Hermione was walking down the hall late one night, coming back from the library after an intensive study session on human transfiguration. Her footsteps echoed off the empty stones of the corridor, it was past midnight and everyone was either in bed or in the common rooms. She hurried her pace, almost breaking into a run. The halls of Hogwarts weren't that welcoming at night, especially in this wing. For some reason, all of the portraits were off visiting someone else, so no snores or noise at all was coming from the frames.
She heard other footsteps approaching, so to avoid an unwanted confrontation she opened the nearest classroom door and stepped inside, softly closing the door behind her. She heard the footsteps pass by, exhaled, and leaned back against the door. Her eyes scanned the room, and its unfamiliarity caught her by surprise. It wasn't like a normal classroom; it was full of couches, soft chairs, and pillows, all colored a pastel pink. The floor was white marble, the walls were draped with a sheer blue fabric, and the air was almost misty. Hermione turned to exit the room, but the footsteps that lead her here reappeared. Venturing farther into the room, she plopped down on a baby pink couch. Pulling out a book, she figured that she might as well get a few more minutes of studying in before she finished the walk back to her room, giving whoever was patrolling the halls time to get to another part of the castle.
The couch was softer and more comfortable than she thought it would be, and she caught herself starting to doze off. After almost falling asleep twice, she laid down her book, stretched out, and vowed to take an hour long nap then wake up and resume her studies. As soon as she closed her eyes, she was out cold. Unbeknownst to her, the person who was pacing the halls quietly entered into the room only moments after she slept, and he too was surprised by the décor of the room. Spying a stray hand lying over the side of the couch, he peered over it and was surprised to find a girl asleep there. Not any girl, mind you, but the girl.
Miss Hermione Granger from Gryffindor, the only girl in this school that he couldn't have, therefore the only girl that he wanted. It wasn't the fact that she was in Gryffindor that she was forbidden to him, or the fact that she was muggle-born, or even that she was the only person in his year to get better grades than him. While that might make their relationship more difficult, the one thing that kept him coming back to her was that she hated him.
In his life, he saw very few strong emotional ties. His father and mother didn't love each other. His father ignored him except to criticize, and his mother was off in her own little world. The few friends he had were not really friends, but more like followers, clones. Even Lord Voldemort himself cared for nothing except power. He found himself strangely drawn to anyone who showed emotion toward him. He often felt extreme dislike from Harry, Ron, and other miscellaneous and unimportant student of Hogwarts, but no one feelings towards him were near as powerful as Hermione's. He could feel it in the way that she stared at him, the way she spat out her words around him, stronger than just hated: pure disgust flowed from her to him. And he loved it.
Intrigued, he sat on the couch opposite her and just watched her. It would be so corny to see her as beautiful, he thought to himself, but he could not stop his body from wanting to go over there, lie next to her on the couch, and fall asleep without a care in the world. He got up and walked over to her; a mistake. His hand reached out of its own free will, and it gently caressed her face. She smiled in her sleep, and did not wake. His hand lightly brushed down her arm, and she responded by rolling over to the other side of the couch, an unconscious invitation to lie next to her. Before he could stop himself, he lay down beside her and encircled her in his arms. She sighed and moved closer into his embrace. This is the most amazing thing ever, the part of his brain that was still functioning told him. He smiled and kissed her hair. Slowly, she started to wake. A look of panic crossed her eyes as she realized who was holding her, and then confusion clouded her features.
"Shh." He said. "Go back to sleep. I won't hurt you." A dazed smile crossed her lips, and she allowed her eyelids to close. He breathed in deep, inhaling her air, content. A few seconds later, however, Hermione suddenly jumped and yelled "What are you doing here? Why are you laying next to me? What the hell are you trying to do?" Angrily, she tried to get up, but he softly pushed her back against the couch and replied "I'm not going to hurt you. I have a confession to make, Hermione. I love the way you hate me." She was struggling against him, but upon hearing those words, she stopped. "Why?"
"Because you have such passion. There's a fire in your eyes for me. It burns inside of you. You have such strong feelings towards me that I can feel them pulsing away from you whenever I am near. I love it. Unfortunately, it's hate and not love that is surging through your veins, but nonetheless, it engages me. I want to feel more of it. I love the power that you have in you."
"But I thought you hated me too." "I've never hated you. I tried to belittle you just like everyone else, make you worship me. But you always refused. At first it infuriated me, now it just intrigues me. I provoke you to get another reaction, another tide of hate and power coming my way. I love it. I love you."
"You can't, no, this isn't right…" she murmured, but the sounds emerging from her mouth ceased when his lips met hers. They continued kissing, their tongues intertwined. He took his hands and pushed himself up, allowing her to slide underneath him, and gently he laid himself on top of her. Pausing, he broke their kiss, looked into her eyes, and said "I never thought in a million years that I would be doing this." Smiling, she agreed, adding "Ron and Harry would kill me if they knew. But they don't need to find out." Taking this as an invitation to go forward, his hands started exploring. Hermione mirrored his actions, and before they knew it, they were both lying naked on the couch, him on top of her.
"Are you sure?" he asked, with a look of concern in his deep grey eyes. "I've never been so sure of anything before. That kiss… it was magical. I don't hate you anymore." He kissed her lightly, and then slowly proceeded…
Hermione awoke to the sounds of chatter in the hallways, footsteps echoing down the hallway. Wondering what time it was, she looked beside her and was surprised to find HIM beside her… but wait. Even in her early morning confusion, no repulsion or hate or anger filled her brain. As last night's memories entered her consciousness, she gasped aloud, then allowed herself a smile. She climbed on top of him, kissed his lips, and said "Wake up love!" Groaning, he tried to roll over. When he couldn't, he opened up his eyes and found a naked and happy Hermione Granger sitting on him.
"I thought it was just a dream," he murmured. But no, it had really happened. They were there on a pink couch, in the same room they had both wandered into last night. She was just about to ask him why he came into the room in the first place, but a yelp of surprise came out when she saw the clock.
"It's 10! Fuck! We missed breakfast, our first class, and we're going to be late for potions!" "It's fine," he smiled. "I've missed class before. No big deal." "Well I have never skipped a class! And I didn't plan on doing it, either!" She was insistent, and dead serious. He had to laugh, but then ducked when she playfully punched him. She darted around the room, gathering up her clothes and belongings, and trying to make herself look suitable for the rest of the day.
"Oh God," she said as she twirled around, putting on her shoes. "Last night… that was so amazing. Why don't I hate you anymore? This is so stupid. I'm not like this. I'm Hermione Granger. I have a sturdy head on my shoulders. I don't go around kissing random guys from Slytherin, spending the night with them, and then being late for class the next morning! Look what you've done to me, you bad influence!" With this, she gave him one last kiss, picked up her bags, and ran out of the room, running full speed to class. He sat down on the bed and mused over what she just said. How was the transformation even possible? Did he even care? What was he going to tell everyone? Did he want to have her as his girlfriend? What would people say? Did he even deserve her?
Slowly pulling on his own clothes, he left the room. Instead of running off to class, he instead went back to his dormitory and vowed to think some more. After an hour of staring into the fire and pondering what to do, he was right back to where he was before last night: Sad. Hopeless. Without love. The only thing he wanted was Hermione, but that wasn't going to happen. His father wouldn't let it happen, because then he wouldn't be the model son that he must be. He had no choice, his life was already chosen for him. He was to be a death eater, get married to the girl that Lord Voldemort chose for him, and bear more perfect little purebred children who do exactly what their told. There has to be some way to break the cycle.
Reaching in his pocket, he pulled out a knife, his favorite possession. It was about three inches long, a dark, dull silver, and in the shape of a serpent. The serpent was poised, about to strike, and had two gleaming emerald eyes, glinting with anticipation for the kill. When he flipped the blade out, it was made of pure silver, so bright and shiny that it was almost like a mirror. He always kept it razor sharp, so that it could split a hair in two. One of his pastimes was staring at the knife. There was only one thing he loved to do with it more than staring at it; and that was using it.
Pulling back his sleeve, he grabbed his wand and muttered a counter-charm, removing all of the magic that he used to convince people that he was fine. Un-charmed, his arm was full of scars, some old and faded, others new and red. Finding and unblemished place on his arm, he carved a heart, and inside the heart, an H.
He smiled. This was the only thing that made him happy, before Hermione. If he couldn't have her, then he wanted pain. He cut more and more, more than he ever had before. Up and down both arms, blood dripping off and forming crimson lakes on the floor. Breathing deeply, he surveyed himself. He had gone too far. There was no turning back. Sure, he could survive this. He would go unconscious soon, but someone would find him, take him to Dumbledore and the hospital wing. He would confess his undying love for Hermione, and then everyone would see that it was all going to be okay. Yes, everything was going to turn out perfect. He smiled, his mind on Hermione and their amazing night, and he allowed his eyes to close for the last time. His mind became clear, and a peace like none other washed over him. He was going to be happy. Everything was going to be all right. Hermione would come and save him now, and then everyone would see their love. As he drew in his last breath, he was certain that they were going to ride off into the sunset, and then live happily ever after.