Torture

Hope? What could have possibly made me say Hope?

Hermione wondered at her own lack of foresight. Out of all the names she could have chosen, she picked the most ironic one.

I should have named myself something demonic.

Hermione pulled a string of keys from the pocket of her cropped jeans and unlocked the door of the apartment. Inside the walls were stripped bare and cracks and the only window was covered in a thin layer of grit and grime. A small fan spun in the corner of the room, moving the dusty air.

Malfoy stood in the door way, waiting for her to say something. This was exactly what she had been hoping for. Revenge. Finally, time to make his life hell.

"Well, what are you waiting for," she barked at him. "Start painting. Unless the poor country boy doesn't know how."

He looked at her emotionlessly and said nothing.

The room did need to be painted. In temporarily taking over the building she had agreed to renovate it as much as possible. Swearing under her breath, she decided to help him begin.

"Move the buckets of paint into the room," she ordered.

Resentfully, he did what he was told.

I could get used to this.

And so the painting lesson began.

Overall, it reminded Hermione somewhat of a dance. They were careful never to touch each other, gracefully moving in unison to remain apart. The sound of his grinding teeth was loud enough to be some type of ghastly music.

After she was sure he had gotten the hang of it, she stepped away ready to let him do all the work. He had quickly caught on and within the hour had finished one of the walls.

"You missed a spot."

Of course, he had not, but she wasn't about to make it easy.

He looked up and glared at her.

"No, I didn't."

"Do it over."

Rage flashed across his face.

"What?"

"Do it over."

It took all of her self control to keep a straight face.

His hands clenched and his knuckles went white. Red in the face, he returned to the other side of the room to begin again.

This is too easy.

She moved to stand in front of the fan. The room was sweltering.

She surveyed Malfoy from the corner of her eye. He was dressed in a casual black sweater and blue jeans. It was shocking to see Draco Malfoy in muggle clothing. It was more of a mystery where he would have gotten the clothing. The idea of him entering a muggle store was ridiculous. Snape most likely provided them for him, though the image of Snape entering a muggle store was just as disturbing.

What drove her crazy, though, was that he looked good.

He had rolled the sleeves of the sweater up, revealing toned arms. His jeans fit perfectly, giving her a pleasant view as he kneeled down on one knee painting the bottom of the wall.

He must be overheating in that sweater.

"You can take your sweater off, you know."

There was a dead silence.

Hermione felt her face go red. She had only meant to be humane, but looking back she had no idea why she had said that.

Malfoy stood still, his hand holding the brush frozen mid-stroke. Slowly he turned his head to answer her.

"No, thank you."

Disgust was evident in his face. He though she was hitting on him.

Then, an idea hit Hermione.

What would make Malfoy more miserable than to be under the control of a muggle who was attracted to him?

A smirk grew on her face.

She walked over to him, her hips swaying sensually. Getting as close to him as she could, she purred into his ear.

"Oh, but I wish you would."

All color drained from his face. He gulped. Unlike before, he looked more terrified than disgusted. He began to paint more furiously, as if to block out her presence. Staring straight at the wall, he made no effort to acknowledge what she had insinuated.

"Why don't you take a break?"

She began to bend down to move the bucket of paint he was using out of his reach. She wanted his full attention when she tortured him.

Suddenly, his hand shot out and grabbed her wrist.

Biting back a shriek of surprise, she looked up at him. His grey eyes, glinting sliver, bore into her. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead. They both were breathing heavily. A jolt of electricity shot though her whole body.

She couldn't move. She could barely think.

It must be the paint fumes.

She didn't want him to let go.

"Don't. Toy. With. Me."

Releasing her arm, he stormed out of the room and to his apartment, slamming the door behind him.

Silently, Hermione cursed herself. She would not let her guard down again.

He could be sure of that.