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A/N~ Many thanks to all of my reviewers, you are all so fantastic for continuing to stick with me. I don’t know what I would do without all of you, especially my “Regulars”, and you know who you are.

SnowFlakeImp~ The boyfriend was thoroughly annoyed and I was a beaming retard after reading all of your reviews. Thank you so much. You are my rock!!

And now……

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It had been a week. One week since that night at the lake, one week since Hermione had given into Malfoy, one week since she told him that she belonged to him. Yes, Hermione had conceded, she had submitted, she had caved, she had surrendered, but she had yet to lose herself in it, yet.

But why had she succumbed to him? Perhaps it had to do with the moment they were immersed in; the storm, the passion, the heat consuming them, the way that Malfoy had taken her with such vigor and raw emotion, his words, his touches, the look in his metallic eyes. Yes, maybe it was all of that combined that reduced Hermione’s brain to mush and gave her no chance to think about what was coming out of her mouth. But maybe it was also his admission of jealously, the possessiveness that claimed him right in front of her eyes, the fact that he wanted the part of Hermione that she no longer had to give so badly. Hermione couldn’t quite explain it, but at that moment she had wanted to give him something, something she knew only he would have, something much bigger than what she had given Blaise. He needed it, and she felt as if she needed to give it to him, so she did.

After they had come down from the euphoria rushing through out their bodies, neither of them said anything about what had just happened. Malfoy had gotten up and fastened his trousers as Hermione relished the feel of the cool rain falling upon her fevered face. When she opened her eyes, she saw his hand reaching down to her, offering his assistance to her for the second time that day. Hermione took it, noticing that his skin felt as warm as hers seemed to be. When she got to her feet, Hermione looked at him, noticing that he was soaking wet and covered in mud. It had turned his once pristine white shirt light brown, yet allowed it to be just as transparent, and his pants were ruined. His face and hair had flecks of mud all over as well, causing Hermione to wonder if he was aware just how disheveled his usually immaculate appearance was. Hermione didn’t have to examine herself to know she looked just the same.

The only words said between the two were when Hermione had asked him if he had seen where her knickers went. He had told her that he had ripped them off of her, so they were no longer wearable, and they were currently residing in his pocket, as he had intended to keep them as a reminder of when he got Hermione Granger, Head Girl and Mudblood, to relinquish herself to him. Hermione promptly responded by calling him a perverted prat.

The night was becoming darker, and the storm showed no signs of letting up, so they silently walked back to the castle, their hands brushing against each other once in a while. Hermione had desperately tried to keep her mind a clean slate, not wanting to delve into the inner workings of her head only to over analyze every word, every look, and every touch that was exchanged. When they had reached the entry hall doors, Hermione was halted from going into the castle by Malfoy pulling her into his embrace and kissing her hard and passionately, before letting her loose and telling her that he would see her later.

And that was it. Hermione went to her room as discretely as possible, trying not only to avoid fellow students who would most undoubtedly question her messy and wet appearance, but also to abstain from encountering Filch who would yell at her for tracking mud inside the castle. She was lucky the common room was so crowded that no one noticed her, and that Harry and Ron were so involved in their game of Wizard’s Chess they didn’t even turn a head when she flung some water at them while sidestepping a group of fifth years. She bathed and went to bed, her head hurting from denying her thoughts to reach the surface and her bruised wrists throbbing from being held tightly and slammed into the ground at Malfoy’s full strength. Hermione had spent the rest of the weekend in the company of Ron and Harry, feeling guilty for not feeling guiltier about barbarically shagging their adversary and telling him she was his.

Now, it had been a whole week since they had been alone together for more than 15 minutes. What with Malfoy scheduling Slytherin Quidditch practice every night that week for the final game between them and Gryffindor for the Quidditch Cup on Saturday and Hermione arranging study schedules for Ron and Harry for their upcoming N.E.W.T.S., their homework sessions in the library were abandoned for what they thought was more important, which also meant that their shagging sessions were put on hold as well. They still had to patrol, but with O.W.L.S. and N.E.W.T.S. approaching, the students of Hogwarts were often found after curfew in the Astronomy Tower trying to “blow off some steam” or studying in the oddest places that provided quiet away from their common rooms. Any chances of Hermione and Malfoy taking advantage of a dark and empty castle were slim.

The fact that they weren’t shagging didn’t mean that they hadn’t had any contact at all. Hermione often found herself being pulled into empty classrooms, secret passageways, and dark alcoves in between classes where she and Malfoy would snog furiously and desperately, both sorely disappointed when it would end almost as quickly as it begun for fear of being caught. As a matter of fact, they were almost caught numerous times, twice by Professor McGonagall, one by Professor Snape, and once more by Ron and Harry. When Malfoy tried to pull Hermione into the same broom closet that Snape had caught them in once before, Hermione down right forbid it and Malfoy accused her of being a prude. That was two days ago, and Hermione had since then not been pulled any where, causing one of the foulest moods the school had seen from the Head Girl since Rita Skeeter had been writing false articles about her.

With it being Friday, Hermione and Malfoy had hurried through their rounds and could barely contain themselves knowing that it would be the first night in a week that they would get to spend with each other. Malfoy had forgotten that he was supposed to be mad at Hermione for refusing him, and suggested that they shag like bunnies in the middle of the hallway, to which Hermione considered for a moment before realizing that it probably wasn’t the best idea. She was surprised her hormone muddled mind could even deduce right from wrong at the moment.

They had both agreed to go to Hermione’s room, with the assistance of the Concealment Charm. Practically sprinting up the stairs to her private room, Hermione told Ron and Harry she had a migraine and did not want to be disturbed for the rest of the night. They expressed their concerns to her, to which she only told them it was from too much studying, and said good night. The moment she shut her door and hastily mumbled a Silencing Charm Malfoy had countered the Concealment Charm, and they flew to each other, wildly kissing and ripping off clothes.

So now here she was, two hours later, lying naked in her bed with Malfoy next to her. He was propped up and scowling at one of Hermione’s Muggle books in his hand, snorting and muttering “Rubbish” and “Bollocks” every now and then. He had started reading it after announcing rather loudly that he was bored but it was too soon to do what he really wanted again. When Hermione suggested the book on her bedside table, he rolled his silver eyes unenthusiastically, but lifted the leather-bound book and opened it with a sigh. That was 20 minutes ago, and although he thought it to be “Rubbish” and “Bollocks” he had yet to put it down and pay attention to Hermione.

Feeling neglected, Hermione scooted her body closer to Malfoy’s hoping that the feel of her warm bare skin against his would be enough to cause him to close the book and recognize that he had a willing and ready female next to him. To Hermione’s disappointment, he had no reaction other than turning the page. Sighing loudly, Hermione started to trace small patterns and designs on Malfoy’s bare torso with her fingernail, probably pressing down harder than she should have, because when she moved to another spot, a red outline had appeared on his pale skin. So what if she hurt him, she was bored, and he was not helping. Pressing down harder, she looked up at him to meet his stormy eyes looking back at her irritably. This only caused her to smile at him mischievously and drag her nail from one end of his abdomen to the other, taking some of his skin with it in its wake.

He halted her hand with his and sneered at her.

“Stop that. It’s distracting.”

Pulling her hand out from under his, Hermione looked at him accusingly. Well, at least he remembered she was still there.

“Good. I have nothing else to do. I thought you didn’t like Muggle books anyway.”

Malfoy looked down at the book and back at her, his gaze searching her face before lowering to her exposed breasts to where the sheet draped across her stomach. A wicked smile grew on his face and Hermione knew she had his attention again. Finally! She was afraid she was going to have to go prancing around the room starkers singing at the top of her lungs.

“I don’t.” he said as he slammed the book shut and hurled it across the room, thudding loudly as it hit the opposite wall.

Hermione watched as her book flew through the air with an open mouth, shocked. How dare he throw her beloved book! Sitting up and snapping her glare from the book resting on the floor to him smirking at her, she was about to ask him just who the bloody hell he thought he was that he could just heave one of her favorite books clear to the other side of the room, but Malfoy rolled on top of her and started kissing her roughly before she could. Damn bastard thought he could shut her up by snogging her. He obviously didn’t know Hermione as well as he thought he did.

As his tongue invaded her mouth, Hermione kissed him back just as heatedly, her teeth seeking out his lips and biting them hard. She was mad. Her books were her most treasured possessions and he tossed it like it was nothing. He was going to feel her wrath!

When he released her mouth and started kissing and nibbling her neck, Hermione reached her arms around him, brought her nails to his back, and scratched down the length of it deeply and severely until she reached his muscular, and now clenched bum, as her mouth sought out his shoulder and she bit him as hard as she could, drawing his blood. When she heard a loud “Ouch!” she smiled against his now inflamed skin. There was no denying that she liked hurting him when he deserved it, the arsehole.

As he lifted his head from her neck, he looked at her questioningly. “I know you like it rough, but damn Granger that hurt. Why did you do that?”

Hermione looked up at him with what she hoped was innocence, smiled, and repeated his question to him.

“Why did you do that?”

Malfoy was clearly confused and Hermione had no intention of enlightening him.

“Why was I kissing you? Because I am ready to fuck you again, and I thought it would be the gentlemanly thing to do to get you ready as well. I am really starting to question that supreme intelligence you claim to have.”

As Malfoy moved his head down and made to resume his ministrations, Hermione captured his head in her hands and stilled his movements. He was now looking at her, quite agitated. Hermione felt like laughing gleefully.

“Do you mind? I am fairy busy at the moment.”

“No, not at all, but you didn’t answer my question Malfoy.”, said Hermione sweetly.

“Yes I did. So let go of me you silly bint so I can shag you rotten.”

“No you didn’t. I wanted to know why you chucked my book against the wall.”

Understanding appeared on Malfoy’s face, followed by aggravation. Sighing dramatically, he looked down at her but remained on top of her, still poised in between her legs.

“Why do you like Muggle fiction?” he asked.

Hermione, completely taken aback by his question, and therefore losing the joy of confusing Malfoy, had to take a moment before answering.

“Seeing as how I grew up reading it before coming to Hogwarts, I still have a soft spot for the imaginary world and fantasy that it often creates. Why?”

“Because it is rubbish.” He stated simply. “Our kind of literature, meaning us magical folk, is more exceptional. Muggles live in a fantasy world, ignorant to the idea that what they read and write about might not be imaginary. In our books, there are no boundaries, no skepticism, unless of course the book was written by Lockhart.”

“But doesn’t lack of imagination make for a boring read?”

“No, and you know it doesn’t, otherwise you wouldn’t have your nose constantly crammed into a book. There is always the possibility that what is written about is factual, even if you are reading wizard fiction. That is why most of our literature can barely be classified as fiction except for the plot and characters. And that is why I catapulted your precious book. It was rubbish and no longer worth my time.”

When Hermione said nothing in return, he narrowed his eyes at her.

“That’s why you bit and scratched me, isn’t it, because I threw your book?”

“So what if I did?” Hermione replied defiantly.

“I liked it. Just don’t draw blood next time you vampire.” He said as he lowered his head once more and begun nibbling Hermione’s neck.

Just as she was starting to enjoy the sensation of having Malfoy’s tongue licking its way to her collar bone, Hermione was assaulted with an alarming thought.

“Malfoy,” she asked urgently, “did we just have a conversation without insulting each other?”

Malfoy lifted his head at met her startled eyes, looking mildly horrified at the idea.

“I think so. I didn’t like it; there was not enough heat to it. You are a Mudblood slag Granger. There that’s better.”

“Yes well, you are a conceited tosser. You’re right, that is better.”

“Brilliant, now we’re set. May I continue?”

Malfoy returned to Hermione’s collarbone, licking and nibbling a path that was most assuredly going to lead to her breasts. Hermione found she could not concentrate on it as much as she wished to; she had something else on her mind. They had just had a real conversation, and it was well thought out and intriguing. What was that all about? What just happened? Perhaps she could use this to her advantage.

“Malfoy, I want to talk some more.”

Malfoy growled loudly and rolled off of Hermione, returning to the side of the bed he was previously resting on. As Hermione sat up, he did as well, and Hermione brought the thin cotton sheet across her chest, determined to keep Malfoy from getting distracted from the conversation she was hoping to engage him in. She wanted his full attention.

He was glaring at her hostilely and Hermione knew it was because she kept interrupting him, but she wasn’t going to pass up this chance.

“Damn it Granger, when we came up here, I thought we would be fucking, not conducting deep conversations about bloody fucking books. Next time I won’t be so trusting, you bitch.”

Hermione returned his glare and sighed.

“I don’t want to talk about books you git. I want to talk about the war.”

“Fucking hell! We already did, remember? I am done talking about it. There is no use in being redundant.”

“I just want to know if you have given any more thought to what you are going to do.”

“It is none of your business whether I have or not.”

Hermione chose to ignore him and pressed on.

“I know you aren’t too keen on becoming a Death Eater and bowing down to Voldemort, so I thought that you may be thinking about fighting against him instead.”

Malfoy stared at her, agape and appalled at the same time.

“If you’re having a laugh it’s not funny Granger.”

“I’m serious.”

“Hello, I am Draco Malfoy, Pureblood, son of a mother fucking Death Eater and Dark Lord worshiper extraordinaire. Have we met?” he said while holding out his hand, as though he were introducing himself for the first time and waiting for her to shake his hand. As if he would ever shake a Muggle’s hand.

Hermione smacked his hand away and turned her body to face his.

“Your father should have nothing to do with how you live your life Malfoy. He is imprisoned and you are free to make your own decisions.”

“Are you daft? He has everything to do with how I live my life. He is the one who raised me, who taught me exactly what to believe in. I can’t just say the magic word and go against everything I have known all my life.’

“But you don’t want to end up like him, I know you don’t. Azkaban wouldn’t suit you.”

Rolling his eyes, Malfoy turned to face her now, agitation etched on his features.

“And what makes you think that I would fight along side you and your little friends against the people I have known all my life, my friends and my family, against the values that have been imparted in me since I was old enough to comprehend? Why can’t I just be neutral and wait this damn thing out?”

“Because you have to make a decision. As much as I hate to admit it, you are too smart and have too much power behind you to be neutral.”

“Everyone is telling me I have to decide, I have to chose, but it is so much easier said then done. If I don’t become a Death Eater, I will be disowned, and possibly murdered. If I do become a Death Eater, I will become a criminal and possibly be murdered. Tell me, which one is the right decision?”

Hermione knew he was right, either way he would be sought out by the other side. She finally understood why it was such a difficult choice to make for him, because both ways, he could end up dead.

“Dumbledore could offer you protection.” She offered.

“So could the Dark Lord.”

“Harry has come out victorious over Voldemort many times, what makes you think he won’t do it again?”

“Because I hate him.”

Hermione would have laughed at the childishness of his response had they not been in such a serious debate. Leave it up to him to justify his not joining Dumbledore and Harry’s ranks because he doesn’t like someone.

“That isn’t a reason Malfoy.”

“It’s reason enough for me. Look, you’re right; I don’t want to be my father. As I told you before, I don’t fancy taking orders from a lunatic with a Merlin complex, but that doesn’t mean I cam going to run to Potter and Dumbledore and join them straight away. I have things I need to think about, decisions I need to make on my own, without anyone’s help, including yours. End of discussion.”

“But-”

“I said that is the end of this fucking discussion.” He interrupted.

“Fine.” Hermione said, frustrated that she wouldn’t be able to say anymore. He said he was done, and she knew that she wouldn’t get anything else out of him.

Hermione flopped down on her bed, staring up at the ceiling and chewing on her bottom lip. She could feel Malfoy watching her, but she refused to meet his gaze. She just felt so flummoxed! Fine, great, so chances were he wasn’t going to become a Death Eater, but that would mainly be to save his arse from taking asinine orders and getting tossed into Azkaban. She just felt as if they were talking in circles. No matter what she said, she couldn’t get his thoughts on the war, and that is what she really wanted. She wanted to know what he thought about it, what his stance was. She knew that he was raised to hate Muggles and Muggle-borns like her, and he had no qualms about voicing such opinion growing up, but what about now, what about the fact that he was shagging a Mudblood on a regular basis? Had that been enough to change his mind?

Hermione felt Malfoy lay down next to her. She felt his hand being placed underneath her chin and force her to look at him. He was raised on his elbow, looking down on her with a mixture of discontent and hunger. His silver eyes were shining brilliantly, the way they did when he got excited about something such as a heated debate about his future. He leaned down, his mouth millimeters from hers.

“I am going to fuck you now Granger, and unless the sounds coming from your mouth aren’t directly related to what I am doing to you, I am going to gag you. No more conversations for the rest of the night, understood?”

Hermione shot him a nasty look before nodding her head. She had enough of their conversation as well. If it wasn’t going to result in anything but hostility between them, which she was rather used to, there was no point. They could achieve that heat with much lighter topics. She concluded then and there to keep away from the subject from now on. At this point, she could care less if he was the next Dark Lord in waiting. Well, okay, that was a lie, but still, there was no use in concerning herself with it anymore, she would never hear from him what she really wanted to, and why did she care so much in the first place?

Hermione was brought out of her musings by Malfoy kissing her roughly while placing himself on top of her again, her legs opening on their own so he could place himself comfortably between them. When he brought one hand to her right breast, massaging it while pinching her nipple with his index and middle finger, and the other to her womanhood, his long talented fingers slipping into her folds and pumping in and out of her wetness skillfully, her mind went blissfully blank and all she was aware of was Malfoy’s impassioned touches, his tongue imitating his movements, and the small moans of satisfaction emerging from her throat.

Neither of them heard the knock on the door, as Malfoy was too preoccupied getting Hermione off, and she was too captivated by her hand stroking Malfoy’s long and hard length, trying to get him to plunge inside of her. They also didn’t notice the door opening, nor did they remember that while Hermione had said the silencing charm, she had forgotten to place a locking charm on her door in their hurry to undress and shag each other. What they did hear was the shocked and surprised “Hermione!” coming from the door way.

Hermione being the first to register what she had actually heard, what with her name being shouted and all, sat up rapidly and pushed Malfoy off of her, causing him to fall to the floor with a loud thump and an even louder “What the fuck?”

Hermione jumped up quickly, bringing her sheet with her and wrapping her naked body hastily. She was vaguely aware of Malfoy bringing himself to his feet and cursing once more when he saw that Hermione had taken the only blanket within arms reach and was left nothing but a pillow to cover him. Grabbing it promptly, Hermione saw that it was only large enough to shield his pelvic area and the tops of his thighs. Hermione hoped that he wasn’t the modest type.

Hearing the door slam shut and the resounding clearing of a throat that was unmistakably male, Hermione felt as though she could barely breathe and she realized that Malfoy, for once, was being uncharacteristically silent as they both turned their attention to the intruder.

There, only a few steps into the room and in front of the closed door stood Harry Potter, his jaw falling to the floor and his stunned wide emerald eyes darting back and forth between Malfoy and Hermione.


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A/N~ These kids can’t catch a break, can they? And poor Harry, as if he doesn’t have enough on his plate!

So I feel like this chapter is kind of weak. I couldn’t really get into my writing groove, but I hope I did well enough for all of you. I always feel like I have to exceed the expectations I set for myself, and with this chapter I feel like I didn’t.

Don’t forget that the next chapter will be written from Hermione’s P.O.V. again. And you also get to see Harry’s reaction, as well as a huge revelation that Hermione has, but it might not be the one you think.

So review my lovelies, and please forgive me for the chapter that isn’t exactly up to snuff.

Roberta