Author's Note: This is quite possibly the last update you'll have from me for at least four weeks, as I am going away on Saturday until at least the end of July. Don't hold me to that, though, because there's still the chance that I will be able to write and update. This is just a preliminary warning. If I don't talk to any of you or update, however, have a great summer! xxx Anya xxx

Chapter Twelve

The Tides, They Change Too Quickly

Hermione stared at Myrtle blankly. "You wouldn't."

"He fancies you?" Draco roared. "Potter fancies you?"

"You knew this," Hermione reminded him, before turning back to Myrtle. "Why on earth would you do a thing like that? I have enough going on without you butting in everywhere you shouldn't!"

"But I am ever so bored," the ghost simpered.

"So you set out to ruin friendships?" Hermione snapped. A wounded expression briefly crossed Myrtle's transparent face. At this, Hermione softened, adding, "Please don't tell Harry…I'm begging you. I don't usually like to beg people."

Myrtle looked thoughtful. "What'll I get out of it?"

"What?"

"What'll I get out of it?" she repeated. "If I'm going to keep your—" she looked from Draco to Hermione, a questioning, rather disgusted look upon her face, "—relationship a secret, I need to benefit from it. Even Witch Weekly would pay good money for an exposé on such a scandalous affair as this."

"What do you need money for? You're a ghost!" Draco said exasperatedly.

"Oh yes, bring that up, why don't you," Myrtle said, sounding and looking very hurt. "Well if you're not going to be cooperative, I guess I'll just wait until Harry—"

Hermione, who knew that Ron had revealed the password to the Prefect's Bath to Harry and that Harry preferred to use it over the regular bathroom, looked slightly panicky. "We're being very cooperative!" she protested. "Please…I—we—will do anything. What is it that you want in exchange for this secret kept?"

Myrtle raised an eyebrow. "Well, now that you mention it…"

She beckoned Hermione and whispered something in her ear, occasionally looking over at Draco, who was examining his perfectly manicured fingernails and looking extremely bored.

A few minutes later, Hermione approached Draco, looking hopeful and slightly apprehensive. She asked, "How far would you go to keep this?"

"I cannot believe you are making me be Moaning Myrtle's slave for a day," Draco muttered as they exited the Prefect's Bath a little while later.

"It's only one day," Hermione said, trying to sound bright. "And it'll be worth it."

"Oh yeah?" he said. "What do I get?"

"Good God, people are selfish lately!" Hermione said in something of a huff. "Besides the preservation of our relationship, what do you want?"

"I am a simple specimen," Draco said pompously, "and I want what any guy wants."

"Draco…" she moaned. "Are you saying that if I don't sleep with you, you won't save our relationship? I'm only sex to you?"

"When you put it like that, you make it sound like a bad thing," he said innocently, pouting.

Hermione opened her mouth and then closed it several times before letting out a growl of frustration and storming away.

"Hermione!" he called, running after her, "I was only joking! You are definitely not only sex to me! I mean it! Herm—oh, no, don't throw—Hermione!"

Before long, and after Hermione let Draco explain to her that he really was joking, they came to the mutual agreement that he would be Myrtle's slave for one day without complaint and that in return, Hermione might be able to give him a little treat.

Upon hearing the last bit, Draco was so happy he nearly snogged her right in the middle of the hallway, but he remembered that their relationship was indeed private, as in not to be shared with anyone except for the two people involved (Draco hoped there would someday be a third, preferably female, but as of then, his prospects at ever achieving this seemed very, very bleak), and took her into a nearby empty classroom instead.

"What do you think Myrtle's going to make me do?" Draco wondered as they exited the room together (both looking more than a little disheveled).

"I don't know," Hermione said. "I mean, honestly, Draco, she's a ghost. How much can she, well, do?"

Draco raised his eyebrows. "What are you thinking?"

"Nothing," she giggled, "All I meant was that she doesn't exactly have a body, so you can't massage her, or bring her food or anything."

"True," he admitted.

"I think she just wants the satisfaction of having someone serve her all day," Hermione concluded.

"It is a nice feeling," Draco said wistfully. "Hey, speaking of servants…next holiday, you should come to the Manor with me."

Hermione blanched. "You want me to come to Malfoy Manor?" she asked in disbelief. "Are you out of your mind?"

"It would be nice," he protested. "My father's dead, which means my mother is less of a bitch, and it might look dark and gloomy and make you want to commit suicide, but it's really quite gorgeous once you get used to it."

She bit her lip. "I don't know, Draco," she said skeptically. "Bringing someone like me—a Muggle-born—into Malfoy Manor seems like a bad idea. And even if that's not an issue, I know from…well, a friend's recent past experience that holidays with your significant other's family don't always turn out so well."

Draco raised his eyebrows at this, but said nothing, for once. "It's not my family, it's me and my mother," he pointed out. "And the Manor is so big that I doubt we'll even see her, except at mealtimes. And I promise she's not so bad. We really haven't been affiliated with that much Dark Magic since Father died."

"I'll have to think on it, okay?" Hermione said. "I'm not saying yes…but I'm not saying no, either."

"Fair enough," Draco said as they approached the Fat Lady. "Well, here we are."

"Thanks for walking me," she said sweetly, getting on tiptoe to kiss his smooth cheek.

"Anytime," he replied. "I'm glad you trusted me enough to show me where this place is."

She smiled and held the silence between them for a moment. "I trust you, Draco," she said softly. "Now and always."

To hear that from Hermione made Draco feel warm inside like he'd rarely, if ever, felt before in his life. He couldn't contain himself anymore, and he kissed her square on the mouth, bending her backwards like the movie stars did in old films.

It was perfect, Draco thought as he walked back toward the Slytherin dungeons, an odd spring in his step. Perhaps too perfect. It made Draco uneasy to think that this could be the calm before the storm.

"Where were you?" Ron asked suspiciously when Hermione plopped down near him and Harry on her favorite chair in the common room.

"Library," she replied absentmindedly. Twirling a strand of her hair around her finger, her thoughts turned to the prospect of spending spring holiday with Draco. She bit her lip to hold back a smile, trying very hard not to giggle.

Harry and Ron exchanged glances. Since when had Hermione begun acting like all the other girls they knew?

"No you weren't," Harry said. "I had to stop into the library to get a book and I looked for you, and you weren't at your usual table."

"I was probably browsing through the shelves, then," she said tersely. "What are you getting at, Harry?"

"Nothing, just…"

"Just what, Harry?"

"Well, if you weren't in the library and you weren't in the common room, where would you be?"

"Off with Malfoy," Ron muttered under his breath.

Hermione heard him, though, and shot him a look like daggers. "I was not with Dra—with Malfoy," she protested hotly. "I was in the library. Why would I lie to you?"

Both Harry and Ron opened their mouths to say something several times, but neither of them spoke.

"Honestly," she snapped, standing up. "With you two suspecting me of shagging Malfoy every sixth second, how could the three of us possibly…what, Ron?"

Ron had actually raised his hand. "Why every sixth second?" he asked timidly.

She let out an exasperated groan. "It's just an expression, Ron. It doesn't mean anything. Like my friendship with Malfoy, which is just a friendship, and nothing more. Stop looking at me like that, and give me one good reason why I would lie to you."

"Hermione, we're just looking out for you," Harry said kindly. "We know what Malfoy's like, and we don't want you to get hurt."

Hermione stopped huffing about long enough to calm down and smile at Harry. "You're right," she said, sitting back down. "I'm overreacting. I'm sorry for it…it just bothers me that it seems like you two don't trust me lately."

"Oh, we trust you," Ron said. "We just don't trust him."

The next few days passed uneventfully, with the only thing either Hermione or Draco felt was worth speaking about (even if it was only to each other) that they set a date for Draco to be Myrtle's slave. It was to be that Saturday, and he would be sacrificing a trip to Hogsmeade, but Hermione promised to bring him loads of sweets from Honeyduke's and an even sweeter treat later that night.

On that note, she was very conflicted because she was presented with the choice to lose her virginity. On the one hand, she could find other ways to entertain Draco, which would keep him very happy, but on the other hand, she wasn't sure if she was really ready.

She didn't even know if she was in love with him. She didn't think so, and to be quite honest, she didn't really want to be. Yes, she loved being with him, and he was smart, as well as handsome and sexy, and he treated her well enough, but then at the same time, he was extremely sarcastic and often rude, and then there was the fact that he was still a Malfoy, despite the new side she'd discovered he had, and that in and of itself was somewhat dangerous. Surely there was more to love than enjoying spending time with the other person and to think that they were attractive.

Hermione had always imagined love to be an all-encompassing sort of thing, where there was no question as to whether she would die for her love and where he was someone she simply could not live without. She imagined love to be a combination of courting and unadulterated passion that couldn't ever be fully described in words.

She didn't think she had that with Malfoy. She didn't think it was possible to feel it at the tender age of sixteen.

Thoughts such as these were the reason Hermione could not sleep at night, and she wished they would go away. One thing she would not admit was that the prospect of love scared her out of her wits. She was Hermione Granger, and she could handle anything.

Well, that's what she told herself, anyway.