The Harry Potter universe and its characters are the sole property of J. K. Rowling. Nowt to do with me.


Hermione had tossed and turned for the past four hours. More often than not when working on a difficult story, she had found the quiet and isolation of her own bed indispensable - as soon as all distractions were removed and she could work logically through her thoughts, inspiration would strike. She had carefully made excuses to Ron and Harry all evening, allowing herself to crawl under the covers by 9 pm. Yet no answer came. What is the coming of the dragon? She pondered again and sighed. Ginny whimpered in the adjacent bed, the young Weasley moaning in her sleep. 'No, Neville... Percy will see...' she mumbled, turning her face deeper into her pillow. Right, Hermione determined, I need another perspective.


Roughly half a mile away from Hermione's tower, deep in the dungeons of Hogwarts, Draco was also struggling to sleep. The broom cupboard encounter of the previous night had thrown his mind into a tempest, the conflicting feelings of contempt and torment battling with the memory of Hermione's touch, and the lust he had felt in response. But it meant nothing for her, it was only for the article, he thought scornfully. Letting out a primal roar, he pulled the pillow out from under his head and chucked it at the opposing wall. It fell with a soft thunk, providing no release for the tension he felt. With a groan he lay back down, the mattress cool against his face. She's one of them, his thoughts continued. She'll never want you. She'll always be one of them.

The door to the room opened and Draco suddently froze, on-edge. The thoughts which had tormented him all night were finally silenced by fear. The Slytherin dormitories had been run to the ideals of its founder Salazar Slytherin for as long as the house had existed - with Salazar's desire to foster competition and animosity between his students, each possessed their own 'cell', whose door would only open to the touch of their occupant... or so Draco had thought. The door shut closed. Draco, terrified but given a boost by the anger which had been rolling around his chest all evening, pushed himself up to face the expected attacker.

He saw no-one - no dark figures lingering in the doorway or hanging over his bed, and there was certainly nowhere in the room large enough to hide a fellow student. Gaining in courage, he leant over the bed to inspect the floor. After all, the house-elves came in at some point to clean up. Perhaps it was normal for them to enter the rooms during the early hours of the morning, when he was usually too deeply asleep to notice?

The inspection of the floor yielded no answers, and no elf made themselves known to his searching gaze. Maybe I'm just sleep deprived, he thought, and that's making me hallucinate. Agreeing with himself, he pulled his gaze back up to the door. The disembodied, floating head of Hermione Granger looked back at him, puzzled. Draco screamed, instinctively kicking himself further up the mattress in an effort to escape.

Hermione winced as the blonde head cracked against the stone wall and Draco knocked himself unconscious.