Sooo... it's been a... while... I was just attacked in a review and told that I had to update. Here goes!

Disclaimer: I do not own harry Potter blah blah blah Draco's an idiot blah blah blah

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A flash of lightning allowed Draco to glimpse her wet form, and quickly he memorized the sight. Long legs, perfectly shaped with water droplets running down smoothly, a small waist that her rose shirt clung to, perfect, supple breasts, a thin and proud neck, and anger, like a glint on steel, reflecting from her eyes. Draco Malfoy took an involuntary step back and slipped on the stones, a pathetic re-enactment of Hermoine's mishap. It took Hermoine a moment to realize that he was actually falling, rushing with the water, unable to save himself.

Hermoine, in blind stupidity, almost ran after him when she tripped on her towel. She shouted out a full body bind as he started to twist and turn in the impromptu river. His sleek body collided with the side of the opening, head at one end, and legs at the other. A purplish mark appeared quickly on the side of his pale face. She took a tentative step, her bare feet almost blue in the cold rain, her hand wrapped around the frame of the heavy wooden door.

She whispered softly, her sleek wand held close to her wet body. She summoned him, like a sorcerer calling to a familiar, and he came.

His stiff body plowed into hers, knocking her down from stable feet, off unstable ground, and over the threshold. They fell together, her body soft and pliant, his hard and demanding. When they stopped, their lips were touching.

A colour rose in her cheeks and she wondered why he wasn't moving away from her. But Malfoy's lips were wonderfully warm in the cool tower room, the dark sky. The warmth was spreading through her, making her cheeks flush a delicate pink turned bright red, like a sunset.

Draco was so still, but the thoughts ran wildly through his head.

They were kissing, and neither one of them was moving. Her lips were cold against his hot ones, but the cold only serviced the fire that seemed to entrench his body. He couldn't move, and his troubled, preoccupied mind chopped it up to the hex she had placed on him to save him. But his traitorous hand moved to brace his heavy body on the floor, and his traitorous lips moved slightly against hers.

Her lips might had twitched in surprise, but his mind was gone, lost in the pleasure of her body against his. The wet and warmth, warmth that his own body had lent her, that she gave back, and he received gratefully. Her clothes were drying between the two bodies, but none noticed. Her dry hair was tangling in the few gusts of wind that threatened them past the doorway, and her fingers reached up, only to tangle in his hair.

He moved his lips more, and in instinct alone, she responded. She needed his heat, his passion, him. They both moved their bodies to find a more comfortable spot and stopped all movement, as awareness of what was happening dawned on both of them.

Truth, inevitably harsh, was the driving force that brought them to their feet, hands busy fixing clothes and running through hair. She turned to him, but he couldn't stand it. The innocent look in her eyes, battling with her own desire shook him to his roots.

Instinct, again, took over. He desired to poses her, and so he took her.

He bridged the gap between them and crushed his mouth against her, forcing her mouth open and his tongue in it. They stood there, both dizzy with lust until she pulled back, frightened.

He cursed himself and turned, his brisk steps taking him away from that lost being at the top of the tower.