette. It's just the sort of thing you'd think up. Well, I'm going to give you the exact spiel I gave Granger yesterday: Drop. It. Now. Or I'll make your life as much of a misery as you are making mine. Are we clear?"

"But, Malfoy," said Ginny, sweetly. "You seem to think it's my idea. You're mistaken – Hermione here thought of the whole thing – Hermione, I have no feeling in my big toe anyway – she deserves the credit."

Malfoy turned glacial eyes on Hermione.

"Granger? Inspired, really. But, as I told you yesterday, retribution will not be long in coming. As for you, Weaslette, back off fast, and I might not have to undergo an amusing although dull duel with Scarhead and the Astonishingly Dim Sidekick over your murder –"

"Stop it!" burst out Hermione. "Both of you! You're being such children! Ginny – thanks, but you really didn't need to help me this far. Perhaps he's right – you don't want to have Harry and Ron on your back. And you're late for History of Magic, you'd better scoot. As for you, Malfoy – just... go away."

Ginny's mouth tightened.

"Great, Hermione. Bollocks you don't need my help. That really shows what you think of our friendship. Thanks for nothing."

And with that, she set off down the corridor. Hermione turned to find Malfoy clapping in amusement. Looking at him with disgust, she tried to follow, but was caught short by a hand grabbing her arm.

"No, no, Granger. You walk with me."

He steered her towards the Greenhouses. Hermione glared at him, furiously.

"What is your problem with annoying my friends?"

"Granger, we've covered this. I don't make you do anything. I don't make you irritate your friends – you do that quite nicely yourself. However –" he released her arm – "I can make you see just what you're getting into here."

Hermione looked around. He'd led beyond Greenhouse 4, into a little enclosed niche shadowed from view. Puzzled, Hermione looked Malfoy in the eye.

"What are you doing?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes.

"I'm backing you into a corner, Granger."

Alarm bells started ringing in Hermione's head. She quickly tried to dispel them. In any other situation this would be very, very bad. But this was Malfoy. She had no right to be afraid.

Even if she had no right, she still was.

"Why? Going to rape me?" she said baldly, hands on hips. Just you try...

Malfoy grinned.

"If I was, you wouldn't be able to do much."

He waved something in front of her face. It was her wand.

"Give it back."

"Of course, I don't rape girls."
"I see. Only boys. Give me my wand."

"What would be the point?"

"Very true. Give me my wand, please."

"It's better when the girl's willing."

"Yes. Malfoy, give me my wand."

"But, if I've interpreted Weaslette correctly, then you are willing, so it wouldn't technically be rape, am I right?"

"Precisely – what? Oh, for fuck's sake, Malfoy, give me my wand!"

And with that, Hermione launched herself at him. Caught off guard, he toppled backwards onto the ground, Hermione on top of him.

The world stopped. Blue eyes stared into brown. Draco tried to take in an adequate breath. The inability had nothing to do with Hermione's weight across his body, and much more to do with the proximity of the large, velvety-dark eyes inches away. Draco swallowed. Eyes still locked to his, Hermione leaned down, and kissed him.

It was soft, almost teasing, and Draco hissed quietly as another part of his body responded instantly to the sensation. Hermione took no notice, and continued to kiss him, lips gently caressing his, her tongue moving into his mouth to twine with his own. Draco had never been so turned on in his life. He carefully eased them both into a semi-sitting position, Hermione on his lap, all the while never breaking the delicious contact. Cradling her head with one hand, he let the other smooth down her hair, casually tucking it behind her ear, then tracing his fingertips down the sensitive side of her neck. She shuddered, and pulled him closer. Almost without thinking, Draco pulled aside her school cardigan, and, with expert fingers, popped open the three top buttons on her shirt. Hermione gasped, and Draco chuckled quietly, tearing his lips away from hers to softly trail them down the long line of her neck to nip her collar-bone, soothing the bite with his tongue. He continued to explore the base of her neck for as long as he possibly could, for his eyes were continually drawn to the curves of luscious flesh just hidden by her shirt – curves of flesh that he'd dreamt about. Moving his lips to the other side of her neck, he carefully opened the next two buttons of the confining shirt to gain better access. Without giving himself time to think, ignoring her squeak of shock, he yanked down the cups of her bra.

And stared. He – or his imagination – had been right. Her breasts were beautiful. Galvanised, he cupped them with his hands, hands roughened by clinging onto a broomstick since the age of three. Dizzy with longing, he leaned forward, and pulled one pink-tipped nipple into his mouth, smiling against Hermione's skin as he heard her ragged gasp. He licked it softly, then nipped and worried it, alternating with swipes and circles with his tongue, sucking softly, then harder until Hermione moaned, and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him forwards, on top of her. It occurred to Draco that he was lying down, she was on her back, and that they should probably be taking this slower, but at that moment, he couldn't honestly give a fuck. All he cared about was keeping as close contact with her as he could, because if he let go, it might just be a Weasley Patent Daydream, and she might vanish

The thought made Draco hiss quietly, and Hermione shivered again at another new sensation against her breast. She was dazed, her head spinning, just praying that whatever he was doing – and by God it felt amazing – he would just keep doing it.

Oh, please, please, please, please -

"Oops! Sorry!"

Footsteps pounded away from them. They broke apart, each determined to look anywhere but at each other. There was a burst of hysterical giggling from the distance, then an excruciating silence.

Draco eased himself off Hermione. Both avoided the other's eyes, still breathing hard. Hermione was the first to move. Standing up, she straightened herself up, cheeks crimson, brushed the grass and earth from her skirt and robes, and automatically flattened her hair with her hands. Her legs were shaking. The silence was tangible, so thick that Draco felt he had to say something.

"Who was that, do you know?"

"No idea," replied the girl, shortly. "Planning to hex them, were you? Stop them from betraying your guilty little lapse?"

"Either speak normally, or shut up, Hermione."

The girl looked at him.

"Were you worrying they were Slytherins? In case word got out that you'd kissed a filthy Mudblood."

Not expecting an attack, it was like being torpedoed from underneath.

"I have no idea what the fuck you're on about," said Draco, trying to keep his voice calm. "Explain, or, I repeat, shut up."

"Why did you stop?"

Her question was yelled at full volume. The silence that followed was even more agonising than the first. The boy simply stared at her, and Hermione could feel the flush creeping up her face. Malfoy got to his feet to stand opposite her once again.

"Why did I stop?" he said, slowly, incredulously. "Why did I stop? What the hell do you mean 'why did I stop'? Would you rather we – yes, Hermione, we – had carried on and ended up fucking right there in front of them? Because that's what would have happened, believe me."

"I just wish that for once you could finish what you started! What do you think I'm doing this for? I'm practically prostituting myself just so that you'll do it – me! Do me!" screamed Hermione.

Draco hadn't thought something could hurt this much. She hadn't been looking for a friend, or even something more, which he'd felt perilously close to becoming. No, she was just looking for someone to make her over. He might have been an inflatable doll, for all she cared. Draco refused to let these painful and unexpected feelings spill over into speech, so he clung to the emotion he could rely on: anger.

"What the hell do you want to be known as? A slut who'll drop her knickers for any halfway decent guy that walks by. Jesus," he spat in disgust. "And this is Hermione Fuckng-Perfect Granger. Where's your self-esteem? If you're looking for a good time, try it on with one of your pathetically inept friends, not me. Not that you're worth it, of course. I wouldn't come near you with a ten foot broomstick. Now fuck off, before I decide against my rule on rape. God knows it would serve you right."

Hermione had been standing silently through his tirade, outwardly impassive. Now, as he glared at her, her face crumpled. She was confused, frustrated and, for some reason, hurt at the knowledge that before now she had accepted: that she loved him, but he didn't love her. He'd made that much clear in that little speech. Heart completely torn to pieces, she turned to run. For the second time, a hand seized her arm.

"Granger–"

Hermione was beyond all reason, all comfort, and would die rather than turn round and look at Draco – Malfoy – oh, who cared what she was meant to be calling him now. Her only option was escape.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, leave me alone! All of you! Leave – me – alone!"

And with a final tug, she tore herself away from him, and ran, stumbling over rocks and threads of long grass in her desperation to put some distance between herself and this person who could cause her so much pain and humiliation. She was going to run, and run, and run, and run...

Behind her, Malfoy stood alone, completely expressionless. In his hand was the fragment of wool that had ripped from Hermione's cardigan when she'd wrenched away from him, and her wand, for which he'd grabbed her to return, in a heady rush of fury, pain and guilt. He rubbed it in between his fingers. Inside, he buzzed with all the wild mix of emotions he was feeling, which were too deep for him to explain, even to himself. Impassive, he walked towards the castle once more.