A/N: Truly sorry for how long it is taking to update. Life is not getting much better than it was. Got to visit my aunt and say my good-bye's, which is both a relief and just really damn depressing. My neice and sister have recovered from the flu, thank Goodness, and life is getting back to normal so I should be able to post a bit more regularly. For those still hanging in there, thank you!

Chapter 7: Distractions

Hermione arrived at the portrait of the Fat Lady still in a huff but determined to enjoy her evening with her friends…housemates…whatever. She would play Exploding Snap, talk about quidditch, eat sweets like she had never even heard of tooth decay, and have a good time, damn it! Even though none of those activities were what she would consider a good time. Even though the idea of playing happy when she wasn't actually happy gave her the scratch. Even though being in a small room stuffed to the gills with rowdy teenagers, laughter, yelling, and couples inevitably snogging made her want to tear her hair out. Even though there was a fair chance she would be accosted by memories of other nights in the common room and Gryffindors gone too soon.

Courage, Hermione. Deal with what happens when it happens and don't worry about things that haven't, and may not, come to pass.

Giving the password (thanks, Gin for remembering to give it to me) she stepped into…silence and staring eyes, glares and gaping mouths, concern and pity, anger and contempt, and the usual smattering of misplaced hero worship. Instinctively, she took a step backward, bumping into tall and built like a brick wall.

"Sorry, Neville," she apologized automatically. Yes, even Hermione Granger had noticed that Neville had pulled an ugly duckling in the short months since the war and so knew who she had bumped into without looking.

"Make it up to me by explaining what the hell is going on with you and Malfoy," he mumbled into her ear, deep voice rumbling and sending a shiver down her spine.

Hermione turned her head, tilting it to look into his face instead of his neck. He looked curious more so than concerned or contemptuous and she needed someone to talk to that might not be so judgmental (read Ginevra Weasley) so she nodded, grabbed his hand (and when did those get so big and rough?) and dragged him into the stairwell leading to the base of the tower where she had once conjured a flock of birds and flung them at Ron. Muffling and privacy charms followed and soon enough she was seated on the stone floor, facing Neville like girlfriends at a slumber party.

Neville must have made a similar connection because he smiled, revealing perfect teeth no doubt achieved through magic but no less attractive because of it, and said, "As long as you don't ask me to brush your hair," before joining her on the floor, leaning back against the wall and resting his arms on his spread and raised knees.

"I don't think you would survive such an undertaking, Neville," Hermione quipped and ignored the slight tingle down her spine when he threw back his head and laughed, though it did help reinforce her conclusion that she wasn't necessarily attracted to Malfoy but rather just sexually frustrated because as good looking as he had inexplicably become, he was still Neville and not even close to her type.

When Neville finally quieted, Hermione began, starting with their encounter on the train and ending with her sprawled atop him in front of her door with his hands up her shirt. She left nothing out including her thoughts and feelings before, during, and after each interaction with the blonde which she hadn't even told Ginny. Neville simply listened, nodding here and there, but keeping his own opinions to himself.

"So?" she finally asked him, inviting him to share those opinions and impart some words of wisdom that would help her deal with…all of it…like some reincarnation of Dumbledore.

"So…," Neville drawled, that one syllable meaning nothing and yet everything all at once.

"Shite! I thought you'd say that!" Hermione wailed, flinging herself backwards onto the floor and covering her face in the most dramatic fashion possible for one so logical and pragmatic. "What do I do then, since you have all the answers?"

"Well," Neville once again made a single syllable sound like a dozen.

"No, I can't do that," Hermione insisted, sitting back up and shooting to her feet in a single move that was quite an impressive display of core strength. "We hated each other for years. He was an arse to me. We fought on opposite sides. What would everyone think? Not that I care but I just don't want the hassle of hate mail, more than I already have that is, and dodging hexes in the hallway. Plus, I have to live with him. What if things didn't work out? How awkward would that be? Give me something else."

"You could…" Neville began, eyes towards the ceiling in deep concentration as Hermione paced the diameter of the tiny room. "But then…"

"Yes, but then…if people found out! And what if I'm not built for casual sex? What if it starts that way but doesn't stay that way for me but he doesn't want more than that? Or what if he wants more and I don't? Oh, why couldn't I just shag you and have done with it? But, no, I have to go and be attracted to Malfoy of all people!"

"Well, there's always…"Again, Neville trailed off.

"No," Hermione responded, once again guessing where Neville's head was at. "That is a possible solution and while it might work for a day or two it doesn't actually eradicate the problem so much as provide temporary relief. And besides, I already tried and he was still in my head so not really a solution after all." Hermione was not embarrassed to admit that she had attempted masturbation, recently, and found it unsatisfactory. "I'll just have to find someone else. If I find someone else to focus my attention on, I'm sure he'll move on as well or this…thing…will go away. Right? RIGHT?!"

"But who?" Neville asked, more to himself than to Hermione. He wanted to help his friend, honestly and truly, but she had shot down his ideas and so he was a bit lost.

"Well, it can't be a Hufflepuff," Hermione stated. "Too clingy and too boring to keep my attention long enough. No offense to Hannah, Neville."

"None taken. I like them clingy and boring," he answered good-naturedly. "Ravenclaw would keep your interest. All those academic conversations."

"But they can be so…dispassionate? Unemotional? They might keep my attention when discussing homework assignments but who's to say that will transfer well to the bedroom? Or abandoned classroom which, let's face it, is more likely. I need something that will override this ridiculous physical attraction and only an equally ridiculous physical attraction will do."

"Well, there are plenty of good looking Gryffindors but they won't be able to keep up with your intellect. Let's face it; you might need to go looking for another Slytherin, in which case you might as well just shag the one you've already got. If it's just physical, I say find a bloke who gets your knickers wet and go for it. Who cares if he doesn't' know the difference between monkshood and wormwood?" Neville found himself engulfed in a warm hug as Hermione threw herself into his lap. He lowered his legs to make more room for her and she buried her face in his neck.

"Thank you for not being super judgmental and actually trying to help me," Hermione mumbled into his shoulder. "What would I do without you?"

Neville wrapped his arms around his friend and rested his chin atop her curly head. "Owl Harry and Ron, probably. But I don't mind being their stand-in. Besides, this is the most exciting thing I've had to deal with since May and, to be honest, I was getting a bit bored. As long as there is no death looming on the horizon, I'll take dealing with your love life…sex life?...over another game of Exploding Snap, hands down."

Hermione laughed, kissing Neville's cheek before crawling off his lap and helping him to his feet. In her head she was running down a list of possible partners, crossing them off one-by-one. In fact, the majority of the possibilities she would even consider were graduated and gone from Hogwarts. While the conversation with Neville had been enlightening, she still didn't have a ready solution to her problem. She decided she would use meal times in the Great Hall to survey her options and compile an organized list of pros and cons.

Maybe I can conduct interviews?

"Please, I'm begging you; let me sit in on those if you decide to do it! I just want to see the looks on their faces!" Neville laughed.

"Was that out loud?" Hermione asked, a bit perturbed that she was apparently mumbling to herself again.

"No," Neville smirked. "I know you, though, and you had that crazy look in your eye that said you were overanalyzing and obsessively planning. What else could you do when trying to pick the perfect partner but conduct interviews? It's only logical after all."

"Oh, hush you!" Hermione ordered, smacking his surprisingly firm bicep. Seriously, why can't I just shag Neville and release some of this tension?

"I'm not your type. Hannah would object...violently if you can believe it of a 'puff. And you would regret it in the morning and not speak to me for a month out of humiliation and awkwardness," Neville ticked off, once again reading her mind…or her face…or her body language. Whatever.

"That's beginning to creep me out, Nev," Hermione admitted, to which Neville just laughed.

Arm in arm, the pair made their way back into the common room where, thankfully, Ginny had apparently been hard at work diffusing some of the tension, apprising her housemates of the truth of the situation (though it was probably highly embellished with words like poor Hermione and had no choice and follow her example and house unity with the possibility of a few well-placed reminders of her heroine status or status as Harry Potter's best friend; yes, that Harry Potter). The room was much more welcoming and hardly anyone spared her a glance.

She did all that she swore to do and more, losing spectacularly at Exploding Snap and wizarding chess, faking her way through a quidditch discussion, and eating a chocolate frog and a sugar quill. And a licorice wand. And a handful of Bertie Bott's, though she did stop after getting a liver flavored one and a distinct quiver of nausea deep in her belly. Before she knew it, the fire had died down, little lions and big alike were heading towards their beds, and curfew was fast approaching. She hugged her friends and promised to repeat the evening soon.

Though she hadn't spent any time with large groups aside from the Weasley's, it had felt nice to let go again, even for a little bit. Of course, it was night again and she was alone in a dark hallway with no one to distract her from her thoughts, a dark hallway that was filled with all manner of nightmarish creatures and Death Eaters the last time she had chanced down it. Memories she wished she didn't have barreled down on her until she was running through the halls towards her dorm, towards relative safety. Towards Draco Malfoy who seemed to understand and wasn't expecting her to have moved on and act happy for everyone else's sake.

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She was screaming again. Draco hadn't silenced his room because he wanted to hear her when she came in. Not that he was worried about her or anxious to see her or anything. He was really curious as to how she would react when she realized her wards were down on her room and the box…that box….was open. His evening had been lonely and boring and he wanted a bit of sport to take his mind off of…well….everything, really. But she had entered the dorm and gone straight to her room, not even pausing to take down any wards had there been any, nor acknowledging their absence in any way.

It was fine, though, because she would eventually notice and he would get his fun. He was awake a bit longer, listening to her moving around her room, preparing for bed, until silence reigned and he realized she had gone to sleep. Draco rolled over and closed his eyes, hoping that his brain would take the hint and shut down, too. His afternoon nap though must have thrown his sleep schedule out of whack because his thoughts wouldn't stop rolling and he didn't feel sleepy in the slightest.

Tossing and turning for nearly 30 minutes wasn't helpful at all so he sat up, sighed resignedly, and cast a lumos, grabbing his text books and starting on homework assignments not due for days. It was while in the middle of a particularly difficult formula that the first scream came, scaring the ever-loving shit out of him and causing him to jump hard enough to send his books crashing to the floor. Just like the previous night, she was dreaming about Malfoy Manor, Easter, and his aunt. And just like the night before, his name came out of her mouth. Unlike that night, however, she wasn't screaming his name in pain, but rather what sounded like begging, seeking mercy. Or salvation.

Putting his hand against the wall, too cowardly to listen to her ask for his help when he knew he hadn't been willing to provide it, hadn't been brave enough to save her, he was about to cast the spell when the witch screamed his name again, tone switching from pleading for his help, to pleading with him to stop, as if he had taken place of Bellatrix-mad-as-a-damn-hatter-Lestrange in her torture scene.

"Please," she panted. "Draco, please, I swear I didn't take it. Please, don't, please, don't…PLEASE! PLEEEEEEEEASE! AAAAAAAGH!"

Knowing she hadn't reset her wards and probably hadn't with the password either, and that he wasn't going to be able to sleep anyway, and that he didn't care to be thought of as a torturer, and that "rescuing" her would probably work in his favor further down the road, Malfoy made a different decision than he had made the night before. He stood from his bed, shucked his shirt because she had been very interested in his chest earlier and it couldn't hurt any, (again, consummate Slytherin) and found himself in front of her door before he could consider what type of hex she might throw at him were he to enter her rooms.

Not bothering to knock, he flung open the door, correct about the password situation, and strode over to her bedside, noting her wild hair, the sweat on her brow and upper lip, the very tiny pair of pale pink panties and the tissue thin, oversized shirt she had worn earlier, which had ridden up and twisted around her torso as she tossed and turned in the throes of her nightmare. Her legs jackknifed and scissored back and forth almost as if she had no control of them. Thoughts of her panties fled his mind almost as quickly as they had entered it.

Going against his better judgment, Draco reached out a hand and grabbed her shoulder, shaking her gently and calling her name. It was as if his touch was a catalyst for something truly catastrophic. Her entire body started to shake violently, like the after effects of a particularly strong crucio, and her eyes popped wide, pupils completely blown in abject terror, mouth wide in a silent scream, as if all the air had been stolen from her.

Not knowing what else to do, Draco threw his body on top of hers, pinning her legs with his own to keep her still and tangling his fingers in hers, raising her hands above her head and keeping them there. He shoved his face close to hers, foreheads touching, his sterling eyes meeting hers, nearly black in her fear, the deep mahogany eaten up by the onyx of her pupils.

"Granger, wake up!" he demanded. "C'mon, kitten, snap out of it. You're safe here; nobody is going to hurt you. You're safe."

Draco kept repeating that she was safe, here, with him, while her body bucked and rolled in remembered pain until he finally felt her entire body clench tight as a bow string for a heartbeat…two...and then it was like all of her bones were removed from her body; she went liquid underneath him, sinking into the mattress under his weight, her entire body relaxing from her eyelids right down to her toes. Draco stayed where he was, though he lifted his torso away from hers and released her hands to balance his weight on his arms.

Slowly, after a mini eternity, her eyes raised to meet his once more, seeing him for the first time in the ten minutes or so he had been atop her. He tried not to let it bother him when her eyes flashed in recognition and fear, even though the fear was quickly replaced with relief. He gave it another moment until he felt her entire body shudder beneath him as if shaking off the nightmare, the fear, the relived pain, and then he released her, though he didn't go far.

Draco rolled off of Hermione to lie beside her on the bed, panting with exhaustion and wiping sweat from his forehead with his equally sweaty arm. Merlin, that was exhausting. He listened to Hermione panting next to him and for once was actually a bit ashamed where his thoughts went, flashes of sweaty and panting and very naked running across the front of his mind before he could stop it. What kind of monster am I? How could I possibly feel like that, think like that, when she was just screaming in terror…tortured? What the hell is wrong with me? I even came into her room half naked when I knew…I knew she was…fuck!

His thoughts were interrupted by the weight of Hermione Granger turning and tucking her body against his side, her sweat-dampened hair falling into his face as she pressed her nose into his neck and cried, great, heaving sobs wracking her tiny body and his. He didn't know what to do with crying women. Slytherin women, and pureblooded women in general, kept their emotions in check until behind closed doors. He had no experience with this and so did the one thing he wished someone had been able to do for him when he cried. He adjusted his position so that he could wrap the weeping witch in his arms, pulling her as close to his chest as he could, burying a hand in her hair, shushing her as one would a babe, and just holding her until she finally cried herself out and fell into the sleep of the truly exhausted, Draco following close behind.

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Thursday morning bloomed bright, engulfing Hermione's room in yellow, pink, and red and rousing the pair, still entwined, on the bed. Hermione came to all at once, eyes opening and field of vision filling with the sight of a strong, if somewhat pointed jaw stubbled in white. She gasped, senses filling with the smell of him, musky but not unpleasant, and the feel of him, solid against her, strong arms wrapped around her and a muscled thigh pressed between her own.

Of course, she remembered her state of undress at the same time that she noticed his, her fingers curling against his lean chest, their tips tickled by his chest hair, sparse as it was. It took her a moment to realize that his heartbeat had sped up, signaling that he too had awakened and was aware of their position and minimal attire. His hand slipped down to her hip, pulling her tighter against him and his thigh shifted higher, just brushing her knickers.

Hermione's hips rolled quite involuntarily and her nails dug into Draco's chest, causing him to hiss and roll his hips in response, his regard for her making itself very known against her belly. Hermione was pretty sure she whimpered and Draco responded by tightening his hold on her hip and using his free hand to pull her head back by the hair and forcing her to look him in the eye.

Draco raised an eyebrow as he experimentally rolled his hips against hers again. Her quickened breath and the sudden dampness between her thighs which he had to have felt even through his pajamas must have been the response he was looking for because he growled low in his throat, twisted them both until she was on her back with him between her spread thighs, and attacked her mouth with his own, thrusting his tongue inside in rhythm with the grinding of his hips.

It was like no other kiss she had ever had. Viktor was tentative, shy, and Ron's kisses were like a summer day, warm and pleasant. But Malfoy's kiss…Merlin, Morgana, and the sweet baby Jesus! His kiss was like fire, burning her from the inside out. He licked every part of her mouth, determined to touch and taste every last bit of her, nipping at her lips and coaxing her tongue to return the favor. His hands slid down the length of her body until he could grab her by the knees and raise her legs up to cradle his hips before they slid back again, fingers playing with the edge of her knickers. All the while his erection rubbed and rubbed against her core, until the gusset of her pink panties was soaked and so was the front of his sleep pants. And still he rubbed.

His lips left hers to kiss a wet trail down the side of her neck and Hermione arched towards the caress, inviting him to suck and bite to his heart's content. She buried her hands in his hair to keep him at her neck, marveling momentarily at the silken texture before the tide of pleasure took her over and all she could think about was his lips and tongue and teeth meeting where her neck curved into her shoulder, and about his cock grinding faster and faster against her swollen clit, and about his hands shoving her shirt up around her neck and latching onto her breasts to squeeze, pinch, and roll her nipples.

Holy shit but sex had never felt like this before, not even in the earlier days of Hermione and Ron when they couldn't quite get enough of each other, enough of the bliss. Hermione wrapped her legs around his waist, digging her heels into his ass and arching up into his thrusts. The pressure felt amazing but it wasn't quite enough. Hermione released Draco's hair to grab at the waistband of his sleep pants instead, trying to push them down and out of the way, hinting at what she wanted.

Draco apparently wasn't in the mood to argue with her. Within seconds he had helped her shove his pants down and, pushing her panties aside without removing them, he thrust hard and deep into her warm, wet, willing, and waiting pussy. He filled her up, stretching her around his cock, and didn't bother waiting for her to adjust before he started thrusting. The sex was fast and rough. Hands went everywhere they could reach, as did teeth and tongues. Draco bit at her nipples, pulled her hair, and at one point shoved her knees into her chest, rolling her up like a ball of dough and jackhammering into her. He dropped a hand to where they were joined and used his thumb to circle her clit faster and faster until she came screaming and spasming around his cock.

Draco followed a few deep and furious thrusts later, releasing her legs so they flopped uselessly to the side and collapsing atop her, his face buried in the pillow next to her wild mane of hair. It took a few minutes for the tremors of aftershocks to stop and for sweat to cool and heartbeats to return to normal. They both seemed to realize what they had done at the same time, Draco rolling away from her and Hermione rolling the opposite way, leaving the bed and the room and rushing for the sanctuary of the shower.

What did I just do? Holy shit, what did we just do? I just fucked Draco Malfoy…well, to be honest he fucked me but…holy shit, what did I just do? I have hated him for seven years. We've been back two days! What the hell is happening to me?