Sorry I haven't updated in a few days! I contracted a little bit of a writers block and had to take refuge in other fics! So here's a long chapter for you guys!

I do not own the Great Gatsby, unfortunately. Great book, by the way. No, that one belongs to F. Scott Fitzgerald. And Harry Potter to JK Rowling.

Thank you for all the reviews and follows! Your feedback is greatly appreciated, because without constructive criticism, I won't know how to improve the story for my readers. But thank you all that reviewed, followed, favorited, and read. It means a lot to me!

Fair warning, there are a few triggers involving mentions of suicide and rape in here. Read at your own risk.

Hermione couldn't concentrate. Try as she might, she couldn't pay attention. Because a certain Slytherin was on her mind.

Draco Malfoy is a virgin?! How and why? What about all the stories Daphne Greengrass has told? About how Pansy had said Draco was amazing in bed? I was never one to take stock in rumors but I could believe that one. It's so weird. Draco Malfoy, a virgin.

Hermione stared at the Ancient Runes book in front of her. Nothing was comprehending in her mind. Right now, she couldn't decipher any of it, even if it depended on her life. She also remembered his question, and how it brought up painful memories of the summer before her fifth year; bittersweet memories of a Muggle boy with beautiful, shaggy, dirty blonde hair and a perfect set of white teeth.

Hermione could feel tears pricking in her eyes, and she brought up a hand to wipe them away. Don't think about him, Hermione. The past is the past, no use longing for someone that truth be told, never was yours.

Hermione's attention was caught by Blaise Zabini, who was creating tiny little glass flowers underneath his desk. She had never seen such delicate and gentle magic before, and soon, all thoughts of Draco Malfoy and the Muggle boy disappeared from her mind.

Draco was impatient. But of course, patience wasn't Draco's strongest quality. Why didn't she just answer my question? She could've said yes or no. But she said nothing. Unless… no. I refuse to believe another wizard has had her. Like Weasley. Or god forbid, Potter. Why must I wait to know?

Because, Draco, you don't just ask someone if they're a virgin, you blithering idiot, scolded the first voice. Especially a girl.

I agree, said the second voice. It really wasn't any of your business.

WOULD YOU ALL JUST SHUT UP?! COULD I HAVE MY THOUGHTS TO MY OWN FOR ONCE? Draco screamed internally.

He IS an idiot, the third voice exclaimed. You're an idiot and you've completely lost your marbles. How do you function? It's quite fascinating really.

How much longer until you give in, Draco? How much longer until you kill yourself, you useless swine? Snarled the first voice.

I'm not killing myself, not anytime soon. All of you need to shut up. You're not helping. Leave me alone. Please. Draco pleaded, and looked around, finding a way to center himself. He couldn't help but look at Pansy, noticing that she was still a little shaken up from his outburst. She kept glancing back at him, nervous and scared.

I must've really scared her. Good. He turned his attention to the board, trying to concentrate on what Professor Vector was talking about. Why bother? Arithmancy was never my greatest subject to begin with. Draco gave up on trying to concentrate and instead, rested his head on top of his books, and drifted into a nap, dreaming of the brunette witch that currently would not leave his mind.

Draco woke up with a start, to Crabbe shaking him violently. "Draco, wake up. You fell asleep. And you've got a bit of drool on your chin, mate."

Draco peered around the classroom, noticing it was empty. "'S it already over?"

Crabbe nodded. "Yeah. Professor Vector was pretty peeved at you. She decided not to wake you up as a punishment. Now come on, we've got Potions with the Gryffindors next."

Draco sat up, and grabbed his books, dragging them across the desk and swinging them into his arms. He and Crabbe exited the classroom, and made their way to the dungeons. Surprisingly, the voices hadn't returned just yet. As Draco walked through the classroom door, he immediately scanned the room for Hermione. He spotted her, sitting in a corner to herself, Weasel and Lavender just a few seats away, Potter nowhere to be seen. Hermione kept glancing warily at Lavender, a scowl on her face. Lavender, feigning innocence, flipped her hair noticeably, probably trying to rile Hermione up. Ron took no notice of Lavender's actions; instead, he was doodling in the corner of his notes.

Draco smirked, reveling in how daft and dense Weasel really was. He really can't see what he's about to lose, since he's preoccupied with that tart. Draco walks over to a desk close by Hermione, and sits down. Crabbe follows close behind, sitting next to him.

"So, Draco, are you going to insult the Mudblood today?" Crabbe joked, punching Draco's arm playfully.

Draco noticeably tensed up, and glared at Crabbe. "Don't. Don't ever call her that, Crabbe. Or you'll wish you hadn't opened that big fat mouth of yours," he growled, loud enough for Hermione to hear. Her eyes widened, and she preoccupied herself with her potions book, pretending to read about Golpalott's Third Law.

Crabbe, meanwhile, was surprised and dumbfounded at Draco's reaction. "Blimey, mate, what's gotten into you? 'S not like you to not want to insult the Mudblood."

Draco, his temper flaring, whipped out his wand and pointed it at Crabbe's throat. "Did I fucking stutter, you fat oaf? Speak ill of her one more time, and I'll sever your head from your body so quickly, the Headless Hunt with be recruiting you before it even touches the floor. Are we clear?!"

Crabbe gulped, fear evident in his eyes. "Clear as an azure sky, Draco," he managed to sputter out.

Draco withdrew his wand from Crabbe's neck, and sheathed it. He peered out of the corner of his eye at Hermione, and noticed her face was flushed, her eyes wide as saucers. She was breathing heavy, like in the Great Hall, after she had witnessed his confrontation with Pansy.

Shit. That's the second time I've lost my temper in front of her today.

He busied himself with his Potions book, vaguely aware that Crabbe was trembling slightly beside him. Draco rolled his eyes, clearly exasperated with Crabbe's overdramatic antics.

"Crabbe, don't be such a drama queen. You know I was only taking the piss."

"'S not right the way you treat me. I'm not some droog, you know. I've a mind to just leave you alone, you know. Quit being your friend and just have it be me and Goyle. Just thought we was going to have a bit of fun." Crabbe said, refusing to look at Draco.

Draco raised an eyebrow. He didn't respond well to threats regarding his position in his friend group. "Oh? A bit of fun?" Draco smirked devilishly. "How about this? Later tonight, after I'm finished with a few errands," he thought about the meeting he had with Hermione in the secret study room, "you and I go for a walk 'round the grounds and play a little Quidditch with Goyle? How's that sound, chap?"

Crabbe looked at Draco, a grin on his face. "You mean it? Like old times?"

Draco returned his smile. "Yes, just like old times." Little did Crabbe know, Draco had other plans for him that didn't involve Quidditch.

At that moment, Potter walked in, and sat next to Hermione, and began talking excitedly to her about something Draco didn't know about, but he caught the name 'Luna'. Shortly after, Slughorn walked in, and began the lesson.

Hermione practically ran to her study room after the last class of the day. She shivered, it was unusually cold for a November day. She arrived at the portrait and said the password, the painting swinging forward to grant her entrance.

She settled on her favorite armchair, and kicked off her shoes. The fireplace crackled to life, and soon the drafty room was toasty and warm. Hermione tucked her feet underneath her, and grabbed a book from her bag. It was a Muggle one, something her father used to read when he was up late at night, a tale called The Great Gatsby. Hermione loved classic American literature, even if it was hard to get in Britain. Her father had brought a copy over with him after visiting in America when she was four years old. The copy was old, and worn, the pages dog eared and stained from where her father had licked his fingers and used them to turn the pages. She loved that the book was imperfect, because it showed how much it had gone through. And it always reminded her of home.

She flipped to the page she had last read, and began.

'Are you in love with me,' she said low in my ear, 'or why did I have to come alone?'

'That's the secret of Castle Rackrent. Tell your chauffeur to go far away and spend an hour.'

'Come back in an hour, Ferdie.' Then in a grave murmur: 'His name is Ferdie.'

'Does the gasoline affect his nose?'

'I don't think so,' she said innocently. 'Why?'

We went in. To my overwhelming surprise the living-room was deserted.

'Well, that's funny,' I exclaimed.

'What's funny?'

She turned her head as there was a light dignified knocking at the front door. I went out and opened it. Gatsby, pale as death, with his hands plunged like weights in his coat pockets, was standing in a puddle of water glaring tragically into my eyes.

With his hands still in his coat pockets he stalked by me into the hall, turned sharply as if he were on a wire, and disappeared into the living-room. It wasn't a bit funny. Aware of the loud beating of my own heart I pulled the door to against the increasing rain.

For half a minute there wasn't a sound. Then from the living-room I heard a sort of choking murmur and part of a laugh, followed by Daisy's voice on a clear artificial note:

'I certainly am awfully glad to see you again.'

Just at that moment, she heard the portrait swing open, and Draco walked through, clearly in deep thought. His hair looked windswept, and he had bags under his eyes that became more pronounced in the faint light of the fire. He made his way to Hermione and sat down in the chair next to her, slunk in the chair, clearly exhausted. He moved his head slightly so that he was facing Hermione without moving his entire body. She untucked her feet from underneath her and closed the weathered book shut, placing it in her bag. She face him, and opened her mouth to speak.

He cut her off, closing his eyes. "Could you give me a moment? It's been a long day. I've not had time to unwind."

She shut her mouth, and moved back to her original position, grabbing her book from her bag and continued reading.

Silence filled the room for several minutes, until Draco piped up. "What're you reading?"

Hermione, not looking up from her book, responded in an automatic, almost robotic voice, "The Great Gatsby."

"The Great what?"

"Gatsby. It's a Muggle book from America. It's actually my father's. He gave it to me before I boarded the train this year. Said that it was time for me to start reading something else other than my copy of Hogwarts: A History."

"Ah. I see. Is it any good?" Draco inquired, genuinely curious. He'd never read or heard about a book from America, much less a Muggle book. He'd always been interested in American things, even though he had no experience with them.

"It is. They made a movie out of it. I've-"

"A movie? What's a movie?"

"A movie is like a moving picture with sound and color. It's popular in the Muggle World."

"Ohh."

Hermione smiled, clearly enjoying the inquiries about Muggle things. She'd forgotten how behind the times wizards were. It was almost laughable.

"What are you smirking about?"

"Nothing. Just a funny thought is all."

Draco sat up, and straightened his robes, and faced Hermione. "So, I want you to answer my question from earlier this morning. Are you a virgin?"

The smile faltered from Hermione's face. She debated as to whether or not she should be talking with him about this. She stared at his face, her mouth slightly parted, willing the words to come out. Why was it so hard to answer?

Draco waited patiently, wringing his hands, his brow furrowed. He looked slightly apprehensive, as if he really didn't want to know the answer. He had been waiting all day for this, and judging by how long it was taking Hermione to respond, he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.

Finally, after a long and uncomfortable silence, Hermione speaks. "No. I'm not."

Draco inhales sharply, a weird feeling bubbling in the pit of his stomach. Not unlike the time he had ingested his first glass of Ogden's. He felt somewhat… Sick. Possibilities ran through his head, and he imagined two scenarios. That it had been Potter or that it had been Weasel. And he didn't know which one made him sicker.

"Who was it? Potter or Weasel?" he asked, rather harshly.

Her bottom lip trembled. "Neither."

Draco sat back, surprised. "Neither? Then who?"

Hermione made herself more comfortable in her chair. Her book fell to the floor, forgotten. She began, taking a deep breath. "It started the summer before fifth year. I went to Wales with my Mum and Dad, and I met a boy there. His name was Leo." She choked back a sob, the memories she had buried, clawing their way to the surface, memories she thought she had buried deep. "The moment I laid eyes on him, it was magnetic. My heart fluttered in my chest; colors seemed bright, sounds became sharper, everything, more defined. His hair was a beautiful dirty blonde, his teeth sparkling white. And his eyes, oh, his eyes; they were the bluest of blue. Like the ocean." She smiled, remembering his eyes, and how they appeared to have gazed into her soul.

"And when he smiled, it made me melt. He was the first boy that had ever taken an interest in me. He was visiting from Melbourne, on holiday with his brother. His brother was no older than twenty-five, and Leo was nineteen. He took me on dates, slowly wooing me over the course of a month. I thought I was in love." Hermione looked sheepishly at the ground, the smile slowly disappearing. "Then came the bad parts."

Draco sat up, and leaned closer to Hermione, listening intently, watching her face to see if she was going to break down. He grasped her hand, and rubbed the skin by her thumb, as a way of telling her to go on. She nodded, and continued her story.

"He became cold, possessive, even downright hurtful. He'd say things to me that no one had ever said to me before. He was worse than you." Draco grimaced, remembering all the times he had been mean and cruel to Hermione, and wished he could take it all back.

"And he always brought up the fact that if I loved him, I would sleep with him. He broke me down slowly, over the course of July and a little into August. Finally, after two months of abuse, I gave in, hoping that sleeping with him would make him love me back." Hermione let out a strangled sob, and Draco immediately pulled her close to him, wrapping his arms around her, rocking her back and forth as she cried into his jumper.

"Oh Draco, it was horrible. I gave him all of me and he just left me, broken and bleeding. I kept it a secret from my parents, because I was so scared. I was so scared that they'd blame it on me, say it was my fault, or that they'd be disappointed in me. I've not even told Harry or Ron. You're the only one who knows, Draco." She cried loudly, sniffling and shuddering against him, riding out her wave of sadness.

Draco, on the other hand, was furious. He could only see red, and he wanted to get revenge on this Muggle that hurt this beautiful delicate witch. Even though Draco was sick in the head, he knew that raping a woman, or anyone or anything in general, was a crime against nature. It was an abhorrent act. He wanted blood. His breath came out in small gasps, not loud enough for Hermione to hear, and he slowed his breathing.

"I'm so sorry, Hermione. I wish I could make it better. I wish you hadn't been hurt in the most horrible way possible." He murmured into her hair, kissing the top of her head. He remembered when they had shared a real kiss, not the one where he had forced her, but when she had kissed him first. He now understood why she had flinched when he attempted to touch her underneath her skirt. He felt horrible about it. He wanted to bash his head against the wall until he slipped into a coma.

"There's no use crying over it now. It's done and over with." Hermione extracted herself from Draco's arms, and wiped her eyes. "I've always been strong. I've learned how to adapt." She sniffed. "I'm a Gryffindor. We're meant to be strong and unyielding."

Draco stared at her, admiring her strength, but internally berating her stubbornness. "Sometimes, Hermione, it's okay to show weakness. Even a lion knows when to back down from a fight."

Hermione pondered his words, then countered them with her own. "And sometimes a snake knows when to be quiet and reserved."

Draco laughed. "Us Slytherins aren't like that. We speak our minds."

"So I've noticed."

"Yeah, some say it's not a very admirable quality. But we see the world differently than most people do. We see it for the filthy goddamn world it is, and how precious and short time can be. Why not say now what you might not be able to say later?"

Hermione took in his statement, mulling it over. "Because even though it may be right, it isn't polite, Draco. Sometimes, a lie or even withholding something to say is the best option for both parties."

"Does that apply to the situation you have with Weasley?"

Hermione faltered, his words stinging. "I chose not to tell Ron how I felt because it felt weird at the time. I was still dealing with my emotions over… you know…" She took a deep breath, willing herself not to cry again. "And then you came along, crashing my entire world with a kiss. How was I supposed to feel then?"

"True. So, are you still hung up over Weasel?"

"No. I'm over Ron. I'm just really pissed at Lavender."

"I'd be pissed too if that bint kept flaunting my friend in front of me like that. Stupid tart doesn't know her limit."

"I'm inclined to show her."

Draco smiled, and let out a laugh. "How Slytherin of you, thinking about harming a member of your own house."

Hermione laughed, her eyes crinkling in the most adorable fashion. "It could only be thinking, Draco. Ron would never forgive me if hurt his precious Lav-Lav. Although," she paused, grinning mischievously, "she might wake up to find that all of her hair products have been replaced with body hair removal cream."

Draco guffawed, enjoying this side of Hermione he had never seen before. "I'd pay three hundred Galleons to see that!"

Hermione and Draco laughed for several minutes, imagining a half bald Lavender pulling out chunks of her own hair, horrified. Their laughs turned to chuckles, then to silence. They stared at each other, smiling, unable to find words to say.

Draco broke the silence. "Can I ask you a question?"

Hermione nodded. "Always."

He hesitated. "Well, erm, I was wondering if…" he trailed off, suddenly nervous.

Hermione looked at him, puzzled. "If what?"

He began again. "...if I could give you a kiss?"

She paused, turning away, trying to hide the fact that she was blushing, not that he could see it in the dim light.

Draco turned away, slightly embarrassed, and made to get up. "Forget it. It was a stupid question. I'm sorry." He was halfway to the portrait when he was spun around forcefully by Hermione. She stared up at him, breathing heavily, her lips parted once again, and stood on her tiptoes.

"You didn't say 'please'," she whispered into his ear, moving back and planting a kiss on his mouth. It was a chaste one, one that was full of anxiety and a little bit of passion. He kissed her back, twining his fingers in her hair, one hand on the small of her back. He kissed her like he had never kissed her before, with so much passion and thought that she could feel her skin burning. Her lips tingled, her mind clouded in a misty haze, all thoughts completely gone. She had never been kissed like this before, nor had she felt like this with Leo. Leo never made her mind a complete blank. Leo never made her lips tingle or her skin burn with ache. Draco made her feel like this. And in this moment, Hermione knew that she had finally made up her mind.

She chose Draco.