Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and/or the characters of the original story created by J.K. Rowling.

Dix Chapitre

"Miss Granger, please extricate yourself from my person before I lose my tenuous hold on my patience and shove you off myself."

Trembling, Hermione unwound her legs from Snape's hips and settled them to the floor. Her face an awful puce, she took two stiff steps backwards, highly aware that both Snape and Malfoy were staring at her. This moment had to be the most mortifying episode in her life—in any human being's life! When this event was over, and she was safely ensconced in her room, she'd be performing an immediate memory modification.

Snape's eyes glittered maliciously. "Miss Granger, I'm well aware of your ludicrous obsession with Mr. Malfoy here, but to have stooped to such a level…I confess myself disappointed. Still, let this be the final occasion that you involve me—whether unintentionally—in your ridiculous schemes. Do I make myself clear?"

Reduced to an image of a recalcitrant child being heavily scolded, Hermione bowed her head in shame, then answered: "Yes, professor."

Snape glared at her for a few seconds longer before turning smoothly on his heels and gliding out of the Divination classroom.

Silence.

This is it, she thought. I'm done. I'm finished with this. I'm finished with Draco Malfoy.

She wished she'd come to this conclusion before tonight. Actually, she had, but Lavender had convinced her to try again. And look what had happened: she'd ended up kissing Snape, Malfoy had caught her in the act, and Snape had further embarrassed her by admitting aloud her infatuation. Yes, she was finished with this desperation business.

Sighing heavily, she decided that what she needed to do was go down to her room, take a nice, hot bath, modify her memory, and then go have a peaceful, dreamless sleep. Mentally, she'd dusted her hands of Draco. It was obvious that they weren't meant to be if one judged by the enormous amount of adversity she faced to get him to like her.

Eyes firmly downcast, she made her way to the door. He was still leaning against the door-frame, and a moment of panic seized her at the knowledge that she'd have to pass by him very closely in order to leave. Still, she kept on, and when she was about to step around him, he purposefully straightened himself and blocked her path.

She looked up at him; he looked down at her.

He folded his hands over his chest; the silence and his unsmiling face unnerving her.

"Err…I'd like to pass…" she said softly.

He didn't move.

"If you could…umm…just move a little to the right…"

He took a step forwards instead. She immediately stepped back.

"Draco—"

"Snape?" he finally said, sounding very annoyed. "You mistook Snape for me?"

He knew. Oh, Merlin, he knew! "I…I—"

"Granger, of all the infuriating things you've done, I have to say this one champions them all."

He took another step forwards again, and she matched it by moving yet another step back.

"I don't know what you—"

"You kissed me on Saturday, didn't you?" he reminded, and her face—if possible—reddened some more. "And yet, you can't remember what it feels like to kiss me. Shall I refresh your memory, then?"

Hermione had only a few seconds to be completely astonished by Draco's words before he unfolded his arms, grabbed her forearms and pulled her in for a kiss.

He didn't waste time with a chaste pressing of the lips. Instead, he forced his tongue between her lips, impressing upon her his dominance by attacking her tongue mercilessly with his. He released her left forearm to grip the back of head, then her right forearm to encircle her waist, and pulled her body flush against his.

She moaned into his mouth, clutching the material of his loose shirt at his sides in her fists. Amazed by the intensity of his kiss, she tried her best to match him, relishing the feel of his lean, hard body against hers. Her desire was awakened, thrumming in the pit of her stomach as Draco relinquished her lips to trail his hot mouth across her jaw and down the side of her neck, then back up to kiss her hard again.

As soon as it began, it ended. He pushed away from her, his eyes the colour of storm-clouds as he stared at her intently.

"And now, the next time you go kissing strange men in the dark, you'll definitely know when it isn't me."

Retelling the events to Lavender hadn't been easy. There was never any simple way a girl could tell her best friend that she'd been shoving her tongue down her (best friend's) man's throat, and that she'd been rubbing up on aforementioned man's body like a cat in heat. There was only one—and very reasonable—reaction to such news: outrage.

But Lavender had taken the news surprisingly well, going so far as accepting the blame by admitting that she'd been the driving force behind Hermione's actions in the first place. Hermione had never been so relieved. An angry Lavender was a force akin to a hurricane and a volcanic eruption combined. To have that kind of fury directed her way was—no pun intended—disastrous.

However, Hermione hadn't been entirely truthful. Although she'd made mention of Draco witnessing the humiliating act, she'd neglected to divulge the extra bits where Draco did, indeed, kiss her. For some reason, she hadn't wanted to share that secret. Some superstitious belief had overcome her, had convinced her that if she told another soul what had happened between her and Draco, that any chance of having him would be crushed.

Because, despite her previous resolution of being 'finished with Draco' and 'dusting her hands of him,' his kissing her had renewed her hope.

Draco Malfoy was not gay. She was sure of it. He probably didn't even hate her as much as he'd led her to believe (as Lavender had said). She was sure of that too. Draco Malfoy also knew that she didn't hate him either. If he was smart—and she knew he was—he'd have known by now that she quite liked him. If the Amortentia-laced cake, the quick kiss in the carriage, and the failed snog-attack scheme hadn't tipped him off, then Snape's proclamation surely had.

Yet, there was a problem. There was some unknown reason to her as to why he kept pushing her away. She had to locate the problem then immediately rectify it if she wanted a successful romance with Draco. But what was it? Now that his questionable homosexuality and loathing for her had been eliminated from the equation, what else could be the hindering factor?

Then it came to her: was it because of her Muggle-born status?

Surely he's not still that prejudiced?

But what if he was? What if, despite his defection from 'the dark side' and his outwardly unbiased behaviour, he was still the same disgusting bigoted snot his father had trained him up to be? In consideration, it was a great possibility! After all, he'd been under Lucius Malfoy's Pureblood supremacism tutelage for almost eighteen years. That kind of philosophy was fairly difficult to subvert.

But he kissed me! He kissed me twice! Hermione thought desperately.

Would he have kissed her…touched her if he'd thought she had dirty—if she was a Muggle-born? If his awful ideologies on her status had been so ingrained, wouldn't he have shunned her instead? Wouldn't he have pushed her way, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand in utter disgust, and hurled incredibly nasty insults at her?

But he hadn't done any of that. As a matter of fact, he'd initiated a kiss with her without her even asking it of him. He hadn't pushed her away, he'd pulled her close. Even now, she could still remember the feel of him pressed against her, enveloping her, kissing her…

This just didn't make any sense! None, whatsoever. It was all too confusing even for her intelligent mind to decipher. She supposed that the best way she could learn why Draco was hesitant to pursue her was by asking him herself. However, she was quite reluctant to do so. She didn't have that kind of fortitude to ask such a question or to receive any form of rejection if she did. Not yet.

Besides, added an optimistic voice, judging from his behaviour, I might not need to ask him. Maybe he'll kiss me again and allay all my fears.

And allay her fears he did not. Instead, he multiplied them by avoiding her. And when she did get the chance to see him, he completely ignored her presence.

She was flummoxed by his behaviour, although she reminded herself constantly that this was not uncommon. Just because he'd kissed her didn't mean that things had changed—even if she thought they had. Two measly kisses wouldn't suddenly turn a man head over heels in love with you. It wouldn't suddenly change his deep-seated opinions of you. And come to think of it, it probably wouldn't suddenly change his sexual orientation either.

Draco Malfoy could very well be…bisexual.

That unconsidered thought had her screaming in frustration into her pillows one night, at the beginning of the third week of August. Draco Malfoy: bisexual. Able to 'get it up' for both men and women. The world was his playground; both genders like different flavoured pies he could stick his fingers—or another notable appendage—in and taste and enjoy. That bastard.

Good God, how could she have been so foolish, so blind? Why had that thought never crossed her mind? Here she'd been, smug in the notion that she'd overcome some great trial, that she'd converted him, when, in actuality, he'd never changed at all. But, a voice in her head persisted:

Even if he is bisexual, he still kissed me. If he detested me, he wouldn't have done so.

And that was the pea beneath her mattress, wasn't it? There was no settling on one answer; no definite conclusion. Lying in bed, she was slowly going mad with suppositions and those wretched 'ifs and buts.' Did Draco like her? If he did, then why was he ignoring her? Did Draco not like her? But why did he kiss her if he didn't?

Going round and round in circles like a pup chasing its tail.

I need to ask him. I need to find some courage and just go and ask him, because if I don't, I'll never have peace of mind.

Her mouth a hard, straight line, her eyes staring unseeingly up at her cobweb infested ceiling, her fingers curled into tight fists, Hermione Granger decided right then and there that she was going to ask Draco Malfoy if he liked her. And if he replied that he most certainly didn't, then she was going to forget about him and move on.

"Really?" Lavender responded in awe after Hermione had finally told them about the kiss and her decision to confront Draco. "Hermione, that's very brave. Are you sure?"

"Of course, she's sure," nodded Ginny with a set look on her face. "No bloke's worth wasting your energy over."

In celebration of Ginny's one week return home from her duties as the star chaser for the Holyhead Harpies, Hermione and Lavender had taken her to an upscale pub in London where the quality of food was worth the astronomical prices on the menu. As close girlfriends were wont to do, they caught each other up on their love lives; Hermione's being the main topic of discussion.

"Besides," continued Ginny, "I can't believe you even like that pointy-faced ferret. What do you see in him, anyway?"

Hermione immediately rose to Draco's defence. "He's not pointy-faced, Gin. He's actually become quite handsome…"

Lavender nodded in agreement.

Ginny scoffed. "That still doesn't explain your interest in that beast. Hermione, have you forgotten the many, many times he's teased you, and the odd occasion he's made you cry?"

"Of course I've remembered," replied Hermione tersely. "But I've forgiven him. I've realised that he said those hurtful things because he was under Lucius Malfoy's horrid influence."

"But, Hermione, he still treats you awfully," reminded Lavender in quiet tones.

Hermione frowned. "Lavender, aren't you the one who has been encouraging me to pursue him?" Then, "Yes, he's still mean towards me, but I'd like to think he's not as mean as he used to be. I…I didn't fancy him at first. It was just that I admired him. I admired his strength."

Ginny scoffed again. "What strength?"

Hermione ignored her. "Lucius Malfoy used to be Voldemort's right-hand man, he's also Draco's father. Do you know how hard it must have been for him to have betrayed his father? To have gone to that Wizengamot court and testified against the man that you had idolised all your life? To have reintegrated into a society that distrusted you? To attempt to have a semblance of a normal life despite the horrors and the psychological trauma you must have faced being Lucius Malfoy's son?"

Ginny and Lavender were very quiet now as they watched her; the atmosphere around their table tense and alert.

"I admired him," she repeated. "I watched him a lot, and then, one day, when I was watching him, I said to myself, 'you know, he's come to be quite good-looking,' and it's such a superficial reason, but I suppose that's the moment my admiration crossed the line into my fancying him."

She exhaled heavily, feeling freer, like if she'd just relinquished some burden from her weary shoulders. It was the first time she'd been truly able to examine her feelings for Draco, and, uncharacteristically—because she was generally a private person-it felt good sharing it with her two closest friends.

After taking a long pull from her drink, Ginny finally said: "Well, it's all fine and dandy that you like him, Hermione, but the great question here is if he likes you."

Lavender nodded. "Yes, that's right. Maybe you really should go and ask him. It'll save you the worry lines."

Ginny nodded as well. "And, as I said before, no bloke's worth wasting your energy over, or suffering the injustice of worry lines. Go ask him. If he says no, eff him. His loss."

Lavender piped up, eyes glittering mischievously. "Besides, as my Aunt Brenda always says: the best way to get over one man is to get under another—"

"Lavender!" cried Hermione in scandalised tones, and the three of them erupted into hearty laughter.

Her courage buoyed by her friends' encouragement, and her liberal consumption of alcohol, that night, Hermione made her way to Draco's room. She didn't quite care that it was going on two in the morning and that Draco might be most displeased if she woke him by her knocking. She also didn't care that she hadn't thought of her approach.

When he opens the door, I'll just ask him the question straightaway.

That was her grand plan. Straightforwardness. No beating around the bush for either of them tonight. She would ask him a straight question, and he would give her a straight answer. And if that answer existed in the realms of 'negative,' then, thank Merlin for the deadening powers of alcohol. And magic. One could not forget the magic. An immediate Obliviate would ensure he'd not remember the episode.

She wasn't drunk, but she was more than a little tipsy. Half of her senses still remained, and it questioned the ethics of casting an Obliviate on someone against their will. It also questioned where the hell she was because she was sure she'd seen that dratted painting of Henry the Horrible before…

Hermione stood still.

Was she lost?

Most definitely she was because she'd never been here before.

Hogwarts was such a confusing building. All those ridiculous trap doors, hidden walls, disappearing steps and hallways, charmed toilets that led to disturbing dungeons that had once been the hiding place for enormous, poisonous snakes…

It was like if some crazy lady had decided to write some fanciful book about a 'magical place' and had got far too carried away…

I'll just cast a Four-Point spell and I'll be back on familiar grounds—

She suddenly heard low mumbling.

Curious, she began to edge her way to the direction of the sound. Who could it be up this late? Most likely two wayward students in a scandalous rendezvous. It was a common trend during the summer holidays. Curfews were usually relaxed and patrolling professors tended to be a little more forgiving. Therefore, students took the opportunity to get up to all sorts of things they shouldn't be involved in.

Well, Hermione thought, I'm not having any of that!

Plans of confronting Draco forgotten, Hermione crept closer and closer to the direction of the voices. She could make out snippets of the conversation now.

"…want you, you're mine to…"

"…end this, I'll make sure…"

A chuckle. "…that stupid Mudblood, isn't it? I knew…"

"…means nothing to me…"

The voices were coming from that door. Maybe it was a storage room or an old classroom. It didn't matter. What mattered was those two who were speaking.

"…don't care, anyway. You're mine."

Then, there was the sound of clothing being ruffled. Obviously, they were taking their clothing off. And there was only one reason why two students would need to take off their clothes…and it wasn't for curricular activities.

Grabbing the doorknob, she spun it—thinking how foolish or overconfident these students were to leave the door unlocked—and flung the door open. Determined to catch them in the act, Hermione jumped inside the room as the door was swinging inward, eyes shifting left to right until she located the two forms jammed up against the wall opposite her.

The room was dark, but on one of the desks—it had been an old classroom, after all—stood a lantern. From the muted, amber glow of the fire, Hermione easily made out the back of the head of a brown and curly-haired boy. From the way his head was angled, he was obviously kissing someone. The alcohol made her thought processes a bit slow, so she was just thinking how familiar that boy's head looked when he turned around to face her.

Herman Ranger.

And then her entire body went completely rigid with shock as she identified the other person. The person whom Herman had been kissing.

Draco Malfoy.

He looked as surprised as she felt. And if it was a different situation, she might have appreciated the comical way his features had contorted: eyebrows lifted high, eyes wide, mouth gaping open.

But it wasn't a different situation. It was this one. A bad one. An absolutely awful one. One that made her feel like she'd been triply punched in the gut by a professional boxer. One that made her chest constrict so tightly, she couldn't breathe. She realised, right then, that heartbreak was real. It wasn't the clichéd 'shattering into a million pieces.' Heartbreak was a rapid shrivelling of the organ. The pain was immense, the motions like a tide: rolling in, then receding, rolling in, then receding.

She dug her fingers into the material of her shirt over where her heart was. She took one step back.

Draco lifted a hand towards her, stepping forwards once. "Granger—"

"No…" she shook her head, eyes wide, breathing hard. She couldn't believe this. She couldn't believe this. She took another step back. "No…"

"Granger, wait—"

"No…"

And she turned around, hand still clutching her chest, and ran blindly away.

AN: Does this ending constitute a cliff-hanger? I'm not sure. But I do know I'll be receiving some angry screams to update, mixed in with 'damn you!' Hehe! Let me know what you think! Also, thank you, dearies, for taking the time to review the previous chapter. Many of you had questions—a few were highly pissed by Hermione's behaviour—but I swear that all questions will be answered, and all wrinkles will be ironed out in time. Just bear with me. :)