It was so wrong.

Everything about this situation was wrong.

He disgusted himself.

And yet here he was again, standing in the changing room. The towel with the HG embroidered on it held tightly in both hands as he stared in disbelief at the small pile of clothes.

All week he had convinced himself that Granger no longer interested him. That what he saw and heard on Friday night was just a coincidence and a misinterpretation on his part. That Granger still found him as repulsive as the years before. That she would certainly never use the prefect's bathroom again.

But when Blaise and Theo finally went to their shared dormitory, Draco started moving as if on his own. Until he was standing in front of the door to the bathroom, he himself did not know exactly where he was going. And now he was standing here again, in exactly the same situation as a week ago.

Only now he had a better idea of what he would find in there.

He could not do that again. Now that he knew what Granger was probably doing, he could not reconcile it with his conscience. Even he was not that mean.

But he could not just let it go either. Burning curiosity flickered inside him like a hungry fire. Was Granger just living out some fantasy or was she actually interested in him? Her behaviour during the week indicated that she did not think about him that way. But now she was here again. Did she have another man in mind today or was she thinking about him again?

Slowly he let go of the towel and looked at the frosted glass door. He could just walk through. He could undress and join her in the bath. He could offer to give her a hand. Or more. Then she would not have to settle for her fingers and her imagination.

A wave of heat shot through his body. The idea was attractive, very attractive indeed.

He shook his head. If he imagined that he was wanking there in the bath and the subject of his fantasies suddenly appeared, he would probably be less than thrilled. He would be too horrified and ashamed for even the thought of sex to be possible. She would certainly be no different.

But then, he could not very well go to her during the day. "Hey, Granger, I know what you do at night in the prefect's bathroom. Feel like having sex?" No, that was impossible.

Cursing, he ran both hands through his hair. He was just disgusting. What was he doing here? What gave him the right to violate another person's privacy like this with full awareness? He should apologise for it, but even that was impossible without telling Granger what he had done. And he would never tell her.

Tensely, he buried both fists in his trouser pockets. Should he just leave again? That would be the decent thing to do. But it felt so wrong at the same time. As if he were standing in front of a locked door, behind which lay paradise, and all he had to do was find the key to open it.

And suddenly he knew what he could do. Instead of abusing Granger's ignorance again, he could just throw the ball into her court and see what she did. Then he would definitely get his answer.

oOoOoOo

Satisfied with herself and the world, Hermione reached for her towel. No matter what the real Draco did or said, in her fantasy he was still perfect and she was not ready to give that up. It felt too good for that.

With a long sigh, she wrapped her soft towel around herself and then lowered herself onto the bench. Relaxing, she stretched - and froze.

On a hook on the wall opposite her hung a green cloth. A green cloth that had definitely not hung there before. As last time, she had looked around very carefully to see that there was no trace of other students' clothes here. So the cloth must have appeared while she had been lying in the bath.

Heat shot into her cheeks. Quickly she jumped up and tore the cloth from the wall. It looked like a pocket square, probably from a Slytherin student. Her fingers felt for a bump. Heart pounding, she turned it over.

Again, she froze.

Embroidered in one corner of the cloth were the letters DM. It was obvious who this cloth belonged to. Only a Malfoy would even wear something as extravagant as a pocket square to school.

Draco Malfoy had been here while she had lain in the pool and indulged fantasies about him.

Had he seen her?

Had he heard her?

Trembling, Hermione lowered herself onto one of the benches. Of course he had. Why else would he leave the pocket square here? He had not lost it by accident, it had been too obviously hanging on the hook for that. He had left it here on purpose so that she could find it.

Nausea spread through her. Draco Malfoy knew what she was doing. What she thought about him. Had he left the cloth here to warn her? To blackmail her? Would the whole school know tomorrow what she was doing in the bathroom at night?

The best thing for her to do tomorrow was to go straight to Headmistress McGonagall and ask to be allowed to drop out of school. She would never be able to face Malfoy again. She would be the laughing stock of the school for the rest of the year if she stayed.

Tears burned in her eyes. How she could have thought for even a second that it was a good thing Malfoy was back here too. Of course he still had it in for her, just as he had all those years before. Just because he no longer called her a Mudblood in public did not mean he did not still think exactly that.

Anger rose in her. How dare he even sneak in here? He was not a prefect! Spying on others while they bathed and listening to them pleasuring themselves was despicable. He had no right to do that. He should be ashamed, not her. She had done nothing wrong at all. He was the one who should be publicly exposed.

Hot tears ran down her cheeks. She never was ashamed of the fact that she liked sex and masturbated. Her mother had always taught her that it was normal and healthy and good. Why should she be ashamed of things that happened in her mind? How dare Malfoy try to blackmail her with that? It only showed how perverted and backward he himself was.

Resolutely, she wiped away her tears. She would not go. If anything, he had to go. She would show him that she, Hermione Granger, was not to be trifled with like that. She would not be ashamed of her sexuality, not in front of him, not in front of anyone.