Author's Note: I'm so weird. I've spent over a month trying to actually write this chapter, writing and deleting and rewriting and editing and then deleting it all over again. What can I say? It's a pivotal chapter. So, after dwelling over it for so long, I finally wrote it all today in about six hours. I'm really happy with the result, and I hope it was worth the wait for y'all. So here it is.

Chapter 11: Blitzkrieg

"He must be desperate! Or mad! Of all the low and treacherous schemes, this was the most pathetic of them all!" Hermione fumed, not noticing the many quizzical stares she was receiving from the occupants of the Gryffindor common room.

Lavender casually continued shining her crystal ball.

"It's all a game to him, Hermione," she explained patiently. "And you're the prize. If Draco seems desperate, it's because he knows he's losing."

"A prize? Me? More like his prey!" Hermione declared angrily.

Lavender set her crystal ball aside.

"Darling," she began patronizingly. "Why don't you do us both a favor and stop your ranting? There are two unsuspecting second years placing a dung bomb in Filch's office even as we speak. Go give them detentions, read a long book, and I promise you'll feel much better," she finished, patting Hermione's hand.

"But- but what about Malfoy? What am I supposed to do about him?"

"Hermione, has the man managed to seduce you yet?" Lavender asked testily.

Hermione frowned.

"No," she replied.

"Well, then! I think you'll be just fine. Now, run along. Those second years aren't going to be waiting for you to catch them."

"You're going to do it? You're actually going to do it?" Blaise asked incredulously. "What about all that horseshit you gave me about pride?"

Malfoy smoothed the front of his robes.

"I'm thoroughly pissed off. Pride isn't a factor any longer. One way or the other, I'm going to have the bookworm. And if that means doing 'the other,' then so be it," he said ruthlessly.

Blaise clapped Malfoy on the back.

"It's good having you back, mate. How about a toast?"

"To my triumphant return?" Malfoy suggested, raising his glass.

"No," Blaise replied, raising his glass as well. "To Mr. Softie. May he rot in peace for all eternity."

Malfoy smirked as they touched glasses.

The dragon was chasing her through the darkness. Suddenly, she was running through a maze of bookcases. She turned the corner and reached a towering wall of books. It was a dead end. Panicking, she turned and came face to face with eyes of melted silver…

The dragon slowly backed her into the corner, steam rising from its flaring nostrils. With no chance of escaping, she was paralyzed with fear as the beast opened its mouth and roared a silent breath of fire.

Instead of burning her, she felt waves of pleasure hit her body as the fire grew. Like tongues of flame, the blaze of white heat licked at her breasts as she was slowly consumed by the fire that only intensified with every breath from the beast. She could feel the flames as if they were hands traveling down her body, starting at her breasts and lazily working their way down, stroking her with pleasurable heat…

Hermione stirred from her dream as she felt actual hands on her body, one massaging her breast while the other slid softly over her knee and settled between her thighs-

"Malfoy!" Hermione squeaked.

Her eyes shot open to find Draco's face looming above hers in the darkness. Glancing down, she discovered to her utmost horror and chagrin that her nightgown was bunched up around her waist… and Draco was completely naked.

Hermione was shocked into action, frantically scrambling beneath his muscular body but to no avail. Draco wouldn't budge.

"Don't struggle, love. It'll be over soon," he rasped, lowering his lips to her neck.

Without another moment of hesitation, Hermione summoned all of her strength and forcefully shoved him off of her and onto the floor. Scurrying to the other side of her bed, she turned up the lamp and adjusted her nightgown.

Meanwhile, Draco had angrily ripped the sheet from the bed and tied it around his waste, holding the excess of the bedding in his hand. Both stood glaring at each other, too furious to speak. Hermione finally broke the tense silence with an indignant tirade.

"I suppose I knew it was only a matter of time before you tried slithering your way into my bed! You low, pathetic bastard!" she raged. "I'm sick of your nefarious games of seduction! You will never have me! Ever! I love Ron! I belong with Ron! How long is it going to take before you finally understand that!"

"How long are you going to use Weasle as an excuse?" Draco retorted.

"I don't know what you're talking about!"

"Oh, I forgot. Miss Innocent," he drawled nastily. "You are such a coward!"

"Me? You're the one sneaking into my bed! But please, explain," she invited sarcastically, "How am I the coward?"

"You may love Weasle," he conceded with disgust, "But fucking him would be like fucking your own brother, right?"

Blushing furiously, Hermione shook her head.

"That's not true!" she cried.

"You're deluding yourself," Draco snapped. "You're using Weasle as an excuse to keep away from me because you know there's something between us. And I do recall two incidents when I could have taken you in an instant if we hadn't been interrupted- not because you rejected me."

"I believe I was drunk the first time and coerced the second! Don't delude yourself into thinking that I want you," she said scathingly. "And I do love Ron! I want to be with him!"

Draco began moving towards her.

"Really?" he asked mockingly. "If that's true, then why was it my name you moaned and not his?"

Hermione gasped.

"Liar!" she choked.

"I came to your room with every intention of seducing you. As I slithered towards your bed, you turned and moaned. I distinctly heard my name on your lips. 'Draco,' you said. Needless to say, I was encouraged-"

"I was sleeping!" she hissed.

"Impossible," Draco insisted, his eyes narrowing. "You responded to me. You kept saying my name. I heard it again when I kissed your neck and breasts-"

"Stop it! Just stop!" Hermione exclaimed, tears shining in her eyes. "It was all a dream! A nightmare! For I would have never responded like that in my conscious state! You are a loathsome, despicable murderer!" she raged.

Draco halted. His face suddenly blanched.

"What did you call me?" he asked in an even tone, his fury barely masked.

"You killed your parents!" she accused. "First your mother! Then your father!"

"My father," he began with cold fury, "was a worthless bastard. He worshipped the very ground Voldemort walked on and treated his own family like dirt. As for my mother, she was the only person who ever showed me any kindness."

"And you killed them both," Hermione stated coldly.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, Granger, but you're wrong."

"But we saw you! Harry, Ron, and I…We saw you standing over Lucius's body-"

"And if you had arrived a couple of minutes earlier, you would have seen Lucius kill himself."

"But- but Lucius-"

"Lucius was a coward. He knew Voldemort was losing power and planned on fleeing. But Voldemort could sense my father's waning allegiance and gave him an ultimatum. Kill my mother or die. Lucius killed my mother out of fear for his own, pathetic life. When Potter finally defeated Voldemort, Lucius killed himself. If I hadn't found him dead, I would have killed him. Unfortunately, I'm completely innocent," Draco finished grimly.

Hermione wiped tears from her eyes as everything Draco told her slowly sank in. Reluctantly, she believed him.

"It was never announced that you were innocent," she said hoarsely. "We all thought-"

"That I was a murdering lunatic because I was the son of a murdering lunatic. It was never made public knowledge that I was innocent because the whole affair was quietly settled outside of court. Besides, the Ministry, like most people, were too busy to care about the deaths of two Voldemort supporters."

"So you never supported Lord Voldemort?" Hermione whispered, astonished by everything she was learning.

"Not since I was a child," Draco replied coolly. "But don't worry," he began silkily as he came closer to her. "I won't completely destroy your image of me as a heartless bastard," he snarled.

Hermione yelped helplessly as Draco grabbed her arms harshly, forcing her against him as his mouth caught hers in a cruel and painful kiss. Her cries of pain were muffled as he shoved her against the wall.

Out of fear and pity, Hermione stopped struggling against the agonizing kiss. Instead, she slowly slid her hands up Draco's firm chest and around his neck. The effect of her response was immediate. The pressure of Draco's lips lightened and the once cruel kiss became feverish and passionate, both of them losing control.

Without warning, Draco abruptly ended the kiss, angrily shoving away from Hermione before storming out of the room, dragging the bed sheet behind him. Hermione felt a tumultuous wave of emotions overcome her as she slowly slid down the wall, too weak to stand.

Tears fell freely from her eyes as she struggled to grasp everything that had transpired since she had awoken from her dream. Everything she had ever believed about Draco Malfoy was untrue. And this realization changed everything for Hermione. For the first time since knowing him, she pitied Malfoy. And for the first time, she admired him.

He meant to punish me with that kiss, she thought to herself as she felt her swollen lips. To have evoked that much emotion from someone who seems so cold… he must care for me, she reasoned.

Recklessness was slowly overcoming Hermione. She was suddenly tempted to go to Draco's room just as he had come to hers and seduce him. All thoughts of bets and friendship and betrayal and anger were set aside.

However, the impulse was suddenly squelched when Hermione heard Draco slam his door shut, the slamming of the common room door following just seconds later.

Feeling dazed, Hermione turned down the lamp and quietly crawled back into bed, lying awake for a full hour before falling into a fitful sleep.

A group of first year Slytherins were startled from their game of gobstones when Malfoy came charging into the Slytherin common room, knocking over any pieces of furniture that fell in his path as he went. He stopped in front of the first years.

"Where's Zabini?" he demanded shortly, towering menacingly over the younger students.

"I- I think he's a- asleep," ventured a brave boy with golden hair.

"You," Malfoy snapped, pointing at another boy who was cowering in the corner. "Fetch Zabini. Tell him to meet me in here. He has two minutes. Go!" he barked. The boy quickly scampered off. "As for the rest of you," Draco continued, "I think it's well past your bedtime. Clear out!"

Within a matter of seconds, the first years had disappeared from sight leaving Malfoy alone in the common room. He calmly walked to the mantle, picked up a very expensive vase, hurtled it across the room, and watched with a small bit of satisfaction as it crashed against the wall.

Malfoy quickly picked up the next breakable item within reach, sending it down the same path of destruction as the vase. Soon he moved on to the wooden chairs situated around the room, throwing them against the wall or against another piece of furniture.

As Malfoy grabbed a small, porcelain statue and prepared to launch it, a voice came from across the room, stopping him.

"Oh, please not that one, Draco. It's an antique," Blaise drawled.

Malfoy threw the statue into the fireplace and grabbed a bottle of firewhisky from one of the few tables that hadn't been harmed during his blitzkrieg. He then slumped down into a leather armchair littered with debris.

"I'm assuming Mission: Invade Bookworm was a failure," Blaise commented sardonically as he surveyed the damage, removing his wand from his dressing robe to repair the wreckage.

"Leave it," Malfoy muttered, taking a swig.

Blaise heaved a disgruntled sigh, brushing debris off his own chair before sitting down.

"This better be good. I was having a very pleasant dream starring Lavender Brown when some stuttering idiot woke me up and told me to meet you in here. So, let's have it. Did the bookworm reject you once again?" he asked lightly.

Malfoy's response was an angry roar as he threw the bottle of firewhisky against the wall behind Blaise's chair.

"I'm sensing some anger," Blaise joked.

"Something happened," Malfoy gritted out, clenching his fist.

"Clearly," Blaise emphasized.

"I- I lost control," Malfoy continued, closing his eyes as if fighting the words coming out of him. "I felt… emotions," he admitted painfully.

"Oh, so you are human. Continue," Blaise urged.

Malfoy rubbed his eyes.

"She knows the truth. Everything."

"About your parents?" Blaise asked incredulously, leaning forward in his chair.

Malfoy nodded jerkily.

"How?" Blaise demanded.

"I didn't know she was alseep," Malfoy admitted. "But then she woke up, and we fought. She called me a murderer. And I don't know why... but I told her," Malfoy said with a ragged breath, suddenly appearing exhausted.

"I know exactly why," Blaise said, grabbing a partially eaten muffin off the ground. He set the muffin on the table in between him and Malfoy.

"This muffin, Malfoy," he said, indicating the muffin, "represents your balls. This is what happens to your balls when you fall for a woman."

Malfoy flinched as Blaise brought his fist down like hammer, flattening the muffin with a single blow, simply brushing his hand clean of crumbs afterwards.

"Any questions, mate?" he asked cheerfully.

Malfoyshook his head slowly.

"Excellent. And now a toast," Blaise announced, repairing the bottle of firewhisky and conjuring two glasses. Pouring a glass and handing it to Malfoy, who accepted it reluctantly, Blaise poured his own glass and raised it.

"To Mr. Softie," he said soberly. "May his return be a bit more successful than that of the Dark Lord's."

End of Chapter Note that Might Explain the Dramatic Shift in Tone of the Story: Don't worry. This shift to angry, fighting, emotional, dramatic crap isn't permanent. However, the story has changed so much after this chapter that it will never be the same again. I'm not saying it'll lack humor or sex or passion or love or backstabbing or any other scintillating components. But it's not going to be your typical fluff-filled story. I'm stalling right now by writing a long note because I'm terrified of posting this chapter because it's just really different from the other ones. And I must admit, one of the reasons it took me so long to write this chapter, besides being totally swamped with schoolwork and college applications, was because I was actually taking into consideration the suggestions I was getting in my reviews for this story. The problem is that the suggestions were so diverse that I was stretching the story too far into La La Land. It was horrible. But finally, I had to forget about what reviewers were saying they wanted or didn't want and focus on the actual story and what I, the author, felt was necessary. The idea for this chapter is one of the things that first inspired the story. I'm so happy to see it realized. Ok, fine. I'll stop stalling. Go bash me with your mean reviews.

Wait! Speaking of Mean Reviews! Ok, I never mention individual reviews but this one has got to be addressed. Someone referring to themselves as Kiss This wrote, "You are a fuckin bitch author." Now, what I'm a little torn on is whether I should consider that a compliment or an insult. I mean, is this person calling me a fucking bitch or saying that I'm a fuckin bitchin author. If any future reviewers plan on calling me a bitch, please do so in a literate fashion and remember this quote that I once saw on the front of a t-shirt:

"I'm not a bitch, I'm the bitch, and that's Miss Bitch to you."

Lol. How adorable.