The Uneventful Story

By: Snowflake Imp

Rated: NC-17

Chapter 13

Disclaimer: I really don't have anything wittier to say about not owning Harry Potter, which worries me. Has my delicious wit, my fabulous creativity, run dry?? Say it ain't so!

Diary Entry No. 55, Vol. V

I really hate to keep harping on about this shit business, like some pretentious novelist trying to tie in everything important with a mere word, but that damn word consistently pops up wherever I go.

It's not that right now my life is in the proverbial privy, but it definitely is not a bag full of giggles either. On second thought, there must be at least someone, somewhere out there having a giggle at my expense. Curse them all. I'd like to know who decided it would be amusing to torture me so. Did I not wish for a boring, uneventful, normal life? I'm pretty sure I did. No, I'm sure of it. I wrote it down somewhere in this diary, in case written proof needs to be procured.

I really…….I really can't make heads or tails of this. Was it all some strange, terrible dream? It certainly feels like it at times. It was so bizarre, so out of place, ending so abruptly – I could have sworn it was a drunken imagination gone all wrong. Every cell in my body is screaming that in no possible way could that have occurred. Every bit of my pragmatic side is lecturing me, telling me that there is too much evidence to prove that what happened was possible.

But it did happen.

And I don't know why. I don't even know where to start thinking about it, to try to make sense of it. The threads of my sanity are being strained with effort. Too many questions are swimming in my mind. Why. How. What. Why, again.

Forgetting that…..bastard's motivation, I can't even attempt to think about me right now. What did I see? What did I feel? What do I feel? These are questions that I'm afraid to ask, because I'm afraid of the answers that they will bring. Like the opening of a Pandora's box. Like purposefully entering into a hurricane. Of course I want to get down to the root of things, to find out what in blazes in going on around here. But at the same time, I want to follow his, er, demands and just forget about it. Pretend that it never happened. Move on with my life.

The problem with that is I don't know what to do with Malfoy. He's been of no help, as usual. For the past few days that I've mustered up the courage to go to work, he has been avoiding me like the plague. It's hard to describe but it's different than the last time, when we had that row about Alex. This time, there's…..a coldness. Something chilling separating us. For once, I'm scared to approach him. I'm scared of what he might say or God forbid, what he might do. I'm wondering if I should tell someone about this, like Harry. The problem is, I'd have to tell him. And then I'll find out things. And then Harry will find out things. And then blood will be shed. I should develop a better plan than that before doing anything rash.

One thing about me that really annoys me is my curiosity. My life would be a whole lot easier if I didn't have this urgent need to satisfy it all the time. Because of this vexing trait, I know my feet will soon lead me to him but for now, I'm glad for the distance. I'd rather just shove everything all under the carpet until I'm prepared to deal with it.

Merlin, what a mess.

Speaking of messes, that reminds of another one I'm in…..

She wasn't falling for Blaise. Not even a little bit. Well, of course she felt something. That man was beautiful after all. He made her flush, stammer, made her heart race. But those were all natural reactions. She would have felt the same way had the statue of David came to life and handed her a bouquet of daisies.

And that was it. He was like a living, breathing work of art. Breathtaking, but untouchable. Something to be admired from afar. He just didn't…….touch her. It was like he wasn't human. Perfect from every angle, inside and out. There wasn't any attraction, just an objective appreciation of him.

Hermione moaned.

Don't tell her she needed a man with…..flaws. Oh gods, how predictable if true. Not only did she feel compelled to save downtrodden magical creatures all the time, but must she also prefer a human Crookshanks equivalent to save and nurture? What a bleak outlook. In any case, mate theories aside, she had to focus on the issue at hand!

What was she going to do? Well, she had to let him down gently. And she had to return the necklace. Only decent thing to do. Yes, she had to give back that big thing of shiny, what with its shininess and shining-like shine – focus! – but how was she supposed to do it? Who was she, Plain Jane Hermit Hermione, to reject someone like Blaise Zabini? It was unheard of.

But it was the right thing to do. She wasn't about to lie to herself and some bloke just because society dictates that she should be ecstatic with her outrageous lottery win. She had to let him know. If he wasn't all crazy, Malfoy would have been the perfect person to talk to about this sort of thing. Damn him.

"Damn her," Draco thought as he stumbled across his bedroom.

He clumsily opened up a desk drawer, revealing vials upon vials of glowing red liquid. He picked one up with a cold, clammy hand and stared at it.

Hating it. Needing it.

Damn her, damn him, damn them all. Did they think this was easy for him? That this potion was the cure all, save all to his problems? They didn't know anything. Not a damn thing. He hated this. Every single minute of it since he could remember.

It was torturous. It was like dangling a piece of meat in front of a starving tiger. Did they really expect for him not to pounce? He set down the vial on top of his desk, running his hand through his hair. A habit of his when he was frustrated.

It wasn't enough anymore. None of it. He looked at the vial, laying there, almost projecting an aura of forced innocence. It made him sick. He picked it up again, pulling the cork out and pressed it to his lips, as if to drink it. After a pause, he sighed and replaced the cork, setting the vial down once again on top of his desk. Draco instead opened a smaller drawer in his desk and took out a small photograph, yellowed and worn with age. He sunk into his chair tiredly.

What did they want from him?

And there he sat, like so many nights, alone in his dark and empty room, behind his large, mahogany desk. Staring at that old picture, mesmerized.

A seventeen year old Hermione Granger was looking away to the side, talking to someone out of the frame. Her smile, her eyes, her demeanor – everything about her was young, without the weight that she carried now. Without the lines, the age, the scars, the look of utter exhaustion she later took on. She was pure, happy and untainted. Then, she turned to the camera, her eyes soft and bright with surprise. A candid shot discovered.

"Fuck," he whispered.

Things were a lot more difficult now that Malfoy had basically closed himself off to the rest of the world. Or to Hermione, at least. Instead of just barging into his office to get his signature for some funding, she now had to give the documents to Ian, who then slipped them to David, to then flirted his way into giving them to the Cheryl, who then passed them on over to Ming, who finally dropped them off to Draco's In-Box.

It was such a waste of time. Typical of government bureaucracy, but it still annoyed Hermione.

She couldn't bring herself to go see him. Not just yet. She tried to work up the nerve, she really did. Twice she had even found herself in front of his office, his door closed, her hand poised to knock.

Gryffindor courage indeed.

To nurse her self-inflicted wounded pride, she hid herself in the dark corner of the break room, sipping on forbidden black, sugarless coffee. The bitterness of the drink helped put her mind at ease. She let out a satisfied sigh.

"Oh coffee, you would never betray me," she thought wistfully.

Unfortunately, her little piece of calm was interrupted by the swarm of office girls that decided now would be a good time to catch up on some gossip. Hermione glowered at them, safe in knowing that they probably didn't even notice her when they came in. She hoped they would be quick about it. She didn't want to leave right away but she didn't want to be seen as an eavesdropper either. She would just have to wait until they were finished. What idiotic, stupidly piece of boring information would they share today? Hermione prayed it wasn't too insipid as she didn't want to lose any more brain cells.

"Okay ladies, own up!" a pretty woman of African descent started. "We all swore we'd do this, so no one hold back now. Who…..has been with Draco Malfoy?"

Hermione bit back a tiny "eep!" and tried to back away further into the corner. Damn damn damn! Must he come up in every conversation, every thought, every dream –

"No no, not dream, especially not mine!" she thought frantically, apparently trying to convince some invisible force of her alleged innocence on this matter. "I definitely do NOT dream of him and the only reason why I think of him at all is to figure out why he's gone barmy in the head! And then possibly to contact the proper authorities and arrest him."

Only half true. In reality, she found her mind unwittingly drifting back to that night in bathroom and feeling warm all over. Quite a number of times. She would quickly quash it with a huge inner tirade about the disgustingness of it and her utter disapproval, but it always managed to crawl back into her thoughts. Hermione reddened. She definitely did not want to hear any of this. But her feet refused to move.

Out of the group of nine, six of them raised their hands. They all ooh-ed and pointed and laughed and some even shot a few jealous glares which were quickly hidden and morphed into that of friendliness. One girl, Hermione recognized her as that silly bint in Muggles Relations, giggled. "I know I should be mad he's been with so many girls, especially ones I know, but I'm not!"

Hermione tried not to snort. "Yes, because you probably consider it such an honor that such a popular ladies' man chose you to be a part of his ever-growing harem. Congratulations," she thought, sneering a little.

"This may be a stupid question," a quiet girl from Accounting began, unfortunately not one of the women who raised their hands, "but what would you rate him in bed?"

"A ten!"

"An eleven!"

"We might as well make that a hundred!" To this statement they laughed in agreement and a few sighed, swooning.

"He's so perfect – even if he was a lousy man in bed just his looks alone rank him at least a seven," one girl pointed out, fanning herself at the memory.

As much as she tried to grit her teeth and mentally sing all the lullaby songs she knew, Hermione felt herself being drawn into the conversation. Her mouth was dry, despite the large mug of coffee in front of her. Something was stirring in her heart, making it pump like mad and her pulse erratic. It was almost as if she felt…..jealous.

"Which is ridiculous!" she cried out in her mind. "Why in the world would I feel jealous! It's revolting!"

And yet, as they chattered on, singing him so many praises, Hermione felt….possessive. Like they weren't worthy. If only for a moment, she had a flash of thought: He belonged to her.

"Okay Agnes, you drew the short straw," one of them said. "Tell us what he was like and spare no details!"

"Well," she began, a little embarrassed but hugely proud of herself, "to sum it up in one word, he'd have to be…."

Everybody, including Hermione, leaned forward on the edge of their seats.

"Attentive," she blurted out, much to the delight of the other girls. They hooted and squealed. After calming down a bit, it was unanimously agreed upon that 'attentive' was indeed the perfect word to describe his skills in bed.

"I mean, he's so charming when he takes me out, always says the right things and he always pays for everything," Agnes continued, with the women around her nodding in agreement. "And when we make love" – here Hermione gagged – "he's so gentle and oooh, deliberate!"

"I know what you mean luv, he's so controlled and calm, always knows where to go and what to do," another one chimed in, not at all embarrassed at sharing her intimate details. "He always puts my needs first."

As they continued waxing about his technique, Hermione could only look at them, wide-eyed in disbelief. Gentle? Controlled? Calm? Were they even talking about the same person? Because she certainly didn't remember him like that. Not that she wanted to remember him at all. But if she had to, she knew that he was aggressive, crazed, barely in control of himself. Carnal, whispering dirty words with abandon.

As if picking up on her thoughts, a forlorn, until then silent, Mindee spoke up. "Are you sure that's a good thing?" her voice devoid of life, her eyes sad. Hermione didn't even notice she was in their group until then.

Long since dumped, she continued dully, "Maybe he's like that because he's devoid of passion."

The girls quieted at this new revelation. "What are you talking about Mindee? Don't sound so glum, he moved on and so should you. We have! And who knows, you may just be pretty enough for him to have another go with," Agnes retorted, not at all pleased at what she was hearing.

Mindee merely shrugged. The problem with Mindee was that she was just a little smarter than most of the girls he dated, but not smart enough to avoid his charm. She noticed things. She thought about things, not just shove them into a locker and convince herself of something that would make her feel better.

The truth was, they all meant nothing to him. And she figured that out a little too late.

Hermione was frozen in her seat, not being able to process what she was hearing. She didn't know how much longer they gossiped, but Mindee's attitude definitely put a strain on the fun of things and they went back to work soon enough. Hermione remained in her seat.

Her heart pounded for a whole different reason. All she could think was:

What did that make her?

"Stop thinking about it stop thinking about it stopthinkingaboutitstopthinkingaboutit!" she thought nervously to herself as she managed to walk down the hall in a brisk manner. Perhaps walking faster, to her, would allow her to literally run away from her thoughts.

When she had dared venture her thoughts as to what Malfoy's intentions were, she had entertained the notion that he might have been drunk. Heaven knows once a man was drunk, randiness was soon to follow, if he was a low sort of man. Which Malfoy was. That seemed like a pretty good explanation if one didn't squint too hard. Yes, he drank too much of the bubbly, saw a naked female in the tub and automatically went in for the kill. Once he realized who exactly said female was, he quickly retreated, cursed, and did all he could to make sure the incident never left the room out of embarrassment and disgust.

It was a shame to know , then, that Hermione was an intelligent woman. There were too many holes in this logic and she couldn't accept it, as much as she wanted to. He said something, something that should make sense, somehow. It was tickling at the back of her memories, just a little bit out of reach.

She was shaken out of her musings by a shattering noise, like someone had thrown a vase against the wall.

Someone had thrown a vase against the wall.

"Just who do you think you are?!" a watery voice screeched.

Hermione sighed. Well, she had already eavesdropped on one conversation today, why not go for the world's record? She stopped short of passing by Draco's opened doorway and leaned against the wall. Considering how sexy the woman was and how she was an up-and-coming model, she would have thought Malfoy would've kept her longer.

"You can't break up with me! I've walked down all of France's runways and you have the nerve to break up with ME?"

"So should the proper course of action be that you break up with me then?" Draco's amused tone did not sit well with the woman.

"You think this is funny? Do I amuse you, Draco Malfoy?"

Hermione didn't hear him saying anything back, so she assumed he made some sort of face that infuriated Renee even more. Soon after she burst into tears, for which Hermione rolled her eyes. If there was one thing Hermione and Draco had in common, it would have to be tears, more specifically, the hate of. Both from their own eyes and others.

She wondered if it was because she grew up as an only child and an isolated one at that. She really didn't have any real friends until she met Harry and Ron and well….they were boys. Comforting people just wasn't her strong point – she was a problem solver, not a nurturer by nature, though she had tried hard in the past to rectify this. It was just too alien to her when people in front of her opened themselves up like a book and let out such raw emotions for all to see. Hermione really didn't know what to do.

She broke out of that train of thought when the argument made a drastic turn. Her heart froze.

"I knew it! I should have listened to all the girls, telling me what a cruel, heartless bastard you really are! I guess it's true what they say, a Death Eater really doesn't change its tattoos!" Renee's voice creaky from tears, but edged with cruel triumph.

Hermione could feel each heartbeat pump, banging into her ribcages one by one. That possibly have the nerve to bring that up. Her ears became supersensitive, reaching out, aching to hear what Draco had to say.

"Ah, I've always wondered who started that unoriginal catchphrase – would you care to enlighten me?" though he sounded nonchalant, Hermione could hear the slight, subtle strain in his low voice.

It was taboo to bring up the subject of Death Eaters, especially in front of those who used to be one. Any former Death Eater walking around today was a reformed one, or at least that was what the government called them. To those who were cynical, most of the so-called reformed Death Eaters were the ones who had an iota of a brain cell later on in the War and switched sides to save their hides. Most believed that the Death Eaters who weren't sent to Azkaban or executed were still slimy, evil little maggots that managed to talk and swindle their way into freedom. No doubt if they had the chance, they would renew their criminal lifestyle and the entire war-torn community would have to pay for it.

It got so bad that the Ministry had to step in to prevent hate crimes against them – a cruel irony. A law was later passed, to much controversy, declaring that anyone found guilty of abusing, verbally or otherwise, a pardoned defector of war without provocation was to be sent to Azkaban for six to twenty-eight months, depending on the nature of the crime. A sentence like that was met with much outrage from the public, but the Minister stubbornly refused to budge.

As much as Hermione hated to admit it, out of all of the pardoned Death Eaters, Malfoy was probably one of the most, if not the best, one out of the whole lot. Most of them you could just sense a slick, oiliness to their nature. Like the normal lives that they had taken were mere covers for whatever ambitions they had in their closets. Malfoy had genuinely wished to put the past behind him and had thrown himself into the new world order with one hundred percent sincerity. She knew the pains that came with that Mark. She knew what sacrifices he made during the War. She knew what he carried.

So far, she hadn't notice anyone give him grief about his past, but if anyone were to bring it up…….

It should definitely not be this stupid, worthless girl.

As Renee continued her rant, Hermione found herself getting more and more irate. Who was she to go on insulting him about his past, about a part of him she had no idea about. A part she couldn't possibly even fathom.

Sure, he had a wandering eye, but at least he treated the girls decently, never insulting them or hitting them – they could have gotten it a lot worse. And although he was a bit cold-hearted, calling him cruel and evil seemed over the top to Hermione. Didn't he shower her with gifts, with affection, letting her do anything her heart desired? He went along with every insipid request she had. He helped raise her status among the wizarding elite. And now she had the gall to bring up that?!

Hermione's lip curled, getting angrier at each annoying sound Renee was making. Why wasn't he saying anything? Defending himself? Or at the very least, shoot her down – she had definitely left herself open for attacks on almost all subjects. Was he just going to take this? From her? This….nobody?

She couldn't understand why she was feeling so defensive about this whole affair, when just seconds ago she was cursing him to high hell and back. Shouldn't any kind of act against him please her?

"It's completely different!" she thought stubbornly to herself. "I've been tortured for years and he's done far worse to me than he could ever do to her. It's about seniority, it's about rights! If anybody's going to lay his murky past on him, well….it…it better be me!"

So that was it. It was about possession. She could hate him all she wants but he was off-limits to everybody else. And something was stirring in her. Something primal, something instinctive. But she waited. Thinking that the next word Renee said would be her last. That stepping in prematurely was too extreme. But then….

"Let me see it then! Let me see the proof that you have no heart, you evil, vile monster!" Renee shrieked, the sound of her platform shoes thudding on the carpet.

Hermione's eyes widened. She wouldn't dare.

She didn't have the right.

Suddenly Hermione found herself in Draco's office, her hand squeezing his left forearm tightly, making sure Renee wouldn't be able to roll the sleeve up to see his Mark. She must have said that last thought out loud, because the other woman was sputtering at her abrupt arrival.

"Who do you think you are, interrupting –" she began before getting ruthlessly cut off.

"Who do you think you are, thinking you had the right to see this," she hissed back. Before Renee could get a word in edgewise, Hermione continued, her voice colder than ice.

"You haven't earned that right. You weren't there, suffering with the rest of us! You have no idea what it was like, so don't you dare go spouting off big, pretty words like cruel, and evil, because you haven't got a clue. Once you've really experienced those words, once you've felt it grip your very soul, then you come back and say those words to his face. Until then, keep your damn hands to yourself."

Her grip on his arm was iron, utterly unrelenting. Renee looked up incredulously to Draco, as if demanding him to remove her so they could resume their fight. But Draco was silent, his eyes straight and unreadable, his mouth grimly set.

He didn't acknowledge her.

Renee was about to step forward to Hermione, but one look at the fierce brunette's expression and she backed away. Knowing that she was beaten, she huffily turned around and began marching out. But she wasn't about to leave with her tail between her legs – she wanted to get in one last shot.

"You damn war brats," she spat. "Thinking you're above everybody else just because you played soldier with all the adults. You're not better than me!"

War brats. That was an unkind term given to the younger generation that participated in the War. Those who managed to escape the War came back to discover a whole new subculture, a sort of "in-crowd" that was so tight knit it was impossible to break through. After all, what bonds could be stronger than those who lived and died in war beside each other? Because of the ravages of war, it was understandable that it was difficult for them to reintegrate into normal society, thus they usually holed themselves up with each other, making them seem elitist. The Purge made it easier for them later on, but the term was still flung around from time to time.

The two said nothing as the model stormed out and slammed the door behind her. After a long pause, Hermione was the first to come to her senses. She released his arm slowly, as if her hand was molded onto his arm. When neither of them said anything for awhile, Hermione gruffly offered, "Sorry, I didn't mean to butt in, but you really should have said something."

He didn't reply. He wasn't even looking at her. The air was tense, awkward. She continued.

"I mean, really!" she declared, getting into the heat of things. "Were you just going to stand there and take it? Let her see your Mark like she owned you? Why didn't defend yourself? You should have said something - !"

"Shut up!" he finally roared, glaring at her. Her mouth shut immediately with a clack. She certainly wasn't expecting him to be so hostile, much less lose control to yell at her.

"Why can't you just shut up for once in your life!? Didn't mean to butt in – you knew exactly what you were doing! Damn you Granger, damn you and your stupid, damnable Gryffindor compassion!" he shouted, his words quick and strung together, escaping out of his mouth like a river. "I don't need your charity, I don't need you to pity me and swoop down and save me like some Godforsaken house-elf!"

Forgetting entirely her previous fear of him, she shot back, just as angry, twice as confused, "Oh of course, silly me! How stupid of me to offer help to the likes of you! I should have known you wouldn't be able to appreciate something like kindness. I'm already regretting coming to your defense!"

"Aren't you scared?! Aren't you disgusted? Why are you here, why did you come in and bring yourself into my affairs?" he asked, jumping from one topic to another. There was something desperate about the way he said that, Hermione noticed, even in her rage. Like he was trying to tell her something. But what?

"What are you talking about?! It's very simple Malfoy – you were in trouble, I tried to help you. No I'm not scared of you, but I am damned tired of you and your antics! What on earth is the matter with you lately? You're not yourself! Are you in any kind of trouble? If you are, I can help you, you just have to – "

"Shut up! What did I tell you about shutting up! Why can't you just stay out of my life! You're always doing this, tormenting me with your fucking saint routine! If you didn't…..if you never……. God - !" he moaned in agony, halting his pacing and gripped his head, his fingers fisting his fine hair.

Hermione's eyes went wide. She had never seen him so conflicted. She stepped forward, her hand hesitantly reaching out for him. All that business about the bathroom was out the window. Right now he was in pain and she couldn't stand seeing him like this.

"Malfoy, what's wrong, are you okay –" she began softly but was interrupted when he suddenly, forcefully crashed him lips against hers.

Her cry of surprise was muffled as he gripped the sides of her face, cradling them harshly in his large hands. The kiss was hard, demanding, desperate. Almost painful. But it lit something deep in Hermione, something she wasn't aware of until now.

A fire began burning in her.

Just as quickly as the kiss started, he managed to abruptly tear himself away from her with an anguished cry. He walked woodenly towards the door, his back to her. He placed one hand on the door, leaning on it like a crutch, catching his breath. The office was silent save for their harsh breathing, trying to catch a breath. Hermione was frozen in place, her mouth slightly opened.

Finally, after what seemed to be an eternity, his hand slid down to the doorknob, turning it, but not yet opening the door.

Without looking at her, he said quietly, raggedly:

"You're destroying me, Hermione."

And with that he left, the door clicking shut behind him.

Hermione wasn't sure how she continued the rest of the day. She wasn't sure how she got home or how she managed to slip into bed. It was like her brain shut down and her body moved mechanically. Her mind tried to wander back to Malfoy's office to try to figure out what happened, but her mental fortitude proved stronger and she forced herself not to think about. How she managed to fall asleep, she may never know.

She was awakened from her dreamless sleep around eight in the morning with a loud tapping at her window. Hermione groaned. "In the name of the Queen," she thought groggily. "This had better be good."

With hair sticking out everywhere, she shuffled to her window and opened it, managing to open one eye. A large, regal owl swooped in, dropped an envelope off and just as quickly left. Which was strange, as most owls waited for the recipient to respond with a letter of their own.

She fumbled with the envelop for a bit until she managed to rip it open. Her heart sank. Well, it was only a matter of time, after all.

Dearest Hermione,

I hope this letter finds you in good health. I was wondering perhaps, if you would do me the honor of joining me for brunch at the Garden Villa. I must confess, I have been thinking about you these past few days and I wish to speak to you about certain matters. I hope to see you soon.

Always,

Blaise Zabini

Hermione sighed. She wondered if they were going to have the infamous "Talk" that couples often refer to, usually with much dread. Even though she was uneasy about what she had to say, in a way she was glad for it. This dilemma was a welcomed distraction.

As she was dressing, she couldn't help but grumble at having to wake up so early on a weekend. Blasted aristocrats. In her experience, the stereotypical "lazy noble," where people pictured the elite as slothful socialites that didn't wake up until two in the afternoon and frittered their days away, was entirely not true. She found that even though they indeed partied into the wee hours of the night, they somehow managed to wake up around six in morning, sipping from their priceless tea sets and reading the morning paper. They were energetic and spry, ready to take the day by the horns and make the best of things. How did they do it? If Hermione had to live their lifestyle for a week, she would have been a frazzled mess.

After taking a scrutinizing look at herself in the mirror, she squared her shoulders. Time to go.

The brunch was lovely – light yet filling, with a wonderful view to go along with it. Though it was obvious both of them had important things they needed to say, nevertheless Blaise steered the conversation so that it was cheerful and delightful. At times Hermione wondered if perhaps she was being too rash and that she should give him a chance.

But then he would look at her, usually with a certain intent, and a cold chill would work its way up her spine. A foreboding sense would wash over her.

As they were taking a leisurely stroll around the beautiful garden, talking about nothing, Hermione was only half paying attention to what he was saying, opting for strengthening her resolve and egging herself on to let him know how she felt.

At last, she blurted out, "Blaise, there's something I have to tell you!"

He looked at her in surprise, her outburst unexpected. He quickly smiled that easy smile of his and motioned for her to sit down on a nearby bench. After courteously wiping the bench for her with his handkerchief, they both sat down. She took a deep breath.

"Er, I don't really know how to put this, exactly, but I think we're – "

Blaise quickly interjected excitedly. "I think I know what you're saying and I completely agree!"

" – not right – wait, what?" she sputtered, quickly catching on to what he just said.

"Trust me cara, I've been dying to say something for a long time, but out of respect for you I have restrained myself," he said sincerely, his eyes bright.

Hermione shifted her eyes. "I see….," she mumbled, not quite sure what to make of this. Was it really her great fortune to have him feel the same thing as her? She was doubtful. She was not, in her opinion, a very lucky person. She was suspicious, wondering if they were really talking about the same thing.

"Be that as it may," she said cautiously, "I still think I should tell you that I – "

He silenced her gently and gripped her hands. She noticed how warm and soft they were, unlike….

"Let us continue this discussion somewhere more….discreet?" he offered, squeezing her hands.

Throat dry, she managed a quick nod. Without letting go of her hands he stood up, getting Hermione to rise with him. She couldn't help but notice that as they were walking, he continued to hold on of her hands. She had a sinking feeling they weren't on the same page. Once they stopped in front of his beautiful black coach, she worked up the voice to ask, "Blaise, where exactly are we going?"

He looked at her in amusement, tilting his head a little. "Why, a hotel of course."

"W-why a….a hotel?"

He laughed easily and stroked her hair affectionately. "Darling, being this coy really does suit you. Isn't it obvious? I thought we were going to….pick up where we last left off."

Suddenly things turned chilly. Hermione wasn't sure if it was her active imagination taking over or not, but she could swear the air turned colder and the sun became obscured with gray clouds. She was slowly becoming more and more frightened, starting from the tips of her toes all the way up to her scalp.

"I-I don't know what you're…"

"Oh cara, mi fai impazzire," he whispered huskily, pulling her close and pressing his cheek against the top of her head. "You don't know how long I've been waiting for you. All this time, I was worried you couldn't remember, but now I know…"

She was too shocked to move. What was he saying? He could feel her body shivering and he wrapped his strong arms around her. When he felt her tense up, he held her at arms length, smiling at her, thinking that would ease her worries. It only increased it. He lifted her chin with a crooked finger.

"You are…." he said softly, gazing upon her face. He suddenly frowned and turned her head slightly from side to side, as if examining her. He appeared satisfied after a bit and smiled again. "You really are….quite beautiful."

Hermione gulped. She managed to take a few steps back, her arms crossed in front of her as if protecting herself. "Blaise please, I don't understand! What is going on?" she asked imploringly. Why did it seem like every man in her life had a terrifying secret she couldn't even begin to comprehend?

"Don't tell me you really don't remember?" he asked incredulously, laughing a bit as if the thought was absurd. At the look on her face, he knitted his eyebrows. "But that doesn't make any sense. At first I did think you and Draco couldn't ……but I'm sure Draco remembers, so why don't you….?"

"What are you talking about?!" she practically shouted, tired of forever being in the dark about everything. She was tired of being confused. She was tired of feeling this way. "I don't know what you're talking about!"

They stood there facing each other with a light breeze passing by them. And then, Blaise began to chuckle. Hermione looked up at him, her eyes wet with frustration. His chuckling turned to laughter and she had a very, very bad feeling about all of this.

He casually walked up to her and softly cradled her face, making her fully look up at him. His eyes were glowing like molten amber, his smile amused with an edge of…something.

"You don't remember, do you," he said quietly, not really asking a question. It seemed as though he had finally figured everything out.

"You don't remember a thing."

WHOOOW. That was a tough chapter for me, mainly because it was all……seriousssss. I was feeling a bit bad that there wasn't (and probably won't be for awhile) any really funny bits to this part, but then I remembered that even in comedies, there's usually a section in the middle that is all seriousness (the climb to the climax, if you will) that later will climb back up to funniness. So enjoy this descent into darkness, things will be looking up soon enough!

Thank you all for putting up with me and my silly ideas and less that stellar writing abilities. I hope you enjoy this chapter, even though things don't really get explained, but things definitely do get REVEALED. I was worried that this chapter was going to be super short, but it's actually decently sized!

Apologies for all you Italian speakers, I'm afraid I have botched up your language once again. Mi fai impazzire from what I stole off the internet, this is SUPPOSED to mean something along the lines of, "you drive me crazy." Please correct me if I'm wrong. I know I messed things up in previous chapters, but thanks to your suggestions once I do a complete revision on the whole story I will change my mistakes.

Your comments really warmed me and I hope I can keep your respect and loyalty in chapters to come. Thank you in advanced for reading and especially if you comment. Although again, I do feel a little sorry for your kids, hahahaha. Be like Hermione and just throw some candy or food in the air and let them fend for themselves while you read my story.

The next chapter will be up…..sometime….I'm not sure when, but please, again, check out my LiveJournal page to read up on either more of my ramblings or for when I'm about to update (http://snowflakeimplivejournalcom) who is a wonderful supporter of my story and an excellent writer asked a few questions so I thought I might as well share the answers with you all, in case you were thinking of the same things.

Did the "pink" accident ever get explained because if it did, I've missed it twice now! –

Hehe no, the "diluted red" accident never got explained and I intend to keep it that way. That way, it becomes as terrifying and as gruesome as the reader's imagination. It also makes it more fun to reference to later on, without actually giving away what happened. I find people's imaginations are much stronger and creative than anything I can dish out.

Can you maybe re-word the bathtub scene, how they are positioned? I read that about 3-4 times and tried to get a visual, but had difficulty. –

Sigh. Once again my writing skills defeat me. Booo. Sorry folks, you must have been confused as well. I'll try to make it more readable, but for now, I'll try to help you out with my miserable skillz: Let's just say the "front" of the bathtub is where the faucet is, and the back is the other end. Then let's say the front of the bathtub is pointing to the door of the bathroom. Okay, so what I was trying to get at was Hermione's back is to the door and to the faucet, but she is sitting in the "front" of the bathtub (that's why she couldn't tell who came in initially).

THEN Malfoy comes to sit down on the edge, facing her but near the "end" of the bathtub. As he enters, he's facing her, and as he submerges himself, he's kind of floating belly-down with his feet at the end of the tub. Basically, their backs are to their respective ends of the bathtub and they're facing each other.

If you need more help, I can try to make a crude drawing, but I warn you my drawing skills are rubbish.

Hope that clears up a lot of confusion!

Stay tuned next time, where things finally get raunchy (WITH Blaise in it, but probably not in a situation you're imagining) and Draco's character gets revealed even more. Muahahhaha see you all soon and have a lovely holiday!

GOOD LUCK WITH YOUR TESTS!