The Passion of a Dragon

By: xKatx

Author's Notes: WOW! YOU guys seriously have shocked me at how much you like my story! I feel soooo honored that you guys have put me on your Favorite Authors/Favorite Stories lists (for all of you who have told me in reviews that you have) I love you guys and I'm so glad you like the story! Here's a lil bit of "naughty" fluff for ya (it's really not that dirty—they just make out HAHAHAHA!)

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:

no new characters

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October passed by quickly; classwork took up most of the students' time, but they dealt with it as best they could. The Halloween ball passed easily; Hermione was not able to attend because she was hit with a bad case of the flu and had to spend the night in the Hospital Wing. Parvati, Lavender, and Ginny, however, had arrived the next morning and recounted the entire night.

"Malfoy didn't dance with anyone, 'Mione," Parvati said with a wink. Hermione had casually mentioned the kiss, and from that point on, they'd mentioned Malfoy with a certain smile on their faces and a look in their eyes.

"I don't care, you guys, seriously!" She insisted after they'd mentioned what he'd worn and what he'd done.

"Oh, come on, Hermione!" Lavender said, looking at the cards and flowers Hermione had received from her friends, "You know you're interested a little bit at least!"

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Ooh, Hermione, who is this from?"

Lavender held up a single blood red rose with a small piece of parchment attached to it.

"I have no idea," Hermione said, frowning as she took the long-stemmed rose from Lavender and flipped open the parchment.

Hermione-

I can give it all to you, if you want it.

-D.M

She couldn't help but stare at the message, a small smile creeping onto her face. She quickly remembered her friends were still at her bedside, and were watching her.

"It's not signed," she lied, putting it behind her pillow.

Parvati, Ginny, and Lavender noticed where she'd hidden the rose, but they didn't comment. For them, it wasn't worth it getting her all defensive and angry while she was sick.

After they left, she pulled out the rose. This wasn't the first time he'd said that. He could give her a lot, too-power, money…happiness?

That was a tough one. Could he bring her happiness? Was he capable of it?

No way, she thought to herself, this is nasty, evil, conniving Malfoy.

But he was human--she knew that for sure. After all, he'd kissed her. Or had she kissed him? She shook her head. She couldn't remember who had initiated it; all she knew was with that one movement, he'd proven to her he was human. But the power and money didn't mean anything to her. She could only imagine what it would be like to walk down the corridors of Hogwarts hand-in-hand with him. What kind of girl wouldn't be happy with him? And he was offering it all to her. Why her? She was the Mudblood; the one person he would go out of his way to annoy and humiliate. Why the sudden change?

It made sense, though. She'd always secretly adored him; maybe he'd felt the same way? But why would he call her names?

To cover his own ass, that's why, she rationalized his behavior in her mind, he didn't have much power when he was younger. Now he's a seventh year and Head Boy--no one will mess around with him now.

That's why. He must have been interested previously, but just wasn't in the position to do anything about it.

Then again, she could just be kidding herself. He may just be messing around with her. After all, he was a man; a very experienced man. He knew women's emotions could be easily played with and manipulated. Maybe he was using that to his advantage.

The only question was: was her revenge she'd planned really revenge, or was it giving in to her own desires?

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"Hello, lass," the familiar Irish voice came from behind Hermione.

It had been a week since Hermione had lay in the Hospital Wing pondering over Malfoy's gift. It was a chilly Friday evening; the sun was just going down over the horizon and Hermione was heading toward her common room-her appetite wasn't present that evening. Besides, she had a History of Magic essay due Monday, and she wanted it done so she could go to the Slytherin/Ravenclaw game the next morning. But Xander had caught her halfway through the Entrance Hall.

"Hey, Xander!" She greeted him with a smile and a hug.

He grinned at her as they pulled apart.

"How are you doing this evening?" He questioned as they stood by a statue of Wendelin the Weird to the left of the Great Hall.

She shrugged, "I can't complain. How about you?"

He smiled, "Very well. Aren't you going to dinner?"

She shook her head, "I'm not very hungry and I have an essay due Monday. I want it done so I can go to the Quidditch match tomorrow."

"Oh, that's understandable. The Ravenclaws are having a party in the common room this evening; I suppose they're trying to pump up the team and the crowd."

Hermione nodded, "We did that too--then again, we have parties for Quidditch matches that aren't even ours."

"Yes, I heard Gryffindors definitely know how to throw a party," he told her with a grin.
She shrugged with a smile, "I suppose."

"Well, I better let you go finish that essay so you can be there tomorrow," he told her with a grin, "Have a good night."

"You too," she told him as they hugged goodbye, suddenly aware that someone was watching

her from the shadows. She walked to her common room, ever mindful of what she'd seen. What she didn't know was that his icy eyes burned with anger and jealousy; something was happening with them, and he wanted to know what it was.

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Hermione reached her room and shut the door quietly. There was a faint blue light coming from under Malfoy's door, but she didn't think he was there. Not that it mattered; she had been focusing, for the past week, on not paying any attention to him. Sometimes she would look up and meet his gaze, but she would always look away a millisecond later. But for the most part, she'd been successful in her attempt. After all, she didn't need to be thinking about him; he was her sworn enemy, and nothing could change that.

She changed into a black spaghetti-strap top, and loose, very short black pajama shorts. She then entered the bathroom, washed off her make-up, rinsed her face with Muggle cleanser, and applied a special wizard lotion that exfoliated, moisturized, and rid the face of any acne all in one second. She was pleased to see her face clean, smooth, and blemish-free. She brushed her teeth with a special wizard whitening toothpaste that made her teeth whiter and cleaner than they had been all day.

She slipped out of the bathroom, noticing Malfoy was still not present in the room. She entered her room again and saw that a fire had been lit, the orange flames merrily lighting up the room. She applied clear, vanilla flavored chapstick to her lips and brushed her hair out, running her hand through it. After completing all of her nightly grooming activities, she settled down at her desk and began on the sixteen-inch essay she had due on the impact that Muggles' wars have in the wizarding world.

It had been seven-thirty when she had sat down and began her essay, and she was finished by ten o'clock. She shut her book, rolled up the parchment, and stood, stretching. It was still early--she could start on the project due next week for McGonagall, or she could read until she got sleepy.

She looked around for her bag and realized she'd left it out in the common room on the couch.

Damnit, she thought, watch my luck, Malfoy is out there.

She picked up her book and her parchment, and moved toward the door. She wasn't going to let Malfoy's presence dictate where she went or what she did. It was just as much her common room as his.

She opened her door and saw Malfoy coming out of the bathroom, dressed in nothing but a black wifebeater and black lounge pants. She had to admit, the black offset his pearly white skin nicely.

No, she reprimanded herself, No! Stop thinking that way.

She moved to the couch and proceeded in putting away her book and parchment, fully aware that Malfoy was watching her.

He watched as she gracefully shouldered her bag and entered her room, shutting the door. She was avoiding him, but at that moment he wasn't sure he cared. However, he was glad he could move things so quickly and quietly. He entered his room and stood by the window, waiting. Little did either of them know, Fate and the prophecy were going to have a little fun with them tonight.

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Hermione shut her door and turned around. Then it hit her like a ton of bricks. Malfoy had been the one in the shadows, watching her. That was enough to piss her off. Why did he suddenly care about what happened to her? One minute he was worried about her, the next he was calling her foul names and glaring at her? His unpredictable behavior was wearing thin on her nerves, and she was going to straighten it all out once and for all.

She opened her door and walked barefoot over to his. It was strangely cold on this side of the room, and in her top and shorts, she was chilly.

She stopped outside his door, noticing that same blue light filtering from under it. However, she didn't take much notice. She, deciding to be as polite as possible, knocked on the door.

She heard him call from inside, and opened the door. She walked into the room, noticing all the windows were open, the blue moonlight filtering in. The fire also burned with a bluish color. It was a dark, chilly room, but it was mysterious and enticing. Much like the man standing by the far window.

"What the hell are you trying to pull?" She asked, her voice low and quiet.

He turned around, his hands in his pockets, "What are you talking about?"

She crossed her arms, "You've told me you don't trust Xander. Fine, I couldn't care less. But since when do you have the position to tell me anything? Futhermore, why the hell are you spying on me? What do you care?"

He raised an eyebrow, "Good question. Why do I care about the well-being of a Mudblood."

She winced slightly, remembering only too fondly that he'd been using her first name only days earlier.

"Make up your damn mind, Malfoy," she said, looking at the floor, "I'm either 'Hermione,' 'Granger,' or 'Mudblood.'

Pick one and stick with it."

He moved closer to her and glared down at her.

"Again, giving me orders, Hermione?" He questioned, and it shocked the hell out of her. He'd used her first name rather than any other degrading name? Since when? What in the world was going on between them?

She looked up at him with a questioning look, "Make up your mind," she told him.

He raised an eyebrow and moved closer still, "I already did. What else do you want me to decide on?"

She knew he was standing too close for this to be a normal conversation, "Hate me or don't hate me."

"Direct, aren't we?"

She narrowed her eyes, "You beat around the bush so much I get annoyed when I do the same."

He raised an eyebrow at her, "I beat around the bush? What about you?"

She shook her head and turned to leave his room when he gently grabbed her arms and turned her back around.

"What are you doing?" She demanded, looking up at him.

He looked down at her, "Not letting you walk out on me," he told her.

"Why would you care if I walked out on you? I'm just a 'filthy Mudblood', aren't I?"

His steel gray eyes burned into her with a fiery intensity, "Don't ever let me hear you say that again."

"Why not? You use that lovely term all the time."

He impulsively reached up and smoothed a lock of hair behind her ear, "But that doesn't give you right to say it."

"Whatever," she told him, trying to free herself from his grip. He held her firmly, but gently, his fingertips brushing across her arms. She closed her eyes for a moment, inwardly giddy at his touch. But she quickly remembered their confrontation and fight that occurred only last year, and her face turned cold.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Hermione," he whispered, his mouth dangerously close to her ear. She could feel his breath on her neck, "Revenge is not on my mind at the moment."

"But it could be two minutes from now," she hissed as his lips met with the skin of her neck. She gasped as he bit her neck gently.

Damnit, she thought to herself, that's going to leave a mark!

Little did she know that that was his intent. If he left a mark on her, it would show everyone she was his.

"Right now," he told her, looking back down at her, "All I'm thinking about is you," he told her.

In a split second, their lips met in one explosive movement. His lips gently caressed hers, his arms wrapping low around her waist, her arms going around his neck and playing with the hair a the nape of his neck.

She pulled back, panting, "This is wrong."

"Then why are you still standing here?" He asked her.

When she didn't answer, he pressed his lips to hers again, this time his tongue running along the seam of her lips. She obliged, her lips parting and allowing his entrance into her mouth.

Her vanilla lip-gloss was sweet on his lips and the same vanilla scent of her skin and hair flirted tantalizingly with his senses. She was sweet, and warm, and heavenly. It was almost too much for him to take in. They continued to kiss, their mouths meshing together, their tongues dancing in an ecstatic celebration. His arms pulled her closer against his body, holding her in a tight but gentle embrace.

Hermione's senses were in overload. He was being so gentle and so sensual with her; very uncharacteristic of the dark, powerful, evil Malfoy, but it was a delightful change. His lips left hers, his head curving around to kiss her neck at the junction of her collarbone and her neck. She let out a soft moan, and that nearly threw him over the edge.

He moved backwards, leading her with him with his arms. He lowered her onto the bed, his lips reclaiming hers in one smooth movement. Her arms were still around his neck, pulling him down on top of her. She slid her hands down his arms, reaching the bottom of his black wifebeater. She pulled at it, telling him the offending article of clothing had to go.

He broke away from her, and in one smooth movement, the shirt was off and thrown across the room. He rested most of his weight on his arms, which were positioned on either side of her body. Her arms came back around his neck, and they lay, looking into each other's eyes for a long time, daring the other to speak or move or blink first. She saw the desire in his eyes, and she felt incredibly beautiful while under his gaze. She had to say something or do something; the silence was becoming too much.

She opened her mouth to speak, but he silenced her as he lowered his lips onto hers. She ran her hands up his broad and muscular chest, her fingers feeling the soft skin of his torso. When he pulled back, allowing each of them oxygen, she looked up at him.

"God, I hate you," she told him in a breathless voice, glaring up at him.

"The feeling is reciprocated," he assured her with a smirk.

In one smooth movement, she'd pushed him over onto his back and was now on top of him, her small frame straddling his much larger one. She ran her hands down his chest, feeling the ripple of his well-defined muscles. She pushed her hair behind her ears as she lowered her lips onto his, kissing him passionately while her hands ran down his arms that grasped her waist. She slid her lips down his chin, onto his very well developed chest, the muscles hard but the skin smooth beneath her lips. She paused at the long, silvery black scar across his chest.

She ran a finger over it as his sharp silver eyes watched her every movement carefully.

"I…" she started, looking at the mark she'd left on him and still running her finger softly over it, "Dray-"

"Don't," he said, his voice barely above a husky whisper as he watched her touch the scar, "Don't."

She nodded as he pushed a loose lock of silky brown and gold hair behind her ears. She couldn't believe she was laying her on her enemy's bed, their hands and mouths slowly learning each other when in reality they shouldn't even be familiar with one another. He'd already learned her weakness was kisses on the neck, and she was learning his weakness was butterfly-soft touches down his back. She delicately traced the curves of his bones and muscle before lowering her head and placing tentative kisses on his chest, part of her wishing she could kiss the hideous black line off of his alabaster chest.

They lay for a long time, just kissing and touching with their clothes on, tentatively learning their way around each other. Besides, if Fate and the prophecy had their way, the information Hermione and Draco learned that night would come in handy… eventually.