The Harry Potter universe and its characters are the sole property of J. K. Rowling. By using them below, I am in no way claiming ownership.
'I didn't realise you felt that way.' Draco stared down at his shoes. He was sure Hermione was crying now, but didn't want to make her aware that he knew.
'I don't,' she spat. 'I can't help how I feel. It's some silly teenage infatuation that will just fade out. It doesn't mean I actually like you.' He saw her brush her cheeks with the back of her hand in his periphery. He bit the inside of his cheek, dejected.
'No. Nobody really likes me.' Draco muttered to himself. Hermione grabbed the pillow from the top of his bed and whacked him round the head with it. He fell forwards, only remaining seated by grabbing the edge of the mattress, and turned to glare back at her. She was on her knees, gripping the pillow with an almighty fury burning behind her eyes.
'You don't let anyone get close enough to like you. I don't want to hear about how sad your little life is, Malfoy.' She dropped the pillow onto the bed. 'Oh, woe is me, woe is me, nobody loves me, nobody except mummy and daddy and Pansy...' she said in a high pitched voice, trying to imitate Draco.
'That's not what I sound like,' he narrowed his eyes.
'If you want to be Harry, Draco, then you need to stop being so bloody selfish!'
Something inside him snapped and he leapt up, pushing Hermione down onto the bed. He hovered over her, their lower halves pressed together, his hands pinning her arms down.
'You know nothing about my life, Granger.' He growled.
She lay underneath him, silent. The tense space between them was broken only by their breathing, the two of them completely lost for words. Draco could feel the warmth from her body seeping into his, making him feel alive. There were so many things he wanted to do, so many things he'd hated himself for wanting to do. Hermione was equally conflicted. She had fantasised about such an encounter for so long, she didn't know how to respond now it had arrived.
Draco made the first move, releasing her and falling sideways onto the mattress. They now lay parallel to one another, all contact broken, both feeling as if they had finished a marathon without moving.
All that potential lost.
'Hermione, you and I both know this can't go anywhere.' Draco whispered. She didn't answer. 'You don't want to be with me. I'd ruin your life.'
'You're ruining it now,' she replied, summoning the energy to face him.
'We get rid of this thing,' he suggested, 'and we don't have to see one another anymore. We won't tempt one another anymore.'
Hermione was too hurt to register his use of 'we'. The silence rose up once more, the tension between them palpable. Draco stared at the cracks in the ceiling, taking the time he needed to suppress any emotion. Holding up family tradition, he thought to himself sardonically.
'We don't know what he is,' Draco said, breaking the silence.
'No,'
'But we do know what he wants.' Draco propped himself up, supporting his head with his right arm. 'You.'
'What are you saying?' She asked, avoiding his gaze.
'I released the Draco who wants to be with you from the mirror. If we're going to find him and deal with him, we need to lure him out. We need to give him what he wants.' He looked at her suggestively.
'Me.' Hermione was resigned.
'We get him out in the open and get rid of him. Then we can stop... this.'