A/N: Hey guys! Omgosh-I'm super ecstatic to share with you all that this story has been nominated in the Dramione FanFiction Awards for best AU! Thanks to those that nominated it and are voting. If you'd like to check out all the awesome stories that are nominated for this round and vote for your favorites, I've shared the link on my Tumblr. Also, you can find it on Dramione FanFiction Forum's Tumblr. Thanks so much for your continued interest with this story. I hope you like the latest update. I made a pretty which you can see on Tumblr or photobucket C: Let me know what you think? Happy reading!

Beta Love to: RooOJoy

Inspiration: Secret Wedding from the Braveheart soundtrack

Thanks for the follows/favorites/reviews: Lindsey, chibi-Clar, LastBornSlytherin, Mistress DragonFlame, mega700201, EStrunk, riddlesgurl86, sleeplygirl, Green Eyed Lana Lee, HenriaSownbinder, Nellaus, Beckster384, Becky, daswhoiam, JiSeongi, sunshinealeia, romancenerd7878, LeanaM, pgoodrichboggs, uniqu3s0u7, DarqueDeath4444, Diokomen, LK-HoGwArTs-hEaDgIrL, SlytherinPrincessNurse1994, AnnaOxford, and the guests!


000

"This isn't the one," Olive cried in outrage, angrily turning to face her cowardly slave. "Muggles these days." She threw down the gown and glanced over to Daphne and Astoria who shared pitied looks with her. "I swear to Merlin, it's impossible to find good help anymore."

Daphne nodded empathetically. "Incompetent, the lot of them."

"What happened to your last Muggle, Olive?"

A glimpse of the bushy-haired slave known as Hermione flashed through her head. The girl had been quite odd. Olive had never been able to put her finger on just what it was that didn't sit right with her about Hermione. Indeed, now that she was gone, Olive had to admit Hermione was perhaps the best slave she'd ever owned. The brunette Muggle had an uncanny ability to anticipate Olive's every whim, almost like magic. Olive had supposed it was a factor of owning her since they were both girls. Regardless of the reason, she rarely had to ask for things and Hermione was always prepared for whatever Olive needed. Yet the girl gave Olive the creeps. There was far more awareness in those muddy brown eyes than belonged in a Muggle. They certainly weren't dull like the rest of her family's Muggles. She'd whined about it to her father before, but he had shrugged off her concerns. As the years wore on, the feeling that the simple girl was more than simple only intensified and Olive insisted that she be gotten rid of.

"We sold her off to Australia," Olive said, shrugging. "Who knows where she is now? Probably some Pureblood brute's whore, if I had any guess."

The ladies giggled maliciously. Olive's new Muggle cowered even more so in the corner. Olive eyed the dirty blond-haired girl in a detached sort of way. The girl was younger than Olive and her friends, which she found she liked. Though frightened, the Muggle's eyes were most certainly dull, which she found she liked very much. There would be no more Muggles haunting her dreams with depthless brown eyes hiding hordes of secrets.

"You think that's bad," the other blond in the room, Astoria, said with eyes narrowed, "at least you two haven't had your betrothed flee from you."

"At least you have a betrothed," Olive bit back, irritation coursing through her not for the first time at the reminder that the younger witch's prospects were far better off than hers.

Daphne gave a loud guffaw. "She doesn't have a betrothed." She mimicked the last word cruelly. "Draco Malfoy has hardly agreed to marriage. The only one who's gotten remotely close to securing that agreement has since given up and pursued Nott."

"Pansy was merely a shag-buddy," Astoria said nastily.

"Lord Malfoy has had many of those." Olive wriggled her eyebrows suggestively. She and Daphne shared a laugh.

Astoria crossed her arms. "You're slags, the both of you. Just because you shared a year with him does not mean you have one up on me. Besides, slags are for shagging, not marrying."

"I don't know why it's of any concern to you, anyway," Olive said. "Not only was no formal agreement made, but our beloved Slytherin prince is likely lying on the bottom of the ocean right now, somewhere by the New World."

"Don't be crass," Daphne said. "Draco was our friend."

The girls ducked their heads in shame after Daphne's uncharacteristic reprimand. They sank down on the large Chesterfield sofa in Olive's drawing room.

Astoria was the first to break the silence. "I should inform you, however, you're quite mistaken about the formal arrangement. My parents, as well as his, have been in conversation for weeks about it. I was even to stay with the Malfoys this summer, upon Lord Malfoy's return."

"Cheer up, Astoria, darling," Olive cooed amid the younger witch's sniffling. "It's quite possible he survived the ordeal."

"Didn't you hear? Chancellor Malfoy has been provided leave to search for his son, you silly ninny." Daphne rolled her eyes, before gesturing for the Muggle girl to refill her wine. "I swear, Olive, your old Muggle never let our cups get low."

Olive pressed her lips in a thin line of displeasure. "Oh, lay off of it already. Hermione is gone and this Muggle will learn soon enough." Olive could not believe she was coming to her Muggle's aid. "I did hear that, too, Astoria. Perhaps Chancellor Malfoy will find his son?"

"I hope so." Astoria dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief.

"You're not the only one whose intended is in danger. My Thorfinn has been sent on a dangerous mission of his own," Daphne pointed out. "The man may not even make it back for our wedding. I hear New World is quite the dangerous place. Filled with unknown creatures and rabid Muggles who have yet to learn their place in the world."

Olive put her hand over her chest, aghast. "Don't be morbid, Daphne. You're scaring us."

"Thorfinn will return," Astoria said in a whiny voice. "He will be declared a hero and elevated in status. Meanwhile, if Malfoy is even found, he will forever be known as the weakling whom Potter defeated. He and his friends are ruined."

"Some understanding wife you would make," Daphne said, raising her brows. "He and his men were overpowered. Blaise and Theodore can attest to that."

"If they're ever let out of the King's dungeons," Astoria said.

"Why would they be in King Riddle's dungeons?"

"For losing, silly," Astoria said with a chuckle.

"They're just being healed. That's not how the King rewards heroes." Daphne stared down both witches.

"You're always so disagreeable," Astoria said, shaking her head at her sister. "I swear, ever since third year, when you lost your bloody best friend, Davis."

Daphne drew herself up quickly, her wand gripped harshly in her fingers before anyone knew what was what. Her magic crackled around her menacingly and her younger sister recoiled away at the blatant threat. "Astoria Belinda Greengrass. You know better than to bring that up, you wretched girl!"

Olive got up, walking towards her friend, and placed a tentative hand on her shoulder. "Relax, Daphne. No one blames you for being friends with that filthy Half-Blood in third year. None of us knew who she really was."

Daphne's chest rose and fell quickly. Astoria's eyes had widened in fright.

"Sorry, Sissy," she muttered.

"Everything is fine, girls," Olive said. She gestured to her Muggle to bring her what appeared to be an ornately decorated jewelry box. "I know the perfect thing to get you both out of this foul mood. I told you about my father's newly elevated position?" Daphne's jaw was still clenched angrily, but Olive was happy to see she had lowered her wand. "There are pros to being First Commander at Azkaban prison." Olive withdrew a delicate silver chain with a heavy rose-colored stone trinket that glowed when she touched it.

"You got your very own amulet?" Astoria cried, forgetting her fear. Jealousy swam in the girl's eyes.

"My father is First Commander," Olive said again, her stance turning haughty.

Daphne stepped closer, peering down at the valuable trinket. "What I don't understand is how these beautiful things are created at Azkaban, of all places."

"What's so difficult to understand?" Olive said, snatching the amulet away. "The prisoners work in the mines to cultivate the stones. Then they're placed on chains."

"So you're wearing something a Mudblood has touched?" Daphne said.

"You're just jealous you don't have one." Olive placed her treasured necklace back in its box.

"I'm not either. I'm just trying to understand how something so powerful, a stone that can breach most any ward, can be made with the labor of Mudbloods. I thought they were powerless?" Daphne glanced around at her present company, who looked hardpressed to come up with an answer.

Olive tried anyway. "Their labor is simply cultivating stones. It has nothing to do with power. Mudbloods do not have power, and what little they do is siphoned, anyway."

"Siphoned?"

"Yes, siphoned. What do they need it for?"

"Siphoned into the stones? Why pink tourmaline would make one impervious to wards is beyond me, unless it's infused with power."

"Daphne," Olive hissed, her tone a warning. "You really shouldn't ask such questions. I was just trying to show you both something pretty, not discuss treasonous philosophy."

"Don't mind Daphne," Astoria said, seemingly recovered from her earlier scolding. "She's just sore about missing her betrothed, and she does so want an amulet of her own."

"Wrong as ever, Astoria," Daphne sighed, glancing out of the window to see a flock of herons flying over the lake. "Besides, Thorfinn has his own amulet." She looked back over to the shocked girls. "A gift from the King himself."

She smirked at their obvious envy.

000

Blaise rested on the cold cobblestone floor, panting heavily, having just arrived back to his cell.

His vision swam and sounds reverberated through his head. Blurry images passed in a haze through his mangled mind. His thoughts were so discombobulated, he could scarcely make heads or tails of them.

"Is that you, mate?" came a voice in the darkness.

"Me?" His voice came out in a croak. "Who am I?"

The voice swore.

"Are you my conscious?" Blaise asked the darkness.

"What a right sore spot you'd be if I was," the voice said, sounding distinctly amused. "No, I'm not your bloody conscious. I'm your best friend. Others call me Theodore, or Nott, or the-most-shaggable-bloke-in-Wiltshire, but you always preferred Theo."

"Theo." Blaise tested the name on his tongue.

"That's right. We're just a bit out of sorts, mate."

Blaise turned to face the sound of where the voice was coming from, his wounded shoulder scraping against the rough stone. "Why?"

"We've been tortured for the past two weeks, by my count."

Torture.

Yes, that made sense. Quite a lot of it, actually. It would explain why Blaise's voice was rough from screaming. Why he felt boneless and ached all over. Why he felt as if his skin had been peeled from his body. Why just a minute ago he had thought he was floating in the midst of nothingness, but was abruptly and painfully brought back to reality by the mere reminder of Theo's words.

"Who would want to torture us? And why? What could we possibly know?"

"The King…for information."

The King. Just the mention of him brought fear clawing to the surface. Blaise could not fathom why. His thoughts were a tumultuous whirlwind of nonsense, but he was sure he'd never feared the King before. He was their protector.

"But we don't know anything. What will torturing us accomplish?"

"We were Obliviated, mate. We know quite a lot, actually. Torturing unlocks our memories. Reverses the effects of the Obliviation."

"Seems like a long shot, if you ask me."

Theo's chuckle was so raspy, it caused Blaise to flinch, rather than share in his mirth. "Actually, it was rather effective."

"Oh?"

"She was there. This whole time I thought she was in Azkaban, rotting away. But she was there, more vibrant and full of life than any conjuring from my imagination."

Theo's words made no sense, and a small part of Blaise, perhaps the sanest part, wondered if the wizard had finally gone mental.

When he spoke again, minutes or even hours later for all Blaise knew, Theo's voice came out haunted. "She did it, you know. She cast the memory charm."

Blaise closed his eyes, or he thought he did. Really, there was no difference with his lids shut than with them open. Either way, none of the words from the man who claimed to be his friend made any sense to Blaise.

"So it worked, Theo?"

"Oh yes, it worked. I remember everything."

Blaise felt suddenly chilled. As if it were subconscious, he thought it was much better to not remember whatever it was they were forced to forget.

"When you remember, which I suspect will be soon," Theo continued, "we must give them something. Details here and there. Tell the King how it is they're communicating aboard their ships. But Blaise," his voice took on an intense urgency, "remember what they did to us. The King and his men. Don't ever sodding forget it. You better remember just who it was that showed us mercy. Blaise, don't forget."

Unexpectedly, Theo's rant prompted Blaise to ask out of nowhere. "Theo, what about Draco?"

His query was met with silence until Theo finally deigned to answer him. "Regrettably, I fear the worse for our comrade."

000

Draco sat on the flat rock, uncomfortably wet, but hard-pressed to care so long as Hermione continued with her teachings. He surveyed the smooth waters of the pool with its unbelievable shades of blues and greens. She had instructed him to focus, and perhaps he could have, in these serene surroundings, if he didn't find it so inexplicably difficult to.

In the several days since the big reveal, he had come to the conclusion that the only way to live in peace on this island was to play by her rules…at least for now. Like it or not, she was the superior witch. It would be impossible to oppose her so long as he was incapable of wielding magic. The only time he'd been remotely successful was under her tutelage. So it was this line of thinking that prompted him to go to her the next day.

He kept his anger in check, determined to come off humble and sincere. He had to continuously remind himself that it would be worth it so long as he could learn to use his magic absent a wand, like she had so easily succeeded in doing. Brows knitted in determination, he waited for her as she descended the stairs that morning, breakfast already plucked from the trees and ready to eat.

She appraised him with wary eyes, but there was a familiar openness and honesty present in her honey-brown orbs. "Have you thought about what I told you?"

His cool, gray eyes wandered over her, expressionless. "I did."

"And," she prompted.

The words were reluctant to leave his mouth. "Perhaps…you have a point."

"Is that all?" She narrowed her eyes in displeasure, crossing her arms over her chest.

"What do you want me to say, Hermione? People don't change overnight. If that's what you want me to give you, then I can leave this side of the island right now."

Her eyes smoldered with heat and perhaps the promise of retribution.

"What I can promise you, though," he continued, taking a tentative step forward. "What I am willing to give…is a promise. A promise that I can try. Try to-"

"Try to what?"

"Try to be more open-minded," he finished lamely.

The heat of her gaze had lessened as she seemed to consider his words. Finally, she gave a brief nod. "I can work with that, Malfoy."

It had been tense at first, and Draco was sorely disappointed to find that the comfortable friendship between them did not fall so easily back into place. But then, as always, Hermione had another of her ideas.

She had been playing with a wildflower by the cliff's edge, growing it large and then making it small again with her magic. Spending so much time day in and day out with her, he began to notice things, so of course he noticed immediately when an idea struck her.

"Say, Malfoy, I have a proposition for you…"

The idea glowed so bright, it shone through her eyes and her smirk lifted.

"I'll teach you if you teach me…"

With so many days of boredom and when her proposition benefited him as equally as it benefitted her, if not even more so, how could he say no?

That's how he found himself sitting cross-legged, in meditation, as she called it, finding it difficult to imagine how any of this was supposed to help him use his magic again.

"Malfoy," she said quietly, but he did not miss the scolding in her tone. "I can feel your aura from here. You'll never become one with the elements if you're so bloody tense all the time. You need to let go."

"I don't know how to let go." He struggled and failed to keep the rage from his voice.

"You need to focus." She spoke softly and he found himself straining to hear. "Close your eyes and use your other senses. Feel the breeze ruffle through your hair. Or inhale the scent of the fresh, salty ocean mingled with white plumerias. Listen to the sound of the waterfall hitting the pool. Focus on that instead of just what you can see."

Listening to Hermione nearly had the desired effect, if he wasn't so baffled on how she could be such a bloody expert on something so complicated as wandless magic.

"How is it that you know so much?"

He was surprised to see a small smile tug at the corner of her mouth. "Jealous, Malfoy, that I know more than you?"

"Hardly," he scoffed. "More like irritated. This isn't the place I would choose to meditate. A wet rock in the middle of a pool? How am I supposed to concentrate when water keeps lapping at me?"

The witch beside him turned her full attention on him. "Is the big-bad-Pureblood afraid of a little water?" she said teasingly. "So if I were to do this-" She dipped her hand in the water's edge and splashed him right in the face. He put his hands up to shield himself.

"Ever the know-it-all swot," he snarled.

She laughed freely. "I'm teaching you a lesson, Malfoy; the water is your friend. You can derive a lot of energy from this element in particular. It's one of the easiest to do so with, earth being the second easiest. That's why I brought us here."

"And I suppose fire and air are third and fourth?"

"Fire is challenging to control. Air is…" her voice trailed off and her gaze wandered to the horizon.

Draco waited patiently for her to respond but she seemed in some kind of stupor. "Hermione," he said gently. "Hermione, are you there?"

She blinked, then looked up at him with wide eyes. When she spoke, her voice took on a husky tone. "Air is nearly impossible to derive energy from."

"Have you mastered it?"

Her eyebrows drew together and she looked pensive for a moment. "There is one thing." She lifted a finger in air and began twirling it. Soon, a small whirlwind formed and spun around them playfully.

"That's cute," he admitted. "But I'm not sure what good it does anyone."

"Nothing, I suppose. But it's all I know how to do with the air."

"What's the incantation?"

She shrugged. "There isn't one."

"How can there be a spell with no incantation?" He frowned.

"Most of my spells don't have incantations. That's why you're helping me, Malfoy. I can will certain things to happen, and cast simple spells like the fire-making spell. I can do a summoning charm with incantations, but otherwise I'm very limited. Especially when it comes to dueling."

Malfoy averted his eyes, finding the waterfall suddenly interesting. He knew he would have to be very careful which spells he taught Hermione. He could very well turn her into quite the lethal little Mudblood if he were too free with his teachings. He would give her as much as she expected, but keep the darker knowledge from her. She had enough one-ups on him as it was.

"I'm not giving you another hex or single jinx until we make some headway with me."

Hermione sighed. "Fine. Then lie down."

"What?" he said, alarm cracking through his impassive facade.

"You heard me. Lie down and let me see exactly what's wrong."

"How will you accomplish that by me doing that?"

But she was already pushing on his chest so he laid his head as softly as he could on the hard stone. "We need to figure out what's getting in the way of you focusing—other than your mouth, of course."

Draco was driven by the sudden impulse to push her away and to call this ill-advised deal off. He'd take the boring island days over having to deal with Hermione fussing over him as if he were a difficult Arithmancy problem.

She hovered her hands over his chest, inciting his concern further still. "What are you doing?" he tried again, as if addressing a lone kelpie.

"I'm just pushing a little of my magic into you to get a feel for what's going on."

"A diagnostic spell? That's not how you do it."

She lifted her hands away and peered down at him angrily. "So now I'm doing magic wrong? Says the wizard who's not been able to perform more than three spells since we've arrived. Why don't you just hush for once?"

Not waiting to see if he obeyed, she raised her hands again, and this time Draco felt the force of her energy as it reverberated from her outstretched hands down to his body. A wispy white light shot out from her hands, pouring into him. The fear was soon replaced by calm as Draco felt the effects of her inquisitive magic course through him. It enveloped him like a caress, stirring his own. He felt his magic stretch and flex as if awakening from a deep slumber. Hermione's magic prodded his playfully whilst running from one area to the next.

"I see the problem." Her voice sounded far away. "You're blocked here," she touched his forehead and just the mere brush of her fingertips felt soothing. "And here at the crown of your head. And…" she hesitated for a moment before her fingertips trailed down his chest, not quite touching him until they reached just below his navel. "And here."

Heat plummeted south and his body became instantly aware of the witch sitting over him. He swallowed down a gasp. "How can you be sure?"

"Your third eye chakra," she explained. "Right here on your forehead between your eyes. It controls your ability to focus as well as your intuition and imagination. Then," she touched his head, "there's your crown chakra on the top of your head. It's arguably the highest chakra, connecting you to the utmost spiritual bliss. Your other block is your sacral chakra. It controls your ability to connect and accept new experiences." She placed a contemplative finger on her chin. "I recommend you unblock them all."

"Where'd you learn that?" He wasn't sure if he was able to keep the suspicion from his tone.

"At one point, Olive had the idea she would go into Healing after Hogwarts. I read it in one of the Holistic books she brought home."

"And you know how to do this?"

"Hypothetically." She crouched over him, smirking mischievously. "Just a gentle push, I should say."

He looked up at her warily. Was that all that stood in his way of truly mastering wandless magic? What did he stand to lose by letting Hermione unblock him, as she called it? Reluctantly, he gave her a stiff nod.

She smiled widely. "Alright, Malfoy. Just…try and relax."

Like that's bloody likely.

She lifted her hands once again, and he watched as her eyes fluttered shut. This time, the light that erupted from her fingertips was distinctly blue. The magic was much more assertive and insistent when it coursed through him the second time. His eyes also screwed shut, but the light of her magic was blinding as it assaulted his senses.

It shot through him, energized and invigorated. It was impossible to ignore the force of its power, especially when coupled with the feel of her fingertips as she tilted his chin lightly, placing a hand solidly over the crown of his head. Though his eyes were tightly shut, his vision swam, but his thoughts had cleared, and he was able to zero in on the feel of the magic running through her fingers and into his mind.

There was resistance, but this didn't seem to deter the witch in the slightest, she merely pushed harder and it was as if she'd wrenched open a heavily barricaded door. It felt instantly freeing, as if some veil had been lifted to reveal a world beyond the fog for the first time. It was mildly overwhelming, and he felt as if he may be approaching sensory overload with all the clear and concise detail he was seeing.

Next, she trailed her hands lower, stopping at his temples and massaging them. He bit back a groan, fighting the inclination to move his newly awakened body. She pressed a finger into his forehead and he was immediately stricken with a kaleidoscope of colors. He watched them pass over his mind's eye dazedly, not even aware when the block of this chakra was breached, so entranced by the vibrancy of what he was seeing.

He could feel her magic draw down his body, as if following the line of her gaze alone. "Two inches under the navel and two inches in," she explained. She summoned her magic and he felt it culminate in the pit of his abdomen.

He could sense now, perhaps thanks to his newly cleared brow chakra, that he was indeed blocked. He wondered briefly how he had ended up this way, suspecting it was years of putting up guards and unhealthy coping mechanisms.

She drew her fingers lightly around his navel before stopping just a bit under, and pressing two fingers into the tender skin. He was unprepared for the effect freeing this chakra would have on him. A ripple of pure bliss shot through him, the likes of which he'd never experienced. His eyes shot open, and he thought he may just go blind from the vision that was Hermione.

She appeared to be a goddess, knelt over his supine body. A light breeze wafted across the pool, sending her curls flying in a wild disarray around her shoulders. One hand pressed into his abdomen while the other held tightly over her wrist. Her jaw was clenched in determination, lips pressed into a serious line. But what really floored him were her eyes. Gone were the familiar brown orbs he'd come to recognize from afar, to be replaced by otherworldly eyes that glowed the strange cerulean blue color of her magic.

Draco was astounded by it.

She was a vision.

And her face was strained with a tremendous effort. He furrowed his brows in confusion. He didn't wish for this ethereal creature to meet with difficulty in any aspect of her life. In a moment of clarity, he realized he was the reason for her hardship. She was trying to help him. He needed to help her help him. With single-minded focus, he concentrated on the energy flowing through him, down to the very spot where it met with resistance, and he willed his guard down.

The effect was instantaneous.

The block was breached and the magic flowed freely and unhindered.

She began pulling back her odd magic, her eyes slightly dimming, but Draco was still in a sensual haze, his body alive and on fire.

She was drawing away from him, a small smile on her face, when he sat up quickly, ignoring the pounding of his head, or the way the sky, much darker, seemed to spin around him. He took her hand in his and pulled her down on top of him, catching her lips in a searing kiss.

000

Hermione wasn't quite sure what was happening, still in the delightful after-haze of the strongest magical high she'd ever experienced, but she was quite aware of the pliant lips pulling on her own.

Arms encircled her waist, pulling her tightly to the warm body beneath her. Her soft curves had no choice but to meld themselves over heated muscles and hard ridges. The hands wandering over her back sent the most decadent tingling sensations jolting through her.

Her weight on top of his had to be burdening him but he seemed to gladly accept it, relish it even. His lips moved against hers urgently. A small, very quiet part of her knew this was dangerous, but, bloody Morgana, did it feel right. She felt oddly drugged and vaguely marveled at the way a simple act of unblocking chakras could result in this. She certainly could never have anticipated it—not in her wildest dreams.

She deliberately allowed her fingers to trail through luxuriously soft blond tresses, relishing in the way he cupped her face, almost tenderly. She gladly took what he was offering, almost in a greedy sort of way. The tension from the weeks spent on the island surfaced and spilled, like lava from a volcano.

She was helpless to fight the desperate ache that demanded more. Their kiss had started soft and innocent, a gentle tugging here, and nibbling there, but it quickly intensified when he impulsively licked her lips with deliberate possession. Dizziness surged as a stab of desire shot low in her belly.

Her head whirled with white hot need as she broke away, eyes open and glittering, a torrent of emotions passing over her face. The hot metal gaze that clashed with hers smoldered with an intensity that mirrored her own, and this time when she kissed him back, she opened her mouth, darting her tongue out to taste his lips in a gesture quite uncharacteristic for her.

With a desperate growl, he deepened the kiss. His mouth slanted over hers aggressively, causing her to forget to breathe. Panting, she marveled at the way their kiss had flamed so quickly, as if a match had been set to a tinder. She was returning his kiss with equal fervor, very near to losing her tenuous grip of control. They were merely touching each other over their clothes and she was already seconds from having her inhibitions incinerated.

She enjoyed the way he threaded his fingers through her wild curls, gently scraping her scalp wi his fingernails. His other hand caressed her side, eliciting a hiss when he skimmed the side of her cloth-covered breast in passing, effectively snapping her restraint.

She may have lost her maidenhood on that very rock, to her enemy of sorts, if ice cold reality hadn't chosen that moment to descend down on them.

Cold, crisp water fell in a thick sheet over her heated skin, shocking her back to her senses. She sat up quickly, her chest rising and falling in short pants. Malfoy sat up gingerly, seemingly as stunned as she was.

"Did you have to summon a tidal wave?" he croaked. "You certainly don't do things by half measures."

Hermione glanced out over the pool, now painstakingly aware of the evening air that caused goosebumps to rise on her exposed flesh. She flashed him a sardonic grin, taking notice of how uncomfortable he looked. "That wasn't me, Malfoy."

He scoffed. "Sure it was, who else could it have-" He looked up quickly, the meaning of her words resonating with him. His eyes widened measurably and she noticed a spectrum of emotion, from surprise all the way to fledging excitement, pass over his features.

"It appears you're the one who doesn't do things by half measures." Straightening to her full height with as much dignity as she could muster, she dove off of the rock and swam towards the shore. The cool swim was exactly what she needed.

000