Forbidden Fruit
Libbeh, a self-proclaimed D/H shipper specialist
Plot: Lust. Love. Hate. Anger. Oh the joys of being a horny teenager.
Chapter Eleven: Merchant at Hogwarts
Disclaimer: I claim no rights to Harry Potter & company. J. K. Rowling & etc. own all rights of Harry Potter & company.

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"Salut Monsieur. Que recherchez-vous?"

The tall youth paused momentarily, his keen eyes scanning the variety of colorful bottles displayed neatly on the dusty mahogany shelves in search for the violet liquid that he had come for. He had found it at last, the dark liquid reflecting an ominous aura in the muted light. It was beckoning to be taken away from the archaic alchemy shop.

"Je recherche cela. Donnez-moi la bouteille violette. Rapidement," the youth sharply replied.

The aged alchemist stared at the young man in disbelief at the rudeness of his tone of voice. He grumbled French profanities as he hobbled away to retrieve the bottle containing the purple liquid. The boy smirked as the alchemist returned with the bottle in hand.

"C'est trois cents et quatre-vingt-dix cinq francs, Monsieur."

The flaxen haired youth threw ten large gold coins onto the counter, smirking as he walked away with the dark liquid safely concealed in his robes. The old French alchemist snorted in disgust as he eyed the boy stroll out of the shop. 'These British pigs are just like the Americans – rude and arrogant," he snidely thought.

Hermione Granger paced frantically on the terracotta tiles of her private balcony, lost in mental anguish. She was furious at herself over her lack of restraint a few hours earlier with Draco. What was becoming of her as of late? Not only did she agree to partake in the jeopardous scheme that Professor Dumbledore had conjured up, she had gushed at her attraction to his looks. But who wouldn't be attracted to his ethereal physique? Over the years, the little hideous ferret faced twat had grown into an extremely handsome archfiend. His once greased drenched, guido slicked platinum blonde hair was cut short, stylishly mopped, hair grease-free, and had turned into an agreeable color: cream champagne. His once revolting gossamer grey eyes turned exquisite pewter, scrawny pale body into a sculpted, lithe bisque physique due to the years of quidditch and various brawls with Harry and Ron. Hermione moaned in frustration. Despite his dashing good looks, Hermione knew that deep inside, Draco Malfoy was still the devious and cunning little ferret she had grown to know and despise. Letting her raging hormones get the best of her, she betrayed her own moral values and hurt the ones that she cared and loved deeply, Harry, Ron, and Ginny. How could she have thought of sleeping with the enemy? Had things had actually gone through, she would have never forgiven herself. She lit a cigarette, a nasty habit she picked up during her fifth year at Hogwarts. Stressed out about O.W.L.S, boys, and the threat of Voldemort, she had secretly turned to the addicting tar sticks for temporary relief. "Temporary" became a daily habit.

She leaned against the wall and assessed her troubles. Harry and Ron weren't speaking to her and to add injury to insult, they had made it clearly obvious that she wasn't going to be forgiven anytime soon after this morning's breakfast in the Great Hall. She had hopes that Ginny would be more sympathetic than her brother, but unfortunately, Ginny was not compassionate. She was miserable and silently wished that it was all a dream that would be ending soon. 'Only the beginning of the school year and things had already started off on the shits,' she mused as she blew out a cloud of smoke.

Draco smirked as he eyed the auburn-haired beauty from afar. He took pleasure in watching Hermione smoke, as he did when he first made the discovery of her secret habit. It was an odd discovery that took him by surprise. The squeaky clean bookworm had flaws and was susceptible to succumbing in "sinful desires." He had a twisted obsession to expose more of Hermione's flaws. Gradually, it grew deeper, darker, and more passionate. He found himself lusting after her. She invaded his dreams daily and often imagined during sex with Pansy that it was Hermione that he was pounding wildly and vigorously into. He was determined to make her his. He wanted more than just to fuck her silly; he wanted her very essence. He knew now was the time to strike hard and fast. She was at her most vulnerable without Harry or Ron by her side, as he had briefly yet joyfully experienced last night.

"Time to go in for the kill, Malfoy."