Disclaimer- I do not own Harry Potter© or any of the concepts derived from the book series. The book series is the soul property of J.K. Rowling.

To Keep it Simple

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"It's heading for the canopy, get out of the bed!" he yelled, pulling out his wand to ready himself for an attack. Hermione stumbled, rolling around and tangling herself in the covers. The creature squeezed through the space in the window and moved along the shadowy crevices of the room, watching and waiting for the best opportunity to attack. Hermione stumbled from the bed and watched as her hand reached out to grab Draco's hand. It missed and as she steadied herself, the blanket that she dragged with her pulled the lamp off the night stand. The two watched as the lamp fell onto the ground and shattered—sending the room into total darkness.

Chapter 11- Predictable Fate

"Alohomora!" Hermione hissed to her awaiting audience of darkness. Unknown to her, the wand she so desperately sought was conveniently in the possession of a certain blonde haired slytherin prat. She cursed a bucket of unprofessional terms and lunged into the body which stood alongside her. They both tumbled to the ground, their bodies collapsing one atop the other in a relentless collision of flesh and bones with solid carpeted floor. Though Hermione could see little in the black abyss which surrounded her, she could see Draco's very unexpected look of surprise.

"Where is my wand, you git!" she whispered hoarsely into his ear. His scent was very distracting- his simple male odor mixed with the remnants of whatever expensive cologne he may have dabbed over himself caused her to lose focus for—a while. Her body lay draped over his, her abdomen dangerously close to his crotch—which seemed to be reacting to their severe closeness. His blonde hair was pointed in all odd directions, still wet from their rendezvous in the bitter rain shower which was now a fierce storm. Her hand rested atop his left pectoral, the strong support stealing her self control and at the same time—giving her a peek into the resolutely calm Draco Malfoy. If not for the fact that she could sense the trickling shadow which crawled closer and closer with each passing moment moving towards them—she would have given into the wordless seduction. His hand found itself searching for her wand among the deep folds of his pockets. As soon as his fingers lay rest upon the first long rod they could find, he thrust it from his pocket and into her awaiting palm.

Hermione quickly rolled off of him and onto her back, pointing the wand brazenly into the wide open.

"Lumos!" she yelled into the darkness before her, trusting her intuition to guide her out of the blind state that she had found herself entangled in. The stream of light erupted from the tip of the wand, bursting directly into the Umbramotum which had taken a roost atop her night stand—inches away. The creature, unprepared for the bolt, screeched in agony and slammed against the wall, it's black limbs stretched and turned in impossible directions. It evaporated in large pieces into pure nothingness—but Hermione knew the moment to escape would not last long. The wand's tip simmered and became the small bright light that it was known for being. Draco stood, dusting his arms off and staring irreverently at the scene of the crime. He turned towards Hermione, brow furrowed in both a mixture of thought and confusion.

"That isn't your wand, Granger," he growled.

"What are you talking about? It has to be mine or else it would have backfired—"

"That wand is mine."

"Your wand—" Draco whispered angrily as he pulled the object of his accusations from his pocket, "Is made of willow."

He slid the wand across the polished oak table, his back faced towards the fire place. Hermione snatched it off the table's surface and examined both rods closely. Draco's wand—which she had previously put into use just minutes ago—was made of yew—unsurprisingly the wood of death and the same wood of which other wizards had used. Hers was willow—much lighter—also a few inches shorter. She pursed her lips in thought, her mind frazzled from a lack of sleep and her nerves pinched from the recent attack. One very farfetched explanation rose to her mind.

"I think we should try and—and get some sleep and then we can.. we can think clearer tomorrow."

Draco rose a brow and languidly fell into a comfortable position along the couch facing the roaring blaze.

"I'll keep watch," he stiffly replied, leaning forward to rest his forearms across his knees. His hands hung limply, years of mysterious toil engraved in the strong digits which he periodically flexed—thank goodness he wasn't the type who often cracked their knuckles and joints for the pure pleasure of it all. Hermione pondered how he'd become so—built—in such a short period of time. Her tongue itched to relinquish the question.

"Well? Aren't you going to get your beauty rest or do you need someone to read you a story and tuck you in?"

Hermione staggered back into reality, greeting Draco's curious stare with a blank expression. She nodded lifelessly and fell into a nearby armchair, the plush seating sinking in response. She was not in the least bit ready to go to sleep.

"Actually—I think I'll take the first watch. I'm not very tired at all and I'd feel safer that way," she quickly explained, noting that she was not in the least bit responsible for the fibs that trickled from her lips. With a quick concluding series of nods, she stood and sat down on the opposing end of the couch, unsure of the reasoning behind her thoughtless actions. Draco shrugged to cover his surprise and pulled his feet up onto the cushions. He slipped off his black shoes and turned onto his back, propping himself up on his elbows inches away from Hermione.

"I hope you don't mind—but if you haven't noticed, I've taken a liking to your lap and I prefer to be near it, if not in it, at all times," he slyly said, a malicious smirk carving itself into his cold features. Hermione clucked her tongue and sighed—it was bound to happen sooner or later. The Slytherin waited as she pulled her legs up beneath her, smoothing out the ruined pleated skirt—though it made no difference whether it was rumpled or not. He then lay his head down atop her legs and let his eyes slowly close.

Hermione waited until his breathing became steady. She'd taken mental notes on his sleeping habits—in which case, he had none. He kept his mouth tightly shut, his position stayed same the entire duration of his slumber. It was nearly five in the morning and the sun was proceeding to break the storm clouds apart, shedding light on a hopefully prosperous day. Draco still slumbered though and her eyelids were yet to grow heavy with fatigue.

"Slytherin git," she whispered quietly, hoping that her voice could only touch her ears. She doubted Draco's attention was still with her, though. "What are you hiding from me?"

She brushed her hand through his hair, the tempting allure which demanded that she touch him too strong to control. Her fingers danced through his forest of blonde streaks, shivers running down her spine.

"You're always so exclusive… you ignore what you have and crave for what isn't in your possession. The politician of the future—perhaps? Or maybe a lost little boy who played with fire and didn't like it—but he's addicted now. What are you thinking, Draco? I want to be let in but you're always leading me through trapdoors—do you simply enjoy the chase or am I missing something that is so obvious I can't see it? So many secrets, so much deception, and we're just so young.."

Hermione craned her neck towards the window, greeting the warm sun with an effortless grin. She turned her head to the side and fell into a needed slumber, her body settling before her mind could catch up. Her hands slipped from Draco's head.

"You even try to analyze me in my sleep, Granger," he whispered in a hushed tone, slowly gathering himself into a sitting position. She was so vulnerable and so unprepared for the creature which lay in the shadows awaiting her unexpecting guise. Her words had definitely stung—for they told a fairy tale that so closely resembled one of which he had experienced and he had been under the belief that she knew little of him or his background. He pondered her safety. The sun was out—yet the Umbramotum could be lurking in the shadows—anywhere. His mind quickly settled—but being caught sleeping in the common room would no doubt result in the loss of both of their reputations. He bent down and picked up her body in his arms.

The remnants of the creature had disappeared from the walls—certainly not a surprise. Draco shuffled the splinters of glass into a corner and turned back towards Hermione, who had already dozed off. He glanced at the other empty half of the bed—empty for a reason—his own reason. He could've seduced her in a matter of seconds—if it weren't for the simple fact that she was Hermione and not a ditzy tramp such as.. Pansy. He turned towards the bed and sat down, kicking his legs up as he spun to face the canopy. That blasted canopy. The sun was bouncing off the mirror as he thought, though, covering all traces of shadow in pure sunlight. They were safe for the time being. He placed his arms beneath his head and grunted as he tried to find a more comfortable position.

Hours later, Hermione tossed in her sleep, her eyes fluttering open for several brief seconds.

"What in the name of—" she stuttered as she tried to rotate her body off the bed. Draco clutched her hand—but not knowing his own strength, when trying to pull her onto the bed, pulled her into himself. He rocked on the edge of the bed but with nothing to hold onto but Hermione, fell onto the floor. His head hit the ground with a large –thud– and no sooner had the pain begun, did Hermione fall atop him. He moaned softly in dissatisfaction, but managed to prop himself up on his elbows to look at the burden atop his chest.

"At least we both now know you're good for one thing—breaking my fall," she said as she patted his stomach while at the same time pushing herself into a standing position. Draco leaned forward without warning and pulled her back down atop him, holding her by her waist. She toppled forward again, knocking the air from his lungs, but providing a deep pleasure that only he would ever know.

"We are going to finish that argument," he commanded. Hermione scoffed, using her feet to propel her body away from his. She stood up and dusted herself off, purposely avoiding eye contact.

"We are going to find out how to get rid of that umbramotum," she sharply replied, once again weaving the topic of conversation away from the area of conflict. Draco quirked a brow and with little effort, pushed himself into a standing position.

"I don't think you heard me correctly, Granger—we are going to put this argument to the grave. Potter and Weasley aren't even up yet—it's—" Draco quickly glanced at the clock,"—bloody six in the morning. The library's not even open."

"We could look through our school books and find some sort of potion or charm—"

"The possibility that there is anything in our books about an umbramotum is idiotic—"

"Who says?"

"Oh, right, forgive me Granger, I seemed to have been under the impression that our schoolbooks didn't include how to annihilate supposedly nonexistent and illegal creatures of death."

"What do you call our Defense Against the Dark Arts books then?"

"We do not have any Defense Against the Dark Arts books—all the books we use are from the library—which is closed."

Hermione stomped her foot hard against the plush carpet of her bedroom floor, having already known that they did not carry around books for their Defense Against the Dark Arts class. She had simply hoped that Draco had not—even though it wouldn't have made sense if he hadn't. After all, they both held the highest marks in all their classes. She allowed a sigh to struggled past her lips as she fell into her armchair. Draco leaned against one of her bedposts and folded his arms across his chest. A thin blanket of exhaustion dropped over the both of them.

"All right, all right, let's just get this over with," she said with a roll of her eyes.

"If it's that much of a pain, let's not," Draco said. Hermione nearly fell from her chair from the amount of frustration that was building on her shoulders. She frowned but shrugged in a fake show of her ignorance. Draco nodded in response and walked toward the door. The more he thought about it, the more it made sense to hold it off. He was in no way planning on forcing an explanation out of her. She'd have to do it on her own, even if that meant giving up everything he'd sacrificed for. He mentally waved good-bye to the numerous amount of opportunities before him in which he could nag Hermione into responding. It was entirely up to Hermione now to initiate a conversation of understanding between them.

"Where are you going?" she asked with her brow furrowed.

"It's not six—it's ten," he muttered.

Hermione glanced at her clock and mentally slapped herself for being so unobservant. She feared that it was just another sign of how trusting she had become to Draco. Sooner or later, she'd become entirely dependent on him and even though the concept seemed horrific, she looked forward to it.

Harry and Ron sat at their usual table, playing another predictable game of Wizard's Chess. The pieces shifted back and forth and attacked with a vengeance that Hermione was no doubt used to. They had paused their game upon watching a disgruntled Hermione pursuing a blank Draco down the steps.

"Research?" Hermione inquired taking a quick look at her image in the mirror above the mantle. She looked somewhat frazzled but all together, it looked as though she'd stayed up for another cram session. It was Saturday once again, a day where students were free to do as they please and were given a break from their studies to sleep in and converse with companions. The library was usually empty this time of week.

Harry stood up before Ron could command his piece and once again, win the game. Ron muttered an incoherent string of curses beneath his breath—but all in good fun. He stood and followed the silent Draco as they headed towards the exit.

Harry nudged Hermione in the side as they walked across the common room.

"What happened?" he asked, trying to keep a straight face as they walked.

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but quickly pulled her lips together. Draco turned to look at her rather menacingly, but his look did not hurt her so much as it caused her to wonder about his background. Harry smiled and waved cheerfully- the usual image of the Gryffindor boy wonder. Draco sneered and turned back to face the empty hallway before them. Ron straggled alongside the Slytherin, his eyes darting between him and the friends behind him.

"Later," she mouthed to the boy beside her.

They proceed in silence to the library.

"Well, nothing in this book either," Ron said with a shrug, tossing the leather bound novel into the large and growing pile of books on the floor. Hermione shot him another glare, warning him to treat the books with as much care as if they were children. The librarian, luckily, was on the other side of the library—yet Hermione found it her duty to make sure that everything that left the shelves was kept in just as perfect condition as they had been upon first contact with the shelves. Ron held his hands up offensively, one hand toting another book.

"They don't have feelings, Hermione," he said with a slight smile. She ignored him and continued skimming the book titles on the book cases.

"Do we have anything? Anything at all?" she asked.

"Nope, nothing," Harry replied sadly.

"Well, what about that book that Draco mentioned—the Rise and the Fall of the Dark Arts?"

"I think he's looking for it right now—where'd he go?"

Hermione managed to pull herself away from the books and shrugged. With a sigh she turned to the next bookcase and continued her search.

Draco, meanwhile, was looking for information on the dangers of wand switching. His mind was still lingering on how his wand had managed to react to Hermione's commands in a perfectly decent and respectable manner—no large crashes or bolts of lightning. Of course, it could have been that they were both compatible in every which way—thus allowing Hermione control over the wand's powers—but Draco had to be sure. He pulled Where There's a Wand, There's a Way from the shelf and sat down, flipping the book open to take a quick glimpse.

"I'm going to go look for Draco," she said, turning towards Harry and Ron. It was almost noon—time for lunch—and she imagined that all three of her male companions were starving for a break and some nourishment. So far she had turned up empty handed and the less she found, the more frustrated she got. The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts was not where it was supposed to be which simply sent her nerves delirious with confusion. She would have to ask the librarian about it later. As for now, she was more intent on finding the location of Draco.

As he'd predicted, the wand had only worked with Hermione for fate-associated reasons. The farther he got himself entangled in the mess he was in, the more expectant he became of such awkward twists and turns along the way. He closed the book and shook his head as he placed it back on the shelf. The book only reassured his suspicions. The wand he had did not effect the people he loved—for obvious reasons. He sighed and turned just in time to see Hermione walking towards him. She smirked and waved, standing a reasonable distance away.

"Lunch," she said.

Draco nodded, but even though he wanted to smile in reply or show some sort of emotion, it seemed impossible. He stared at her with a blank expression and cold eyes and brushed past her, leaving her standing alone.

Meanwhile, someone watched the two exchange their silent regards. She smirked and continued writing on her scroll of paper—even though he quill had not even been dipped in ink. She'd expected them to come here and research the thing she'd sent—and she'd expected none other then Draco to be the one to tell them what it was. It was all working out perfectly and soon enough she'd have what she wanted—and they'd never figure out it was her, either. She pulled on the green sweater vest, pressing out the wrinkles and stood, picking up her checked out copy of the Rise and the Fall of the Dark Arts.