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A/N~ Hello Again My Dear Readers. I wanted to point something out to you that I think is hilarious. If you look at my reviews page, you will see one that was left on 2/22/07 by someone called BUCKBEAK. That is my amazingly supportive boyfriend who covertly reviewed my story, and then told me 5 minutes later that he thinks I have a new review. I was just surprised to know he was on AFF. So I checked it out, and about halfway through the first sentence, in which he calls me "the most loserish person" (he is fond of making up words) I knew it was him. I just thought all of you would like to know that the boyfriend I annoy by reading my reviews out loud to really does exist. I just wanted to share that with all of you. I hope you find it as funny as I did.

Once again, I must repeat myself and graciously thank all of you for your ongoing and everlasting support. Every time I get a new review, I get all giddy and I can’t stop smiling. Thank you for contributing to my resemblance of a simpleton who just had a lobotomy.

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Harry hadn’t moved from the spot he stood in and hadn’t said one single word, but continued to stare back and forth at Hermione and Malfoy. He was breathing slowly and deliberately, as though he was trying very hard to calm himself down.

Hermione on the other hand was on the verge of having a nervous breakdown. She was wondering why he hadn’t said anything after what must have been a few minutes, but it felt like an eternity to her. She had expected him to at least give her some sort of hint as to what was going through his head, but there was nada, nothing, zip, zilch, in his eyes that revealed his thoughts other than shock. This lack of reaction did nothing more than add to Hermione’s growing hysteria.

Why won’t he say anything? But what if he didn’t want to say anything? What if he wanted to end their friendship because of what he had just seen? Did she just mentally scar him for life? Why wasn’t he saying anything? What was she going to say if he did start talking? Would he tell Ron? Were her sheets covering her naked body enough? Where was that draft coming from? Why wasn’t Malfoy saying anything? Was Harry’s gaze lingering on Malfoy just a little bit too long? What about those other rumors that Harry was secretly in love with Malfoy? Why the bloody hell won’t he say anything, damn it?

Hermione shook her head, willing the demented, and oh so absurd, inner inquiries to go away. She knew that she had to say something in order to get Harry out of his silent trauma and speak.

“Harry?” she asked as quietly as she could, but in her noiseless room it sounded as though she yelled it.

Harry was now staring at the half-naked Malfoy, who covering his man parts with a medium sized pillow, bewilderedly, as if he couldn’t really place who he was. Still eyeing Malfoy quizzically, he finally spoke.

“I was coming to check on you Hermione. I wanted to see if your headache had gone away because I was hoping we could talk. I saw light coming from under your door, so I thought you were still awake, but when I knocked and you didn’t answer, I thought you might have fallen asleep reading or something. I was going to come in and make sure you were all right and turn out your light for you, but…I…saw…” he trailed off, not bothering to finish the rest of his sentence.

Hermione didn’t know what to say, overwhelmed by knowing that not only had Harry cared enough about her to come and check up on her, but also that he had seen both her and Malfoy in all their bare-arsed glory, her hopes that he had possibly glossed over the scene before him crushed.

Remembering Malfoy was standing right next to her, Hermione glanced at him stealthily. Malfoy was sneering at Harry, who was still staring mystified at Malfoy. It was like a really tense and awkward staring match.

Malfoy pushed the pillow closer to his body as he maliciously said, “See something you like Potter? I always knew you were a poof. I guess all those rumors are true.”

As if Harry finally recognized Malfoy, he dangerously narrowed his eyes and gathered his hands into fists, his eyes no longer shinning with confusion, but fury instead. Hermione was relieved to know that her bed was standing in the way of Harry and Malfoy, otherwise she knew Harry would have attacked Malfoy, naked or not.

“Fuck off, Malfoy!”

Hermione gasped, never having heard Harry cruse so vulgarly, causing Harry’s head to snap in her direction, his attention now focused on her. The outrage flashing in his green eyes did not fade as he took in her wild hair, her flushed face, her swollen lips, and her naked body wrapped in a sheet that resembled a toga. Hermione felt like a Roman whore.

“Hermione,” he said frigidly, “could I speak with you in the common room. It’s empty now, so there is no need to worry that we will be overheard.”

Harry glared at Malfoy again as he added, “If you aren’t down there in five minutes, I am coming up here to get you.”

Not waiting for Hermione’s response, Harry shifted his angry gaze between Hermione and Malfoy one last time before turning and walking out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

Hermione stood in the same exact position for a moment, trying to recover from the fact that her best friend just caught her starkers and in bed, passionately kissing and getting serviced, by one of the people he despises. From the lack of movement beside her, Hermione suspected that Malfoy was doing the same.

Malfoy regained himself first. He tossed the pillow he used as coverage back onto Hermione’s bed and walked over to her, standing directly in front of her, bending down slightly so his eyes could meet hers on the same level.

“Granger, you didn’t do a locking spell, did you?”

Hermione, mute from fear and mortification, could only nod her affirmation.

Malfoy said nothing more as he started striding across Hermione’s room, gathering his clothes that were thrown carelessly and scattered about in their desperate and hurried attempt to disrobe each other.

As Malfoy pulled on his trousers, Hermione tried to move, but she simply couldn’t. She was rooted to her floor, her panicked state not allowing her to stir. She would just have to stay there forever. Maybe if she stood still long enough she would turn into stone and become a slutty and shameless monument to her stupidity. Malfoy, noticing her lack of mobility, started speaking easily and slowly.

“Well, that’s brilliant. We might as well tell everyone we know just to save them the trouble of discovering us in one of our many compromising, and therefore revealing, positions. It seems to happen anyways. We’ll just have to hold a viewing party. Potter seemed to enjoy it at first. Oh well.”

At the careless sound of Malfoy’s voice, Hermione forced herself out of her spellbound immobilization. She was finally able to move and get dressed, but she opted to watch Malfoy dressing instead, amazed that he was talking about the dire situation as though he were discussing it over afternoon tea.

“Don’t look at me like that Granger. Why should I care if Potter caught us? We already don’t like each other, so there is really no reason that it should bother me if he hates me just a bit more. As a matter of fact, I could use this to my advantage. How it must be eating him up inside knowing I was fucking his best friend right under his nose. Excellent.”

Becoming more terrified at the idea of Malfoy using their shagging as a way of annoying Harry, Hermione started pacing the length of her room, the sheet still wrapped around her, clutching it in bunches so that she wouldn’t trip. Her brain was working just as incoherently as the random words escaping her quivering mouth.

“Merlin...stupid…locking charm…damn hormones…oh, Harry…so angry…Ron…no friends…hate me…forever.”

Hermione stopped to see Malfoy watching her hungrily and smirking. Damn, when did he get so bloody sexy, and how could he reduce her to a lusty minx at the most inopportune times, and could his sexual cravings be more misplaced at the moment?

“No Malfoy!” she said warningly, her arm held out and her palm facing him, giving him the universal sign for stop.

“I can’t help that you look so damn arousing and inaccurately pure in you revealing toga, all tongue-tied and distressed. Did you know that I can see right through that poor excuse for a sheet? That’s why mine are green and silk, not white and cotton. You never know when you’ll need some threads in a pinch.” He drawled delightedly.

Alarmed, Hermione rushed over to her mirror, only to see that Malfoy was right. Looking at her reflection, Hermione could see the silhouette of her trim body through the sheet, due to the bright light of her bedroom. Hermione gaped at her appearance, which in turn winked saucily at her.

Malfoy strode over to Hermione, holding her clothes out to her.

“If we don’t get down there in two minutes, he’s coming back up here and I don’t fancy Potter gawking at me again.”

Hermione snatched the garments from Malfoy’s outstretched hand, and dressed as quickly as she could, which she found somewhat difficult. She almost lost her balance a few times and would have gone down to the common room with her shirt on inside out and backwards had Malfoy not pointed it out while serenely leaning against her bed post, chuckling and smirking like a madman.

When she tripped for a fourth time and Malfoy let out a loud snicker, Hermione found that her anxiety was being replaced with annoyance.

“Stop laughing at me, you prat. Why are you so calm anyway? It is irritating, and extremely unhelpful.”

“Because,” he said suavely, still smirking at her, “I, unlike you, know how to conduct myself in the face of panic. You don’t see me bumbling and stumbling every where. Why, you ask? Because I, unlike you, don’t let my nerves get the best of me; I, unlike you, know it won’t help any situation by getting ridiculously, and amusedly, distressed; and finally, I, unlike you, couldn’t care less whether or not The-Boy-Who-Needs-A-Good-Shagging-So-He-Can-Get-That-Stick-Out-Of-His-Arse goes ballistic or not. Now finish getting dressed.”

Hermione chose not to respond to Malfoy, her mind still clouded with dismay. When she was rightfully dressed, she and Malfoy emerged out of her room and started their way down the stairs. Behind her, Hermione could hear Malfoy mutter “I suppose there is no point in doing a Concealment Charm.”

Stepping into the common room, Hermione could see Harry sitting on an overstuffed loveseat near the dying fire, facing the stairs leading to Hermione’s room. Noticing her and Malfoy’s presence, Harry stood up, obviously waiting for Hermione to join him while scowling hatefully at Malfoy.

Hermione watched as Malfoy smirked at Harry (he sure was doing a lot of it tonight), not bothering to hide the laughter in his voice as he said “Potter” and nodded at him. On his way to the door, Hermione could feel Malfoy pass behind her. He huskily purred “See you tomorrow night, Granger.” followed by a blatant, and stinging, smack on Hermione’s bum.

Harry looked ready to pounce upon Malfoy, but before he could get across the room, the portrait disguised as a door closed, leaving Hermione alone with an enraged Harry.

Shifting his gaze from the now abandoned threshold of the opening to the Gryffindor common room to Hermione, Harry looked at her meaningfully, but grimly, and flopped sloppily back onto the sofa.

Hermione slowly made her way to the couch, noticing that the moment she started to move in his direction, Harry turned his head away from her and was currently staring into the bright red embers in the fireplace. When she sat down, he still didn’t look at her. Hermione tried not to cry, saddened and scared at the thought of losing Harry. Was this the end for their long and close friendship?

When he still said nothing and pretty much ignored her completely, Hermione watched Harry, realizing that this was the first time she had gotten to be close and alone with him in months.

He looked tired, as though he hadn’t been sleeping well. He hadn’t mentioned anything about having nightmares lately, and Hermione feared that he may have been putting off sleep in order to avoid them. She knew that he had been dreading the end of school, not only because he had considered Hogwarts to be the only home he had ever known, but also because he knew the war will be in full swing and he will have to work harder than ever to fight and vanquish Voldemort. It wasn’t as if Harry had defeated Voldemort over the summer between 6th and 7th year with a miraculous and powerful, but oh so simple and secret weapon all the while arriving right on time for school without any physical, emotional, or mental damage. He was frightened, as they all were, because it could mean failure, it could mean the loss of his friends; it could mean the end of his short life. It was then Hermione thought that Harry looked, and she felt, much older than they were.

Harry suddenly turned his head to Hermione, startling her out of her thoughts. She instantly knew that by the unfaltering look in his vivid eyes and the determined line his mouth was set in that he was going to ask questions, a lot of them. Next to herself, he was the most quizzical person Hermione knew. Right then and there, Hermione decided that she would answer all of his questions truthfully, no matter what he asked. She was tired of lying to him, and he had never deserved any of her falsehoods in the first place.

“This is so unlike you Hermione.” He said quietly.

“That was sort of the point.” She replied just as softly.

“Are you in love with him?”

“Malfoy? Blimey Harry, I barely even fancy him. We are just, um, well, uh, shagging.”

Hermione could feel her face burning. She could only imagine how red her cheeks were getting. She had never talk to Harry about sex before, and had never planned on it.

“Oh,” He said, the color rising in his cheeks as well, “I think I would have been able to understand more if you were.” He paused. “No, I wouldn’t, never mind.”

“I’m sorry Harry.” Hermione said desperately.

“Sorry you are banging Malfoy, or sorry you got caught?” he asked bitterly.

“Both.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“A couple of weeks give or take a few days.”

Harry’s face turned stony, his eyes glaring at her accusingly.

“So that’s why you have been acting so dodgy lately?”

“Yes.”

“And you lied to Ron and me?”

“Yes.”

“How many times has he been in your room while Ron and I have only been meters away?”

“This was the first time, I swear.”

Harry looked at her doubtfully, but continued with his interrogation.

“Have you ever been in his room?”

“Yes.” Hermione whispered, looking down at her hands, too ashamed to look Harry in his eyes anymore.

“Bloody hell Hermione. I thought you were supposed to be smart.” He uttered exasperatedly.

“I’m sorry.” She mumbled again, silent tears falling to her clasped hands.

“Why?”

Hermione looked up at him, her blurry vision not quite obscuring his despondent face.

“It’s complicated and hard to explain Harry.”

“Well try.” He replied coldly.

Hermione took a deep breath, and tried to clam herself down. She could not stop her voice from shaking slightly as she spoke.

“As awful as this sounds, I just felt like doing something for myself for once. Most of what I do is for other people. My academic overachievement has always been for my parents, so they could be proud of me, and for those prejudiced witches and wizards out there who don’t think a Muggle-born could be just as accomplished, if not better, at magic. And not that I am complaining, but I help you and Ron with your homework and studying while trying to keep you two on track. I support you and work with you to find ways of defeating Voldemort and winning this war. I am constantly there for you and Ron, never thinking of my well-being and safety, only yours. I just needed to live carelessly and be reckless for once, even if it was just for a moment. Does that make sense?”

Harry sighed wearily, took Hermione’s trembling hand in his, and looked deeply into her watery eyes. She had never felt anything so wonderful as her small hand being placed into Harry’s large and calloused hand reassuringly.

“I do see where you are coming from Hermione, I really do, but why him? Why the one person, besides Voldemort…and Snape, who makes my life a living hell? Isn’t he supposed to hate you?”

Hermione shrugged her shoulders.

“I guess hate breeds lust or something. He told me one day that he was attracted to me, and after intensely contemplating the issue, I came to the conclusion that I was attracted to him as well. He kissed me the next day, and well, it just escalated from there. He made me feel good about myself, even sexy, and as much as I hate to admit it, I enjoyed it immensely. I never meant for it to go this far, and I certainly had not intended to lie to you and Ron for so long. I am so sorry Harry, I truly am.”

Harry said nothing, but continued to hold Hermione’s hand. She sat in the silence, cursing her selfishness and Malfoy’s undeniable sexual appeal.

“Do you hate me Harry?” she asked faintly, the tears she had been trying to hold back breaking through the imaginary barrier once more.

“I could never hate you Hermione. I am just really shocked, and disappointed, and very angry. You have always thought of everyone else but yourself, repeatedly putting your friends first, and you have my undying gratitude for that, so I suppose I understand why you did it, but I still can’t grasp the ‘who’ part. You have your reasons for carrying on with Malfoy, and normally I trust your judgment, but how do you know he’s not just having it off with you as a way to get to me, to bring information to Voldemort? We aren’t even sure if he is a Death Eater yet!”

“Don’t think that I haven’t asked about his plans for the war, because I have, much to his displeasure.” Hermione stated defensively. “As a matter of fact, he hasn’t even decided what he is going to do, who he is going to side with. He is torn between what he thinks is his responsibility to his family and saving his own arse. He doesn’t want to be a Death Eater, nor does he want to be in Voldemort’s command, but he isn’t too keen on fighting beside the likes of you and Dumbledore.”

Harry snorted and shook his head disbelievingly.

“If you say so Hermione. I don’t trust him, and if you choose to keep at whatever you have with him, I won’t support it. I imagine you will do the right thing. I know you are happy, I have noticed over the last couple of weeks, and now I know that was because of your, um, relationship with Malfoy, but who is more important to you, Ron and me or Malfoy? You don’t have to make a decision right now, but sooner or later you have to choose. It is him or us. I want you to know that I love you Hermione, and so does Ron, we always will.”

Hermione let the stream of hot tears fall unchecked. She nodded her head, completely understanding what Harry had just told her.

“I love you, and Ron, too Harry. You won’t tell him, Ron I mean, will you?”

Harry squeezed Hermione’s hand compassionately. He lifted his other hand and placed his hand under her chin, bringing her gaze to meet his, before he tucked her soft hair behind her ear, away from her wet face, and smiled sympathetically.

“No, I won’t tell Ron. We all have our secrets Hermione; it’s not my place to go divulging yours.”

“Thank you Harry.” Hermione cried, barely containing the sob of relief and thankfulness threatening to escape her.

Looking at her with sadness in his eyes, Harry opened his mouth as though he were going to tell something to Hermione, but closed it and shook his head instead, as if he was telling himself no.

“I’m off to bed.”

Harry stood up and walked over to the stairs leading to his dorms. He was halfway up them when Hermione remembered the reason why he came into her room in the first place.

“Harry,” she called out, getting his attention. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

Harry looked at her and the turned his head to gaze up at the room he shared with Ron and the other boys in their year. He smiled before he returned his stare to her, his grin fading slightly.

“Nothing, it’s not the right time. Maybe I will tell you later.”

Hermione was puzzled, but there was no way she would be able to guess what he had intended to share with her.

“You know you can tell me anything, right?”

“I know, but then again, I thought that of you too. Goodnight.”

Harry climbed the rest of the steps and disappeared through the door without another word or glance in Hermione’s direction.

Hermione brought her eyes back to the expiring fire, feelings of melancholy and guilt streaming through out her mind. Harry was right, she was happy, but was her happiness worth straining, and eventually ending, a cherished friendship with someone she loved as much as Harry, as well as Ron? She had been telling Malfoy that sooner or later he had a decision to make regarding his future, but now she had one of her own to take into consideration.

It should have been no contest; there should have been no second thought of breaking things off with Malfoy for the sake of Harry and Ron. She had betrayed her best friends and then lied about it. She had neglected her friends all for a meaningless debauched relationship with someone she had hated, and who hated her, for six years. So why was it so bloody hard to come to a conclusion that felt like it was the right one?

Hermione sat in the common room for the rest of the night and into the wee hours of the morning, battling herself, crying off and on out of frustration and shame. By the time she had dragged her overworked mind and exhausted body to bed, she still hadn’t made a decision.


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A/N~ So there is Hermione and Harry’s “talk”. What did everyone think? And before you ask me, no, Hermione is not “in love” with Harry, it is more like a brotherly love, and it’s the same with Ron. I know Harry went a bit easy on Hermione, but he has always had a soft spot for her, hasn’t he?

The next chapter is from Draco’s P.O.V. and we also find out what Hermione has decided to do about her situation. And there may be an appearance from our clever, cunning, and oh so sexy Blaise.

Reviews are my drug, support the addict, be an enabler, I promise I won’t turn you in if you give me the good stuff.

Roberta