As soon as the Professor allowed her to leave, she dashed away and actively avoided Draco for the rest of the day. Her mind was running a hundred miles per minute, and she decided to distract herself with plan infiltrate-Gryffindor, rather than question her feelings for the Malfoy boy.

Obviously she liked him. But that was not the most important thing to consider. The important things were the years of insults and hostility and the feuds and the social repercussions. What would her friends say? What would her parents say? They knew, from all the stories Hermione had told them, just how horrible Draco Malfoy was; they wouldn't be happy to hear that their daughter was going on a date with that boy. And that would totally screw up her plans to become the golden Gryffindor, once and for all. There would be no redeeming herself. She would seem, on all accounts, to have settled into her new house smoothly and happily.

And she assured herself that that was not the case.

She had been so happy as a Gryffindor- so proud and brave and loyal. She had made the best friends she would ever have in that house. And she was not a Slytherin. She was sure about that. Maybe she had been wrong about what they represented, but she knew who she was. She was a Gryffindor.

And that was final.

But, technically, that was actually up to Minerva McGonagall. So she still needed to be put back by the headmistress and the sorting hat.

But she was clean out of ideas.

She voluntarily polished all the trophies for Filch. She took Fang out for a nice long walk, as a favour for Hagrid. She helped the herbology Professor tend to some of the simpler plants. Hermione even helped organise the library. But dinner came and went and there was no talk of a house annulment. She was still in Slytherin.

How much was she going to have to do to get back into Gryffindor? She really wasn't in the mood to be on permanent good behaviour if she wasn't even going to get rewarded for it. What was the point?

She wanted to slap herself at how Slytherin she sounded.

Hermione had successfully ignored Draco for the rest of the week; he seemed to get the idea and just let things go for a while. Still, he sometimes caught himself looking at her, and that was not at all okay. She obviously wasn't interested. And that was putting him in a foul mood.

Draco then reminded himself of his conversation with Hermione. The one after their awkwardness prevented anything romantic once before. And she had said that if he were to ask her out, she would say yes. She had told him that. So why hadn't she said yes? Had he left it too long? Had Hermione Granger lost interest in him? Had she decided that he wasn't worth the effort or the time?

Oh, Merlin, he should have made plans with her back shouldn't have decided to be smug and clever and wait. What other teenage boy would do that? He had Hermione right where he wanted her, and he let her slip through his fingertips.

Damn.

On Saturday morning, Draco went to the Quidditch pitch, bright and early, planning on some private practice. He was wearing the only casual jeans he owned, and a green cable-knit jumper. It was cold out, and a t-shirt wouldn't cut it. He gripped his state-of-the-art broomstick in his left hand as he made his way to his favourite place on the castle grounds.

The Quidditch pitch was the only place he could go to for peace and quiet. The common room was nice, but after a while, he grew tired of the racket. And lately he had been more irritable than usual; he blamed Hermione Granger for that.

He was startled to see someone sitting in the bleachers, though. Her chocolate curls were pulled back in a ponytail, just a few strands escaping around her pale face. She was dressed in a turtleneck woollen white jumper and dark skinny jeans. And her black boots stretched right up to her knees. Draco swallowed nervously, wondering whether he should just go. He could come back later. But then again, why should he?

Hermione was reading when Draco strode onto the pitch. She didn't even notice him at first; she was too enthralled in her novel. But then she saw something quick in her peripheral vision, and she was horrified to find none other than Draco Malfoy whizzing by on his Nimbus. He wasn't even looking at her.

She flushed bright red and was furious at herself. She would be much happier reading in the library or the common room- in the warm- but she was terrified of running into Draco and having to find answers to his questions and hers. So she was freezing her face off, sitting on hard, uncomfortable bleachers. But now Draco was here, too. Of course he was. He played Quidditch. He had more right to be here than her.

She wanted to stand up and leave. But how weird would that look? And besides, maybe he hadn't even noticed her. Maybe soon he would decide it was too cold to be outside- as Hermione was sure it was- and he would just go, and he would never even know she was there.

Yes. That was what she would do. She slumped lower down and hid her face in her book. Still, she peered over the edge every couple of seconds, just to look at him. He looked nice when he was flying; calm and cool. The lines in his face smoothed out and he didn't look capable of anything rude or callous or malicious. But then Draco stopped where he was flying, and he hovered right in front of her.

Damn, she thought, he had definitely seen her.

"Hermione," He said as he flew closer, and then he dropped down onto the bleacher below her and met her gaze evenly. Her face was pink, but Draco couldn't tell if she was blushing because of him or the harsh chill in the air. "You shouldn't sit out in this weather." He said coolly, and Hermione wanted to snap at him for that collected look in his pretty grey eyes.

Hermione pursed her lips together, "So why are you out here?" She asked, faking curiosity. She knew that she didn't have any right to be angry at Draco; it was directed at herself, really. She was frustrated with her inability to just throw caution to the wind and say, 'hey, wanna go out sometime?' But who was she kidding? She most definitely was not that kind of girl.

"I'm not sitting down, though," He pointed out, holding up his Quidditch broom, "I'm flying. That keeps me warm." He grinned as an idea hit him. He'd show Hermione how un-boring he was. He'd show her that no one lost interest in Draco Malfoy. "But I know how we can solve this problem." He smirked, and tilted his head in the direction of his Nimbus.

Hermione was, as always, quick on the uptake. She held up her hands, palms facing Draco. "No, no, no," She said decisively, "Not gonna happen, Draco. Nope. No." She shook her head widely as she spoke. Her voice was shaking just slightly, much to Draco's surprise and interest.

"Don't tell me that Hermione Granger doesn't know how to fly a broom?" He joked, a smirk pulling at his lips. Flying was his favourite thing in the world. How could Hermione not understand how brilliant it was? He would have to show her just how great it was. And if that meant getting up-close-and-personal, well, then so be it.

Draco was a professional.

And Hermione was adamant. "No, I can ride a broom. Don't you remember last year, when Draco, Harry and I save your life in the Room of Requirement? I flew by myself and I was fine. But I'm reading. And I don't really enjoy Quidditch. I'm really more of a theoretical girl. Books over brooms, you know?"

Draco laughed loudly at that.

"Look, I'm fine, okay. See?" She tugged at the collar of her chunky knitted turtleneck jumper, "Knitwear, super warm and cosy."

Draco smiled kindly and took Hermione's hand, "You can hold onto me. Just give it a go." He started to pull her in the direction of the stairs.

Hermione followed dutifully, book in hand, but she complained about it until they were standing on the green turf. And then she started to shake her head again. "Nope, no, no, I don't want to." She backed away a couple of steps and then turned to leave, but Draco intercepted her- "whoa, whoa, whoa"- and his arms went around her waist, sweeping her up and spinning her around.

And then Hermione couldn't concentrate on her escape, because Draco Malfoy's arms were around her waist and he was just the right height that allowed him to lift her off her feet. And if he was struggling with her weight, he didn't show it. She was blushing so hotly, her ears were pink.

Draco dropped her back onto her feet in front of him, blocking her exit of the pitch. There was a smirk settled on his lips and his grey eyes were attractively amused. "Get ready for the ride of your life, Granger."

Maybe it was just her mind in the gutter, but that only made her blush intensify, and her eyes became rounder than ever.

a/n: Hi everyone! Sorry for the long delay. I started writing this chapter a while ago and I just didn't like it and I didn't wanna post it because it didn't seem right, and I didn't know where I would take it next. But I think I got it kinda right, eventually.

I'll try to post soon. Right now, I'm gonna write the next chapter for my other Dramione. I'm in a Dramione mood right now. Also, it's my birthday tomorrow (in forty minutes, actually) so you could always leave a review as a birthday present? Ha, thanks. Bye.