A/N: Chapter Twenty-Five!

By the time the meeting was over, it was already dark outside.

Hermione left the castle bundled in robes and a scarf, and rounded the grounds, making her way to the Herbology greenhouses behind the school. It was definitely chilly out, which left a natural flush on her cheeks, and her eyes bright. Once she arrived at Greenhouse Six, the tall silhouette of one Draco Malfoy was there, tending to the Venomous Tentacula.

Because his back was turned to the door and his attention was focused entirely on the spiky toothsome plant, he was left unaware of his company.

She hid from him around the corner, trying not to snicker or move too loudly as to not disturb him whilst he was so concentrated. It was a precarious position, sure, but she had full view of him with no one there, to catch sight of her wandering eyes. Because it was so hot in the greenhouse, his sleeves were rolled up and the top few buttons on his shirt were undone. It seemed he was also sweating a little around the forehead and between his shoulder blades, which further proved he wasn't an undead wraithlike corpse, and that he was indeed a warm blooded male, with the exact physicality to make her chest contract…once, twice, three times in a row.

There was something inherently sexy about him doing hands-on work.

With that in mind, her attention drifted to those hands. She was immediately reminded of the moment in the stands wherein he wove those hands through her curly hair and rubbed them along her sides, dragging her blouse up a couple inches as he kissed her hard and soft, fast and slow, all at the same time.

Hermione inhaled, shakily.

"Are you coming?" Malfoy asked, interrupting her reverie.

She sucked in, feeling the colour drain out of her cheeks. "Er—I beg your pardon?"

The Slytherin boy glanced over his shoulder, smirking at her as though he knew. "Inside," he explained, innocently. "Are you going to come inside?"

That still sounds vaguely like innuendo, she thought to herself, a wry grin on her face, as she closed the door behind and found his side. "So…how many times have the tentacles attempted to strangle you?"

"Zero," he answered, confidently, stroking the back of his index finger along the nearest one. "They're quite well-behaved once you take the time to learn their…quirks."

"Huh." She watched, genuinely surprised that she hadn't found him decapitated on the floor of the greenhouse. To her memory, he'd always been impatient with magical creatures, and shown complete disregard for their boundaries. Buckbeak, for example. It appeared he had changed or simply dropped the spoiled, rich boy act. Either way, it was difficult not to smile.

"I've been meaning to speak with you," he started, strolling with her to the other side of the greenhouse, where he removed his dragonhide gloves and used them to wipe the sweat from his forehead. "There's…a situation of sorts, involving Astoria."

Hermione listened. "What sort of situation?" she asked, calmly.

"It seems Theodore has been sneaking around with Daphne," Malfoy explained, a twitch of anger along his lower lip.

The Head Girl gaped at him. "Daphne? But—But isn't she Astoria's sister?"

"Yes," he answered, shortly. "It's awful, I know. I tried talking to Astoria this morning, but she brushed me off rather quickly."

"I can't imagine what she's going through…how she must feel…" Hermione exhaled, deeply. "If there's anything I can do, please let me know."

"Actually…" Malfoy faced the witch. "I was hoping you could talk to her at some point…see how she's doing. I figure it must be easier to talk to another girl, than it is me. Unfortunately she kind of lacks in that department. You're the closest thing to a girl friend she has at the moment."

Hermione's eyes widened briefly. "I…yes, of course. I'll talk to her as soon as I can."

"Thank you." His smile was faint, but sincere. "I appreciate the help."

She returned the smile, taking a moment to study him before the words escaped her mouth. "You care a lot about Astoria," she started. "I…I like that about you. Truth be told, it was your friendship with her, that led me to believe you're nowhere near as terrible as you let on."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Really," she confirmed. "It's…nice to see. It's very human, if that makes sense."

He laughed at this, folding his arms loosely. "Did you doubt that I was human, Granger?"

She shrugged innocently. "…Maybe a little."

"Would you like further proof?" he asked, in a voice that was much lower.

Hermione blinked, listening to the trees sway, and the sound of the leaves, brushing against the exterior of the greenhouse. He came within a few inches of her, tucking hair behind her ears, using the tips of his fingers to graze the sides of her face and down her arms, where he eventually joined their handss, before bringing her hands to his chest. For a moment, it confused her, but the second she felt his heartbeat, she understood.

Malfoy tilted his head downward, to her. "Proof," he winked, faintly.

A few seconds passed, wherein she allowed her hands to linger over his chest. He wasn't a terribly muscular young man, but he was lean and strong, and she suddenly remembered the feeling of being pressed up against his chest, with his broomstick between her thighs. It was less than twenty-four hours ago, and yet, she was already scared to forget.

"I…I think I'll need more proof," the witch quietly uttered to him. "If you don't mind."

"Do you now?" he asked, so close now.

Hermione's breath hitched. "Yes," she managed to say, feeling one of his hands along the small of her back and the other under her chin, tilting her head up.

He smiled, bringing their lips together in a tight kiss. It took a moment for her to kiss back, and when she did, he lifted her onto the table and leaned in, taking it deeper.

She whimpered, breathing in his musky scent and fingering through his soft blonde hair. On another bloke, sweat would have turned her off completely, but on him it was intensely sexy. He smelled earthy and delicious, and as he dragged his kiss down her neck, she caught an undertone of fire along his dampened hairline. Is this real life? Am I actually turned on by his funk?

When his lips found her collarbone, those questions vanished.

Her mouth fell open and she moaned lightly, causing his muscles contract at the sound of it.

"That feels… n—nice…" was all she could muster, biting down on her bottom lip to suppress the heat building inside.

He slowly brought his kiss to her slightly parted mouth and cupped the back of her head in a maneuver that arched her back, into him. "There's…something you should know…" he said huskily.

Hermione caught only a few of those words. Her skin prickled with fire, wherever he touched her. If there were any doubts, she now knew for certain that he was a warmblooded male…and knowing that drove her deeper and deeper into a state of complete and utter abandon. She breathed out, bringing him closer to her, before he pulled away. Her eyes blinked open.

"What—What's wrong?" she asked, mortified that he changed his mind about her, and then mortified over the realization that, that would hurt—a lot.

He took a moment to catch his breath. "Nothing's wrong. I just…before we progress further, I should let you know that I…that…"

"That?"

Malfoy swallowed a little, looking at her briefly. "I'm a virgin." There was a beat of silence in the room, before he clarified. "I've done things. I've just never done that thing, specifically."

The girl opened her mouth, knowing a response was necessary, whilst failing to deliver one. That makes no sense. He can't be a virgin. He's Malfoy. If he so much as glanced in another girl's direction, she would drop her knickers and fling them across the room, before sprinting in his direction. There was no possible way he could never have slept with anyone, unless…

"Are you…saving yourself?" Hermione asked, tentatively.

His eyes widened a moment, before he snorted with laughter. "Am I saving myself?" he asked, lathering the words in humour. "No, I'm not."

Her lip twitched.

"As I said, I've done things," he voiced, delicately. "I'm not saving myself for marriage or any of that nonsense—not that there's anything wrong with doing that."

She blinked hard, looking at him as though he were a madman. "Then how on earth are you a virgin?"

He shrugged, ignoring the underlying compliment. "It's just never clicked, I suppose."

"It's never felt right?" Hermione gathered.

Malfoy nodded. "Yes, and, I was…kind of preoccupied the last couple years. It's difficult to get off with someone, when you have the Dark Lord breathing down your neck."

"Ah…" She had somehow forgotten about that. He was a Death Eater. Used to be, at least.

"Sorry for ruining the mood," he apologized, lightly. "I just thought you should know ahead of time—not that I went into tonight expecting anything from you."

Hermione laughed, but only because she couldn't help it. "It's OK," she assured him. "…but I am curious about one thing." Her eyes fell to his left forearm. "Does it…hurt?"

He blanked. "Does what hurt?"

"The…mark."

"Oh." His muscles tensed up a bit. "No," he answered, simply. "It never hurts. It…Its function wasn't to cause pain, but to connect us. That is, before he was defeated."

She absorbed the information. "So it's similar to Harry's scar, but not."

"In a way."

"May I?" Hermione asked.

There was a trace of hesitation in Malfoy's demeanour, before he nodded. In a matter of ten or twelve seconds, he revealed the Dark Mark to her, and watched with steady eyes, as she examined the tattoo. It had faded considerably since the end of the war, but it was still there. The snake and the skull, and the ominous shadows.

She carefully brushed her fingers over it, using only the tips. "It's warm," the girl noted. "Like the rest of you."

"Did you expect it to be cold?"

"I'm not sure what I expected," she confessed, looking him in the eyes. "I'm sorry for asking to see it. I…I just…I've always been curious."

"It's OK." Malfoy rolled his sleeve down, when she finished. "I think it's time we head back to the castle."

Her chest hitched. "Oh." She didn't want to leave, but something about his change in attitude told her there was no choice in the matter. "Okay."

It was shortly after dinner, when he received the message. Had it not been for Quidditch, he would have known sooner. Because of what happened in the match against Slytherin, the Gryffindor Team Captain, Harry, took it upon himself to schedule four practices a week, in preparation for the next match.

Bearing that, Ron jogged to the topmost level of the Clock Tower, where he found Astoria. She was alone, looking out onto the grounds, with a slim cigarette idled in her left hand.

"Hey…" he voiced, making his presence known.

"Hey yourself," she said back, lounging against the railing. "Want one?"

He took one look at the cigarette case that she extended towards him. It was engraved with her initials, and made of silver. "No, thanks." On that note, he looked to the Slytherin girl and scrunched his mouth in an attempt to hide the frown. "I didn't know you smoked."

Astoria snorted derisively. "Of course I smoke. What the hell kind of cynic would I be without a self-destructive habit?"

"Sixteen is too young to be cynical," he inserted, folding his arms, with that knowing look on his face. "Dramatics aside, I'd like to know why you called me here."

"Where's the fun in that?" she asked, blowing smoke in O's. "We address the elephant in the room, and have a short conversation about how it never should have happened. Blah, blah, blah. It's such a tired piece of dialogue, don't you think?"

Ron looked to the witch, noting the smudged look of her eye makeup, as though she'd been crying. "So you don't want to talk about it," he gathered. "Fair enough." Without further ado, he thumbed out a cigarette and lit it using one wave of his wand.

"I thought you don't smoke," Astoria voiced, looking to him curiously.

"I don't make a habit of it," he corrected, taking a long drag. "So if not…that, what would you like to talk about?"

She refocused, lingering on a single thought, before voicing it. "If I wanted to talk at all, I'd have asked Draco to meet me—not you."

He released a stream of smoke from the gap between his lips. "Subtle."

Astoria smirked. She faced him, placing her elbows on the railing and tilting her head to the side, giving him a once over. "You know, you're not that bad to look at…for a shit."

"Well, I suppose that's one way to flirt," he said, ending with a sardonic smile. "Why did you ask to meet me here?"

The witch took another drag, before dropping the cigarette and putting it out with the toe of her boot. She then focused on him, knowingly. "I asked you here, because I want to fuck you," she said, catching the flicker of surprise behind his eyes. "Was that subtle enough?"

Ron idled a moment, as though waiting for the punchline. "You're hurt."

"So what if I'm hurt? You're hurt, too."

"I'm not taking advantage of you—not again," he decided. "It'll only complicate things. And it differs from me to you. You're a girl."

Astoria rolled her eyes. "Oh, come off it."

"I'm serious. You…You'll regret it."

"I don't care," she said to him. "And neither do you."

His cheeks turned bright red. "You…I…what about Malfoy?"

"What about him?"

"You're in love with him, aren't you?"

Astoria snorted with laughter. "Why does everyone think that? If I were the least bit in love with him, I would have him. End of."

Ron opened his mouth to object, only to close it again, as she approached. "I don't believe a word of it," he said, leaning back and then forward, as she came within six inches of him. "If you weren't interested in him, you wouldn't have pretended to be his girlfriend."

The witch narrowed her dark blue eyes. "You're really killing the mood."

"Only because I'm right."

"You're wrong," she stated, flatly. "It's possible for normal people to be friends with someone of the opposite sex, without the desire to fuck."

"I didn't say anything about fucking," he clarified, earning a sharp glare. "Why did you agree to be his fake girlfriend?"

Astoria rolled her eyes, turning away from him and lighting another cigarette. "Because he asked me to," she answered, blowing smoke into the chilly atmosphere. "We're friends. He needed a favour. I'm sure your ex would have done the same for Potter, had he asked."

This time, Ron was the one who snorted. "I doubt that," he laughed. "Harry would never ask Hermione to do something like that. He respects her too much; and she respects herself too much to agree."

The witch sighed. "Yes, I understand. You think I'm an insecure slut. On to the next topic."

"That's not what I—"

"Words don't hurt me," she cut in, unexpectedly. "There's nothing you can say, that I haven't heard before, from someone who actually means something to me."

Ron hung back a second, looking at her, as she hurriedly wiped the corners of her eyes and then angled her line of vision to the horizon. "I wasn't trying to shame you."

"Oh Merlin. I know that tone," Astoria groaned, fixing one look at him with her finger pointed. "You're not allowed to feel sorry for me."

"I don't f—"

"And another thing," she furthered. "When a girl tells you she wants to shag atop the Clock Tower—it's customary to toss your morals aside and fucking do it."

"Fine."

Astoria raised an eyebrow at him. "Fine?"

"Fine," he repeated, flicking away his cigarette before trapping her between his arms, fisting the railing. "In about three seconds I'm going to bend you over, lift your skirt up and fuck you senseless. If that's what you want, stay right here. If you don't want that, say so now and we'll never speak of this."

She blinked, slightly speechless.

Ron leaned forward. "One…" he counted. "Two…" he continued, directly over her lips. "Three."

Hermione rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling. It was an hour after midnight—at least, the last time she checked—and she still couldn't sleep. I must have crossed the line when I asked to see the mark. It was stupid of me. I shouldn't have; especially after he was honest with me about that. If I see him before class tomorrow, I'll pull him aside and apologize. She sighed, contemplating how she would go about apologizing, without striking suspicion in the entire student body.

On instinct, her attention fell on the journal, which was propped open, dangling from her left hand. About two hours after she returned to the castle, he wrote her briefly, saying he wasn't feeling well and that he probably wouldn't be able to meet with her for the rest of the week. I definitely messed things up, she grimaced. Or maybe I'm overanalyzing. I don't know. It was fine until I mentioned the Dark Mark. He was fine. And now he isn't. She groaned into her pillow. I'm turning into one of those desperate, clingy birdbrains.

"Oi…" voiced Lavender, from across the dormitory. "Quiet over there. I'm trying to sleep."

Hermione ignored the witch and thought hard. If he's changed his mind about me, I'm sure Astoria will know about it. I'll ask when I speak with her tomorrow. Good. Okay. Brilliant. She shifted onto her side and closed her eyes, attempting to sleep for the billionth time that night, before her eyes shot open. Maybe SHE'S the reason he's giving me the cold shoulder! A jolt of realization jutted through her body, forcing her upright. Yes! Maybe they've been together this whole time and…and…no, no, that's ridiculous. She collapsed onto the mattress and exhaled, forcing her eyes closed. I should really stop drinking butterbeer before bed.

A/N: Let me know what you think of this chapter! I'm going to try to respond to as many reviews as I can.

Cheers

xo.