Cry Me Tears of Fire

Pensive Puddles

"Don't you think we should have the cloak at least half way on, just in case?" Hermione asked nervously, as she glanced at the closed door. She had sneaked into Harry's room and taken his invisibility cloak easily since no one in Harry's room was staying at Hogwarts for the holidays.

"I don't like being under stuffy things like that. It's harder to read and you constantly have to be conscious that the cloak's covering you completely," Draco commented without pausing in his scanning in the Dark Book in his hands. "Unless of course, Hermione, you want to snuggle with me under the cloak?"

He raised one of his eyebrows and shot her a smug look. Hermione blushed and frowned while growling, "Leave it to you to twist everything I say into some sick pick-up line for you to grope me."

"I said no such thing of wanting to grope you. Those dirty thoughts are all yours," he remarked, flipping a page, but unable to hide his smile. She joined in. She enjoyed this type of bickering. It was playful, not mean. Hermione looked over at him, and watched his brow crinkle, as he tried to understand the dark text before him. Dark writing is always more complex to translate, let alone comprehend. It was trying even on Hermione's mind. She rested her eyes, and glanced at the clock that ticked over the doorway.

It was three in the morning. After the…incident at Hogsmead, Hermione had taken them back to Hogwarts using one of the shortcuts that the Marauders Map had shown her. Even though she never really told him where the map was originally from, he still was thoroughly impressed by the ingenious work involved in the map. Once they returned back to their rooms, Draco watched Hermione wrap the gifts she bought. He had never had to wrap his presents before and he had questioned why would she wrap them herself when she could just pay someone to do it for her. He was even more curious with her answer: it adds a personal touch.

He thought that was just plain stupid. Hermione didn't bother to argue. Either way, she had fun watching Draco sip his hot chocolate, trying to warm his body from the icy winds that she had inflicted upon him, or else he was trying to inflict even more guilt on her, which was probably the likeliest guess of the two. Nevertheless, she let him wrap one of the presents with her. It's incredibly how much amusement one can receive in watching Draco attempt to use tape, trying to cut it from the jagged edge. Sometimes he would continue to pull forward and down, making little squiggly lines in the tape and stretch it. He did catch on quickly and learn how to properly use it, in which he started to take pieces and put them in her hair, or placing it in the middle of her back and watching her squirm to take it off.

It was like he was a little boy for one moment. Hermione found it marvelous to behold. After two attempts of wrapping the same present because Draco was continuously unsatisfied with how the present looked, or how some of the paper appeared crinkly, or else the bow was uneven, Draco sobered up to his old self: becoming calm and finding tape not as thrilling as it once was. Hermione had a feeling that he had caught himself in what he had been doing, and finding it immature and so unlike himself, become uncomfortable and stopped, and then believed he had to act as sophisticated as he had always strived to act. Hermione still had to wrap his present, but that one was hidden in her room, away from the others. She hoped he liked his present, it was a last minuet gift: a silver lighter. It looked quite sleek, and it wasn't cheap, or expensive. But she had noticed how he liked to play with his lighter, and she thoughtfully thought he might like a new one. She was still debating whether or not to give it to him.

Do not judge so quickly. Hermione knew she didn't have to get Draco a present; he wasn't getting her one. So why did she spend her extra galleon on her enemy? Some might say that she was buying a gift to further please him into teaching her. Others might even go as far as to say that really, she had a deep, burning infatuation for him that was finally being reveled in Christmas cheer. And those 'others' are the ones completely reading in the wrong direction because she didn't love him, not in any respects. She found him amusing, interesting, intelligent, and quite handsome, but she knew that she could never love him because he wasn't her type; he wasn't what she had dreamed up at night to be her perfect man. Draco was far from it. And maybe the answer will remain unknown. Maybe Hermione bought it because she had always grown up in the 'give instead of receiving' moral. Or maybe she couldn't really understand why she bought it, but it just felt right, and she liked going with her 'just feels right' feelings.

After wrapping gifts and sending them off, they toddled off to the library. It was closed early, and not many students spent their time in the library anyway, except Hermione. But, after grabbing Harry's cloak and sneaking into the locked library, they sat down in the Restricted Area and carefully looked for books. At first, Hermione had to ask him which ones were safe. It seemed that Draco knew a lot about Dark books, which ones would wail and which ones would be toxic to the touch. After her own fingers had been singed by just touching the spine of the cover, Draco had taken the books for her, all those that were touchable. And he would perform the spells that would produce the anti-spell to keep poison from oozing from the pores of the books and burning their skin.

After four hours, they hadn't come across anything helpful, and it was wearing down her spirits of hope of expanding her skills. Hermione was also getting incredibly tired. She had to stifle yawns constantly, and when one did pass through her lips, she would hear Draco yawn back in return.

"Do you know anything originally about Controlling an Element?" she asked, putting back another useless book. She started to wrap a curl around her finger, a habit her hands had made when they had nothing else to do.

"Don't twirl your hair like that," Draco said, pulling her hand away from her hair. Hermione's stomach made a tiny twist at the mere touch of his palm against her skin. She reasoned that she must have been hungry but she dismissed the thought of food from her mind and gave a quick glare.

"Why do you care?" she snapped, reaching for her hair again.

"Because it distracts my thoughts, and it makes you look like one of those ditzy girls who twirl their hair and pop their gum," Draco retorted, slapping her hand lightly away from her face. She scowled and then lowered her hand only to play with her skirt. Draco rolled his eyes.

"So?" she continued as if nothing happened. "Do you know anything?"

"I don't know much. I vaguely recall that a person can control at least two elements, and the last person who was able to control more ended up exploding himself into ashes." Hermione shuddered at the thought.

"You become more emotional when you control an element," Draco continued, "because its main power source feasts on your emotions. Therefore, to be a good controller, you must funnel your emotions to a certain area that the Element can feast on without hurting yourself in the process. The controller must not loose control of himself, or herself, and I'm sure you can relate to that." He sent her a shrewd look.

She felt her cheeks warm at remembering how she had levitated in the air and had sent Draco flying backwards, making him dig his nails into the ground for support. She had to admit, however, she enjoyed the experience: being able to lift herself up off the ground. Again she wondered if Draco could read her thoughts because he lectured immediately, "You could have killed yourself if you hadn't had stopped."

"What? How?" she asked, startled. All she remembered was this stormy feeling inside her lower gut, spreading into her chest. She had felt so alive, so wild. It was exhilarating.

"Haven't you been listening?" he sighed agitatedly, which annoyed her. "Three reasons: One, if you become the controlled, and not the controller, you'll be eaten from the inside out by the element you posses. Two, you let your emotions get the best of you, and therefore, you almost sent me flying into a tree. I know you would have enjoyed seeing that, but -- and this is reason number three -- think if you were in a public place? You could have sent people flying into buildings and through windows, injuring them. The Ministry of Magic will tag you.

"Do you know what they do to Dark Magic controllers like us?" he said, staring her squarely in her eyes. Hermione grabbed her skirt. Us? She wished his eyes weren't so harsh and martinet. She shook her head.

"They'll hunt us down, force us into hiding. And believe me, all those that control such Dark powers do go into hiding. Always nagging, always "checking up" on you, you have not one moment of piece from the Ministry. They raid your house continually. They make up excuses to check what you have. They have spies that watch your every move, trace your every step, record your every word. You have no privacy. Why? Because they're scared. They're scared of how powerful you could become. How you could become so powerful that you could destroy them with a simple chant, a simple wave of your hand. They are terrified of you and are terrified that you could overthrow them. They're jealous of what you have. They can never reach your potential because Dark Magic only inhabits the very few. Like us."

Like us…like us…she thought, repeating his words. She felt like a mutant, an outcast, and she, oddly, liked the sound, liked the idea of being different, found the idea ironic that the only person who was like her was once her worst enemy. Hermione looked away again. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get so out of control. You were right. I could have seriously injured you, maybe even killed you."

Draco didn't say anything, only continued to pick books off the shelves and glancing through them.

"Do you think it's possible," she said, trying to ease the tension between them, "to manipulate our elements to do our own biding? For instance, could you start a fire without having to use your lighter? I remember you once waved your hand at the fireplace and it sprung to life--"

"That was because the embers were still lit. I can make something like that grow into a large flame, but there must be a little bit of fire already alive. I don't know if it is possible," he said, not taking his eyes away from the small text in his lap. She wished he would look at her.

"Do you think there'd be a way, you know, for me to actually fly?" she asked, holding her breath as she waited for the answer.

"Maybe. I don't know," he said bluntly, not even remotely interested in the possibility of her being able to exploit an element to that degree. "As for now, let's just focus on trying to manipulate our powers to control small objects, like books and quills."

"How long do you think it will take?" she asked eagerly. She'd love to fly. She would be defying gravity in some regards, but at least she'd know then that she would be able to catch herself if she fell.

"I don't know!" he yelled. She jumped at the harshness in his voice and was taken back by the intense glare he was giving her. All she did was ask questions. She didn't mean for him to get so upset about it. What crawled up his arse and died was what she angrily wanted to demand, but instead she froze in her spot as they both heard the heavy footfalls of Filch and the greasy sounding speech he used when he talked to his pet.

"Did you hear that, Mrs. Norris? I think someone's out of bed. Let's go catch them if we can, and we will, won't we sweetie?" the old janitor rasped.

Hermione vaguely noticed how he reminded her of Gollum. She had no chance to voice her thought as Draco quickly grabbed the invisibility cloak and pulled it over them. "Nox," he whispered urgently and his light extinguished from the tip of his wand. Hermione quickly summoned hers to douse itself as well and tried to calm her nervous breathing.

Her breath caught in her throat as she felt Draco move closer to her, bringing his knees up further to curl in a ball. It was an odd feeling. She could feel his arm around her waist, and she knew her arm was under him and clasped to the middle of his back. Her legs were tangled up with his and his breath was beating down about her nose and trickling down her chest. She felt herself shudder at the feeling and she wanted to smack herself. Merlin's beard, she was thankful for the darkness. She didn't want him to see her embarrassment. Not because of the situation (well, because of the situation), but mostly because -- Merlin save her soul if the secret was revealed to any other-- she enjoyed the feeling of him pressing up against her and holding her, even if it was for his own sake, to keep himself from getting in trouble.

She heard the library door squawk open, and heard Filch's mutters of oiling the hinges. She heard his heavy footsteps tramp through the library, searching for the noise that had caught his attention. He held up his lantern and walked around the library, hovering near the Restricted section. He tended to let his eyes wander there more than any other place in the library. He lifted his lantern to peer between the bars of the section, casting it completely in light, and Hermione's hand naturally clenched the back of Draco's shirt tightly. Her heart was pounding. If Filch found the two of them, especially curled together in such an odd, questionable position under an invisibility cloak…her dignity would have totally been shot, not to mention her Head badge she had slaved over to get.

She prayed for a distraction. She concentrated so hard on imagining one of the armors in the hallways falling over. She could imagine it swaying, tilting back and forth. A little further, just a little further! she urged. And she could see the knight fall over sideways. Oh, she wished it were true!

A loud crash echoed down the hallway, startling all three -- four if you count the cat, whose tail burst into five times it's regular size. "We've got them now! Always careless and frisky when they get nervous," the old squib said hungrily, like a pack of wolves gazing at a moose they were about to slaughter. Hermione wouldn't have been surprised if Filch were really part-werewolf; he craved catching students like a werewolf craved blood during the full moon.

His footsteps quickly scampered out of the room and they waited under the cloak a few more moments, just in case Filch decided return. Hermione felt incredibly light headed, and she looked up at Draco, noticing how his skin seemed to become infected with black dots, even the cloak behind him was starting to become speckled by those same dots. "Draco…"

And then the dots merged into one.

"Hermione!" a male voice called to her, rich and deep. She forced her eyes to open and blinked rapidly to clear her vision and adjust to the lit wand hovering near her face. "Hermione!" the voice said again.

"Yes?" she replied.

"Merlin, what the hell happened? Filch walks away and you freaking faint on my arm!" Draco said, scooting back to give her room to sit up.

"I…wait? Fainted?" she repeated, grabbing her head, which felt like it would float off her shoulders. And when the light-headedness finally wore off, it felt like a ton of concrete was resting on her crown. She wanted to lie back down again. But she merely massaged her temples and tried not to be so obvious in her pain. Draco was giving her a rather odd stare. Fainted, how embarrassing. And just when Filch was leaving. It would have made more sense if he had been right in front of them, but then again, to faint because of Filch? The whole situation was humiliating.

"There was that crash in the hallway and when he left, you just went limp. I thought you had finally relaxed, but when I tried to get you off my arm," he trailed off.

"I…don't remember," she said, very perplexed. "I must have been incredibly nervous and flustered. And tired. Draco, it's nearly four in the morning. Can we please go to bed and look again tomorrow?"

"No need," Draco said, getting up and dusting himself off. He held out a hand to help her up. "I have a book at home that might come in handy. I just need to send for it. I'll owl it in the morning."

"You've got a book at home? Then why have we been sitting her with cramped backs for the past million hours looking for something nonexistent?" she snapped angrily, massaging her aching back.

"One, because I've just remembered; two, because I was hoping that we could find a book here to help us somewhat; and finally three, it hasn't been a million hours, and it's not nonexistent. You really shouldn't exaggerate, it's quite aggravating to distort the truth over something to silly," he added.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're cranky when you don't get a lot of sleep?" she asked. She waited from some nasty remark he would have said, a hundred were already forming in her mind, but to her surprise, he remained absolutely silent for a moment longer and then, "What?"

"Nothing," she said, finding that repeating a nasty comment over dulled its malice. Besides, she was too tired to bear the nasty cycle they endured when they argued.

"Damn it, where is it? " he snarled, still groping at the ground. He sighed as he finally found the slippery material.

Hermione followed him as they sneaked back to their dorm. She wondered why Draco had been so tense. He seemed very unnerved about something. And he hadn't looked at her again. Maybe he just naturally became jittery after a nervous moment. She didn't know. All she knew was that she wanted to sleep.

:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

"Hermione, it shouldn't be that hard. Your element is in everything; it should be easier to control than fire," Draco remarked, flopping himself down on the couch, watching a haggard Hermione stand in the middle of the Common room, focusing her attention on a book that was propped up on the table. Her goal: knock the book to the ground. Sounds easy, doesn't it? If only that were true.

"You've had more practice than I've had!" she argued.

"Not much," he said, rubbing his eyes and yawning.

"Can we take a break?" she begged. Draco had been grueling her for hours, only taking a break for lunch, which felt like ages ago.

"Yes, let's take a break," Draco said. Hermione sighed in relief before he added, "After you knock the book over."

"You're an evil, evil little ferret, do you know that?" Hermione snarled, glaring.

He merely smirked back. "Ha! I'm getting you angry. Funnel that emotion. Focus on the book. Think of your element moving it. Do it."

Hermione looked at the book. She tried to imagine a wind shaped hand pushing it over. The book moved; it fluttered. "It's moving!" she exclaimed excitedly.

"Don't loose it!" Draco quickly said, as Hermione fell backwards, grabbing her head, the book falling back to its original place. "You lost concentration. You get too excited."

"Draco, I'm tired and hungry. I haven't slept – not if you call that 'nap' you let me have this morning sleeping. And I'm exhausted. I feel drained," she whined, tears of frustration pricking at her eyes. She hated it when she couldn't get something. And as Draco had said earlier, more than once, Dark Magic doesn't come from a book. It comes from the person and the talents inside of them. She was accustomed to learning from a book. Oral and physical experiments didn't work for her like they did for Harry.

"It is draining. I forgot how exhausted you feel. I used to feel like that," Draco said quietly. He looked up at the high ceiling above him.

Fire. Pain. Brown eyes. Beautiful brown eyes filled with passion, energy, life, suddenly…dead. Dead bodies carried as if nothing more than a bag. Dark spirits, demons, suffocating, choking, dark and fierce. And he just watched…never once objecting.

"Draco?"

He blinked. "What?"

"You become unusually silent. Are you all right?" she asked, coming near him.

He paused and stared at her, as if seeing another person. He blinked slowly, his pupils dilating. "I'm fine. Just…thinking."

"What happened to you?" Hermione asked after a few more minuets of silence. "What did they do to you?"

"Who did what?" he asked, pretending he had no idea what she was saying. But he knew; he knew perfectly well what she was asking. And his stomach twisted, his lungs shriveled, his heart frosted and shot up into his throat, burning him.

"How did you become a Controller?" she asked. She wanted to know; he could see it in her eyes.

"I'll tell you when you can move that book," Draco replied, smirking. She gave a small smile, as if understanding that he wasn't going to open up any further.

"Don't you find it strange?" she asked suddenly, turning around.

"Find what strange?" he asked, now completely unaware of what she was asking.

"That we've become good friends, in just a couple days."

Silence.

"I thought this was just a truce," he stated more than asked.

She wished she had never spoken. "You're right," she said, giving a quick, silly giggle. "I forgot. We certainly play our parts well, don't we?"

"I suppose," he said. He looked away. Why did he feel so weird? Why did he hate the sound of the idea that they were playing parts? Why did he want…this…to be real? This was just another thing he didn't like about Hermione. He made him ask himself so many questions, and his head couldn't take much more.

A pecking made them turn their heads towards the window. Draco quickly got off the couch and opened the window to let a beautiful hawk enter. It dropped a package clasped in its talons on the desk, and then lightly rested on Draco's arm, waiting patiently for the letter to be untied from his leg. The boy noticed the marking, pausing for a minuet, as if dreading to take it. With a determined scowl, he took it off and nudged the hawk off. It took flight and Hermione watched it soar into the already navy blue night that captivated the sky.

"It doesn't bother you with treats or rewards?" she asked curiously.

"No. We don't spoil our birds," Draco said absently, opening the letter by running his finger against the tip, burning the delicate paper. Shaking it, the ashes fell to the ground and he pulled out the paper from inside.

"I thought you said you can't create fire," Hermione retorted.

"I'm not. My body heat is above normal, yet I'm not ill, nor in any risk of death. Since I've been expanding my trade, I've discovered that I can burn things just by touching them. Not seriously burn them, but, for instance, make paper crisp," Draco corrected and took out the letter. "It depends on how I direct the heat."

Hermione noticed how his fingers didn't leave any burned markings on the letter. She wished she could be as strong as Draco. She wished he'd stop being so secretive with her.

"I'm going to…continue practicing," she said, returning to her book.

Draco was relieved that she wasn't going to ask him whom the letter was from. He hated reading it; it was just another reminder of that terrible night that changed his life, for better or for worse, he wasn't quite sure.

Draco,

Meet me at O'Brian's for good old times sake. Drinks are on me.

Flint

Flint also included the date and time. Draco crumpled the letter in his hand. He didn't want to go. He hated feeling like a pawn. Steam rose from around his hand and when he flung the letter out of the window, it was nothing more than ashes. He knew what Flint wanted to talk about. There must have been some news update on what the Dark Lord wanted. Draco dreaded every minuet of those meetings. He was just grateful that he didn't need to be present at most of the meetings in the Dark Lord's presence. Draco couldn't escape from school that often. Not to mention, he hated it when they would bring in a muggle or squib and torture them, sometimes taking bets on how soon the captive would crack. It was sick, one of Draco's least favorite things about meetings. But he had to go, or else Flint would report that Draco was neglecting the O'Brian's meetings. He had to go.

But did he really? He was the heir of Voldemort. He could do whatever he wanted. No, he didn't want to go. He wanted to stay, even if it involved helping Hermione translate the book the hawk had dropped off as well. Actually, he looked forward to discovering more about his art with someone who also knew what was going on. At least, she was smart, she'd have some logical suggestions if questions arose. No, he wasn't going to go.

"How's the book exercise coming along?" Draco called out, taking out his lighter and playing with it. He sprawled out on the couch, and created little figures with his fire.

Hermione rubbed her head. "I still don't understand what you want me to do."

"What's do hard about it? You just knock it over!" he scowled, standing to his feet. Coming up to her side, he held out his lighter and flicked it to life. It sparked a couple times. "Damn it, I'm almost out of fuel. There we go," he said as a small flame spluttered to life. Taking his hand, his fingers arched, he gathered the flame and pulled it away from the lighter.

"Watch," he said. "You gather your element. Then you push it forward." Draco pushed the ball of fire away from him lightly with his palm, and it was like it was rolling in the air towards the book. Gently it rolled. Draco focused on it, taking his index and middle finger and moving them in the direction he wanted the fireball to go. It followed his every movement. Up, down, around the book it went, rolling, jumping, and tumbling. "You got it now?" he said, roughly waving the ball into the fireplace where it made a small sputter in the hearth.

"I don't know…" she said, looking at the book. Draco stood behind her and took her hands.

"Hold them up," he instructed, moving them in the correct potion. "Now, gather the element. Command it to come towards you. You alone can bring it to yourself. It might fight. Always remember that you are superior, you are the commander. Gather it," he whispered now, watching as she closed her eyes, concentrating. Her eyebrows knitted together, her eyes twitched, her hands shook, he could feel power surrounding her. Her breathing became heavy.

"Push it forward," he commanded softly yet firmly. Hermione pushed her palms forward steadily and Draco felt pressure around him disappear and move away. He watched, as the book teetered, teasing them if it would fall or not. "A little harder…"

And with one sharp thrust, the book fell off the side of the table. "You did it," Draco said simply.

"I did do it, didn't I?" she said weakly, breathing. She coughed, holding her chest. She calmed herself and looked at him strangely before her eyes rolled upwards and she crumpled to the ground.

"Pathetic," he sighed, getting down next to her and shaking her awake. Eventually, he took her to the bathroom, placed her in the tub and turned the water on, icy droplets hailing down upon her unconscious form. She gasped for air and screeched from the coldness.

"WHAT DID YOU DO THAT FOR?" she bellowed, grabbing for a towel and trying to dry herself off. Water dripped down the sides of her face. She shivered, but glared vehemently at him.

"You feinted again," he said, bored. "This time because you're just exhausted and weak."

"I've been saying that for the past two and a half hours! Haven't you listened to a bloody word I've been saying?" she snapped, smacking him with the towel in frustration.

He ripped the towel out of her hands. "You at least moved the book. What were you thinking of?"

"What do you mean?" she asked innocently, yet still angry that he had doused her in cold water.

"You were getting angry about something," he said. "Your face was turning red."

"How do you know that wasn't because I was straining to move the air?"

"Because you weren't straining. You were getting angry. Your cheeks turned a deep red when you're angry. When you're angry, your whole face turns red."

"So you think you know me so well?"

"I don't know you. I've just observed this about you."

They fell into silence; Hermione speechless he noticed something so tiny about her, Draco appalled at himself for noticing something so tiny about her. Draco watched her reflection; it was easier than looking at her real face.

"You need to get over him," he said bluntly, finally revealing what she had been thinking about.

"How would you know? You've never fallen in love with somebody," she snapped angrily, despising how he was right and yet she was unwilling to give up someone she had held dear for so long.

Draco fell silent. Hermione blushed, "I had no right to say that. I--"

"Forget it," he said coldly, walking out of the bathroom and throwing the towel to the ground. He walked to his desk, ripped off a page of parchment off his desk and hastily wrote a message on it.

I'll be there.

Folding it, he died it around his own hawk, muttering, "Get this to Flint. No reply."

"Draco," a soft voice called at the doorway.

"Go away," he snapped. What did she know about him and his capability to love? He loved. He loved girls, he was there for them when they needed him, sometimes…He wanted to tear out his hair because he suddenly understood why it offended him so terribly when she had said that: it was true. He had never really truly fallen in love with somebody. There were girls he really liked, yes, but when the relationship ended, he didn't really shed tears over it. But did he really want a love like Hermione's that would just end in frustration and tears for days?

No bloody way.

"Draco, I'm sorry, I had no right to say what I had said," she said. She was behind him now. Her hand was resting gently on his shoulder.

"Don't expect any forgiveness from me," he snarled.

"I know you don't give any. Just…just understand that I was wrong and that I'm really sorry. I hope you'll forgive me sometime, maybe not now, but sometime. I know nothing about your life. I shouldn't have said that. I really am sorry, Draco."

Draco was silent for a few moments. That was the first heart filled apology he had really heard. Pansy usually just said she was sorry and then tried to kiss him, thinking that her body and actions where ways of earning forgiveness. She wasn't a slut, let's make the clear. She was a lost girl, and maybe later on in this tale, we'll explain why Pansy is the way she is, and why she loves Draco as much as she does. But let's get back to the point that had lead onto the discussion of Pansy: forgiveness. Even Blaise didn't apologize. He just gave Draco something, or did him a favor, never really saying those words and truly meaning it. I'm sorry: so simple, and yet so deep, the way she said it.

"Are you tired?" he asked. "Do you want to go out and do something fun?"

"What do you mean, 'something fun'?" she asked. A dark gleam made his gray eyes shine unnaturally that Hermione regretted ever uttering those six words.

:-:-:-:-:-:-:

The music was pulsing through the ground, the bodies, the drinks that rippled on the tables. It was an underground club, the entrance being at the back of a tea café. It was an around the clock business: tea by day, drinks by night. There were of course ID checks much like in the Muggle world, but those were scarce and the bouncers tended to let anyone in, anyone they thought was beautiful or pretty. Wands and other objects were confiscated at the entrance, placed in a protective ward where people couldn't steal or vandalize the items.

The club was two stories high, the bottom being an empty place that people had nicknamed The Pit where bodies could dance and teens could loose themselves into the music. Along the sides were bars. Staircases lead from floor to floor, each floor having a different theme. But the music was still the same: still pulsing, still energizing. Large pillars were place randomly amongst The Pit where people would get on top of and dance, breaking out their best moves.

Along the sides of the O'Brian's Pub/Club were rows of comfortable seats, stools, and tables. This was where Draco was sitting, in one of the armchairs, watching down below where The Pit captivated dancers into hiding all identities and taking on new ones that they had wanted to be for so long. He watched, looking for her. She had lost herself quickly into the music, taken away by a throng of people, and now was pressed up against a man neither she nor Draco knew.

All Draco was aware of was that he did not like that man sliding his hand down the side of her body slowly, nor did he like him holding her closely and burying his face in her hair. Maybe bringing her was a mistake. Pansy was different. Draco didn't really like to dance. O'Brian's was just a place where he could watch her dance and drink good shots late into the night. Pansy was a good dancer. She would dance with or without him. The club was a place where Pansy didn't follow Draco around, or Draco having to put up with her insufferable chatter. It worked both ways. He got his drinks; she got her music.

"Glad you could come," a raspy voice said near to his ear. Some of the seats were made in an S curve to allow to people to face each other slightly, and rest their backs against something soft. Draco was just pleased that this kept him from having to stare directly into Flint's face. It was a nice arrangement. Draco sipped his drink, trying not to grimace. "What is this about, Flint?"

"Can't two old friends talk? How's the Quidditch team going? Slytherin better be winning!" he remarked, sipping his own drink.

"We can't talk because we're not friends. Quidditch is like it's always been. And Slytherin is kicking ass in every direction," Draco said. "Get to the point."

"Fine. The Dark Lord is calling another meeting. You need to come."

"I just left to one in November. I can't go away so soon," Draco shot back harshly, lowering his voice, even though it was unnecessary, the music was too loud.

"This is important. It has to do something about elaborating your initiation," Flint said, emphasizing the importance be saying the end of the sentence slower.

"I thought I was through with that," Draco snarled.

"Through? No. You're never through. There's always another invisible step that you can never see," Flint said darkly, almost angrily.

"What news of raids?"

"We've been lying low since our last two raids have been failures. The Dark Lord smells a rat -- "

"I was wondering if he'd finally smell Pettigrew. Nasty, overgrown rodent, he is," Draco remarked. He heard Flint chuckle.

"No. Not him, unfortunately, although it seems Pettigrew is the only one that Voldemort doesn't suspect is a spy. "

"He's to scared to do anything. You've seen him. He quivers when either you or I talk to him. It's just shameful that our Master would allow rats like that to join into our brotherhood. We're supposed to be fearsome and awe-inspiring. Pettigrew doesn't fit the mold."

"Well, think of it this way, when the Dark Lord passes, and you take the thrown, you can destroy him any way you want."

"Maybe I'll turn him into the rat he is and feed him to Granger's cat…" Draco thought, chuckling evilly.

"Granger?" Flint echoed. "As in, Hermione Mudblood Granger? What brought on the idea of her?"

"She's in my Head dormitories. She has this huge…I suppose you'd have to call it a cat for lack of a better word. It's a monster. Woke up one day, and the beast was sitting near my face, just watching me with those yellow eyes of its. Scariest piece of shit ever."

Flint threw back his head and laughed. He paused, and they both stared down and looked at the ocean of people in The Pit. "Hey…isn't that the Mudblood in question?"

"Hm?" Draco asked, quickly scanning where she might have been. He had forgotten she was there. "Where?"

"Climbing the stairs. Damn, look at the legs on that girl! Who'd have thought…she's changed since I last saw her," Flint remarked. Draco looked at him, this time noticing the dark desire swelling in his eyes. "She looks like…fun. Look, here she comes."

And to Draco's horror, she was coming towards him. Her hair was damp from sweat, her shirt was soaked and her pants were tight. Her chest rose and fell deeply from dancing and the thick air that hovered over The Pitt, and Draco tried hard not to look at her chest as the shirt tightened and showed the outline of her underclothing.

"Hey Draco!" she called over the music, waving and still coming towards him. Draco glanced at Flint who was looking at him.

"First name basis?" Flint asked, interested.

Draco shrugged, "The mudblood must be drunk."

"Then this'll be even more exciting," Flint remarked, licking his lips. Draco felt a sense of revolution swarm him.

"Hey, Draco, you want to dance?" she asked, smiling.

"Why the bloody hell would I want to do that, Mudblood?" he snarled. Hermione blinked rapidly, as if not hearing him correctly.

Listen, Flint doesn't know about us. Pretend your drunk. Don't make me have to explain this truce to him. He won't understand and he'll spread the word. You know how gossip goes.

Hermione cocked her head to the side and Draco wondered if she had heard him at all. She walked a little closer and sat on his lap, making him spill his drink. His eyes widened in absolutely shock. She leaned forward and whispered in his ear, "I won't tell."

"Now, Draco Malfoy, I believe I asked you to dance, and you shouldn't turn down a lady, even if she isn't a pure blood," she remarked, playing with his hair and breathing close to his face. Her finger ran down the middle of his nose and over his lips that hag gone bloodless by her actions. Her breath was intoxicating by the amount of drinks she had and Draco knew she wasn't entirely faking. "Get…off…me, Mudblood," he said through gritted teeth.

"Aw…so you're not going to play with me? Very well. You're loss. But if you do change your mind, you'll know where to find me," she winked, and giggly walked away, catching herself a couple times with the help of a chair or a person. She somehow lost herself in The Pit again.

Flint gave a low whistle. "Wow…who would have thought she'd have it in her to be so seductive like that? I don't know how you couldn't resist banging her out of spite towards Potter and Weasley. I mean, she's drunk, and if she slept with you, that'd be two strikes tearing her perfect record to shreds."

"I don't take advantage of drunk girls," Draco stated, hatred burning in his stomach towards the man who sat a couple feet away from him.

"Well, if you're not going to go for her. Can I?" Flint asked, smirking smugly and getting to his feet. Draco stood to his feet and grabbed Flint's arm roughly. "Don't touch her, Flint. She could be useful later. And she's mine, got it? I get first dibs, you know that."

Flint glared at Draco. "Fine, have her. I'll find something else. But if you do get tired of her, send her over to my place sometime."

And with that, Flint walked towards the exit and lost himself in the hundreds of people. Draco stood, fuming at the disgusting arrogance of Flint. He was appalled to think if he himself was anything like that. True, he believed in killing Muggles, but he still didn't find sleeping with a drunken girl right. He had his morals, however twisted it may sound. It was hard to explain.

Draco swirled his drink in his glass before draining it. Walking down the staircases and into The Pit, he slipped around people till he spotted her, held close to a dark haired man. Grabbing her, he pulled her away from the other man, sending him a death glare, and held her close to him. "You could have cost me my reputation back there," he snapped.

"Relax. I knew what I was doing," she said, giggly, and ran her finger across his jaw. "Do you dance?"

"I suppose."

"Then let's dance," she breathed into his face, her lips so close to his as she said it. And suddenly, Draco was pulled into another word, one he rarely experienced with Pansy. It was wild, passionate, energetic. All troubles, all thoughts, all ideas of having to portray someone were abandoned, and a new Draco entered The Pit. A Draco that didn't care if he was dancing with a Mudblood, holding her close, letting her touch him in return. He didn't care, just as long as it matched the beat that pulsed through their bodies and the bodies around them. It had been awhile since his heart raced, sweat rolling from his body like rain, feet moving in a blur.

But he didn't like her, even when he bought her the drink she thought she desperately needed. He didn't like her in that regard. He enjoyed her company because just like a new Draco took form into The Pit, so did a new Hermione.

:-:-:-:-:-:-:

Two teenagers staggered out of a tea café. Late night -- or early morning, whichever fits the occasion best -- observers shook their heads as the two drunk teens leaned against the other for support. But it seemed that the boy had more control over himself than the girl who couldn't make up her mind if she needed to hold onto him, or walk on her own.

"Wait," she said with a thick slur, "I forgot to send a Christmas present to one of my dearest…bestest…loyalest…friend of all times. Come on! I know exactly what to get him. Into this store. Merlin, you've got to love these 24-hour joints!"

"What are we getting?" the boy asked, his own speech a little slurred, but not as drastically as hers.

"You'll see…" she said, slightly singing it.

Five minuets later, the two teens were racing back to wherever they had come from, giggling over a box in a paper bag. And the observers just went back to watching the stars sprinkle the sky. O'Brain's tended to leave people feeling a little giddy.

:-:-:-:-:

"This is going to be the best Christmas present he'll ever get!" Hermione said, red faced and quickly running up to the owlery. Banging the door open, she scanned the rows of hundreds of owls. Hailing one down to her, which was difficult because the majority of them were flustered at the commotion that she had caused. "I need a scroll and quill…"

She rummaged the stash that was set aside near the desk. Grabbing a sheet and quill, she quickly jolted down what she wanted to say. Draco, although his vision was blurry, marveled at the fact how her handwriting was still straight and neat, even though she was drunk. Very peculiar creatures…Mudbloods…

Hermione let out a cry of victory as the owl took flight with her package and letter. "Fly my pretty! Fly! Fly!" she crackled. Draco looked at her oddly, and Hermione actually had the sense to stop.

She turned and smiled. "I'm not going to remember this. I've heard of cases like this, and I know I'm going to be one of them. This was my first night clubbing and drinking. I've never done anything crazy like this before. Ever. I've never gotten revenge --well, that's not true. With Rita Skeeter, that is, I suppose, is a situation that you would call revenge. But that evil woman deserved it! Putting all those nasty things about Krum and me and Harry. I've still got scars from those letters I received."

She blinked and looked up at him again. "You've got such pretty eyes. So pretty…"

She stepped closer to him, grazing her fingertips against his face, running them along his jaw, his lips, his pulse. "So…beautiful. And I'm going to kiss you…right…now…Draco Malfoy…"

Hermione slide her hand behind his head and pulled his head down ever so lightly. She's going to kiss me…Draco thought, trying to figure out if he cared or not. Her breath was hot, her hand was firm and her other hand was holding onto his waist.

But the kiss never came. When he opened his eyes to figure out what had happened, he found her passed out, resting against his chest, a small snore emitting from her mouth. Draco made a motion of a small kiss, before scooping her up in his arms and taking her back to her room.

"That's enough partying for one night…" he said to the sleeping girl in his arms. He couldn't help but laugh.

:-:-:-:-:-:-:

A/N: Well, chapter 10. I'm sorry this one took me practically two months to put up. Took me three days to write. A week waiting for my beta, only to find out that she has to stop – I'm not saying that I'm ungrateful! I'm incredibly grateful for you helping me along with these past few chapters. Give it up a huge round of applause for HPLeader! Woot-woot! But yes, I am betaless, and school this year is worse than anything I've imagined. I don't understand why people assign such ghastly amounts of homework for no apparent reason. To be honest, the only reason why this is up now is because I've been sick for the past week and have nothing else to do :mother steps into picture and points at the huge pile of homework stacked in the corner: Tehehe…well, nothing valuable to do…

So, please forgive me for a long delay and delays to come. Is this story still worth writing? Please comment, I really do desire your opinion ever so much. All you still faithful and still reading this story, I give you my biggest, heart filled thanks. I write this for you! Yeah, for you! No wait…don't go! It's an insult, to have this dedicated to you? I'm just making up invisible readers to read this? No! Don't let me leave my realm of happiness! Come back! Be real :sobs: BE REAL! Bahahaha :chibi-Pensive Puddles collapses against computer and weeps: I knew it was too good to be true.

Hey, lots of reviews will actual make this go faster because I've already got half of chapter 11 done. Yeah….head on down to the little purple button and write a little something. ;)