Another slightly longer chapter :) Because I looove you and really love reviews, too :)

It was mid-Saturday and the sun was practically burning Draco's pale skin. He didn't really like the sun. The sun made people happy, and happiness was a myth. He had learned this years ago and wasn't about to kid himself with foolish little feelings that meant nothing in reality.

No one seemed to be in the Transfiguration courtyard. The few who were sat at the other end, reading to themselves on a bench or picking grass from the ground. But he was the only one wandering through to get to the Slytherin common room. His footsteps echoed on the gray stone below him. He quite enjoyed the peace and quiet.

It didn't last long, however, for the sound of muffled cries rang through the air. Draco stopped dead in his tracks, searching the area for the source of the noise. When he came up empty, he began to move again, but the shouts persisted.

"Will you stop –"

"Quit wiggling your ass!"

"Then stop touching it!"

The perverted, hormonal male within Draco became interested in such a conversation. He began to quietly wander towards where the voices were coming from.

"You know how you get me going."

"Oh, shut it, Sam!"

"What? Isn't honesty the best policy?"

"Didn't I tell you to shut it?"

The place where the conversation seemed the loudest was at a door at the far end of the hallway. Draco stood in front of it, contemplating whether or not to barge in and interrogate Sam and this other girl (who he had to admit, he found quite delectable at the moment). That thought ceased when the talking picked up.

"Did you just pinch my boob?"

"…Maaaaybe."

"That's it! Why are we even doing this in the first place?"

"To become more attractive to the opposite sex. A certain blonde, in particular."

"Shut it!"

"Well, do you or do you not want to get him in bed?"

"I didn't want this to happen in the first place."

Being a slightly egotistical person, Draco's mind reeled at the word blonde. Did this girl – this amazing girl – fancy him?

"Okay, so this blouse needs to go. I'm still unable to see your bra –"

"That's it! I'm done with this! Get me the fuck out of here!"

The door swung open and the hot, sexy, amazing, gorgeous, vivacious, phenomenal girl that Draco had just spent the last five minutes drooling about turned out to be Goddamn Kenzie Thorne.

Even more surprising: she was wearing the outfit of a slutty school girl.

And the last bit pushed him over the edge of sanity: the blouse buttons were undone, revealing a purple leopard print bra, and her small plaid skirt was riding up so he could see the waist band of matching panties.

She gawked at him for a second before rage filled her eyes. Eyebrows narrowed and her glare became incredibly menacing. Yet Draco wasn't fazed. He'd seen her angrier. She didn't scare him much.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" she screamed. Behind her, Draco spotted Sam Calloway gazing nervously at her friend. A small smirk was placed onto his thin lips. He crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe.

"Just enjoying hearing about your painful endeavors trying to fit that little piece of material over that fat ass."

He received a heavy slap to his cheek for that comment, leaving it smarting. She hurried out of the abandoned classroom and started to walk briskly away from him. All the while, as he caught up with her pace, he stared at her perfect ass covered only by the thin spotted violet cloth.

"Stop being such a pervert and actually look at my face!" she snapped at him. He quickly shook his head from that small window of thought.

"You may want to fix your skirt before someone other than your secret lover sees that amazing piece of ass."

Shit, did I just say that out loud?

Kenzie stopped for a split second and spun around to face him, all the while her fingers unhooking the small plaid handkerchief of material from the waistband of her panties. He couldn't keep his gray eyes from those magical digits.

"What did you just say?" she breathed, her voice only slightly above a whisper. Draco shook his head at her.

"N-nothing," he replied in the same tone. And for once, in the presence of Kenzie Thorne, he was afraid. Afraid that she would dangle that fleeting sexual remark above him. The only thing that she didn't know: he had something to hold over her as well.

"Okay, then –"

"But, pray tell," he cut over, not willing to give up so quickly, "What you and your goddess friend were speaking of that I overheard about?"

It was now Kenzie's turn to flush dark pink. His ever-present cocky grin remained stuck on his pale face, his gaze roving along her colored skin (which he had to admit, looked quite soft. He was tempted to reach out and test that theory.)

Stop it! he chastised himself. She's a pain, an annoying as hell little Mudblood! A Thorne in your side!

"I'm not a dolt –"

"You sure fooled me."

She received a cool look before he continued. "I know what you were talking about. Who you were talking about." She eyed him curiously.

"Did Parkinson mistake your ear for your mouth, and the residual saliva is clogging off your hearing?" she offered. He shuddered both at the thought and his girlfriend's name.

"Hardly, love. You see, I understand that my abrupt beauty in your plain Jane eyes is most likely shocking, but you have to accept two things."

"And what would those two things be?" she taunted, crossing her arms over her now buttoned up blouse. He could still see the purple of her bra though.

"One: that you are totally, completely, and irrevocably in love with me." She scoffed, but he held up a pale slender finger. "And two: I just don't fancy you. You'll have to get on without my devilish good looks and delicious tongue."

He turned and walked off, yet the slight feeling of anxiousness didn't leave his stomach until after dinner. And he knew why: because he was kinda, sorta, a little bit sure his second reason had been a lie.

"To hand-crafted beers made in local breweries."

Rose walked placidly to the Quidditch pitch, the cool September air rushing over her. It was almost eleven 'o' clock at night. Everyone with any common sense or respect for the rules was in bed. But Rose didn't really have either of those things, and therefore completely neglected said codes.

"To yoga. To yogurt. To rice and beans and cheese."

She paused at the center of the field, looking out at the now empty stands. Closing her eyes, she began to envision the hundreds of students, crying out praises of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. A chill ran through her at the idea. It was so phenomenal.

"To leather. To dildos. To curry vindaloo."

With a last fleeting look around, she mounted her broom and pushed off from the ground. The sensation of weightlessness fulfilled her. The dark sky enwrapped her like a cool duvet. And all that mattered in those few moments were the silence and the glistening brilliant stars above her.

"To huevos rancheros and Maya Angelou."

"What are you doing?"

Rose nearly fell off of her broom and plummeted to a very painful spine injury had she not been holding on so tight to her broom. Being a Beater did things like giving you a fairly good tolerance of pain as well as reflexes.

She spun around to face fucking Ronald Weasley. He was riding his own broom only a few feet away from her. A small amused smile was on his lips from whens he had jumped at his voice.

"Why the bloody hell are you out here?"

"I asked you first," he snapped back. Rose grumbled and rolled her eyes a bit.

"Singing. Flying. Now answer mine," she replied. He imitated her.

"Taking an evening fly. Is that a crime?"

"No, but murder is, and if you weren't out here, I might not have almost dropped to my death," she retorted.

"Stop beings so melodramatic," he griped. "You're fine. Besides, who would know? I'd just drag you to the Forbidden Forest and bury you before anyone found out."

This small comment made Rose laugh, to which both teens were shocked. Had Rose Carson just laughed at one of Ron Weasley's jokes? Were they both hallucinating?

Or was it possible that maybe the pair just didn't hate each other as fervently as they once had?

Rose quickly shook that thought out of her head. Of course she still did! Of course they were just as much enemies as they had been at the start of the year! The bet had nothing to do with anything; it was simply playing tricks with her mind. Her friends were behind everything!

"Carson! Think fast!"

This time, she was knocked off her broom, but her legs grasped the thin wooden shaft tightly. Ron was in a fit of laughter as the Bludger curved elegantly and sped back to her. She steadied herself and caught it between two hands.

"That was totally uncalled for!" she shrieked. Yep, she hated him still. He shrugged.

"You were out of it. Thought I'd do something nice and wake you up." Rose's eyes narrowed and she zoomed down to the box he had opened to take out the Bludger, grabbed the Beater's bat she'd be using the rest of the year at the Quidditch games, and raced back up. Ron caught on just as she threw the Bludger into the air and smacked it heavily.

It came whirring towards him, narrowly missing his head and only because he had nimbly ducked out of the way. If he hadn't, his face would've been flattened in so all that would be left was some red hair.

He hurried up to the Keeper's hoops and began to guard them. Suddenly, it was like a miniature game. She beat the Bludger towards his hoops with her bat; he hit them away with two large calloused hands. This went on until both were sweaty, overheated messes.

"Die, bitch!" Rose cried out, raising her club and swinging a final time. The score had been 0-0 until that last hit. Ron, so sleep-deprived and weighty, let the Bludger zoom into the nearest hoop, scoring Rose the winning point.

"Yes!"

"No!"

Ron flew hurriedly towards her, ready to tackle and take her down, his tired mind believing it was the only way to defeat her for good. She was too busy cheering herself on to notice the six foot slab of muscle hurtling her way.

They both twirled at the impact, spiraling aimlessly around the pitch before hitting the ground. Rose ended up on top until she turned over and was lying next to him instead.

And they both erupted in laughter.

It was the oddest either of them had either felt. Completely at peace, yet burdened with anger and happiness at the same time. The laughter somehow seemed to make it all better. They giggled until their stomach's hurt, their eyes were watering, and their heads ached from the noise and effort it took to make the sounds.

Ron looked at her first, sizing her up with dark blue eyes. He had never really taken the time to notice anything about her, too caught up in the hatred and such. Yet at that moment, she seemed to radiate sunshine and joy (something that was peculiar for angsty, dark little Rosie.) He found himself being drawn to her smile, her hands, her hazel-brown irises.

Her lips.

Unconsciously, almost as though she was the earth and gravity was sucking him closer, he moved towards her, his gazing never leaving her perfect mouth. She eyed him peculiarly when he came so close she could feel his breath against her neck. But she didn't pull away. She honestly didn't mind too much. It was sensual, yet somehow loving.

One hand, so much larger than his, ran up her arm, farther and farther until it was pressed against her throat. She could feel his pulse mix with her slightly overactive one. She could hear their hearts mesh into one single continuous beat. He moved his head over hers, lips half an inch from hers.

"Rose…" The word wasn't called out or moaned or said with any sexual inducement. He simply said her name.

And that woke her up.

She flushed dark red, coughed a small bit, and rolled out from under his touch. Her broomstick lay only feet away, and she crawled there, climbed atop it, and took off to the castle, attempting not to look back or let the tears flow free.

Our first slight gaze into my perverted mind ;) And Draco's too! And our first almost kiss! (And definitely not our last either!)

Review, my darlings! :D Or I'll sic my besties on you! I warn you, they bite ;)