~*The Passion of a Dragon*~

By: xKatx

Author's Notes: All right, this story contains the song I Hate Everything About You—obviously I don't own that song nor can I sing it very well!

PLUS: **********= that line is from the People's Choice Award-winning movie Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl. I didn't coin that phrase, the brilliant, talented, gorgeous, JACK SPARROW (aka Johnny Depp) did! *If you haven't see this movie, GET YOUR BUTT OUT THERE AND SEE IT!*
Disclaimer: I don't own HP stuff—I'd be in the mountains right now if I did—I own everything you don't recognize.

Characters You Will Meet In This Chapter:
Xander Vitrikson, seventh year-New Student in Ravenclaw.

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"You have to work with Malfoy? Poor thing," Ron pitied her as they sat at lunch that afternoon.

Hermione nodded, "I know. It's bad enough I have to live with him, but now I have an Ancient Runes project with him? Fate hates me."

        "I wouldn't say that," Harry disagreed, "We all have bad times--yours is just hell, that's all."

Hermione couldn't help but grin at him. They always knew how to make a bad situation into a humorous one.

        "I don't know," Ginny said, "I wouldn't mind having to work with him. After all, Hermione--you guys would make a great couple."

Hermione stared at her younger friend, as did the others, "I'm going to pretend you didn't say that, Ginny."

        "No, I agree with Ginny," Parvati conceded, "He is gorgeous, charming, elegant-"

        "-Chauvinistic, egotistical, conceited, crazy, slimy, filthy git," Ron finished her list, and Harry and Seamus nodded in agreement.

        "I remember I had to work with him on a Defense Against the Dark Arts project last year," Seamus informed them, "He wasn't the polite aristocrat he looks like."

        "But remember what was going on last year," Lavender cut in, defending Malfoy, "He was still in on the Dark Side with his dad."

        "Please tell me you're not defending him," Ron pleaded, looking at Ginny, Parvati, and Lavender, "This is Malfoy we're talking about."

        "We know who we're talking about, Ron," Parvati said, giving him a look, "But Hermione, you can't deny he's the best looking guy in the school."

Hermione looked up from her small portion of casserole on her plate and her eyes fell on the Slytherin table. Malfoy was sitting with his cronies--long gone were Crabbe and Goyle. They'd been replaced by Blaise Zabini, Ivan Braizen, Mikail Winslow, and Devin Steele. Sure, the others were attractive, but Hermione had to admit, Malfoy beat them all out.

        "Well..."

        "Ohhhhh no," Harry said, shaking his head, "Hermione, remember all the times he called you 'Mudblood' and 'filthy' and everything? Could he really be 'good-looking'?"

Hermione's glance turned cold, "No," she agreed, "He can't."

Parvati, Lavender, and Ginny watched her carefully, and saw her continue to glance at him. It had become an un-proclaimed battle between the boys and the girls; the boys tried to convince her that Malfoy was no good scum, and the girls tried to convince her that he was a well-bred, handsome man ripe for the taking. The boys had won this battle, but it was yet to see who would win the war.

Meanwhile, Malfoy continued looking up from his plate to throw a random glance at Hermione. Her name flowed off of his tongue easily. It fitted her; Hermione was one of the prettiest names he'd ever heard, and she was quite easily one of the most beautiful women he'd ever seen. He saw her smile at Potter, before looking back toward Little Weasley and the other girls. Her smile slowly faded and her face became guarded. He noticed she had that expression a lot; he assumed they were talking about something she didn't want to discuss. He shook his head; he needed to get her out of his mind. He had a Quidditch match coming up with Ravenclaw, and he didn't need any distractions.

Especially beautiful, graceful, eighteen-year-old ones.

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That evening, Hermione walked out of the Great Hall after dinner, headed for the library. She had her bag draped over one shoulder, and her hair was slowly falling free from her French braid. She pulled at the band holding it together, and ran her hands through her hair, letting it flow freely. She left the black band around her wrist, her eyes downcast in thought. Why were her friends fighting? It was open-hostility fighting--it was subtle. Parvati, Ginny, and Lavender kept trying to find ways to make Malfoy appealing to her, and Harry, Ron, and Seamus kept finding ways to make him even more appalling. She didn't know who to believe. Her mind went with the boys; they were absolutely right. He was a chauvinistic, conceited prick with a heart of stone. Her heart was a different story though. The girls didn't have to point out the obvious; he was attractive. Hermione was sure he could be charming when the need called for it, but she'd yet to witness that time.

Suddenly, she felt herself bump gently into someone.

        "Oh, excuse me," she said, looking up and looking into those same green eyes she'd seen in Ancient Runes.

        "Not a problem, lass," The young man said in a delightfully British accent, "It's not every day a lad is lucky enough to have a beautiful thing such as yourself bump into him."

She raised an eyebrow, "I'm sorry, I wasn't paying attention to where I was going."

        "No harm done," he assured her, smiling. He held out his hand, "I'm Xander Vitrikson--I don't think I've had the pleasure of meeting you."

Hermione moved to shake his hand, but he turned it and kissed the top of her hand. She smiled.

        "I'm Hermione Granger," she replied, a little thrown off by this gesture.

        "It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Granger," he told her.

        "Please, call me Hermione," she assured him with a smile.

He had beautiful green eyes and soft-looking brown hair. His smile revealed dimples in his cheeks, and he was very easy to look at.

        "All right, as long as you call me Xander."

        "Sure. I wish I could talk longer, but I have to meet my partner in the library."

        "May I escort you?" He questioned.

Hermione was really thrown in a whirl by this act of chivalry. But she was not one to reject it, "If you'd like."

They walked down the corridor for a minute or so, when she finally looked up at him, "Is this your first year here?"

He nodded, "I attended Beauxbatons for the first six years."

        "That's odd," she commented, "Were you here three years ago for the Triwizard Tournament."

Xander shook his head, "I was needed by my father back in Wales, so I had to miss that. I heard all of the stories though."

Hermione nodded sadly. There was a comfortable silence before he spoke up.

        "So, you are Head Girl?"

She nodded again, "Yes."

        "It's a large responsibility--you must have worked long and hard for it."

        "Yeah, I did. It cost me sometimes, but it was worth it."

He smiled at her as they reached the doors of the library, "Working on Ancient Runes?"

She nodded, "With my partner."

        "What is their name?"

        "Draco Malfoy?"

He straightened up, "Ahh, yes. The Head Boy."

Hermione nodded darkly, but said nothing.

There was a pause before he smiled at her, "It was a pleasure to meet you, Hermione. I hope we can talk again soon."

She grinned, "I'd like that."

        "As would I. Have a good evening," he said, as he turned around and walked back down the corridor.

Hermione stood in the same place for a moment, watching after him. He was certainly an interesting person. When she'd mentioned Malfoy's name, though, his expression had changed. She wondered why.

She shook her head and entered the library, her question unanswered.

She looked toward the back of the library. She knew Malfoy would be back there, and so he was--sitting at a table alone, leaning back in the chair.

        "You're late," he told her as she dropped her bag on an empty chair.

She shrugged as she sat down, crossed her legs, and pushed her hair over her shoulder, "So curse me."

        "If only I could," he replied quietly, with a sinister smirk on his face.
She narrowed her eyes, resting her elbows on the arms of the chair and her hands in her lap, "I guess you didn't learn the last time, did you?"

        "The only reason you won," he said, leaning forward in his seat, "Was because of the explosion. In a fair fight, I'd kill you."

Hermione cocked her head to the side and smiled sarcastically at him, "Well, that doesn't give me incentive to fight fair, does it?"**********

He glared at her, "That doesn't shock me--Mudbloods don't know how to fight fair."

        "And pureblooded Death Eaters do?" She spat back, getting up and moving to find a book on Stonehenge.

He got up and followed, watching as she pulled a book down and skimmed the table of contents. He came up close beside her.

        "I'm not a Death Eater," he hissed, glaring at her.

She turned to face him as she slammed the book shut and put it back on the shelf, "You wouldn't have uttered those words four months ago, would you?"
She moved off to find another book. She found on that worked, and headed back toward the table.
Draco stood where he was for a moment, trying to calm himself down. In his anger, he had the strong urge to touch her. Not in anger; just to feel her skin on his.

        What the hell is wrong with you? He rebuked himself, You want to touch a Mudblood?!

He moved back toward the table, grabbing a random book in his wake. She was enough to get his blood boiling, but enough to make it surge in harbored passion as well.

He walked up to the table and dropped the book on it, pulling up the sleeves of his shirt.

        "Do you see any Dark Mark? Any evidence that it was taken off?" He snarled, showing her every part of his lower arms.

Hermione looked at his arms; there was no evidence of it. He'd never gotten the Mark? How does that explain his behavior at the war?

        "That doesn't explain anything," she replied coldly, "It doesn't explain why you were fighting for Voldemort when you weren't even a henchman."

        "I don't have to explain anything to you," he told her pulling his sleeves down.

        "If you don't, why are you trying to prove yourself to me?" She said, standing up in front of him.

        Damnit, he thought, how the hell do I explain that?

        "I don't want you spreading rumors about me," he informed her icily, his face inches from hers.

        "And you think I have nothing better to do with my time than spread rumors about you?" She said, moving her face toward his. Their faces were only three inches away, and she felt his breath on her face. It gave her tingles all over her skin, but she didn't show any of it.

        I hate everything about you

        Why do I love you?

        I hate everything about you

        Why do I love you?

He looked at every angle in her face, and smirked, "You tell me, Mudblood."

        "We are eighteen years old," she said, her teeth gritted in anger, "Can we please act like it? You've been calling me that for six years."

        "And you're not sick of it yet?" He asked her.

She continued to glare at him, taking in the masculine beauty of his face. He was just beyond her reach, and it was annoying her.

        I hate everything about you

        Why do I love you?

        You hate everything about me

        Why do you love me?

        I hate... you hate... I hate... you love me

        I hate everything about you

        Why do I love you?

Her eyes darted to his lips, but she, at that moment, noticed that the library was oddly deserted, considering all of the Ancient Runes students had the same assignment.

        "You don't bother me, Malfoy," she said, enunciating his last name, "You think you're all big and bad--'I have money, I have power, so damn to hell anyone below me'. You need a serious reality check, Malfoy, considering if everyone below you worked together against you, you'd be the saddest person alive."

He glared into her violet eyes and felt anger and shame pull at his heart. She thought of him this way still, and for some odd reason it made him angry, and almost mournful.

        "I am not the one who flaunts my perfection," he replied sharply, "You think you are the Queen of Sheba because you're the smartest witch in this school, and you're Head Girl, and you're friends with Scarhead. Without him, you'd be nameless."

She narrowed her eyes, "I'm friends with Harry because he's everything you're not."

He smirked, "He may be everything I'm not, but I have everything he doesn't."

        "What's that? A serious ego problem?" She shook her head, her breath on his cheek, "Big hint, Malfoy--people don't bother you, but they don't respect you either."

She turned around, grabbed her bag and the book, and walked out of the library, leaving a fuming Malfoy in her wake.

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Hermione decided to calm down by taking a walk on the grounds. How dare he? He thought he was so much better than her, but she was the one who put that scar on him! He hadn't learned his lesson the last time; this she knew for sure. But she didn't really feel like teaching him another one. Besides, part of her couldn't bear the thought of seeing him hurt or dead.

        Why? she wondered, her arms crossed over her chest, Why does that thought make me so sad? Four months ago I would have gladly been the one to cast the spell that ended his life. Now I don't want anything to happen to him? What's going on with me?

Maybe it was because this year there was something more. There was that scar, and it made their feud more personal. She'd marked him, and he hadn't marked her. She knew that ate at him; the reality that she had bested him again. But why was he so jealous of her? Didn't he know his smile and his presence made her weak at the knees?

Of course he didn't. She'd never tell him, and he wasn't a mind reader. He couldn't possibly know anything without her telling him. Then again, she tended to show a lot of feeling in her eyes. What if one day she forgot and let him see something? Something not meant for him to see? What would she do then?

        I'd deny it, of course, she thought to herself, I'd tell him he wished he saw something. I can be rather convincing.

If she was so convincing, why couldn't she tell herself she didn't feel anything when she looked into his deep, cold gray eyes?