Friends,

I sincerely apologize that is has taken me so long to post a new chapter. My weekend was so hectic! Plus I have a brutal Japanese exam yesterday… I've had barely any time for anything at all. But here I am again! I thank all of you who have reviewed. They are so helpful and inspiring. Though, it's no fun when I can't give out personal thank-you messages to those who review as guests. You know who you are! Keep them coming. They are like candy. I have the next few chapters in my head… soon there will be an exciting (I hope…) plot twist. But without any further ado, here's the next installment.

Love,

SweetSlytherinPrincess

Locomotive

Chapter XIX

The season slowly got colder. Halloween came and went and it wasn't long before a lovely later of snow covered the grounds. The students were all anxious to go home for the holidays. Everyone was getting into the spirit. Carolers lined the hallways, the meals got more festive in the Great Hall, Hogsmeade was overflowing with gift-buyers. It was freezing outside but within the mysterious school there was life and happiness.

For Hermione, it was one of the most stressful times of the year. Her work piled high and she was also partly responsible for organizing the Yule Ball. Since the showdown with Ronald, she had had barely any time at all to explore her blossoming relationship with her platinum haired former enemy. It wasn't that she was trying to avoid him – it was simply that she was completely engrossed in her work. Of course, even when she would find her way back into their common room at late hours, she would find him in his chair staring into the fire. Often times drinking tea, though on occasion it was something much stronger.

He would look over at her with longing in his eyes. A look that made her knees weak. Perhaps a flicker of annoyance that he never got to see her at a normal hours unless they were in class. But mainly those liquid silver eyes called her to him. She would find herself nearing him, her hands reaching out to feel his body. His lips would find hers for a few moments of gentle affection, and then he would part from her.

It was never an angry parting. It seemed more of a controlling mechanism. He had spoken often of how difficult it was for him to resist her. She figured that now that there was no barrier between them to hold him back, he had to take more precautions in order to resist moving too quickly. In all honesty, while the idea of sex made her feel vulnerable and slightly frightened – she was hit with a deep lust every time their bodies got close. She had never felt this with Ronald. It was new and exciting, but unnerving at the same time.

It was so odd… Odd that even if there weren't sexual feelings between them, she longed to know him deeper. Perhaps it was the very fact that he was closed off and mysterious that drew her closer. This man she had known all this time – a man so misunderstood… it was in her very nature to want to uncover his heart. She wondered if she had always felt this somewhere deep in her own.

After her scuffle with Pansy, the gossip had begun. By now the wildfire could not be stopped. The fact that they lived in such close quarters did not help the matter either. She had not yet encountered any more acts of violence, but she still couldn't sit in one place for very long without hearing hushed voices speak her name together with his. Should she feel ashamed? No, of course not… but it still didn't make it easy. So many times Malfoy had commanded her to proclaim that she was his – and he often times made it apparent to the public when he would take her by the waist or sit all to close in class. Even some professors had made sideways comments about it.

She constantly had owls rapping at her window. Worried letters from Harry. A few from Mrs. Weasley giving her updates on Ron, though always hinting that she wished Hermione would rethink things. With her busy schedule, even Ginny had resorted to communicating by owl. Harry had been upset at first. Downright irrational and cruel with his words to her. But after a while he calmed, and Harry remained to wonderful friend he had always been. But never failed to demand to know how things were going. Making sure she was still herself. Still safe. And she didn't blame him for being cautious. She admitted that every so often – in the back of her head – She would remember Malfoy's cruelty. But she would look into his eyes and see the broken young man she had begun to fall in love with.

There was, however, not one owl sent from Ron. And not one sent to him, either.

Once planning for the Yule Ball really got underway, she finally got to see more of her lover. Meetings, supply runs, setting up the venue. They were still heavily preoccupied, but at least preoccupied in the same general area. She would catch him stealing glances at her as her wand waved about the room in preparation. He would whisper suggestive things in her ear in passing. And once he caught her around the corner and let his mouth take over hers to hush her surprise as his hand slipped up her thigh.

As the last few days counted down before the Yule arrived, she finally had a little time to put her head back on straight. Everything was in place, all of the Heads having worked amazingly hard to get everything to come together. It was a strange feeling for her. She remembered being so giddy for the ball in her younger years. Giggling with her friends about who would bring who – letting her heart ache over it. And now she was the one planning it all.

"Hermione." Her head turned at the familiar voice. She was laying collapsed in the loveseat, exhausted.

"Fancy seeing you here." She smiled softly. Malfoy moved, pushing her up so he could sit, her head resting in his lap now. He smiled.

"I suppose I ought to go through the motions, and make sure you were planning on being my date." He spoke tightly, and she laughed. Malfoy did not date. His own restraint from saying the word amusing her.

"Well, if you'd like."

"Of course."

"In that case, I would love to." She blushed.

"Can you dance?" He asked then, looking down at her.

"Why?"

"I won't have you stepping on my feet and making a fool out of us. I was raised learning the fine arts, Granger. You'd better have some rhythm." Hermione pondered his words. It made sense of course. His family was known for their ancestry and class. It was no surprise that he would have been taught how to dance – along with a long list of other manners and etiquette for the wealthy.

"I'm decent." She sat up and looked him over. He held her gaze, his body growing warm at the sight of her wide amber eyes and hair all a mess. His hand moved to her face and through her hair, his thumb lightly tracing her lips. Her eyes fluttered closed and she leaned into his touch.

"What colors?" His voice was deep and melodic; sending a wave of pleasure through her entire body.

"What?" She said distractedly.

"Dates typically have corresponding outfits. So, what colors?"

"I'd assume black." A wicked grin formed on her face, and he rolled his eyes.

"I do sometimes wear other colors."

"No, you don't."

"I just don't like to."

"I like black just fine." She retorted, taking his hand in hers gently.

"Accent color? Not red. Or burgundy. I'm no Gryffindor."

"Oh, but I am."

"Right, but you're mine now. And the princess joins the prince's kingdom. Not the other way around. So you're basically a slytherin now." It was his turn to grin, and her nose crinkled.

"Well, I don't know how I would look in green."

"Beautiful, I presume." Her heart skipped a beat. "But I think I would enjoy silver. It's my favorite color."

"So be it then." She said softly. She moved forward, and rested her hands on his strong chest, her mouth finding his in desperation. He had no time to think, and immediately his hands pushed roughly into her hair, a moan rumbling in his chest.

His mouth was strong against hers, pushing deeper – claiming her completely. Her tongue darted out shyly only to be overcome by his passion. In their tango she had pulled herself into his lap, and now could feel his pleasure press against her skin, her skirt having ridden up as she moved. It aroused her to no end that she had this effect on him. She shifted, her womanly center grinding against him. His hands tightened harshly in her hair, and she gasped as he tugged her head back, exposing the long column of her neck,

"My, my you are a naughty girl." His voice was low and rough, and one of his hands hand snaked beneath her blouse. She shuddered, his sudden roughness shooting jolts of desire through her, her own need soaking through her panties now. He breathed in the scent of her and then groaned, releasing his hold on her.

"Come on, Granger." He moved gently, trying to stand. She let out a gasp of rejection and sadness.

"Listen," he began. "I want it all to be perfect. I need to have you in ways you're not ready for. And this…" He spread his arms wide. "… Doesn't make waiting for you easy." He stalked off, and she heard his bedroom door open and shut gently.