"Stop it!" Hermione screamed, only to be quickly shushed by the portraits she woked up with her yell.

"Tsk, Tsk, Granger. Show some respect for your elders," Malfoy smirked back at her, enjoying the moment way too much.

"Just stop it with the song, please, I beg you," she huffed. He had been mumbling a catchy romantic tune from the Weird Sisters over and over as they patrolled the halls.

"I like it when you beg. Maybe I'll keep going, make you beg a little more," he said, leaning into her personal bubble so close that she could feel his minty breath warm her cheek. What the fuck was going on here? And why was she suddenly unable to hex him or punch him or even tell him to back off? This was all freaking Ron's fault.

It started at the beginning of the term. After six years of normalcy, where Gryffindors and Slytherins hated each other's guts, and mixed-house prefect rounds ended in colossal fights, Ron had the first prefect patrol of the year alongside Pansy Parkinson. It went down to the dumps pretty quick as expected, but then something bizarre happened: when the pair went up to check the Astronomy Tower for renegade lovers, they got into a massive screaming match. Two versions were circulating about what happened next. Pansy told Millicent Bulstrode, who told Daphne Greengrass, who told his sister Astoria who was in the same year as Ginny Weasley, that Ron had pinned her against the rail and kissed her. Ron had told Seamus Finnegan, who told Dean Thomas, who told Neville Longbottom who told Harry Potter that Pansy had jumped and kissed him. Harry had been upset because Ron had not told him first, so when he was ranting about it to his girlfriend Ginny, she made a face like she knew something but was not saying it. So after some persuasion of the adult kind, Harry had gotten Ginny in a weakened state and made her confess that Astoria had told her that Daphne said to her that Millicent told her that Pansy had an orgasm that day while making out with Ron.

When that cat got out of the bag, Draco Malfoy's reputation took a hit, because apparently, after dating Pansy for two years, she had never felt anything like that with him. And now Malfoy was set on reclaiming his title of Slytherin Sex God by taking down the most unattainable prize in all of Hogwarts: Hermione Granger.

The truth was, it was all a big excuse. Malfoy had carried a torch for Granger since the Triwizard Tournament in their Fourth Year. When the Champion from Durmstrang, Viktor Krum, had taken Granger to the Yule Ball, it showed all the oblivious males at Hogwarts that the Gryffindor swot was also an incredibly sexy witch. But back then, age was a more prominent issue. Hermione was the oldest one in their year, and at fifteen-years-old she was too much to handle for her classmates, many of them freshly turn fourteen. Things were different now: at seventeen-years-old, Draco Malfoy was tall, broad-shouldered, and hot. He had a fallout with his father a couple of years earlier, which made him reconsider his pureblood and anti-Gryffindor beliefs. His friends had always followed: Vincent Crabb was dating Lavender Brown. Gregory Goyle was taking remedial tutoring lessons in secret because he was hoping to ask Parvati Patil out by Valentine's day, but she may say no because of his bad grades. Draco felt free to pursue whomever he wanted, and he had wank plenty of times thinking about Granger. People tended to think of her as a prude, but he knew they were wrong. Granger got in trouble quite frequently, plus she was smart, bossy, and read way too many books. She had a habit of finding lonely library corners to sit on the floor and read. Last week Draco had followed her, and when she settled in a nook against a bookshelf, he had gone around it, carefully moved a couple of books, and sneaked his head through the shelf to take a peek at what she was reading. The passage went like this:

"To have her here in bed with me, breathing on me, her hair in my mouth—I count that something of a miracle."

Draco was so stunned he lifted his head and hit the shelf. Hermione got startled, and he squirmed out of there before getting caught. But now he was sure about it: when Hermione Granger founded secluded places to read because she was consuming dirty books. And Draco wanted to get very, very dirty with her.

Back to today, Hermione was shivering, slowly walking backward as Malfoy walked forward until he trapped her against a wall.

"Beg me, Granger," he growled in her ear. They surely were not talking about the stupid song anymore.

"I'm not begging," she said in a squeak. Dammit, Hermione, keep it together. You do not like the Ferret; you must certainly not. You do not think about how tall and broad he is now or noticed that he doesn't gel his hair anymore, and it now falls over his face in a very sexy way. No sir. You do not feel all hot and bothered because he's got you cornered, one arm on each side of you, numbing you with his stupidly expensive and delicious cologne. No, you do not think any of that.

"Come on, Granger. Beg me for one kiss," he said in her ear, then lowered his mouth to peck on the pulse of her neck. "Just one kiss."

"No!" she squealed before slipping under his arms and running away toward Gryffindor tower.

It took Draco a few seconds to react. He stomped behind her, but she made it to the portrait of the Fat Lady, shouted the password, and climbed in before he could reac her. The Lady shut the picture on his face.

"Back off, snake," the portrait said, nose lifted.

"Capital Draconis," he said triumphantly.

"Wrong password," the Fat Lady answered, smirking.

"Fuck!"

"Manners, young man!"

"Captive Draconis!" he tried.

"Wrong again," the Lady singsonged, making the other portraits giggle. They were drinking wine. The portrait woman sipped from her goblet and gave him a challenging brow.

Draco huffed and puffed; then an idea occurred to him.

"I can get you some excellent elvish wine. My family owns the best brand in the wizarding world."

"Honey, unless you become a portrait anytime soon, you cannot get it to me. Only portraits can commerce with other portraits. Better luck next time. Now go back to your dungeon," she said triumphantly.

"My name is Draco Lucius Malfoy-Black. Phineas Black is my great, great, great uncle. He will get the wine to you," Draco said with a malicious grin. The Fat Lady straightened up, now very interested.

"Make it two barrels," she ventured.

"Deal."

The portrait opened, letting him in. the Gryffindor common room was empty. Draco tiptoed, trying to think how to get Hermione down there without waking up the whole house. He saw the spiraling steps with female portraits and assumed it was the way to the girl's dorm. He took three steps up before the steps became a slide, and he rolled down in a very un-Malfoy way, making the pictures giggle.

"Dammit!" he cussed from the floor. When he lifted his gaze, an angry-looking house-elf was staring him down.

"You should not go to the ladies' rooms," the elf chastised before looking terrified.

"Dobby! Hi! Remember me?"

The elf looked like he was about to cry.

"Dobby, it's me, Draco. I was always good to you, remember? We used to play in my treehouse until Father forbid you to come near me."

Dobby's expression softened.

"Little Master Draco was always good to Dobby. He shared his pasties with Dobby," the elf said with nostalgia. "How can Dobby help you, sir?"

"Do you know Miss Hermione Granger?"

"Oh yes, sir. Miss Hermione gives Dobby many, many clothes." Only then Draco noticed that the creature was wearing layers over layers of clothing, including four or five socks on each of his ears. Granger had probably tried to give clothes to all elves, and this is where the clothes ended up.

"Can you get her for me?" Draco asked, almost supplicant.

The elf popped away. Hermione was sitting on her bed, curtains around closed, brushing her hair with Sleakeazy's hair potion, but it was NOT because she wanted her hair to look better the next time she saw the Ferret. No sir. She startled and dropped the brush when Dobby popped on top of her mattress.

"Dobby! What are you doing here?"

"Miss Hermione needs to come downstairs with Dobby. Tis' an emergency!"

Hermione jumped off the bed, running to the common room, thinking someone would be bleeding there. She screeched to a halt when she saw Draco Malfoy standing there.

"What did you do, Malfoy?" she said, pointing her wand at the blonde.

"Young Master Malfoy is lovesick, Miss Hermione. He's in loves with you, see?" Dobby said, pointing at the wizard's eyes, which were now big and bright at the sight of Granger wearing only a cotton camisole and delicate drawstring pajama pants. She looked both innocent and delightfully sinful.

Hermione lowered her wand, stunned.

"How did you," her question got interrupted by Malfoy's lips on hers. Her wand fell on the floor, and the next thing she knew, she was lying on a couch with her arms and legs tightly wrapped around Draco Malfoy, who somehow had lost his robes, shoes, pants, and tie and was now wearing only his uniform shirt and boxers. They would have done it right there and then if it wasn't for a scary voice that cried out in a Scottish accent:

"No sex in the common room! Fifty points from Gryffindor and Slytherin," said McGonagall, arms crossed over her chest. Another elf, Winky, was standing there with her, imitating her angry stance. "Say goodnight and go back to your dorm, Mr. Malfoy," she commanded, walking away. As she left through the portrait, they heard her speak, presumably to another professor. "Malfoy and Granger. Damn Seventh-Years. I remember a time where they waited to be officially betrothed before starting to drop off clothes."

The students put themselves together quickly, only to be startled once again by Dobby.

"Dobby is sorry. Other elves are sticklers for rules. But Dobby knows that love is more important than rules," he added with a satisfied nod before popping away.

Draco put on pants, gathered the rest of his clothes, and asked:

"Walk you to breakfast tomorrow?"

Hermione beamed, jumping to kiss him one last time.

"I would love that."