"I must control this itch" he mumbled to himself as he breathed deeply, "Granger needs to be mine".

A week now had passed and the potion had worn, she was no longer was his own, no more did she yearn for him; yet it seemed he sought her more than before. He would ache for her when others were afar; stare at her when no one was watching. At night he would think of her as he lay in his bed; he would fall asleep thinking of her, dream about her and wake up throbbing for her. During classes his attention never strayed far from her, he watched her as she jotted down notes, licked his lips when she would chew on the end of her quill; smirk in recollection as she would brush her hair impatiently from her face. As he saw her in the corridors he would envisage dragging her into dark corners and ravaging her body; when she was with others he wanted to rip them apart limb from limb. Every time he closed his eyes he saw her face. He wanted to touch her bushy hair again, to feel it slide through his fingers; he wanted to feel her lips pressed snug against his own. Holding her hand in his as they walked through the corridors was a dream to never come true; holding her before an audience, kissing her without the fear of someone watching seemed to be a chapter from a romance novel. The thought of being able to freely gaze into her caramel-brown eyes had him in delight, and the thought of having her body flush up against his own had him in ecstasy.

His feelings had not faded as he once thought they would, the potion had simply made them worse. He had tasted the forbidden fruit and wanted more. He wanted to taste it again and again, he wanted to feel its skin against his lips; he wanted to breathe in its scent. He wanted to be intoxicated by it, by her. There was nothing more in this world that he wanted more, nothing, no one who could satisfy his hunger for her. She was the only one that could scratch his itch, and the only one that didn't want him.

When he saw her smile, he wished she was smiling at him; when she cried he wanted nothing more than to hide her away from the cruel world. Her laugh sounded like music in his ears; her desperate screams had him running to her rescue. When her brows furrowed in concentration he melted; when she nibbled the end of her quill he wanted to gather her up in his arms and take her for his own. He forever wanted to be there to soothe her fears, to brush away her tears and take away her problems. He was drowning in her every emotion; every thought was captured by her. He needed her and she had no idea.

It seemed only moments ago that she was his; that she was under him moaning his name and now she gave nothing more than a glare. This was not enough, he needed more; there was no question about it. He loved everything about her; her hair, her voice, her body; he loved that she was so much better than him. But she would never see the good in him, no matter how hard he tried to show her. It was inevitable. She would always see the Lucius Malfoy in him; she would always see the bad in him. Never would she see him, Draco Malfoy, as a changed individual.

He needed to show her how he was now, how he had changed, how he had improved. He wouldn't be able to use his normal charms; chocolates wouldn't work a second time, she didn't drink liquor, she was too practical for flowers and love-notes. There was however, that foundation she formed in fourth year, Spew It Up, or something like that. He could offer to donate money; he could be the funding that lobbied her campaign against House Elf enslavement. That would show he cares, that he has compassion for things not involving himself. It would demonstrate his change, that he didn't consider pure-bloods above everyone else.

Now he just had to wait for her, he had to sit in the Great Hall until he saw her enter and then offer her his donation. She would have to take it, if all else failed, she would just try and pay the elves with it, preposterous idea, but she would try. Smirking at the thought of House Elves on beach holidays, he saw her enter the great hall, a beam of light from the enchanted ceiling seeming to follow her to her seat, as though guiding him to his prize.

"Granger, I need to speak to you." He stuttered, suddenly finding it hard to speak in front of her, his cool manner seeming to disappear as soon as he began to speak.

"Very well, you have two minutes," She replied curtly not once looking up from the newspaper that had immediately landed before her.

"I wish to make a donation to your Elf foundation," he blurted out quietly not wishing others to hear of his involvement in her thing.

"S.P.E.W.? The Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare?" she questioned before sharply asking "How much?"

"Would One-Hundred-Thousand Galleons be enough to start you off?" he asked coyly, "Why don't we meet in the common room in thirty minutes to settle this?"

Thirty Minutes Later…

They were sitting apart, like bookends on the ends of the same couch. She was pressed up far away from him; he was leaning towards her, his arm resting comfortably on the plush pillows lining the back of the couch. Her breath was shallow, her eyes quickly darting around the room, always coming back to him as she wrung her hands nervously in her lap. He knew her hair was tied back at the nape of her neck, he knew she had a book hidden down the side of the couch. He could tell her fingers were aching to feel the aged parchment lined with faded script; he just knew she didn't want to speak.

Staring determinately into the flames of the hearth, he tried to put his mind wherever she was not. He thought of tropical islands, the hot sandy deserts, the pleasure of naked women, but every time she was there. He ached for her body, craved for her touch; throbbed thinking of her scent. He could remember her taste, the feel of her skin touching his own and could feel himself growing. His breathing hastened, his heart rate soared; he needed to get her out of his mind. He needed to scratch that itch one last time. He knew she would never stay his, the potion would never last forever, but perhaps he would get one last chance. One last chance to scratch that persistent itch named Hermione Granger.

Moving closer, he slowly closed the gap between them until he could feel the heat from her body and the breath from her lungs. Stringing his arm around her neck he moved his lips to meet the skin stretched over her collarbone until the hair that strung down her back in waves of curls rubbed against his arm as she turned around to face him. Her eyes searched his face, her lips tantalisingly moved as she seemed to be searching for words; hunting for her way to say no. As he watched, he yearned to lean close and capture her lips with his; to feel their soft, silky texture against his own. Closing his eyes, he leant forward, desperate to fulfil his dream, his destiny almost; but to his amazement never met it.

Opening his eyes, he saw her pressed away from him, her mouth seemingly miles away. "What's wrong?" he asked, concern thickly dripping from his tongue.

As her eyes cast downwards, she whispered the words he hated to hear, "I'm sorry Draco, but I just can't. I can't do this with you."

Lifting her chin with his almost-spindly fingers, he looked her in the eye, his stormy-grey orbs focusing fully on the pools of caramel-brown that made him weak, before he angrily spat words at her, words that he had never inclined to articulate to her before, "What do you mean you can't do this with me? We've done it twice now, do you not remember wench! Two times you fucked me, and you're not fucking me over now!"

Flames licked menacingly at the edges of her eyes as her eyes narrowed almost to slits, "Me fucking you over? I'm sorry, I don't remember feeding you chocolates laced with love-potion. Or was it lust? Let me go check, I had it tested Malfoy, I have the results!" she ranted, her cheeks blushing with anger as she looked upon him with remorseless fury.

As realisation spread across his face, his anger disappeared leaving nothing but bare shock. He couldn't believe it, that this girl before him, the girl that he had desired, chose to hide behind the truth. That she acted as though under enchantment to hide her emotions in a very Slytherin way. He almost had trouble believing it, but it made sense, Hermione would never take a chance to that scale, she would never trust him; to her, he would always be the Death-Eaters son.

When his eyes spread wide and his jaw fell slack from disbelief, his grip on her shoulders slackened slightly enough for her to wrench herself free, "You didn't eat the chocolates?" he muttered, his voice audible only for her to hear in the empty room.

Scowling, she looked at him, vengeance clearly portraying in her eye, her voice lowering to a sneer, "You actually thought that I would so daft to eat what you fed me; that I wouldn't think before I acted? I knew what I was doing every moment that we were together Malfoy, and I know, that you don't deserve me."

Taking a deep breath, he had to stop. He needed to think, he needed to calm himself down. There was so much to consider, so many consequences if he told her just what he needed to tell her. If he told her; she could think of him as weak, as a stalker, pervert, freak, anything. She could hate him for the rest of her life; wish death upon him, wreak her revenge, or get him expelled. He had no idea, she was unpredictable, crazy in every sense of the word and that's why he loved her. Yes, he loved her that was for sure; he had to tell her, screw the consequences. When he tells her she will swoon into his arms and fall deeper in love with him than before. When they had finished school, they would get married, have children, retire, grow old, and eventually they would die together. Forever they would be together. Forever she will be his.

"But Hermione —" he started as she glowered at him unrelentingly "—I think I love you Hermione. I need you more than the oxygen I am forced to breathe. I want you more than I have ever wanted before." his throat had constricted making it hard to breathe; his pulse had increased pulsing in his head as he tried to focus on anything but her. The way her hair was shining in the firelight was stunning, her perfume intoxicating, everything about her made him ache all over. He wanted her and there was no way around it.

"If you loved me you wouldn't have done that!" Hermione exclaimed, her hands gesturing wildly around her, demonstrating her furious disbelief. He could see her chest heaving beneath her uniform, her manicured hands now rested in her lap fidgeting with the hem of her skirt; folding and unfolding the edge continually.

"I did what I had to do to get you! I needed you to love me for a moment, I needed you Hermione!" he pleaded, his eyebrows scrunched together in the middle, his lips turned downwards. "I knew when I first saw you that you had to be mine; you are my sedation, you are my life; you are the solution to my endless itch. I love you too much to not have you now Hermione." He finished as his hands gently stroked her own which he now held loosely and his eyes intensely staring into her own.

Watching as she took a deep breath, he waited, with his breathing laboured in anticipation for her confession of her love for him. He wanted to hear her tell him how much she loved him, how long she had waited to hear those words tumble from his mouth. Instead he heard what he had not expected, what he did not want to hear.

"I'm sorry Draco, but I don't think I can love you, yet."

Hello all, I hope you enjoyed that chapter and review it! I'm so pleased 35 reviews so far, 27 alerts, and 11 favourites...

What i would really like is that I could get about 20 reviews for this chapter...that would be great, afterall 27 of you have it on alerts, and I have tonnes of hits, like 3375 so far, so please REVIEW after you've read this and tell me if you like it or not :D

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Queen of the Scoubies