Draco Malfoy entered the room first, sitting on the bed gracefully, as if he always sat on muggle beds laced with string**. Closing the door, Hermione Granger stood awkwardly, inside the room, yet not really sure what she should do. Draco was merely glad she wasn't twisting her hands with worry. Really, he'd given her no reason to mistrust him. He saw her start towards the arrowslit window, and knew that he'd had enough of her indecisiveness.

"Sit down." Draco said, patting the bed beside him. Hermione Granger looked at him, halfwary and half-startled, as if she'd temporarily forgotten he was even there. Stiffly, she nodded, sitting primly on the bed beside the relaxed young man. Draco suppressed a smirk, as his arm gently folded over her shoulders. "There, that's better, isn't it?" His fingertips began drawing circles on her shoulder, as he said, "Tell me a little about yourself. Just - just anything." He lowered his eyes, hiding a blush that crept over his cheeks, staining them ruddy. As Hermione turned toward him, he found himself realizing just how close they were together, and looking at her full lips with interest.

Ron Weasley had had enough, it seemed. Harry watched thoughtfully as Ron began to kick, and pace, and scuff his feet. Words would come later, Harry thought. Harry, of course, had been worried since he noticed Hermione was missing. Not ron, though. Harry pursed his lips in thought. Why hadn't ron been worried? It had been so unlike Hermione to stalk off - that... was... generally Ron. Oh. Of course. Daft idiot. Harry suppressed an entirely inappropriate smirk. Ron had waited just long enough for himself to come sulking back before he began to genuinely worry about Hermione. And Harry could see the simmer of Ron's anger slowly rising to a boil. Harry'd rarely seen Ron angry at himself (he was generally too selfrighteous for that), but when it happened, it was a doozy. Still, Harry thought with a bit of chagrin, Ron put up with Harry's moods, and occasionally could do something to make them better.

Hermione and Draco were in an animated discussion about the pros and cons of having animal companions, and they had drawn closer to each other as they argued. Their lips were inches apart, and Draco was staring at Hermione's lips as if they were forbidden treats. Dash it all, I'm going to regret this in the morning. Draco thought, as he bent in gently, and kissed her. A moment lengthened into the space of ten heartbeats and then he was pulling back, just a bit, and telling her, "Stop arguing." His hand ran gently down her jawbone, his other hand - after brief deliberation - curling around her back, pulling her closer to him.

It wasn't the gentle kiss - so unlike Ron's eagerness, that silenced Hermione Granger ("Master of Too Many Words" her inner Snape voice catcalled), it was the gentleness, the almost hesitancy of the shy young man in front of her. The careful delicacy that said, "you can tell me when." And those eyes, that shone with a deepseated desire - it caught at her breath, made her breathing hitch with sudden awareness.

Feeling rather daring, Draco Malfoy ran his hands down from her shoulders, his mouth pressed demandingly against hers. Her eyes widened, but she didn't draw back - and Draco felt his heaviness, his body informing him that it had been rather a while (what with everyone being in his house, privacy had been less than easy to come by). Eagerly, his hands and his mouth pressed her back down onto the bed, with a rather loud creak.

Ron was shouting, howling, saying "I didn't mean her to get in trouble! Honest! How was I supposed to know?"

Harry Potter wasn't sure how to respond to this, as anyone with a drop of sense knew that Ron Weasley wasn't a terribly good thinker. Harry knew that he'd have managed to get Hermione to not storm out, but then again... It was Ron. Things like this happened when it was Ron.

The solid oak desk had taken quite a few kicks, and Ron's words were slowly turning into Snapes, him calling himself a dunderhead, an idiot and a moron. Among other things. Harry could tell that Ron was sincerely worried sick about his ... friend.

That hand between Hermione's thighs felt so good, tingly, sending electric tingles across her toes. "Shh... Shh..." he said, as he lifted her feet off the floor and over her head, her dress falling in a circle around her, as he climbed on top of her, slowly sliding her pants down to midthigh...

[a/n: Okay, anyone unclear why I spent so much time on the downstairs part? One has to build up to people doing really stupid things.

And yes, I do realize neither of them have asked the other their name.

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**Draco's Muggle Studies readings are a bit out of date.