Author's Note: One thousand apologies! I had no idea that I didn't finish uploading this story! The last two years have included earning a Master's Degree and completing my first year of teaching. Please accept the rest of this story as my offering, as well as several others I'll be uploading (some more recent and, in my opinion, much better writing).

The Tuesday following the meeting in the library, an owl swooped low over the Gryffindor breakfast table to deliver to Hermione a note and what appeared to be rolled up newsprint. She slowly opened the seal and tried not to glance in the direction of Ron and Lavendar, who were both staring at her as if the message concerned them in some way. It didn't. Nothing about her did.

Ms. H. Granger,

It both pleases and amuses us that you have such interest in our fine establishment and line of products. Please peruse the catalogue and, if you wish to order, simply fill out the form that can be found in the middle of the pages.

Yours,

Gred and Forge Weasley

P.S. Ron is a git. Don't let him get to you.

Even they knew. Hermione tucked the letter into a book and stuck the cylinder of pages into her bag to be gone over later, after class.

Potions in the late morning was a strange affair. Harry had attempted to talk to her outside of class, but Ron had come bumbling along before he had gotten more than "you really should know…" Hermione tried to offer Harry a sympathetic look, understanding that he wasn't choosing sides, that Ron just needed him more; Ron always needed all of the attention.

Hermione took a seat and almost instantly Malfoy took the one next to her. "I don't know anything yet," she said before he could ask. It obviously wasn't the answer he was looking for, but he didn't get up and leave. "Can I ask you what was wrong with it? You don't seem to need an antidote for anything." Most antidotes were for poisons or other harmful elixirs; Malfoy seemed quite fit.

The left corner of his mouth twitched, the beginning of a smile maybe? "Let's just say, Granger," he turned his head to look straight at her, "It worked too well but on the wrong person."

That wasn't even moderately helpful, but the interrogation had to stop. Slughorn walked in and began lecturing, something Hermione automatically tuned into while ignoring the rest of the world. Her quill flew steadily back and forth across the page. Her tiny printing very close together, but the drying ink stayed far from her practiced hand. Draco carefully glanced at her now and again, imagining the grip on the feather instead upon his shaft. Would she ever stare so intently at him?

His neck flared, but the room was dark and no one could see. Hermione Granger sat mere inches from him, and all he could think about was pushing her notes to the floor, lifting her bum up and on to the desk, and pulling her knickers to the side. He knew she'd like it on the desk. Perhaps, if he could wait that long, he'd haul her up to Slughorn's desk. That would get her going; clutching the edge as her hair splayed out over graded papers.

In his trousers, his penis had come to life and was desperate for attention. Previously resting against his left leg, the leg closest to Hermione, it pressed up against the fabric. Draco glanced at Hermione again, so studiously taking notes. She wouldn't notice, would she? He rested his hand in his lap, just so that the side could cross over the sensitive tip. The touch sent a jolt up through his extremities to his stomach. The heat under his collar intensified.

Hermione's free hand moved up to brush some of her massive hair back behind her ear; the tips were very near her page. Draco held absolutely still, his fascination with her every movement enough to keep his hard on even though he was terrified she would look over at him and observe his predicament. Her eyes were firmly on her page though, only occasionally looking up and over to Slughorn. Draco took a chance, silently moving his hand up and back down an inch.

It was hardly the wild and lustful visions he had been having, but being so close to Hermione, to actually see her while carefully touching himself, it was enough. It continued just like that, for the rest of the class period. If she changed her movement, even scribbled out a misspelled word, he would freeze. She didn't comment on the fact that he wasn't taking notes; she just stayed in her own world while he stayed in his.