It's all J.K. Rowling's. The plot is the only thing that's mine. Enjoy.
The Library, Later that Night
"Now where is that book?" Hermione examined the shelf for the third time, searching for a reference book she needed. It should have been on this shelf, and Madame Pince would never have allowed it to leave its spot without express permission. Therefore, she thought, it should be right here.
There was a paper due in Herbology in two weeks, and she wanted to get an early start on her topic: Devil's Snare. She wanted to know a bit more about the plant that had been guarding the Sorcerer's Stone their first year. Now, she thought, if only I could find that book…
"Looking for this, Granger?" asked a cold voice from behind the shelves. As he emerged, Malfoy gave her a characteristic smirk and brandished the book in front of her.
"Malfoy." She just glared at him for a moment, and then held out her hand expectantly for the book.
"Oh, I see," he said, placing it swiftly behind his back and out of her reach. "You think it'll be that easy?"
"What do you want, Malfoy?" she asked impatiently, her hand still extended in impatient expectation.
To her surprise, he took her hand in his and rubbed his thumb gently along the back of it. He didn't say a word, but his eyes softened as he looked at her. She faltered for just a moment, and her breath caught in her throat. Then she blinked a few times, seemed to realize what was happening, and yanked her hand away roughly.
"What the bloody hell was that about?" she demanded.
Malfoy laughed softly. "Cursing, are we now, Granger?" He smiled. "I never knew you had it in you."
Without another word, he handed her the book and turned to go. On his way out, he brushed lightly against her waist and let his hand travel along her arm, just for a moment. He noticed she didn't pull away.
"Brilliant," Crabbe said, applauding as Malfoy came around the corner. "Bloody brilliant."
"Shove off, you oaf," Malfoy responded sharply. "She'll hear you."
He stalked out of the library, with Crabbe and Goyle close at his heels.
Ron was sitting in the common room, playing wizard's chess with Harry, when Hermione returned from the library.
"How'd it go?" he asked, standing to give her a hug. She returned it quickly, but pulled away to answer.
"Oh, it was…" She paused, searching for words. "It was okay, I suppose," she finished. "You know, studying as usual."
"My sweet 'Mione," he said, stroking her hair. "Always doing the right thing."
"Right," she said, then kissed him quickly. "Well, I'm off to bed." She started to go.
"So soon?" he asked, catching both her hands and pleading with his eyes.
"Yes, Ronald," she said, pulling away. "I do have class in the morning." She gave him a stern look. "And I do recommend that you consider bed soon for yourself."
At this, he sighed and gave her one final kiss. "All right, 'Mione," he said. "You sleep well."
"Goodnight, Ron," she said and smiled at him. Then, looking back, she added, "'Night, Harry."
"'Night, Hermione."
With that, she made her way up the steps to her room.
"Mate," Ron said to Harry after she left. "Do you think maybe she was acting a little weird just then?"
Harry shrugged. "I don't know, Ron," he replied. "She's probably just stressed."
Ron appeared troubled for a moment, but he just shook his head and said, "Right then. Back to the game?"
Once in her room, Hermione studied her hand carefully, where Malfoy's had been. What was that all about? she wondered. His hand had been softer than she'd expected, and his touch was smooth and gentle. It hadn't helped, of course, that it was completely unexpected, and in her shock, she'd simply let him at it.
She shivered involuntarily at the thought. That look in his eyes, though, she thought. She had seen it before.
Then she realized where she had. It was the same look he had given her just before she punched him.
As Malfoy lay in his bed that night, he secretly wondered if he really knew what he was doing. He had ruined girls before; that was nothing new. This was all very standard procedure for a bint who overstepped her bounds.
But there had been something different about her reaction to him, something different from the others. A certain… innocence, perhaps? That really was new to him. Was he absolutely certain he wanted to mess with that?
Then he shrugged off all previous thoughts. After all she was a filthy Mudblood. And, as he had noted the second her fist connected to his face, she clearly needed to learn her place. And who better to show her than he?
