The blistering wind cut at her face without regret as Hermione trudged through the snow, away from Hagrid's hut. It had been two weeks since the incident, and though the girl's face positively glowed everytime she secretly made eye contact with her new-found lover, she was riven inside. She hadn't brought herself to tell her two best friends about Draco - granted, she'd always fancied him a bit, but had certainly not told anyone. It was far too risky, given the fact that before the incident she hadn't known anything about Draco's feelings for her.

She could do it. She and Draco could publicly announce to the entire population of the school that they were involved, simply by holding hands in the courtyard, or, as Draco probably preferred, snogging in the hallway. But to tell the truth, Hermione hadn't even uttered one word to Draco since that afternoon in the forest; the opportunity simply hadn't occured. The boy always had some minion or another minion trailing behind him. He was, after all, the lord of the Slytherin House, Hermione noted to herself with an embarrased grin.

But it was becoming difficult for the girl to remain quiet when Harry and Ron disgraced Draco behind his back, much less agree with them. She wanted to scream at them to at least tell it to his face, but of course then her secret would be out. No, when and if they decided to go public, it wouldn't be by accident.

By now she was nearly to the castle. She had left for her own sanity; Ron and Harry were badgering about Draco again and she couldn't stay without exploding at them. Hermione had made up an excuse about having to finish the 'Similarities Between Vampires and Werewolves' essay, hoping that the two wouldn't catch that it was assigned last year. Finally she was inside, and sinking down with her back against a shadowy stone wall, closed her eyes.

It was all she could muster of herself not to scream when she felt an icy breath hit her face, whispering, "What's this? A lone mudblood girl all alone on the floor?" It was Draco, his unblinking eyes staring directly into hers.

She was perturbed that he had called her a mudblood. But, setting the thought aside as her sense reminded her that she was with Draco Malfoy, probably the hottest male besides Blaise Zabini in this scool, she merely caught herself from replying nastily.

Draco smirked, and crouched down beside her. His head reached to her cheek and planted two determined kisses on each, while she held her breath. She couldn't believe this was happening. Much to her dissatisfaction he stopped, and instead gracefully pulled her off the floor. His large hands encompased hers easily and the two stood there for a moment, not uttering a word, but merely staring into the depths of each others' eyes. He was the first to move, though his eyes did not - a hand snaked behind his back to grab his wand, and with a quick glance and word directed at the opposing wall, a magnificent mahogany wood door appeared. A million thoughts were sprinting through Hermione's mind at this moment, the most significant being what was in the room - but more importantly, what he planned to do in the room. As Draco opened the conjured door with a sweep of his impeccable hand, she saw that the room contained an ornately adorned king size bed, complete with a royal burgundy spread. The walls were completely bare, the only light coming from the lone chandelier hanging from the ceiling.

Hermione's eyes narrowed. She should have known. Before she could even contradict what must have been going on in Draco's mind at the moment, he had pushed her against the wall opposite the bed and started delving into her gaping mouth with his tongue. His kiss filled her with lust, and the disbelief brought on before faded. Before long they were breaking apart only to gasp for air, his arms continually pulling her closer to the bed. They were at the foot of the it now; she noted a hungry look in his steely eyes as he lifted her off the ground and laid her on the thing. Without pausing he was already unclasping her blouse buttons and she reached for his own collared shirt before her mind corrected the action - instead, she grasped his wrists with her frail hands. His gaze was intriguing as he abruptly stopped his quest for her underthings, and Hermione was scarcely able speak.

"Draco - please, I don't really..." she swallowed.

"You don't want me?" he countered, bringing his face closer to hers, and she could smell his tantalizing cologne. The smell was practically begging her body to go along with what he was doing.

"No, I do, it's just...I mean, canwenotdoitnow?" she spluttered out, as a frown crossed his forehead.

He straightened, and the girl longingly caught one last sigh of that provacative perfume.

"I see." was all he could bear to utter. The two awkwardly separated, Draco simply unwrapping his arms from her waist, while she was forced to roll away. Draco knew now that he had gone too fast; how could he expect a girl like Hermione to go along without question, like Pansy did? Secretly, though, he was captivated. The chase was so much more involving than an easy fuck. He hid his curving lips from her, and lifted her from the bed, noting her burning face. His two hands crept to her cheeks as he leaned down a little.

"Hermione, look at me. I'm sorry for pushing. I know you're not - "

"Like Pansy?" she finished.

It was a comical sight, to see the great Draco Malfoy hanging his head. But that was what he did, as he felt the bitterness in her voice hit him like a limb of the Whomping Willow.

"I'm sorry," was all he could utter.

Hermione saw the regret in his eyes.

The two exited from the room, his arm conservatively around her waist.