[Author's Notes: Thanks for the patience and the encouraging words. Special thanks for all the readers that have stuck with me from the beginning. I hope it's paying off for you guys.

PLEASE EXCUSE THE FORMATTING. QUICKEDIT DOESN'T SEEM TO LIKE IT]

Disclaimer: All characters are owned by JKR.

Plot: Draco/Hermione. Don't like it? Go somewhere else. This is my story. And I did warn you in the summary. As for the actual plot being original, no one has a copyright on the entire school idea. If so, Hollywood would be in serious trouble

Chapter 13: Blanket Expressions

Hermione leaned against the bathroom door, her eyes shut and her breathing labored. She could still see Draco's face in her mind. Why is it that sleeping people always seem younger and more… vulnerable? Without his smirk, or a sneer in his face, Draco's face could make an angel sigh. Perhaps it was the generations of aristocratic upbringing but he had a classical beauty. It reminded Hermione of Michelangelo's David. Sublime perfection. Sublime naked perfection.

She had to stop thinking about him. She couldn't stay in her room either. It was too close to him. Especially since he was naked. She didn't want to know that. She didn't need to know that.

Of course, the polite thing would be to wake him up. Really, falling asleep in the bath. What a stupid thing to do!

But that would mean getting close to him. And he was naked! Naked! Her brain chanted at her.

Hermione's brain fused into one giant gloopy mess. She really didn't want to think about getting closer to a naked Draco Malfoy. Not that it wasn't appealing. But really, she wasn't interested. She wasn't some sort of bloody pervert. She didn't want to peek. Not that she'd ever peeked like some of the other girls she knew. Not to say that she wasn't curious. But really she didn't want to see a naked Draco Malfoy… But she just did!

Bloody hell! She couldn't stop thinking about what she knew was behind the door. She really needed to go somewhere else. But go where? She couldn't return to the library and she really wasn't up to talking to anyone back in Gryffindor Tower. The last thing she needed was Lavender and Parvati haranguing her about a naked Draco Malfoy. She could only imagine what Harry and Ron would do if word got out. She closed her eyes and sighed.

What she really needed was tea. Tea always calmed her down. She'd go downstairs and get some tea, read for a while until she heard Malfoy in his room and just take her bath then. That sounded like a plan. Besides, Malfoy didn't know that she had seen him naked. She didn't even want to give that prat that kind of advantage. She could only imagine the kind of lurid tale he'd concoct and spread around the school if he found out. The last thing she needed this year would be the rumor that Malfoy and her were up to hanky panky in the Head Bathroom and/or having a torrid love affair.

She called Dobby and he appeared a few minutes later with a teapot of Earl Grey and a tea cup, along with some shortbread cookies. While she waited, she went over to her side of the common room and picked a book for leisure reading, Common Myths regarding Fairy Folk Volume 1. She sat down on the plump couch in front of the fire, poured herself a cup of tea and started to read the thick book.

But sitting in front of the warm fire, with her tummy full of tea and cookies, and her mind frazzled with the events of the last few days, Hermione fell asleep on the couch.


Draco woke up chilled. The water was almost cold and he shivered. He must have fallen asleep in the bath. Must have been absolutely exhausted. With a shake of his head, he rose from the water and toweled himself dry. How long had he been asleep? He looked like an albino prune! Really, wrinkly skin was extremely unattractive. Thank goodness for the Malfoy genes or else he'd kill himself before he reached sixty.

In his room, he dressed in warm flannel pajama pants and grey cashmere sweater. Pulling on thick woolen socks, he knew he just would finish with homework and tumble into bed. But he didn't want to catch a cold in the common room, despite the fire, while he did his homework.

Snagging his backpack, he walked down the stairs and into the common room. He wondered idly where Granger was. Probably with her two laplions. Draco snorted. Those two didn't even have an inkling of what they held so loosely in their hands. Imbeciles.

He dumped his backpack on his table and started unpacking his parchment and quills. He started looking around for the Grammatica Mytholigyque that he had checked out earlier from the library to finish his Care of Magical Creatures essay when he noticed a tea set and a plate of half-eaten shortbread cookies on the table by the fireplace.

That's when his peripheral vision registered a head of wavy curls and a generous expanse of smooth legs. Granger had fallen asleep on the couch!

Draco swallowed hard. His brain barely registered the faded pink bathrobe only to note how ridiculously short it was. It was slightly higher that mid-thigh. Was that the edge of Granger's knickers peaking out?

He felt rooted to the floor. He wanted to touch but at the same time he couldn't force himself to move. All he could do was see. And what he saw was making his blood run hot.

She was sleeping so peacefully, her face devoid from any anger or marked with worry. Her pose was modest, like that of a sleeping child. Her innocence struck Draco full force. Here was a girl, on the verge of womanhood that simply was not aware of her own beauty, of her own power. But at the same time, she was intrinsically feminine. There was no slyness, no guile, no art.

Draco drank in the play of the firelight on her shining hair, the slow rise and fall of her chest, the way her rosy lips were parted in sleep. He found himself next to her, observing her closely. His hand reached out on its own volition and touched her hair, silky and cool to the touch. It curled around his finger and he was pleased in some sort of unknown and basic way that he himself couldn't tell that he was pleased. He didn't want to find her beautiful but, unlike a few weeks ago, he didn't curse himself for it.

At this point, his brain started having a multipersonality disorder moment. Pervert Draco wanted him to take a peek underneath the bathrobe. Pureblooded Draco was disgusted at Perverted Draco. Romantic Draco wanted to kiss the beautiful girl in front of him. Perverted Draco and Pureblooded Draco yelled at Romantic Draco, Pervert Draco for only stopping at a kiss and Pureblooded Draco was disgusted that Romantic Draco could even suggest that Granger was beautiful. Responsible Draco chimed in that he really should be doing his chores but he was diligently ignored by all the other Dracos. Slytherin Draco agreed with Pureblooded Draco that this was a mudblood and on top of it a bloody Gryffindor. Practical Draco reminded everyone that this was Hermione Granger and it simply would not do for Draco to be concerned with her at all. Loser Draco simply stated that, regardless, he was still Malfoy and she was Hermione Granger and why would she ever want anything with him anyway? Chivalrous Draco bellowed saying that the least he could do, as man and as an honorable Malfoy would be to cover her with a blanket before she catches her death from a cold. Pervert Draco said in a sly singsong voice that there were other ways to make sure that she didn't catch a cold, added a wink and raised his eyebrows suggestively before he was pounded into the ground by Chilvarous Draco and Romantic Draco.

Draco shook his head to clear his thoughts. This was ruddy Hermione Granger. And he was bloody Draco Malfoy. End of story. Merlin! There wasn't even a story to begin!

But he covered Granger with a blanket from his bed before starting his homework. He gave himself two excellent reasons. He didn't want to be staring at her legs all night and he didn't want to be caught staring at her either. That banshee voice of hers was not worth it.

He threw himself into his Care of Magical Creatures essay with an intense fervor.


Hermione stretched, her mind fuzzy and comfortably warm. She snuggled under the blanket, bringing it over her shoulder before her brain registered what she was doing. She was snuggling under a blanket! She opened her eyes wide, only to find herself staring at the ceiling of her common room, dark and astrological constellations painted in a heavy medieval style in gold.

Her breath hitched. The last she could remember was that she had gotten some tea and was reading Common Myths regarding Fairy Folk Volume 1. She looked to her left and saw the tray with the tea set and the plate with the shortbread cookies. The fire crackled merrily at her.

She exhaled slowly. She was still in her common room. But that still didn't explain where the mysterious blanket came from.

A distinctive purr made her sit up and Crookshanks jumped onto her lap. "Crookshanks, love, where you been?" she crooned softly at it.

Crookshanks's smile merely got wider and larger. His purring just got louder.

That's when Hermione noticed she wasn't alone in the common room. Her brain flashed immediately to the scene in the bathroom! She must be ruddy daft! Of course Malfoy was around. She had seen him naked in the bathroom! Where else would he be?

Peeking above the back of the couch, straining her neck, she could make the top of white blond hair. Hermione immediately stopped peeking and started panicking. Again.

At this point Hermione's brain divided into the two houses of Parliament and proceeded to have an endless debate about what had happened and what was the best way to handle it. One part simply wanted to call Malfoy a pervert, storm off to her bedroom and lock herself there until reinforcements arrived. The other part argued that accusing Malfoy of inappropriate behavior without any proof would imply that she wanted him to be inappropriate with her, which she really didn't want to, did she? Also, the same part argued that an innocent man was innocent until proven guilty and even though this was Malfoy, junior Death Eater and snarky git, even he deserved the benefit of the doubt. Surely she could be the better person. The other part argued that this was Malfoy, ruddy prat extraordinaire and deserved no courtesies from her. Both sides agreed that in all probability Hermione would never find out the truth of what really happened because Malfoy would just lie through his teeth. Who was she kidding? Malfoy wouldn't ever be nice to her. Lack of insults was one thing. Deliberate niceness was completely out of sync with Malfoy's personality.

Crookshanks headbutted her hand demanding attention. She continued to pet him absentmindedly while she continued to think about what to do. It was obvious that something had happened. The question was what precisely. And did she really want to know?

She finally decided the best course of action was not to mention it. If she didn't mention it and he didn't mention it, then it was like nothing happened. She was willing to believe that. Although it was obvious that something had happened because the blanket hadn't been there when she fell asleep, she didn't want to think about it. Because then she would start thinking about how strange Malfoy had been acting lately.

Specially those long intense looks he'd been sending her way.

Which brought her current predicament. She was covered by a strange green blanket and she was only wearing her old bathrobe. Hermione became embarrassed and mortified. For several reasons. She wasn't exactly ashamed of her bathrobe. She loved it. But she knew that it was old and raggedy and short. Revealingly short. She didn't want Malfoy to think she dressed like this for his benefit. Nor did she want him thinking she couldn't afford a decent bathrobe.

Of course Malfoy had looked. Hermione blushed. What a sight she must have been. He probably thought she did it on purpose!

It also irritated Hermione that Malfoy had been the one to see her in such a revealing state. Going to the beach with Harry and Ron didn't count. In her one-piece swimsuit it wasn't like she was wearing a skimpy bikini. Or going topless as was the fashion in other beaches.

Concentrate! She told herself sternly. She needed to get to her room. Quickly. And without Malfoy getting more looks at her in her knickers. She could just wrap the blanket around herself and go. And hope that Malfoy didn't notice her.

Mustering up her courage and gathering the blanket around her, Hermione marched determinedly to her room and up the stairs, clenching her teeth against the cold stone floor as she dashed upstairs. Once in her room, she closed the door and locked it. She then went into the bathroom and locked it from the inside.

She then proceeded to take her long-deferred shower.


He knew when she woke up. He heard her coo at her cat, which seemed to have a preternatural sense of awareness and knew that she was awake because he left his side. Granted, as of late, the ragamuffin ball of fur was growing on him. He liked intelligent animals. He was even willing to bet a hundred galleons that the cat was smarter than Crabbe and Goyle combined. Granger had probably taught the cat a number of things. Of course, the so-called 'cleverest witch in Hogwart's' would want the cleverest cat.

But it had been comforting to pet the cat as he did his Charms exercises and Arithmancy problems, and hearing it purr. It made the time more enjoyable.

Draco enjoyed the companionable silence.

He'd seen but pretended not to notice at her peeking from behind the couch, confirming his suspicions that she was back in the land of the living. He could just picture the look of panic and confusion on Granger's face when she discovered that there was a blanket on her. He could almost hear the words turning in her head.

Draco braced himself for the confrontation. She would accuse him of being a pervert and looking at her. Of course he had looked. He was ruddy eighteen years old and he wasn't a saint or a moron like Pothead or Weasel. As for being a pervert, none of the ideas that had flashed through his head were a perversion. Merlin! He'd get a hard-on again just remembering them. And he certainly hadn't groped her either. He liked his partners to be awake and willing. The entire experience had to be interactive. His preference was to have some feedback as he's snogging or shagging his partner senseless. He seriously didn't want to hear her banshee screech again. He wondered if he had any ear plugs lying about. Sometimes he needed them when Blaise went a little crazy on the drums during practice.

But it never came. Instead, she had literally run out the room, clutching his blanket and locking herself in her room. Draco exhaled in relief and ignored the feeling of disappointment. Had part of him honestly expected for Granger to acknowledge that he had done something considerate? He was mildly surprised that she hadn't bolted immediately or shredded the blanket looking for hidden hexes. Which would have been disappointed. He liked his blanket. It had been custom made for him from the finest wool in Ireland. Naturally green-haired sheep were quickly becoming a rarity these days.

Crookshanks appeared at his side again and headbutted his hand with a miaow.

"Faithless wretch!" Draco scolded him good-naturedly but petted him nonetheless.

Crookshanks just grinned at him.

Draco was dipping his eagle feather quill in the inkwell when he heard someone clear her throat. He turned around to see Granger, fresh out of the shower in her pajamas. The smell of lavender tickled his nose and made his blood start to run hot. Although every inch of her skin was covered in well-worn flannel, Draco's stomach clenched at the sight of her. Because now he knew. He knew that she had long smooth legs and silky hair. He knew that she was a woman that didn't know she was beautiful and thus wouldn't use it as a weapon to get what she wanted. He knew what she looked like when she was asleep. She was looking at him now and she looked clean, rosy and tad confused. She had folded up his blanket and had it folded over one arm.

"I…uh… erm, well… you must have… and I…just wanted to say thank you," she said, decidedly uncomfortable holding out his blanket.

Draco was in a state of shock. If anyone, in his short life had told him that one day Hermione Granger would thank him for anything, he would have laughed in their face and then proceeded to ask what kind of accident they had at birth because they were bloody daft! Not that she knew that he was in a state of shock. He continued to look at her calmly and managed to move his head enough to nod in acknowledgement. Hermione Granger thanked him! Imagine that! Never in a million years would he have imagined this.

"Yes, well… I see you're busy…ugh.. well, good night," she said and then turned on her heel and disappeared into her bedroom.

Now, Draco was absolutely thunderstruck. Granger was talking at him politely. She had even bid him goodnight. Wonders of wonders! Draco grinned wolfishly. He had won. She had spoken first. He had to give her credit that she had lasted this long. But she had still given in.

Then, it dawned on him. Granger had been nervous! She had stammered. Twice. He had never known her to stammer. It pleased Draco to know that he had rattled her. And rattled her good.

He told himself he was pleased that Granger had broken and spoken first… not over the fact that she had thanked him.

Draco picked up his blanket on his way to bed and noticed that it smelled of lavender. He smiled and fell asleep with a trace of lavender around him.


[Author's Note: If my readers could kindly review and tell me if you're liking how this story is unfolding. I want some feedback before I write the next chapter. I'm thinking a little scene in the Teacher's Lounge. Comments?]