I have never felt more proud of myself. I actually know how the story's going to end and I have the deleted scene' from chapter seven written.

For those of you who read Midsummer Nights, I reckon there's one or two more chapters left. I assumed there would be more but no. (Note to self: Midsummer Nights is in desperate need for a revision.)



n o b e d o f r o s e s
ii. a stroke of silk, a brush of velvet



Shafts of sun light seeped through the plume curtains and into the room, the golden fingers crawling on the floor and slowly up the walls in a rippling glow. It traced the portraits with amazing gentleness and found its way to the sleeping girl through the transparent canopy. The light splayed against her face, a halo of light encircling her head in a rich shine. The girl twisted on her side, the blankets that hugged her body getting tangled in her stretched limbs. She tossed again and finally sat up, disheveled hair and sleepy eyes and all. Hermione forced herself out of bed and shuffled to the bathroom, covering her mouth as she yawned whilst her other opened the bathroom door.

Her eyes scanned the room, before they fell on a familiar someone. Draco Malfoy stood in front of the bathroom mirror and through his reflection, she observed him - bare-chested, wet and with a towel wrapped loosely around his waist. She could see the lean muscle on his arms and the curve of his sharp hipbones and the way they dipped lower into a forbidden unknown. Her eyes traveled over his shoulder where they rested on his smooth back. Upon inspecting closer, she noticed that as smooth as it was, there were the fading traces of scars. They looked painful.

She didn't dwell on that much longer when the bane of her existence cleared his throat and rested his palms on the marble sink, then looked at her reflection, a scowl on his face but amusement twinkling in his god-forsaken, beautiful eyes.

I fancy people who knock, Granger. He frowned, a sneer itching at his lips.

She flushed bright pink.

Well, I- I, stuttered Hermione, I didn't - oh, Merlin's beard, Malfoy! Maybe this wouldn't have happened if you locked both doors!

Silence then hung in the air. Draco proceeded to style his hair in its usual fashion, looking at the gaping witch every so often. After fixing his hair, he washed his hands and looked at her reflection once again.

Granger, I suggest you leave unless you're adamant on seeing more of me. His voice was rather calm, with the barest trace of spite lacing his voice.

She growled and muttered, Fine. Just you hurry up.

Then, she left, closing the door behind her.

Draco stared at himself, turning around and looking over his shoulder to inspect the familiar scars he had received over the years. He had always prided himself on perfect skin, despite the inflicted wounds, but it didn't help heal the fact that he wasn't perfect at all. The marrings on his skin proved that outright. He grimaced as his eyes traced one of the more distinct ones, the one that was slashed behind his left shoulder blade and over his front. Earlier, he had contented himself underneath Hermione's searching gaze, but he had not appreciated it when her eyes lingered on his back longer than necessary.

He let a long finger touch a smaller slash on his shoulder, his own skin like silk beneath his fingertips. He rubbed the back of his neck before continuing to stretch out the kinks in other places of his body before he parted from the bathroom to change back into familiar attire.





You saw him naked?

Hermione buried her flushing face in her hands. Ron was taking this whole matter to epic proportions and god forbid anyone else heard it. She was embarrassed as it was from the earlier incident that morning and with Ron embellishing said incident, she couldn't have been more mortified about it. Trust Ron to make a big deal of things that weren't as big in the first place.

It sounds bad when you say it. She muttered. And Ron, will you keep your voice down! I did not see him naked.

Naked, half-naked. Big difference. It's unthinkable! The important thing is you saw that lousy git naked-

Hermione interrupted with a sigh.

Ron glared.

Does it really matter? barked Ron.

Hermione rubbed her forehead and snuck a glance at Harry, who remained silent during the inquistion of sorts.

Hermione pleaded, tell Ron he's overreacting.

I am not overreacting, Hermione. You- you, oh god. The images, the images ... Ron moaned.

Harry patted his friend on the back then, trying to retain the smile that was threatening to merge onto his lips. He looked at Hermione, apologetically.

I trust that it was nothing, Hermione. But let Ron slowly digest this information. Malfoy and Ron aren't exactly best mates.

That is sorely an understatement, Harry. Ron growled, then looked at Hermione. Listen, I'm sorry. But this is just too much. Malfoy naked ... argh.

Hermione arched a brow and munched slowly on a piece of toast.

And you say what happened between Malfoy and I was unthinkable.

That's different!

Is it? You don't see me having any mental pictures of that snake naked.

Ron growled in frustration.





He couldn't remember when he really smiled, even if it did seem a little bit deranged, but seeing the short-tempered Weasley barking mad was enough to suffice any pleasurable enjoyments. He watched the trio for a moment, watching Hermione move her lips and then grinning. If he were anyone else but Draco Malfoy, he reckoned he would be smiling now, as he watched her laugh her musical laugh. He would bask in her mere presence in the room and all would be right in the world. He would be elated, would boldly walk up to the Gryffindor table and embrace her and kiss her breath away. But Draco Malfoy he was, and Malfoys never succumbed to emotions except for superiority and arrogance. Usually. Draco was sitting, stoic and rigid, at the Slytherin table, his pale face unreadable and his lips in a grim line.

Life was nothing short of a fairytale. There was no happy endings and there was no such thing as a bad bloke turned good. In reality, there was no thin line between. In reality, soulless and emotionless people remained soulless and emotionless.

A tingling feeling ran up and down his left arm and he shivered involuntarily. He glared and looked to his right to see Pansy siding up to him, her arms around his waist and her fingers tracing spirals on his left wrist under his sleeve. He looked at her curiously, a blonde brow shooting up in speculation.

What are you doing, Pansy?

She pursed her lips and pulled back her arm to finger the soft flesh under her wrist where three distinct dark spots in the form of a triangle resided.

Just checking. You haven't been paying much attention to me, is all.

Draco resisted to roll his eyes. He moved up his left sleeve and showed his wrist to Pansy. And, lo and behold, an identical set of black dots was embedded into his wrist, just painted there looking plain and curiously eerie. Pansy smiled then, her grey eyes beaming. She toyed absently with her dark ponytail and looked him in the eye.

That's good.

He dropped his sleeve and made an inhuman grunt in the back of his throat. Three dirty spots as a form of engagement was convenient, he thought sourly. He would have expected more from high-class wizards. Something with more value. But, at any rate, he didn't mind how grungy or unattractive it made his appearance. It was only Pansy.

Draco's eyes strayed once again to the Gryffindor table, watching her as she eagerly lifted an envelope from an incoming owl. She removed a perfectly creased, perfectly white parchment from within the pocket and unfolded it tenderly. He watched the way her cinnamon eyes scanned over the words, taking in their meanings and their truths deeply, with understanding. He indulged himself in the softly growing smile that slowly graced its way onto her rose-coloured lips, the way she shyly tucked a strand of wavy hair behind her ear, the way she moved with an unconscious fluid elegance. That fact alone made her all the more appealing, he concluded silently.

Then, her smile faded, although her eyes were still glowing brightly. She tucked the piece of paper into the envelope and hid it away in one of her book covers. Hermione grinned and looked towards Harry, that same smile reappearing on her lovely face. Draco observed the boyish smirk that spread on the famous wizard's face, the way the two friends locked gazes with hidden affection. Ron saw sparks, looking between Harry and Hermione every now and then. His eyes fell on the tucked-away letter and suddenly, he patted his best mate on his back and teased Hermione with a grin. Draco scowled and furrowed his brow.

What was that all about?

Students began filing out of the Great Hall, gathering books and dragging their friends out of the room with cheery smiles on their happy faces. The Slytherins remained still until most of the other Houses had left and began leaving themselves. Draco contented himself with the fact that Hermione was still in the process of leaving, gathering her books and such, despite the affectionate brushing of hands she and Harry had shared not too long ago.

Hermione had then walked out, and he followed her quietly. He had no worries about being questioned why he was following the mudblood. They shared their next class together - Arithmancy. He welcomed himself with the pleasant view of her backside and bare legs, now that her god-forsaken robes were now cast away due to the heat. It was these rare moments he thanked Hogwarts for the slightly skimpy skirts female students had to wear. A sly smile appeared on his face as he amused himself with the way her hips swayed lightly, yet seductively without her knowledge. The fact that Hermione Granger, Bookworm Extraordinaire and Virgin Queen Wonder, was completely unawares of her feminine grace and maturity seemed to appeal to many of the red-blooded males at Hogwarts, although it was more of physical attraction than anything else. She didn't have the voluptuous curves like the exotic Parvati Patil or the seductive and sleek body of the playful Lavender Brown, but her curves were there - sweet and charming and sinfully innocent.

The Arithmancy room was not far off and, thinking on his feet, he grabbed hold of her arm and tugged her into the nearest room, which was, luckily, an abandoned classroom.

With all that tugging, Hermione had dropped her books in the process and she groaned aloud, as she bent down and picked up the books with a look of annoyance etched deeply in her forehead. She glanced up for a mere second at her captor and huffed lightly.

I guess I'm not surprised. She said, dully. Planning on finishing what we started in the library?

He crossed his arms. Not particularly.

Well, then. If you'll excuse me. Hermione nodded with a curt voice. It wasn't like she was encouraging him to finish his little promise, but it was the only reason she could figure at the moment that was slightly reasonable for his eccentric behaviour as of late. She turned on her heel and opened the door. She was unable to pull it open fully for his strong hand had quickly shut it. Her eyes glanced at his arm that was in close proximity to her face and she scowled. She spun around. What in the world do you think you're doing? Irk me if you must, but I intend to go to class unlike some people.

His silver eyes took in the shape of her face, traced the contours of her lips. Without hesitation, his head dipped lower and he allowed his mouth to faintly brush her own, admiring the velvet curves and the sweet taste of honey and lilacs. Then, he pulled away but not without the playful nip at her bottom lip. She released a soft whimper from her lips. He smirked a devilish smirk, loving how she had cowered closer to the door, clutching her books tighter to her chest.

Lust was power. Power was an unimaginable glory.

And Malfoys lived for power.

Her cheeks were faintly flushed, tinged a beautiful rosy colour that accentuated her peach-pale skin. She pursed her lips, fire in her eyes.

That was- that was uncalled for, Malfoy! Hermione sputtered.

He narrowed his eyes, slits of silver piercing through her and she felt a strong urge to shudder under his gaze. It was strange how she felt several emotions clawing at her as she stared back into his eyes. Anger. Curiosity. Desire. She reprimanded herself, furiously, for having betrayed herself with guilty thoughts.

Can you honestly tell me that you didn't enjoy it?

Hermione opened her mouth but was shocked when nothing came out. She desperately wanted to say I didn't!' and yet, somehow, her own voice betrayed her as well. This was utterly shameful, a demeaning way of being cornered. She had already - indirectly - told him that she had liked that small kiss. And if that wasn't defiling her mudblood status, then Merlin, she didn't know what else could taint her name. Tears pricked her eyes. Suddenly, it was hard being under such a penetrating gaze, one that touched and attempted to unravel who she was inside: Hermione Granger, naive to all things immoral and risque, was like any other female with hormones.

The crystalline droplets threatened to pour as she reminisced on their kiss. Guiltily, she admitted that, despite his icy lips, they had a soft texture and were wonderfully skilled - even if the kiss did only last for a millisecond. She had felt him, ten-fold - the way his body warmth comforted her, his minty breath on her lips, the way his lips brushed hers, feather-soft. These were things she had not expected from a Malfoy, things she would have never done with a Malfoy, things she would never enjoy from Draco Malfoy.

It was just wrong. Wrong.

Which was why she couldn't help the single tear that slid down her face.

She was defiled in the worst way possible because he didn't have to try so hard.

Hermione shoved him away with her petite body and flung the door open, dashing outside to get away from him.

A wry smile came to his lips and his eyes strayed towards the stone wall, a dry and humourless laugh escaping his lips. His timbre voice escalated until it could no more; his face contorted into confusion and then an unidentifiable source of rage. He let out a short, frustrated yell before pounding on the door. He had just kissed the ... the disgusting excuse for a mudblood because he was caught up in the moment. That ... thing truly was a witch - bewitching him and meddling with his mind. God! He actually thought that she - the filth that she was - was attractive, even for a miniscule moment in time. He felt degraded. Dirty. To hell with the fact that he initiated it. To hell with the fact that he had enjoyed it. To hell with everything! It didn't matter because who held a higher status? He did. Who had more money? He did. Who was the pureblood? He was.

But what really angered him - truly, completely rattled him senseless - was that she had turned him down, that she was able to wrap him around her finger without bloody trying, that someone so dirty and beautiful was able to kindle all these mixed emotions from him when no one else could, that she could brush him off at times like he was nothing, that - that she was not goddamned suitable for him because of her dirty, god-forsaken blood. And for what? For being brought up with such moralities, such different beliefs.

He let himself rest against the door and he allowed himself a few minor blows to the head, pounding it against the solid structure.

A little spark of light appeared in the middle of the room, and Draco narrowed his eyes to the sight of a familiar elf.

Dobby.

The ugly thing looked up at him with his big, round eyes and his ragged clothes. Just looking at that thing almost made him sick.

Dobby saw what happened with Miss Hermione. Dobby wishes to help Master Draco. His hands were clasped together and he was smiling, expectantly.

That ugly thing was still calling him Master? What an idiot. It was utterly lacking in brain cells, that's what. It didn't even belong to him anymore.

Get the bloody hell away from me! He snarled viciously, moving his hand to where his wand resided by his waist. Or better yet ...'

Dobby yelped and bounced but before he could disappear in the haze of smoke, Draco held up a hand to signal the elf to stop.

Actually, I withdraw that. You can help me. He said slowly, although beneath the calm tone was the barest hint of malice.

How, sir? How can Dobby help? Dobby is most eager to help Master Draco.

The desire to swat the miserable creature was intensifying. It was almost pathetic how the ugly thing practically groveled at his feet. It slightly relieved the ache from earlier, made him feel more superior. For the time being.

I want you to go to the Gryffindor tower and get something for me ...





Yet again, Arithmancy was nothing short of exciting. In fact, he thought arrogantly, he could have passed the class if he had been deaf and blind.

Draco's eyes fell on Hermione, who was currently scribbling away with her quill. The wretched woman was turning his head into a jumbled mess, awakening every emotion he had learned to ignore or forget. She angered him and fascinated him in all ways possible. She caused him grief and offered him solace all at once. This whole thing ... it was preposterous. Why bother chasing after a mudblood who wished to have nothing to do with you and vice versa? Not only did it confuse him to great lengths, it aggravated him as well.

Mudblood affecting a pureblood.

He was sure there was no connection.

So why now? Why him? Why her, of all people?

No matter how many times he searched for answers, he could never get them.





After Arithmancy class, Hermione stormed outside to the greenhouse and dropped her books on the ground with a loud thud! and plopping down beside them with an angry scowl and a whiny huff to accompany it. There was just nerve written all over that twisted boy - man - youth - whatever. After their little encounter in the abandoned classroom, she would have thought he would take the hint. This was unfortunate for her, for she had spotted him giving her glances every now and then even if he wasn't aware of her noticing.

It was most unsettling.

So she had the strong desire to wrap her fingers around his beautiful neck (for a guy, he did have beautiful ... well, everything) and strangle him until he had lost his grasp on his senses and was begging mercifully for air. Or she could take the easy way and hex him into a bloody oblivion, of which he would never find his way out. The latter seemed a tad bit more appealing, but the idea of doing things for oneself felt wonderfully joygasmic - if there ever was such a word.

So maybe, just maybe, if he ever attempted such a stupid move again, she would strangle him until he forgot how to breathe.

She sighed then, fully content with herself and her future plans for an unlucky ferret. Her finger absently toyed with a sleeping moonflower, as she contemplated her day's schedule. It wasn't until the greenhouse door opened and shut that she found herself unable to stop cursing herself for thinking about him and how he should keep his distance. It was Murphy's Law. Blast the idiot and his theories.

Hermione scowled. Stalking is not a sport, I assure you.

Of course not. Quidditch is, however.

She rolled her eyes.

Don't you have more practical things to do with your time? Like torture first-years?

Draco smirked at this and fingered an ivy vine growing on the glass walls.

Why torture first-years when you're available?

The ferret was an insufferable, schizophrenic creature. He had been an enigma yesterday, a nuisance this morning, eccentric earlier that afternoon, and now an over-confident, narcissistic pureblood. Will wonders never cease?

she started, I'm trying to be civil here so could you please do me a favour and stop whatever mind game you're playing?

I assure you, I have no idea what you're talking about.

Silence hung in the air, hovered above them in loud volumes. Hermione cast a meek glance at the Slytherin and was surprised to find him staring at her. And no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't put a finger down on what his eyes were telling her. Several unidentified emotions flitted through his eyes, and she was unable to grasp even one. She saw him trying to compose himself, saw sadness turn into fury, then from stillness to pain. There was just so many. It then hit her that maybe it was those ... scars she had seen earlier that was causing him such distress.

So she hated him, so she often found it peaceful if the Slytherin was dead. But what kind of monster would inflict wounds on someone young and fresh?

Lucius, perhaps,' she thought bitterly.

Now, how was one to go about a situation that wasn't one's to deal with?



Now he had annoyance written on his face. She was surprised he wasn't going through an emotional breakdown.



I, uh- nothing, nevermind. She didn't know why, but she couldn't bring herself to ask a question. Not only was it not her business, but having a slightly elongated conversation with a Malfoy was a shocking turn of events all on its own. And conversations always led to something else, whether it was a new, blazing hatred or a blooming friendship. Somehow, that idea didn't satisfy her in the least when Draco Malfoy was involved.

She couldn't risk something happening between them. In no way was she thinking of a relationship that said more than words but the pureblooded wizards were right: no good can come out of any sort of relationship between a mudblood and pureblood.

She had no idea what she was thinking, no idea why she bothered to have any short and curt conversations with him, even if it was just a nod.

Hermione picked up her things and left the greenhouse, leaving a confused and frustrated Draco in her wake.





- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
// end chapter i, o4 - 1o - o3

I purposely made sure that there are several loose ends of the story (ie. the letter, favour of Dobby) that won't be dealt with until later, so I apologise if you end up confused somewhere in the middle. And if the characters' emotions seem a bit perplexing, they were intentionally made to be that way.

And the greenhouse seems to be the basis of the story. Hm.

[edit o5-1o-o3] Thank you, Meriadoc / Celithrathien for pointing out the mistake. If any of you see stupid mistakes I make, point it out so I may fix it. [/edit]