I awoke to find her stroking my nose, her long fingers running slowly up the rigid and bumpy surface. I had had my own visage broken in quite a few times, and was self conscious. I turned away, feigning sleep, but finding that this intimate contact was bordering on uncomfortable.

She sighed and laid down again, her vast spray of hair upon my chest. I found it hard to breathe, the sheer volume smothering me. I coughed a bit, warning her that she should move. I opened my eyes when she did not catch upon my hint. I was surprised, mildly, to find her fully clothed as I, her jeans and top wrinkled, but otherwise seeming to fare fine.

, she asked, her voice a few octaves lower than the bossily annoying tone she insisted upon using in her classes. I nodded, hoping she couldn't see up my nostril. She must have been thinking the same thing, for she giggled, and allowed me to raise myself. I stared at her, not knowing where to place my feeling. Of course, mutual respect was obvious, and then there was lust, but was this love? Academic admiration went hand in hand with Hermione Granger, but I had never found anyone who was overly fond of her. Too overbearing, too bossy. She knows too much, was another, but I had learned to turn a deaf ear. After all, when I was her age, it was me receiving the brunt of the comments.

She looked oddly impassive, and stretched out, dipping her head into the coverlet. Can I read one of the books?, she asked lightly, her tone faultily disguising the trepidation of the question. Perhaps she, as an intellectual, understood with what great vigilance I guarded my own library. I nodded, still watching her with half closed eyes, not wanting to divulge what a wonderfully smutty state of soreness and pleasure I was bathing in. My limbs were sore, but other parts were soothed. Overall, it was an oddly, and all too rare feeling.

It had been long since I had been with a woman, and often found my own company more gratifying. Women were elusive to me, and I found my acidic remarks and thin patience did not quite agree. I stifled a yawn, admiring the thinness of her waist, and rotund softness of her hips. She was a lovely parcel, physically, but her mind was an emerald. No such bodily riches could compare with a mind such as hers. And I doubt I will ever meet another that could. I would have gladly sworn a life of celibacy to learn as much as she.

She seemed awkward, fiddling with one book, quickly slipping it back into the shelf, then browsing dreamily onto another. She paused, for quite a long time, at the very shelf where we had commenced our amorous activities, and brushed her finger briefly along the ledge, as if trying to discern it as reality or dream.

She turned to me, and made her way slowly back to the bed where I lay, a sultan in my lone harem. I watched her apathetically as possible, trying not to betray the odd surge of lust that stemmed from my gut. She put her finger in her mouth, biting down at the sad nails that were so abused. I leaned forward and roughly tugged her thumb out, annoyed that she was capable of retaining such a childish habit.

Sorry. It's something I do when I don't know the answer, she said apologetically, still looking longingly at her limply hanging hand. I cocked my head, forgoing my plan of being an icicle, The answer of what question, Granger?.

How I feel for you, she said, her eyes shying from mine. I snorted, then flopped back against the bed. , she asked sharply, obviously offended at my indifference. You women. Always trying to unlock to door to every bloody emotion. Trying to analyze every minute detail, attempting to somehow discover men's vulnerable side of their psyche, I drawled, knowing fully how arrogant I sounded.

You said yourself there was a lot more than lust, she accused, putting her hands on her hips, her brown eyes gazing at me with wistful distress. I wished she wouldn't have. It would have made my reply easier; I believe you were the one that intoned that, Granger. I said nothing of the kind. In fact, as I remember, you did nearly all the talking last night.

The color was parched from her face, and her seeming thirst for answers seemed dammed. Her mouth moved wordlessly, only her eyes looked gravely hurt; her inability to speak only spurred me on. I was trying to give myself a reason for shunting this woman from my chambers, for dampening my teenage-esque hormonal rages for her.

I thought that it was more than that, she whispered at last, licking her lips, trying to prevent the dry skin from creating a painful friction.

Sex is never more than what is appears to be; a basic instinct for survival. There is nothing romantic about it. You came here to be treated mercilessly Miss Granger, and as I remember, you were tiring of being treated like the delicate blossom you are, I said dryly.

I never said anything about humiliation, she gasped, obviously this being too much for her. She clutched her throat, as if my words had raped her of her speech.

Ah. But once you have admitted to being submissive, it is simply the dominator's duty to humiliate. To unseat. Look up the word, Granger, or better yet, perhaps you should search in those endless file cabinets in your useless cavity of knowledge, I continued smoothly, but inwardly I was thrashing. My own comments stung me, and I cannot imagine how they felt to be received. To insult Hermione Granger about looks and personality is a given. But to openly launch an attack about her mind is another.

She became unsettlingly calm, folding her arms and lowering her lids. She looked very placid, except for an oddly dark shadow cast upon her face. I could tell she had long outgrown and tamed the habit of collapsing into tears. Amazing how once I believe myself to be getting somewhere with you, to be stupid enough to think that I'm denting your emotional fortress. Maybe to even think that in your wizened, blackened, shriveled heart, something would pulse. Unfortunately, everything seems to be dead within you. Including from the waist down, she said silkily, perfectly imitating my own predatory voice.

I made a small noise that sounded like an angry moan, but I couldn't be sure. I rose from my respective spot, and advanced upon her, making sure to edge her very precisely into a corner. She looked nervous, her eyes darting frantically, looking a fish trapped in its death net. Her skillful use of facial muscles could not obscure her unease around me.

Dead from the waist down, Miss Granger?, I asked, quite silky myself. She gulped, the nodded defiantly, trying to test if the lukewarm waters of bravery would thwart me. It didn't.

I leaned down and swiftly grasped her curls, jerking her head up to me, her wild brown eyes spinning in a dazed expression. I deftly slipped my hand in to her shirt, latching firmly onto her breast and cramming my knee very tightly between her warm thighs. She could not control the small shudders and various whimpers she uttered, though she looked thoroughly disgusted and ashamed by herself.

I left her, gasping, wildly thrashing for more, staggering towards me like a crazed addict. It took quite a bit of self restraint to withhold my own vicious wants.

I will ask you again, Granger, do you want this? And I'm not simply referring to these dalliances.

There was no amusement or emotion. To an unintroduced observer, my tone bordered on bored. I raised an eyebrow at her, redfaced and struggling to rebutton and recollect.

.

She did not falter and there was no internal struggle. She looked at me squarely in the eye, though she flushed brightly as she did so. I could not help but regret my abasing her so.

I'm a bastard. I'm cruel and vicious..., I was going to continue, but she held up her hand tiredly. I've heard it all. I know, she said, I know what you are. I'm aware of how you treated me. But I can't help but be curious to see if there's more than a sociopathic monster to you.

I glared at her, but found my lips uncompromising. It felt as if they were gently rising to create the subtlest slopes of a smile. She looked worried, almost regretful, but as she glanced at me, she smiled also.

She wrapped her hair up in its tight confines, she walked over to me, and put her hand upon my chest. I was still unaccustomed to non-cruel contact by another, and flinched.

We've all got one of these you know. Yours just happens to beat slower, she whispered.

I rolled my eyes, Don't be an ass, Hermione.









A/N: I know, it's getting a bit fluffy, but it has to get more lighthearted. After all, it's supposed to be humorous and there is way too much darkness. Hope you all enjoy this. Read, and review, if you're arsed to. Any kind appreciated. And thank you, Aries', because my grammar and spelling *are* good. Title from Shakespeare's Hengry VII, Ye may have angel's faces, but heaven know's your hearts'