Today is Valentine's Day, so Happy V-Day! So, this weekend I was a bit ho—uh... in desperate need of attention from my boyfriend. Alas, for physiological reasons, this urge was thwarted. TMI? Well… grin Maz urges me to assure you all that the "physiological reasons" had nothing to do with him, by the way. Just so that is clear. So, I decided to sit down and write something. A PWP. Oh, boy. Anyway, I seem to have a problem with the –WP part of this concept and my betas claim that it is indeed not a P W P, so I will have to bend to their will and offer you this one-shot, which is based on smut without a real storyline. Which is not a PWP. But it happens to be 12.5k words long. I'm not sure how that happened, but these things always happen to me. It was written at the expense of sleep and homework in order to get it ready for today, so if you appreciate my hard work (not to mention the smut in this non-PWP), do be sure to tell me. Oh, and of course it's Dramione. Sorry, dears. No Theo this time around. It is NC-17, of course, as if you could not figure that one out. And in spite of it being Valentine's Day, there is no fluff. I repeat: this is not a fluff-piece. It is not angst either. It's a non-PWP, dammit. One additional warning, though: Dubious Consent. Someone might not be who someone else thinks they are… if you have a problem with that, don't bother going off to read it. It's called In The Darkness All Cats Are Grey, because it's a Danish proverb and the English equivalent… well… sucks. I like the Danish one. You people need better imagery in your proverbs. And just to be extra evil – or nice, whichever – here is the next chapter of The Bracelet at the same time. I apologize for this long note and I will shut up now.

Anyway, you won't find this piece here on ffnet, simply because I find that too many children ignore the "M"-Rating. In order to read it go to Granger Enchanted, Quiet Ones, affnet or, eventually when it's validated, Coloured Grey. If you do not know the urls to any of these places, check my profile. Seriously, while I will still keep my older and more mature works up here, I do not like children reading them.

Hermione gaped. This was an unexpected question to pop up a week later.

'Why did you draw your wand on your friends to protect me last Saturday?'

"It… wasn't like that," she mumbled, trying to gather her thoughts.

"What was it like then?" Draco politely asked.

He was scribbling something on a piece of parchment, his back turned to her. He hardly seemed like the answer really interested him that much. He halted his writing, frowned slightly and mumbled to himself, before jotting down whatever conclusion he had reached.

"When is it due?" Hermione asked.

"Two hours before the game," he absent-mindedly responded.

"So it is homework keeping you awake, then?"

"No, I could do it in the morning, but might as well do something with my time."

"What is it about?"

He halted and half-turned to look at her. "My paper is none of your concern and I did not forget that I asked you a question that you have yet to answer."

Oh, snap.

Hermione shrugged. "Two against one wouldn't have been fair odds."

He snorted. "That won't wash. Some might say I was provoking them and you might even go as far as claiming that I was expecting the attack and was ready for it."

"Yeah right," she said, crossing her arms. "That's why you banged your head when I pushed you aside. Because you were ready."

"I was ready for them to attack, not you," he clarified. "And thanks for the headache, by the way."

"You're welcome," she quipped.

"It's funny how you're trying to talk circles around me. Do I really need to order a reply from you?"

She looked pensive. "I didn't even think about that. How come I don't have to answer you?"

He sighed and rubbed his eyes. "You're so bloody annoying, you know that? It works on intent and I was just asking, not ordering a reply. I suppose sometimes one says something one doesn't really mean to one's spouse, which makes it safer for it to work on intent than just words. Now, your turn: Why did you point your wand at Potter and Weasley?" His voice had gotten a sharp edge and now Hermione felt the pull that had been absent before.

She hesitated. "It seemed to be the only truly effective way to stop them. I didn't want to draw my wand, but at that point, just dragging them away as usual wouldn't have worked, since they believed me to… that is to say… um… they thought I might be partial to you."

"So your way of disproving that was to draw your wand in my defense? I hate to say it, Granger, but I don't think it worked."

Hermione's cheeks got a pink tinge. "It stopped them, didn't it?" she defended herself. "And you were out to separate me from them anyway, so I figured it wouldn't matter what I did. I have a lot to explain after the bet is over, anyway."

"It still doesn't explain why you wanted to stop them in the first place."

"Don't you think there's enough violence in the world these days without adding petty schoolyard squabbles here at Hogwarts?" she asked in a heated voice. "Isn't it enough that we have to fight Death Eaters and werewolves and Voldemort himself? Do we really need to fight each other? I don't actually know what side you're on, but at least you didn't commit murder, when they told you to. Besides, this whole thing – the things you're doing to me – is nothing compared to what's happening outside, in the real world."

He looked blindsided by her passionate statement and for a moment he didn't reply. Finally he softly said, "Ok."

Hermione blinked. As far as answers went, that was pretty short and neutral. "Ok," she mumbled, settling back as she realized there wasn't going to be an argument.

The corner of his mouth drew up. "You thought I was going to fight you on it?" he asked in an amused voice. "I should think that it was obvious I didn't like the violence I brought to the school last year."

"Yet you'll still fight Harry," she pointed out. "And for no good reason, too."

"That's different," he muttered. "Potter sliced me open."

"And you were innocent as a lamb, I'm sure," Hermione drily said.

"I hate Potter and I always will. The only people I hate more than him are You-Know-Who and Fenrir Greyback and that's probably because I also fear them." He said this matter-of-factly without a trace of shame at admitting to his fear. "I'm not afraid of Potter and I don't think he's as good as everyone thinks he is, but for the sake of my poor, abused head, I won't try to use the bet to incite him again."

"Don't we have a clause against that anyway?" she mumbled, frowning as she tried to remember the exact wording of the contract.

"It only says that I can't incite people in an effort to get someone expelled. You should have chosen your words more carefully if you meant it more generally."

She studied him. He was going to lay off her friends? Why? She voiced her question, "Why not continue to taunt Harry?"

He shot her an irritated glance. "You nearly maimed me last time."

She rolled her eyes. "You're so lame."

"No," he returned. "But I probably will be if you choose to save me from violence again."

"That's the worst reason I ever heard," Hermione said, shaking her head. "Could it be that you're actually trying the being nice thing that everyone's talking about?" She grinned, knowing that she shouldn't provoke him, but unable to stop just the same.

He shot to his feet and turned to her with a growl. "You just can't leave well enough alone, can you, Granger? Your reason for wanting to avoid fighting just happened to be one I could respect. The last people I would feel an inclination to be nice to would be you and your friends. Come tomorrow, you won't doubt that anymore. Dismissed."

Yanking his chair back from where it had been pushed as he got up, he sat back down and ignored her as she left.

As Hermione walked back to her room, she couldn't help the foreboding feeling that tomorrow's Quidditch match might not be the most fun she would ever have.

Hermione considered attempting to hide from Draco, but she knew it would be futile. In spite of being caught up in the big game and having the pressure of wanting to make his last Quidditch match against Gryffindor count, he wouldn't be too preoccupied to torment her. He never was.

She supposed it was a matter of priorities.

She had spent the better part of the morning reading, but as time drew nearer for the match, she checked out the books that she needed for an Arithmancy project she was doing, and hurried towards the stairs that would lead her to the Gryffindor tower.

Her mind being elsewhere, she was hardly noticing the people around her, until someone quite forcefully bumped into her and brought his hand down on her books, shoving them from her hands onto the floor. She was startled by the deliberation with which she had been targeted and she didn't really register who had done it, only that people were jeering. In fact, she noticed both Slytherins and Gryffindors laughing.

At least I'm promoting house unity, she wryly thought as she sighed and crouched down to collect her books from the floor, trying hard to ignore the lump in her throat. So far her seventh year had been horrible, laced with humiliation and spite. She couldn't wait for it to be over.

"Don't mind them," a voice said as someone crouched down in front of her and helped her gather her things. "I think it's horrible how they're treating you. I wish that I could make them stop, but nobody really listens to a nobody like me in these matters."

Hermione blinked as she recognized the shy, dark-haired boy talking to her: Wayne Hopkins from Hufflepuff, her usually very quiet partner in Transfiguration. He was also the boy, she had seen whispering with Megan Jones behind her back in Charms, so who was he trying to fool? He was just like the rest of them.

"Why do you care?" she coolly asked as she got to her feet.

He rose with her and blinked, looking a bit confused and hurt at her dismissive tone. "I… I just…I thought…" he stuttered, a blush creeping across his face. "I'm sorry," he finally mumbled and rushed off, avoiding her gaze.

Hermione felt a pang of guilt. He had just been trying to encourage her, after all.

"The Head Girl's famous charms," another, very unwelcome, voice said. "You practically sent that one running, didn't you? You could give lessons."

Hermione fixed her best death glare on Draco. "What do you want?" she asked.

"Of course," he said, ignoring her question, "it's better than you snogging him, which seems to be the only other option available with you these days."

"Don't you have a game to play?" she asked, scowling at him.

Perhaps he'd be so busy with his taunts that he forgot to do anything horrible before he had to go change. Now, there was a cheering thought.

"Yes, I do, in fact," he jovially said, rousing Hermione's suspicions. "And you'll be watching, of course." It wasn't a question.

"Of course," she muttered. "I'll be wanting to watch my friends beat you like they do every year, won't I?"

He just smiled blithely and she knew, then, that he was up to something. She would really prefer not to find out what it was.

"Excuse me," she mumbled and quickly began walking away from him.

He allowed her to take a few steps, before he called out, "Not so fast!"

Hermione's heart sank. What nefarious scheme had he come up with?

She slowly turned around and he threw something at her that she instinctively caught with her free hand. She looked down, all her thoughts freezing in denial, as she recognized the Slytherin scarf for what it was. She refused to consider what it meant, though.

"You shouldn't have pushed me," he coolly said.

"So, as a punishment you make me wear a scarf? That has to be a new one," she half-joked, still unable to allow herself to think.

"Come now, Granger," he said. "You're so smart. You must have figured out what I would make you do ages ago."

"No, I definitely hadn't thought about scarves," she said, panic edging her voice.

"You'll be standing in the Gryffindor stands, mostly because I don't want murder on my hands, but also because it will be fun to see you among your friends, cheering for Slytherin."

"I thought you said you didn't want murder on your hands," she hoarsely said.

"They won't harm you," he said. "Although, I'd stick to public places for the rest of the year if I were you. Especially if we win this year, which I have every intention of making happen."

"Please, Malfoy…" she whispered.

He made a disgusted sound. "Are you going to beg again?"

"Yes!" she said, not trying to hide her desperation. "There must be some way to make you drop this! I'll do anything!"

He smirked unpleasantly. "I can already make you do whatever I wish you to do and, besides, you're lying. You just want me to relent so you don't have to do anything unpleasant at all."

"This is more than unpleasant," she hissed. "This is plain sadistic. I'm not lying. I could… could…" She clearly searched for something that could sway him. "I could promise you that I won't encourage Nott, even after the bet is over," she choked. "You want that, don't you?"

His eyes turned cold. "You really are fickle, aren't you?" he sneered. "Ready to give Theo up at the first sign of something unpleasant happening to you. You make me sick. No, I will not accept that promise, since it would mean nothing to you. You'd still have Weasley and who knows who else."

Hermione's eyes widened. He really thought very little of her, didn't he? It was true that she was slightly confused at the moment, torn between her old, safe crush on Ron and her new more exciting attraction to Nott. She was so far unable to figure out if she really could see herself with Ron, or if she had just begun taking it for granted because of the deep affection she felt, and always would feel, for him as a friend.

Malfoy, however, made it sound as if she was some slut, who'd encourage any boy that came on to her. It bothered her, but she knew that he wouldn't care if she tried to explain, so why even try? She sighed, defeated.

"Here's what I want, then," he said, walking closer to her and lowering his voice. "You never tell those loser friends of yours about the bet or let them know that nothing happened between us. Instead, you will enforce the lie in any way you can. In short, Weasley goes to his grave believing that his…" He wrinkled his nose in disgust as he was looking for words. "Chaste and faithful little Mudblood was sullied by my touch."

Hermione gaped. She could never do that.

"You see," Draco lowered his voice even more and stepped closer. "He might try to act as if he doesn't care, but he does, and it will eat away at him until he can't bear to even look at you anymore. To know that you knew he was in love with you, yet you chose to sleep with someone who doesn't care whether you live or die instead. How long has he been waiting for you? Do you think he'd hoped to be your first?"

The last bit hit her on a level that he couldn't even know about. She clenched her jaw and looked away, so he wouldn't notice the new shininess to her eyes.

"You know I can't agree to this," she bit out.

"Then stop saying you'll do anything," he coldly said. "I hate melodramatic women. This is just a school Quidditch match; it will be very unpleasant for a while, but it will hardly ruin your life."

He walked away and she was left to stare at the Slytherin scarf in her hands.

And then there's Quidditch...

She had no idea who had won. Both Draco and Harry had suddenly spotted something and had started diving for it. There had been a roar from the audience. She had called out the name that she didn't really want to root for. And then… the two of them had hit the ground; Harry first, Draco toppling on top of him. They had been still for a few seconds and then Draco rolled to the side. They were panting heavily and were, for the most part, unmoving.