A/N: Title unceremoniously ripped off from the Jimmy Eat World track with the same name.

I really couldn't believe it; for once my luck seemed to be heading in a positive direction. It was Thursday once again, a day I figured I would end up dreading for the rest of the year because it meant detention with Mr. Congeniality himself, Draco Malfoy. However, I received absolutely fabulous news when I trudged into the teachers' lounge sometime just after six in the morning: Malfoy wouldn't be able to make it that night. It seemed he had to go on an urgent errand for McGonagall into muggle London.

I'll admit it, the thought of him alone in muggle London made me laugh. He wasn't exactly the type of person who blended in with the crowd. As I remember from my days as a student, he usually caught the attention of the opposite sex quite frequently.

I secretly hoped the muggles would eat him alive. Or, at the very least, keep him as some sort of sex slave. Not that I thought of him in that way. Because I don't. I try my best not to think of him at all, actually. But the longer they could keep him otherwise indisposed, the better for me.

I practically floated through my entire day. I didn't have to watch my back, I didn't have to worry about avoiding anyone at all. I was positively liberated. This was how Hogwarts was supposed to be. I didn't even mind babysitting the delinquents during detention.

I suppose it would've been prudent to inquire as to when he would once again be gracing us with his presence, but I hadn't thought to ask at the time, I had been entirely too elated. Somehow I had imagined him being gone for over a week, not just a day. That, as I would soon learn, was entirely wishful thinking on my part.

Later that night I was lounging on my bed, doing some light reading into a new breakthrough in Advanced Arithmancy when I heard a knock on the door of my quarters.

I wondered at who it could possibly be as I slowly dragged myself off my bed. I pulled my pastel yellow robe over the t-shirt and pajama pants I was wearing, just getting the sash tied as I reached for the doorknob. I opened it to see Malfoy, looking rather stricken, standing on the other side.

I blurted out the first thing that popped into my mind, "How did you even know where my quarters were?"

Wordlessly he brought his hand up to hold my chin as he peered into my eyes.

Demandingly he questioned, "Are you happy, Granger?"

I glared at him, who did he think he was, bothering me, anyway? "Oh, yeah, Malfoy. Absolutely bloody spiffing. Especially since you're here now."

He dropped his hand away, but didn't drop his cold grey eyes. He blinked and continued to scan my face. "No, truthfully."

I shot him an incredulous look before asking, "Are you sure you're quite all right? I swear, you get odder and odder every single time I have the misfortune of speaking with you."

"Fine," he huffed, "don't answer me."

I raised an eyebrow and sneered, "I wasn't planning on it. Thanks for your permission though."

Merlin, I can't believe I sneered. I really had been spending too much time in his presence.

I sighed, placing my hands on my hips, and gave in, "Okay, what do you really want?"

He seamlessly replied, "You."

Despite the fact I wasn't eating or drinking anything I found myself coughing as if choking. It took me a moment to recover from that before I was able to respond incredulously, "Excuse me?"

He dismissively continued, "Get off it, Granger. You can't tell me you don't feel it too."

Rather shocked I replied, "The only thing I feel is the draft from the hallway."

Apparently he took that as an invitation to come in.

Hindsight would later suggest that was the moment in time where I was supposed to make some sort of move to rid my quatrters of its newest infestation of ferret. However, at the time, I was still reeling at his pronouncement of ...desire(?) for me, and having an internal debate as to whether he had said it simply to get a rise out of me. So instead of telling him precisely where to go, I lamely moved back from the door, letting the git into my chambers. He practically glided across the hardwood flooring, wasting no time in making himself comfortable on the burgundy couch at the corner of the sitting room.

I suddenly felt very out of place in my own living space. That's the kind of presence he has, he can enter a room and seemingly take command of everyone in it; that's the only way I can think of to explain it.

He craned his neck to glance at the doorway where I was still standing. He politely inquired, "Granger, won't you have a seat?"

And I found myself thinking, "Yes, sitting seems like a very good idea." And the next thing I knew I was sitting on the very same couch with him and was much too close to him for my own personal comfort.

What was wrong with me? I needed to snap out of whatever he was doing to me. I mean, he had to be doing something to sway my attitude towards him, right?

I moved as far away from him as I could on the couch, resolutely cleared my throat and began, "Listen, Malfoy. I don't know why you're here, nor do I care to know--"

He looked intrigued, and leaned forward, lessening the already entirely too small distance between us, "You don't wish to know why I've come to visit you at this hour?"

Annoyed, I responded, "Clearly that's what I just said. So please leave."

He sat up straight once again and shrugged, looking fairly happy for someone who had basically just been told to get the hell out and said, "Well, all right then. If you're sure you're not the least bit curious..."

I rolled my eyes, "Curiosity killed the cat, you should know that. And I, for one, am not a cat. Nor will I play mouse to this twisted game of cat-and-mouse you seem to be trying to play with me."

I threw a pointed glare in his direction. He simply stared back looking entirely unfazed.

I pursed my lips, "So, you were leaving then?"

He blinked, "Oh, I apologize. I got caught up with the image you brought forth in my mind when you said 'play'."

I quickly rose from the couch and huffed, "Ugh! You're impossible to be civil to. You know that, right?"

He scoffed, "Come off it, you know it's a part of my charm. And, moreover, you know you like it."

Not about to be outdone, I proclaimed, "You're entirely mistaken, I don't think I'd be able to list even one thing about you that I like."

He smirked, "Oh yeah? Well, while you might not be able to verbalize what you like about me, I have the distinct feeling you would be able to put those feelings of yours into actions. You didn't exactly pull away from me outside the Great Hall that morning, you know."

I quickly backed away from him, slightly shaken by what he had just implied, "Oh no you don't. You are going to stay away from me. I'm not kidding, Malfoy."

There was a distinct glimmer in his eye when he replied, "I'm not scared of you, Granger, or anything you're capable of doing to me. Actually, I'd rather look forward to you doing things to me... with me..."

I could feel my heart racing in my chest. I needed to get away from him, and fast. I took in an uneven breath and questioned, "What's with the sexual innuendo, hm? What happened to me being a filthy mudblood who's not to be touched under any circumstances? Do you remember those days? I'd rather like a return to them."

He rose from the couch and began making his way over to me, "Well, now, you of all people should understand we can't always have what we want."

I resumed backing away from him, almost entirely unaware of my surroundings. Movement halted rather quickly, however, as I ran right into an armchair and found myself sitting in it.

Within seconds he was looming over me and I had to tilt my head to look up at his now shadowed face.

He dropped rather abruptly to his knees, coming to eye level with me. He reached out once again, this time to brush a lock of hair out of my eyes. I flinched away from his touch, utterly afraid of what would happen if I allowed him to continue touch me. This couldn't continue.

But somehow it did.

All of my senses seemingly collided: lips brushing against mine, the scent of sandalwood engulfing me, the world going irrevocably black, soft hair brushing across my forehead, blood rushing in my ears, long fingers lacing themselves in my hair, the taste of traces of pumpkin juice, incoherent whispers shattering the silence, a tongue coaxing my mouth open, a warm welcome home... and finally soft hands pulling my mouth from his.

His face was full of some unnamable emotion. Nowhere did I see any hint of triumph, however.

His hands found mine and he softly whispered, "What's it going to take to get you to admit that you aren't okay -- that you haven't been okay ever since sixth year ended?"

Pulling my hands out from underneath his, I responded sounding much more unaffected than I felt, "I could ask the same of you."

The truth was I didn't know what it would take. I had mostly given up on the aspiration of being "okay," instead opting for the more easily attainable "alive." As much as I tried to forget it, I was, in fact, hopelessly broken. And I wasn't sure if I could ever be repaired, or if I even wanted to be repaired, for that matter.

He laughed quietly under his breath, lightly taunting me, "No, Hermione. That's not how this "game" works. I asked you first."

I scoffed, "I never took you for one that would be a stickler for rules," and as an afterthought, I added, "and don't call me that."

His hands came to rest on my thighs and responded, "I am when they're the ones I've made up myself." He shrugged and then inquired, "Don't call you what, love?"

I swallowed hard and replied shakily, "Don't call me Hermione--"

I broke off in mid-sentence, completely unable to continue forming any kind of coherent though now that his hands were inching further and further up my thighs.

I was, in short, quite tired of dealing with him, and even more tired of his insistence on constantly touching me. Not to mention completely exhausted from trying to fight not only him but my feelings toward him.

So, in what I hoped was a firm voice, I stated, "You need to get your hands off of me. And you need to get out. Now."

Surprisingly, he readily obliged, removing his hands and letting them hang at his sides and whispered, "You know, Hermione, I think we both could find a rather large benefit in each other. I trust you'll seek me out when you've come to your senses about it."

He drew close to my face once again and softly grazed his lips across mine again before rising to his feet.

He backed slowly away from me, moving toward the door, "I'll be seeing you," he declared, "sooner or later. It'd be in your best interests if you made it sooner rather than later, though."

I fought back the urge to call out to him with every bit of strength I had left in me. And let me tell you something, there truly wasn't all that much left in the old reserves.

Could it be possible? Was I lusting after Draco Malfoy?

A/N: Oh my, what have I done now? And who does Malfoy think he is, going after the Amnesiac's girl? What a bastard. And just what is our beloved heroine thinking? Oh, readers, I'm enjoying this all too much. Don't worry though, I know what I'm doing :)

Make a girl happy and review?

To my wonderful reviewers:

screwtheperfectlife: Draco is a git. A really, really good looking one... but unfortunatelystill a git. Maybe this chapter gives a bit more insight as to why he turned his back on the dear Amnesiac. However, I won't be answering you as far as your inquiry about the identity of the Amnesiac. All we know is he's seemingly a Weasley. Well, okay... he is a Weasley. :) -- Thanks for reviewing!

Astrianna Glaze: Hello! What'd you think of my installment? Oh, Draco... I don't know if you'll still be thinking "Poor Draco" any longer, though. Just what is he playing at anyway:) Thanks for taking the time to review!