A/N: Wrote this so long ago. Bear with me lol.

In the simplest way possible – she was going to have sex with him.

She didn't want to have sex with him. She didn't dream of having sex with him.

She just would.

There were other candidates Hermione had in mind – candidates more suited to her personal tastes – but therein lay the problem. She had no desire for a relationship. She had no desire for emotional understanding or frilly, happy, fairytale sex on a canopy bed.

She wanted sex in the most primitive, uncomplicated form.

This left one solution and only one candidate to implement said solution. His name, of course, was Draco Malfoy.

There were none quite like him.

There were none quite like this privileged prat of a human being.

She couldn't risk falling in love. She couldn't risk being burdened by romantic feelings …and losing her virginity to Draco Malfoy was her only guarantee in making sure that didn't happen.

There was only one problem in this otherwise sound idea. She couldn't trust him. Not for one moment. He was, after all, famous for being a backstabbing git. But in knowing this, she knew he would agree to her proposition. He had nothing to lose. According to the rumours, he lost his virginity sometime around their fifth year, to an older Slytherin girl named Helena Davis.

Why Hermione knew this was beyond comprehension, but she didn't care about Malfoy's sex life. The more experience, the better. The last thing she wanted was to lose her virginity to a bumbling fool, who couldn't tell a bra-strap from a bootstrap.

Ferret Boy may have been a complete and utter arsehole, but he apparently knew his way around the bedroom.

She figured the ordeal wouldn't be a complete misery, having to stare at his naked form for thirty to thirty-five minutes. He was crude and insensitive, but even Hermione couldn't deny the fact that he oozed sex appeal. This was part of the reason she loathed him so much. It would have been easier to ignore his teasing, if he weren't so attractive.

Ginny agreed.

They discussed practically every young man in both their years – apart from Ron – because dat shit awkward. The girls had gone so far as to form a list of the most eligible bachelors in school.

Harry, of course, topped the list. He wasn't just kind and virtuous. There was something inherently sexy about him. He was confident without being cocky, and reliable without being predictable. It didn't hurt that he was one of the tallest and most physically fit gentlemen in school. It didn't hurt one bit. And damn those green eyes, damn them straight to hell.

The others were obvious choices like Dean Thomas, Michael Corner and even Theodore Nott. Adding Nott to the list transitioned them into the other Slytherin boys – most of whom were decidedly gorgeous. They eventually added Blaise Zabini because, really, who could resist that deep sensual voice?

Then came the looming question.

What about Malfoy?

Hermione toyed with the idea of pretending he didn't exist, but in the back of her mind, she could feel those smoky grey eyes tear holes through her conviction. His physical appeal was never up for debate. It went without saying that Draco Malfoy was attractive – almost painfully so – and that was a tough pill to swallow.

He could easily have been in the same league as Harry, but there was one difference between those boys. Malfoy absolutely – without a shadow of a doubt – knew he was attractive, whereas Harry didn't. It was a small detail but it made all the difference in the world.

The girls begrudgingly scribbled Malfoy's name as second, with a necessary question mark beside it.

Hermione stared at this list near the window of her bedroom and folded it into tenths the moment her eyes skimmed his name. She then made way for her desk and dipped her Quill into a pot of ink, before contemplating the first line to the most ludicrous letter ever to be written.

Dear Draco. I –

Nope, too personal.

Hey! How's your sum –

Erm. No. Scratch that.

Hello, it's Hermione. Yes, Hermione, the same girl whose life you've made a living hell for the past six –

Ugh. Gods, no. Deep breath. Think, Granger. Think.

I sometimes think about you in your Slytherin Quidditch uniform when I –

"This is madness," she decided, feeling nerves collect around her face, neck and fingertips. "Oh – sod it."

Malfoy,

This letter will most certainly come as a shock, but in light of recent events, I feel it necessary to approach you with something mutually beneficial to both of us. To be frank, you have what I need and I have what you need. By that I mean I am willing to provide you with a solution to your problem, if you'd be willing to provide me with a solution to mine…

…Through various modes of research, I have found a method of tattoo removal that could quite possibly erase or at least diffuse the figure etched into your left forearm. I am fully aware of your wish to remove it, and I am quite willing to help. I can't guarantee the removal will be painless, but I will try my absolute hardest to ensure it works. In return, I have something of an unusual request. Without divulging too much information, I have recently found myself in a bit of a dilemma with regards to my transition into adulthood. I wish to educate and enlighten younger witches about important feminist ideals such as, but not limited to the abolishment of archaic value systems to do with feminine honor and the like. It is very important that I help demolish these outdated concepts, but in doing that I would need to be living proof, which – at the moment – I am not. It occurs to me that I have other options, but I turn to you, Malfoy, for your expertise in said areas, your indifference towards me – which, in case it isn't obvious, is quite mutual – and the guarantee that this would most certainly be an agreement between two consenting adults with no further implications.

Simply put, I need your help as much as you need mine.

There will be lunch reservations under my name at a Muggle establishment called Hennessy's in Chelsea. If you wish to accept and/or further discuss the aforementioned proposition, meet me there around noon this Friday.

Good day to you.

Signed,

Hermione Granger.

His eyes skimmed the letter several times. It had been delivered to his home address via Owl Post earlier in the afternoon. Thankfully, his parents hadn't been there, or they most certainly would have wished to read this letter. It was something Lucius had established the moment Draco turned sixteen. He had no privacy. His parents kept close tabs on him, and if they were to ever come across the roll of parchment held in the palm of his hand, he would never hear the end of it.

It wasn't immediately obvious the first time he'd read the letter, but after the third or fourth time, he decided there was no other way about it. Through evasive wording and clever transitions, Queen Mudblood had quite clearly propositioned him for no-strings-attached sex.

Not only that.

She was a virgin.

Draco wasn't quite surprised.

The girl wasn't unattractive. In fact, quite a few of his own friends found her subtly pretty and would probably have asked her out, but she always seemed to have her nose buried in a book or up Potter's arsehole. He imagined this left no room for sexual fulfillment – or anything else fun – not that he cared.

Even the idea of Granger's naughty bits made him gag. The hair on her head was bushy enough. He had no desire to find out if the carpet matched the drapes.

Cringe.

The offer was vile – more than vile – but there was twisted satisfaction in knowing he held all the cards to something Queen Mudblood deemed very important.

His inner Slytherin hissed with intrigue.

After several moments of intense thought and innocent scheming, Draco decided he would go to this Hennessey's place and meet with Granger. He had no plans of accepting her offer but – after four weeks of boring pureblood gatherings and court appearances – he couldn't deny himself the opportunity to make Hermione Granger shake in her chaste little knickers.

He would go.

Purely for shits and giggles.

Nothing more.

Nothing less.

Draco cleared his throat and nodded.

Hermione caught quick looks at her outfit, as she strolled past several glass displays. The sun was out and blazing, which made cause for a summer dress rather than her usual cardigan and jeans combo. Her mother had purchased this particular number for Hermione, whilst in America last month. It was halter style and knee-length – and periwinkle blue in colour. It looked like something straight out of the 50s, which Hermione decided was her favourite era for fashion and music.

Her parents always joked that she was born in the wrong decade. She was what Muggles liked to call an old soul. This was the sole reason she got along with adults as well as she did, and detested childish games such as Quidditch and Truth or Dare as much as she did.

Hermione had no time for elementary affairs.

It was this very principle that brought her to Hennessey's that afternoon. She recognized the red brick exterior and golden letters, having spent quite a lot of her free time in this place before Hogwarts. Her father used to bring her there for lunch back when she was a child. It used to be her favourite place in the world – with amazing milkshakes and a jaw-dropping selection of the finest, most delectable desserts – but those years had flew past at the blink of an eye.

She was no longer seven. She was now seventeen, and her company for that afternoon was most certainly not going to be her father.

In fact, Hermione hadn't a clear indication as to whether or not she would have company at all. There was no response to her letter, not that she'd left much room for one. Her instructions were clear, and as she pushed through the door chimes, an unexpected bout of nervousness plunged deep into her gut.

"Afternoon," smiled the waitress – roughly 20something with short auburn hair and dressed in a uniform of all black with an evergreen apron around her waist. "Do you have reservations?"

"Er –" There was a hitch in Hermione's breath. "Y – Yes." She cleared her throat, wondering where this anxiety had come from. "Granger for two."

The waitress ran a finger along the reservation book propped on the standing desk in front and glanced. "Found you," she smiled again, almost too happy. "Follow me, love."

Hermione hated being called that. Particularly by people not much older than she. It made her feel oddly inferior, but she figured this was just the result of being raised in a family that rarely, if ever, addressed one another with anything other than names and titles.

Her parents taught her propriety and good posture.

And, so, she was proper and had the best damned posture of all her friends, but the warmth and informal nature of the Weasley clan carried its own appeal. It wasn't that her parents were cold or distant. In fact, they were quite the opposite, always making sure she was happy and had everything she needed. It's that she'd never been taught how to fail, how to swim to shore if ever she drowned.

Hermione suppressed these concerns during her time at Hogwarts and told herself the time would come, for her to learn these important life lessons. She only hoped it would be sooner rather than later. The mere prospect of failing at anything career-related gave her anxiety.

She worked too damned hard to fail.

But failure in her personal endeavours was another matter entirely. It felt as though every subject to cross her mind – no matter how random or distant – brought her back to the reason behind this stopover at Hennessey's. She slid into the booth nearest the far wall, away from the door, and smiled back at the waitress – whose nametag read Jo – before ordering a vanilla bean milkshake.

The décor in Hennessey's was simple. It was dark wood with pastel accents, echoing both the sweet and savoury items on menu. This particular establishment was a little on the expensive side, but Hermione didn't mind. She had been meaning to come back for years, but never found the chance. Her summers were usually spent on holiday with her parents, followed by a visit to The Burrow before start of term.

That summer, however, she planned to spend both months at home with her parents, given that it was her last summer before graduation. The prospect of moving out and becoming an actual adult both terrified and excited her. She had already been scoping out wizarding neighbourhoods with inexpensive housing. Her current plan was to join a Ministry-based feminist organization and tear down gender barriers one step at a time. It was something she was passionate about and held close personal connection towards.

Sometimes, it was tough being the only girl in the trio.

Sometimes, it was tough just being.

The boys were nice and all, but there were so many levels of sexism within the magic community that simply flew right over their noses. It wasn't about being superior. It was about equality. It was always about equality.

Hermione sighed, propping her left elbow on the table and resting her cheek against the palm of her hand. She couldn't help but wonder what her friends would think about this meeting, if ever they discovered her secret. She had no immediate plans of telling them, even Ginny. Their judgment would be the end of her. They were a kind and compassionate bunch, but would they understand her reasons for this?

No.

Because none of them were virgins.

It sounded trivial, when she thought about it as an outsider looking in, but there was something to be said about being dateless and alone. She was still young. She had an infinite amount of time to cross these milestones at an organic pace. There was no doubt about that. But the doubts in her mind were different.

Hermione fantasized and daydreamed as much as the next girl, but she wanted more than that.

She wanted to feel something.

She wanted to pine.

She wanted to feel that slow burning desire, in the middle of the night.

Perhaps this was the real reason behind the meeting. If someone as veteran and talented as Draco Malfoy couldn't get her going, then no one could.

"Here we go!" Jo came by the booth with a vanilla bean milkshake, still smiling and apparently oblivious to her customer's sullen mood. "Just wave me over if you need anything else. Cheers!"

Hermione forced a smile and nodded once, relieved as the chipper woman left her at peace. She wrapped one hand around the tall glass and used the other to poke at her straw. It was red and white, and bendy near the top. She tried to focus on her milkshake, but her eyes drifted through the large window every now and then. There were countless people walking about with not a care in the world. She longed to be one of them. She longed to leave Hennessey's and forget the meeting.

This was such a shit idea. The brunette grimaced, inwardly cringing. It had occurred to her that she could get stood up. In fact, she prepared for it. But the wait was killing her. She'd barely been there for ten minutes and already, the back of her neck was beginning to rise in temperature.

There was also the possibility that her letter was being sent around to all her classmates. The horror of that would be enough to drop out. She had taken the precaution of putting a timer on it, after which it would burst into flames and disintegrate. But she wouldn't put it past Malfoy to make copies.

I'm a goner, she decided. I'll never live this down. I'll be known as the only Gryffindor in existence to proposition a Slytherin. I'll be banished from Hogwarts. My parents will disown me. Harry will never speak to me. Ginny will loathe me for not including her. Ron will either curse me, himself or Malfoy into oblivion and –

Hermione's eyes flicked up.

It was by the Might of Merlin that he'd been able to find this damned place. Draco made a mental note to curse Granger for choosing a Muggle location; otherwise he'd simply have Apparated to their meeting. The sun didn't make this journey any easier. He didn't like summer. He didn't like being stuck with his parents for two months. He especially didn't like the fact that his pale complexion burned so easily under the sun.

Nevertheless, there was fun to be had and as he turned the last corner, his eyes happened upon a rather unattractive building made of red brick with gold lettering that read Hennessey's. It looked Muggle enough, a little more expensive than he'd imagined for Granger but still overtly Muggle-ish in its exterior.

Draco absently wiped from the sweat from his forehead and moved onward, past the window and towards the door before she came into plain sight. He could see her through the reflective glass. She was sitting far from the entrance, with her back facing the door and her hair falling over her face in soft curls. Her hand was wrapped around what looked like a milkshake, but it was untouched.

She looked …sad?

Huh. Go figure.

He forcibly shifted his attention to the door and pushed through, coming face-to-face with a semi-attractive waitress called Jo.

"Hello!" she greeted, far too happy to be a Muggle. "Reservations?"

Draco transitioned from dehydrated to poised in less time than Jo could blink. "Hermione Granger for two."

"Ah –" A touch of disappointment crossed Jo's face, but it vanished as she gestured to a booth near the far end. "Your girlfriend is waiting just over there."

Er.

"She's not my –"

"I'll come by in a minute to take your order. Enjoy!"

There was a sharp arch in his brow, as he watched the waitress skip to the back of the restaurant. Nutter. This was exactly why he didn't bother with Muggles. The bloody lot of them were unbearable.

Resigned to whatever other atrocities awaited him during his stopover at this establishment, he fixed his attention to the aforementioned booth and moved towards it. His eyes drifted all around the restaurant, taking note of the strange décor and plainly dressed customers. Most of them were in summer clothing – shorts, skirts, t-shirts – whereas he had opted for his usual long sleeve shirt and trousers.

It seemed like a fine idea until he stepped foot into the heat.

Damn you, Granger.

Her curly brown hair came into view as he moved closer. She was sitting alone, with her back facing him and her head tilted down. He'd seen her like this many times, usually pouring over a book or an assignment. But there were no essays or textbooks to hide behind.

For the first time, he saw her outside of the school setting and away from her friends.

It startled him, a little, being there. It made the entire ordeal concrete. This was actually happening. Queen Mudblood had actually propositioned him.

He approached the booth, watching as Granger's head tilted up. She blinked once and then looked at him, as he slid into the seat opposite hers. The expression on her face was filled with neither shock nor amazement. Weird.

If he had to guess, he'd say the hardness in her eyes and twitch of her bottom lip were telltale signs of scorn.

Draco leaned back – cool as ice – and folded his arms. "What's got you in a strop?"

The audacity. The unbelievable audacity. Hermione breathed out, releasing some of her anger and reminding herself that she asked for this. It was never supposed to be a breeze.

This was Malfoy, after all.

She ignored his invasive stares and instead took a sip of her milkshake. The creamy goodness offered instant gratification, soothing her insides. It had been a long time since she ingested something sweet without worrying if it was bogey-flavoured or even dog food.

This was the part about being a Muggle she missed most.

Stability.

But the spontaneity that came with magic had its own allure.

Hermione took another deep breath and set aside the milkshake, having sidetracked for long enough.

She glanced forward – startled.

He was staring at her – not looking, not gazing, but staring – without even a hint of shame. His eyes drifted from the single silver pedant dangling over her clavicle – crescent in shape and a birthday gift – to the brush of cleavage hidden beneath the sweetheart neckline of her dress.

Her cheeks flushed. "Er –"

The young man diverted his attention upwards and captured her eyes in a cool, calculated stare. "Granger," he greeted. "Shall we get this going? Or do you plan on gawking at me for the next hour?"

Hermione glared. "I was going to thank you for coming, but now I'm not so sure."

He smirked. "Quite sure I haven't come ye –"

Jo skirted to their table and clapped her hands together. "All right. What can I get you?" she asked, a slight glimmer in her eyes as she glanced to Malfoy. "Milkshake? Sundae?"

"Milkshake," he answered, keeping his eyes on Hermione.

The waitress stared between them, catching on to the obvious tension. "Erm – flavour?"

He shrugged. "Surprise me."

"Sure…" She took a step back. "One surprise milkshake. Coming right up."

Hermione waited until the waitress was out of sight, before fixing another glare in Malfoy's direction. "Listen," she started, leaning forward. "This was a bad idea."

He scoffed. "Giving up already?"

"I'm not giving up. I'm just –"

"Two hours," he interjected. "It took me two hours to find this place, and you're just going to cancel on me as soon as I arrive?" There was actual disappointment in his features. "How very un-Gryffindor of you."

She rolled her eyes. "Why are you even here?"

"Why are you here?"

"Because it would have been rude to stand you up."

He threw her an obvious look. "Well, that makes two of us."

She grimaced. "If you're here to have a laugh, then I suggest you finish what you ordered and call it a day."

"As a matter of fact, I am here for a laugh." There was a twitch along her bottom lip. His smirk deepened. "But I'm also curious."

"About?"

He scoffed again. "Really?"

The auburn-haired waitress arrived just then and deposited what looked like a mint chocolate chip milkshake. "Hope you like it," she smiled. "Give me a holler if you need anything else. Cheers!"

The pair of them mumbled a quick thanks, and waited for her to leave before continuing their discussion.

Malfoy switched the straws in their milkshakes and grabbed hold of the vanilla bean. "Not a big fan of mint," he said, as Hermione opened her mouth in protest. "So – where were we?"

She folded her arms. "You were just about to leave."

"Oh, come on." He moved the straw in circles with just the tip of his finger, eyeing her. "Where's the fun in that?"

"I'm not here to have fun, Malfoy."

"That's your problem right there," he discerned, curving his lips around the straw and sucking. "You're so severe."

Hermione arched an eyebrow. "What do you mean severe?"

"I mean, it's no wonder you've asked for my help," he furthered. "I'll admit I was more than a little taken aback –" And the expression on his face showed it. "But you've come to the right place." His eyes narrowed, with intrigue rather than contempt. "Humour me, Granger."

She scrunched her mouth to the side, visibly bothered. "I'm especially not here to humour you."

"But you're here, aren't you?"

"So?"

"So let's not put this afternoon to waste." He leaned in. "Why me?"

Her expression faltered. "I don't follow –"

"Don't play dumb. It doesn't suit you."

She raised both eyebrows – bewildered. He sounded suspiciously sincere, which made her uncomfortable. Her eyes drifted to the mint chocolate chip milkshake. She decided it was time for a drink – or maybe a distraction. Either way, this afternoon had taken a strange turn.

Hermione swallowed a mouthful of milkshake and raised a finger to her mouth as a single drop clung to her bottom lip. She licked the mint green substance from her index finger and glanced to Malfoy. His eyes were on her, or rather, on her lips. There was something unequivocally strange about the look in those smoky orbs.

If the Head Girl didn't know any better, she would have recognized the look in his eyes to be something along the lines of …lust?

No. Never.

"So," his voice rang in, putting an end to this brief interlude. "You didn't answer my question. Why me?"

She gave him an apparent look. "I'm not going to sit here and inflate your ego. The fact that I contacted you at all should be good enough."

A touch of amusement crossed his lips. It looked something like a smile, but she couldn't be sure. "Are you that opposed to complimenting me? For all you know I'm plagued with some deep-seeded, crippling insecurities."

Hermione snorted. "Sure thing."

"I'm not half as arrogant as you think," he furthered, leaning in even closer and taking a drink from her straw. "Ah – peach."

That was the flavour of her lip balm. "Er –" She ran a hand through her hair, gathering it to her left shoulder. It was a nervous habit, something she did during exams or in Potions. "Maybe – Maybe we should just get everything out of the way."

"How do you mean?"

"Just give it to me straight," Hermione said, plainly. "Are you going to help me?"

"Depends."

"On?"

He shrugged. "The terms?"

The girl smiled, mostly to herself. She had prepared for this moment in advance, having spent the larger part of the previous night designing a contract of sorts. She reached into her bag and withdrew three sheets of parchment with her handwriting scrawled back-to-front about a third of an inch thick.

Malfoy gaped. "What the bloody hell is that?"

"Your contract," Hermione answered smartly, sliding it to his end of the table. "Go on then. Give it a read."

"You drew up a contract?" he asked – baffled. "This is mental, even for you."

She didn't seem at all fazed. "It's the logical thing to do. I would never consent to a verbal agreement with – well – with a Slytherin."

His eyes skimmed the pages, which were filled with lines such as 'I will never discuss or divulge the contents of this agreement with any person or group outside of the consenting parties…' and 'I will never use the contents of this agreement to blackmail or manipulate…' and even 'I will arrive at the designated meeting place alone and in the appropriate attire…'

"How romantic," he remarked.

"It's not supposed to be romantic."

Malfoy cracked a smile. "Well – mission accomplished on that front." He then glanced up. "Where's your contract?"

"I'll happily consider a contract of your choosing, should you provide me with one prior to the aforementioned date."

He reread the first page and spotted the date, which was exactly one week from then. "Seven days. Less time than I imagined."

"Oh?"

"I'm not accustomed to such agreements," Malfoy furthered. "Despite my reputation."

Hermione toyed with the idea of pressing him for information about the truth behind his reputation, but she figured that was a bad idea. "Well – you have seven days to mull this over."

His eyes drifted to the contract once more. "Wait –"

"What is it?"

Malfoy threw her a quizzical look and held the second page in front of her, with his finger pointing somewhere near the middle. "No kissing?"

'I will not make mouth-to-mouth or mouth-to-body contact…'

The brunette avoided his prying eyes. "What of it?"

"You'll sleep with me but you won't let me kiss you," he relayed, massaging his temples. "You are clinically insane, Granger. You do know that, don't you?"

"I don't see the big deal," she shrugged. "This is purely biological. There's no need for acts of …affection."

He gawked. "You consider kissing an act of affection, but not sex. Are you sure you're a girl?"

Hermione scanned her nails. "Quite sure."

"Well – deal's off then."

"What?"

Malfoy pushed the parchment to her end of the table. "I decline."

"You can't be serious," she scoffed. "Of all the things to change your mind…"

"This is my decision."

"Fine." Hermione took hold of the contract and tucked it back into her bag. "I suppose that's that then."

The blond wizard nodded his head – just once. "I suppose so." He then reached into his pocket and tossed a wad of Muggle money on the table.

She eyed it. "That's triple the amount."

"Sod off," he mumbled, sliding out of the booth.

Hermione opened her mouth to retort and then stood. "Wait –" She looked to him, a little flustered as he stopped less than a foot away from her. "I– erm– I–" Deep breath. "Please explain to me why you're so angry."

He tilted his head down, towards her. Their height difference wasn't as apparent in the booth. "Morals, Granger. I happen to have them."

Her eyes widened a little. "What?"

"Is it so difficult to believe?" Malfoy questioned. "Oh – of course it is. Because I'm Slytherin."

"Hold on –" She reeled her vision as he stepped around her, headed straight for the door. A few customers glanced in their direction, as the pair of them proceeded from one end of the restaurant to the other. Hermione chased after him, in disbelief over what was happening. "Will you stop?" she exclaimed, practically stumbling through the door. "Malfoy."

He turned the corner, away from the main road and into a secluded area with just a few shops scattered about. She doubted he had any idea where he was headed, and wondered if he'd ever traveled through Muggle Britain on his own – or at all.

"I'm not going to leave you alone until you tell me what this is about," Hermione called out, about six or seven feet from him. "You'll get tired eventually."

But the longer this chase continued, the more tired she became. It was foolish to think she could outrun Malfoy. He may have been a slimy git, but he was also in shape. She, on the other hand, hadn't worked out a day in her life. The closest thing she'd ever done to exercise was sprinting up and down the moving staircase in Hogwarts, from lesson to lesson.

Hermione groaned, realizing she had no idea where they had gone off to. She couldn't let this continue. It was time for plan B.

There was a sharp cry about six paces from his position. Draco whipped his neck around and saw Queen Mudblood sprawled on the pavement with her hands clasped over her left ankle.

He raced towards her, for whatever reason, and kneeled. "What the bloody hell have you done?"

"I tripped," she whimpered.

"How do you even –"

"I think I sprained it."

Something tugged at his chest muscles, and then Draco paused. "You're a bad actor."

Granger carried on for a moment or two, really milking it with her pouty lips, flushed cheeks and bright, bright eyes. He never noticed it before, but there were bronze flecks in them. The flecks were especially visible in the sunlight.

Her mouth twisted into a smile. "You can't blame a girl for trying."

Draco huffed and then held out his hand, helping the clumsy fool to her feet. "Remind me to send Potter and Weasley a gift basket for being able to deal with you for six years now."

"Oh – shut up." She brushed the dirt from her dress, unaware of the look on his face as he watched her. "So, will you tell me what's wrong?" Granger asked. "Malfoy?"

His eyes darted up. "Er – what?"

She looked to him. "The contract. Remember?"

"Oh." He breathed in and out, evenly. "It's quite a simple concept. I'm sure even Muggles are aware of it."

"Quit the dramatics and spit it out."

"Fine." Draco approached her, relishing the way her entire body tensed up and then relaxed – but he didn't know why.

The atmosphere changed.

There were maybe three or four inches of space between them. "I'm only going to say this once," he told her, eyes drifting to her cupid's bow. "If you want me to have sex with you, you're going to have to let me kiss you, too."

Granger narrowed her eyes and then swallowed hard, sensing the change. She took one step behind and pressed her back against the stuccoed wall of a nearby dry cleaning business.

"Why is kissing so important to you?" she managed to ask.

There was dubstep music coming from a nearby flat, filling their eardrums with the sound of hard bass. "It just is."

"Honestly," the witch sighed, exasperated. "Do we have a deal or not?"

"Will you let me kiss you?"

"No."

"Deal's off then," he decided, nonchalant.

The brunette all but growled. "Are you kidding me?"

He turned from her. "Nope."

"Oh my – FINE," she shouted, seething with anger. "You want to kiss me?"

Draco cocked his head in her direction and raised both eyebrows. He opened his mouth to say something, but she beat him to the punch.

The anger in her eyes deepened. She grabbed at his shirt collar and yanked him towards her. "Do it!"

He stared at her, eyes wide open.

Well, I'll be damned.

She stood there, practically smoking from the ears, clearly not bluffing.

Everything faded into the background. The music. The noise from the main road. The small voice in his head asking what the hell was going on. Everything.

Draco lifted her small, balled up hands from his shirt collar and pressed them against the wall, on either side of her. It was a precarious position, but the look in her eyes told him this was more than okay. Her expression went from pure, unadulterated rage, to something far less dangerous, but equally heated.

Fuck it.

He leaned in.

Hermione stared blankly at the ceiling, afraid to close her eyes. It was nearly three o'clock in the morning, and she had yet to catch a wink of sleep. The reason was simple. Draco Malfoy. In the midst of their meeting, something had gone horribly wrong and left both of them in a rather compromising situation. If she were an outsider looking in, it would appear as though he'd wanted to kiss her – but that can't have been the case.

He was Draco Malfoy, for Merlin's sake!

No, there must have been a logical explanation in all of this. Perhaps he was testing her, to see if she was worth the contract and all its terms and conditions. There was no other way about it. Particularly since he hadn't actually signed the contract. Six days. No word from him. She was beginning to worry. She had left their meeting in something of a befuddled state.

There was no kiss.

He leaned into her, combed the wayward hair from her face, and practically breathed life into her, with no actual kiss to be had.

Hermione was left quaking against the stuccoed wall, coaxed back to reality by the distant sound of dubstep and car horns. Sexy. She opened her eyes to find nothing – nobody. No sign of Malfoy. No sign of anything, really.

Her initial reaction had been something close to rage and then embarrassment, and then eventually she settled for indifference.

The only indication that something had happened at all, that the entire meeting hadn't been a hallucination, was the fact that Malfoy had extracted the contract from her bag – leaving her with one question.

What the bloody hell was he playing at?

Her intentions were clear. But countless layers of arrogance and evasive maneuvers masked his. The mere fact that they hadn't discussed a single detail to do with her end of the bargain was proof in that. There was no mention of the Dark Mark removal. It was almost as if that part in her letter to him was never written. She couldn't figure him out.

On one hand, he openly admitted to meeting with her for a laugh. On the other, he lost his damned mind from not being able to kiss her.

But, really, why was the kiss so important?

There was a small voice in the back of her mind that wondered if perhaps a tiny – practically insignificant – part of Draco Malfoy fancied her.

This would ultimately go against the basis of her decision to include him in her plans – but, really, there was no chance he could feel anything other than indifference.

Hermione breathed in and out, tugging the covers over her head and rolling to her side in foetal position.

It was a stupid idea to begin with, and the consequences were laid out for her. She took a deep, rousing breath and tried to remove these stresses from her mind. She had to sleep. But her mind and body just wouldn't co-operate. She was afraid to sleep – or rather – to dream. She was afraid to close her eyes and see those smoky orbs staring back at her, again.

A bittersweet laugh escaped her lips, as she realized this was what she wanted – to feel something.

But her idea of feeling something didn't include panic or shame.

She wanted to feel good things. She wanted to feel whole, uncomplicated things.

…There wasn't a single shred of her encounter with Malfoy that wasn't shrouded in ambiguity.

He really was a prat and a half.

I will kiss you, he imparted directly over her lips. And when I do, you'll want it.

This line played and then replayed in her mind over and over again. It had been the last she'd heard from him, before he disappeared without so much as a farewell. She couldn't decide what felt worse: waiting or wanting.

The nerve of him to make such a fuss – and then leave her like that!

She grimaced.

She wasn't dealing with a normal human being. She was dealing with Draco Malfoy. She was dealing with the single most arrogant person to walk the earth.

The smug, little shit.

In all these thoughts, in all these frowns and inward cringes, she barely came to notice the tapping on her bedroom window. The brunette flinched and then made motion to grab her wand – panicked and half-lidded – until realizing the source of all the commotion as an owl.

Specifically, an Eagle Owl.

Hermione kicked the covers from her body and unlatched the window. The owl, familiar from mail day at Hogwarts, swooped over to her desk and deposited a single roll of parchment sealed with green wax, before spreading its wings and flying back out into the night.

Odd.

The girl had never known an owl to pass up treats.

She curiously watched it fade into a speck amid the moon and the stars and then fingered through the wax seal, unconsciously slipping into her desk chair as her eyes skimmed the page.

Granger,

I apologize for my misconduct. I've been mulling it over for the past six days and I've come to realize that I should never have pressured you into kissing me. This entire arrangement was made under your terms and conditions, and it was both immature and insensitive of me to question said terms and conditions for my own selfish benefit.

For that, I am deeply sorry.

If you wish to go forth with our arrangement, I'll be waiting for you tomorrow night at Emerald Lounge on the far side of Diagon Alley. I will, of course, have the contract signed and sealed.

I only hope that you do not feel pressured to meet with me. I'm fully prepared to spend the evening alone, and probably deserve it.

Signed,

Draco Malfoy

His hands drifted from her wrists to her sides, where he ran them down the seam of her dress. She shivered against him. The narrow gap between her lips made him weak in every place but one. The world stopped. Their eyes locked…

"What is she doing here?"

Draco had a drink from the Firewhiskey he'd been nursing for the past hour. It was important that he remain sober. There was a lot riding on that night, even before he had the misfortune of running into his friends. He should have known better than to pick their usual hangout for his private endeavours. He'd been there for barely ten or so minutes before Pansy, Blaise and Theo approached him – all oblivious to the reason for his being there.

He ignored Pansy's side comments, having neither the patience nor the energy to entertain her gossip.

"Mate," Blaise remarked, gesturing to the door. "Isn't that Potter's girlfriend? Herm –"

Pansy ground her teeth, positively fuming. "That bitch has no business being here."

"Her presence in this establishment is quite unusual," Theo added, as more of an observation than anything else.

The Firewhiskey dulled his senses some, but the feeling didn't last. He made a point to drink slowly and keep his wits about him. It was quite late in the evening – easily nine o'clock – which meant he'd probably been stood up, but even the slightest chance that this was not the case kept him at bay. He'd otherwise have downed half the bar.

"I don't know…" Blaise leaned back on his chair in their VIP section, scoping out his selection for the night. "She's looking quite fit."

Pansy threw him a look of scorn. "That's vile."

"Jealous?" he asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

The dark-haired witch scowled. "If you wish to consort with Gryffindor scum, be my guest."

Zabini chuckled to himself, blessed with the unparalleled talent of being able to get a rise out of Pansy with just a few words. Since their fifth year, she had sneakily shifted most her affections to him – once it became known that Draco had no romantic interest in her. The pair flirted on occasion, but Blaise was clearly not in the right place for a relationship and Pansy was not one hundred percent ready to give up her precious Malfoy.

Then there was Theo. He'd dated around here and there, but his main focus was on school and most recently, a summer internship at the Ministry. It was difficult to tell by looking at him, but he was really quite the natural in terms of dating and the like.

"I wasn't exactly looking to pull tonight," Blaise furthered, rubbing his chin. "But just look at those legs."

Pansy gagged on her martini. "That's it. I'm going to be sick."

"Shall I escort you to the ladies room?" Theo offered.

She clapped a hand over her mouth, really playing it up.

Zabini rolled his eyes. "Oh – get a grip."

Pansy's retorted was muffled. She kept it up for another thirty seconds, before taking a deep breath and brushing the invisible wrinkles from her black dress. "I have half a mind to go over there and remove her from this place."

"Don't worry," Blaise furthered, licking his lips. "She'll be leaving with me in no time at all."

"It appears to me like Hermione is waiting for someone," Theo chimed in. "A date, perhaps."

The conversation was lost on him, for the most part. He couldn't concentrate with all the chatter, the clinking glasses and the reverberation coming from the sound system. The music sounded something like Weird Sisters but he couldn't be sure. It was something he kept private, but Draco much preferred the Muggle band Oasis to anything playing on wizard radio.

'Wonderwall' had been on repeat for most of the summer, and even more so over the past week.

It was telling, the number of times he found himself drawn to Muggle things.

"Her-my-oh-knee," Blaise delivered, curving his lips around each syllable as though it were a gourmet dessert. "I don't know how Potter and Weasley manage to resist," he continued. "That is one top tier figure."

Draco cocked his head up, hurriedly following his friends' lines of vision. His eyes darted to the far end of the Emerald Lounge. "What are you lot going on ab –" There was a hitch in his chest. He swallowed hard. "Oh."

"Total slag," Pansy mumbled through gritted teeth. "Just look at the hem on her dress. It's well above her knees!"

"Tastefully done," Theo countered, having an eye for fashion. "In my opinion."

The hitch in his chest turned into a growing ball of tension. There she was, hanging around the bar in a petite sapphire number that tied around the waist and hinted at her assets, rather than displaying them full on. Her hair was down in long, chocolate spirals, swaying along the small of her back with each step and each move. A few gentlemen had already taken notice to her, planning their mode of attack.

If there was one word Draco could have used to describe the way she looked that night, it was oomph.

Pansy gawked at him. "Not you, as well!"

He straightened; realizing all three of his friends were looking at him. "What?"

Blaise patted him on the shoulder. "Get in line, mate."

Draco tried to play it off, having another drink from his Firewhiskey. What started as a sip turned into a mouthful. He swallowed it down, hoping the nerves collecting in and around his chest would follow suit.

To his left, Zabini stood from their alcove. "I'm going in, boys." He tilted his head forward and brushed his nose with the bud of his thumb – small sniff.

The tension turned into helplessness. Draco stood, rather quickly, startling everyone including himself. "You – You don't think the girl by the main stage is better?" he asked, wondering where this was coming from. "She's got a chest on her."

Blaise tossed a sideways glance in the direction of the stage and shrugged. "I'm in the mood for a challenge," he said, smooth as hell, refocusing on the haze of sapphire by the bar. "Don't worry, Drake. If for some reason Granger rejects me, you can have a go at her."

"Er –" The blond wizard stood there for a lingering moment, watching as his best mate approached Hermione, and then gradually, he slid back into his seat. "I need another drink."

"What is she even doing here?" Pansy asked again, arms crossed. "This isn't exactly the spot for Gryffindors."

"Valid point," Theo remarked, glancing at Draco through his peripheral vision. "Maybe her date is a no-show."

Draco tensed up. He couldn't exactly approach Granger in front of his friends. It's not that he was embarrassed or unwilling, but part of the contract forbade him from telling or even hinting at their arrangement – and approaching her in the middle Emerald Lounge would certainly result in a breach given that his friends weren't half as daft as they looked.

He sat there, watching Blaise move in with a hand on her waist. The pair had never conversed prior to that moment, but the manner in which they acknowledged one another gave the illusion of old friends. That was Blaise's secret weapon. He had an air of familiarity about him – easy comfort.

"I'm going to hurl," Pansy voiced, hand on her stomach.

Theo narrowed his eyes in analytical-mode. "You look fine to me."

She threw him a glare. "Don't test me, Nott. I'll sick all over your dragonskin boots. I will."

Draco ignored them. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the scene up front. The way they laughed, chatted, and casually touched mid-conversation. He clenched his jaw, ready to leave Emerald Lounge entirely – until it happened.

She looked at him.

Her eyes danced across the area and landed squarely on him. It was brief – maybe one or two seconds – and ended with Blaise directing her to their VIP section.

Pansy grimaced. "This can't be happening."

"Cheer up," Theo suggested, pushing his untouched drink towards her. "You have no reason to feel threatened."

The witch mumbled something along the lines of says you and downed Nott's drink in one swift gulp.

The other pair moved closer and closer to the table. Zabini threw his friends a cocky grin and ushered Granger towards them with his hand on the small of her back.

"Look who I found by the bar," he introduced, as though there hadn't been an entire discussion about her already. "You all know 'Mione."

Her smile was small but genuine. "It's good to see you all." She glanced around the entire table, giving everyone a nod hello – apart from one. "I – erm – I hope I'm not intruding."

Pansy was seething by this point. She opened her mouth to say something but someone cut her off.

"Not at all," Theo chimed in, sensing the growing tension. "I trust your summer has been well?"

Granger nodded, sitting down comfortably between Theo and Blaise, with Pansy and Draco seated across. She still hadn't looked directly at him, not since the first time. It felt as though she was doing on purpose, but he couldn't be sure.

"I've just been spending time with my parents," she said casually.

Pansy cleared her throat, in an attempt to draw the attention towards her. "Muggles, are they?"

The brunette smiled. "Yes – but they adore the magic community. Just last month my mother ran into the manager of the Weird Sisters in Diagon Alley."

There was a rippling change in Pansy's expression. "Did she?"

"It was quite random," Granger explained, on the verge of laughter. "They were in the loo. I'm not even sure how my mother recognized her – let alone managed to score tickets to the concert next week." She turned to Pansy. "They're your favourite band, right? We should go together. Backstage passes and everything."

The lads exchanged looks around the table, waiting for the bomb to detonate. There was a reason Pansy was the only girl in their group. She hated other girls. It wasn't quite insecurity. It was more of an ownership thing. She liked being associated with the best looking, wealthiest boys in school.

The dark-haired witch narrowed her eyes, gearing up for something massive, and then – something faltered. "What about Weaselette?"

"Ginny is on holiday with her family in Romania," Granger furthered, shrugging her shoulders. "It's no problem if you don't want to go. I suppose I could always scalp the tickets –"

"Whoa – let's not get ahead of ourselves," Blaise interjected, moving towards her. "I'll go with you."

Pansy glowered. "She asked me."

"Sod these two," Theo put forth, uncharacteristically informal. "I'll go."

The group laughed – Granger right along with them. It was surreal. If he didn't know any better, he would have guessed his friends were beginning to like her. The same people who made her life miserable since First Year. Admittedly, most of those antics were his own or Parkinson's but still.

Draco swiped another drink off a passing server's tray and pounded it in one go, which would usually have earned a reaction from his peers – but they were far too caught up in the new addition to notice.

She was smiling, socializing and even taking part in some innocent teasing. In that moment, it was difficult to believe she was Gryffindor. Something about her seemed different. It can't have been alcohol. She hadn't touched a single drink all night, which quickly transitioned to the brink of midnight. There was an hour – maybe an hour and a half – until twelve.

Time was running out.

More than that, Granger didn't seem to care.

She was either tossing her head back in laughter or brushing her hands along Blaise's arms as he regaled some amusing anecdote.

The knot in Draco's gut tightened.

He tried to ignore it. He tried to ignore the fact that she hadn't acknowledged him for the past two hours. He tried really, really hard. The drinks were beginning to dull his senses, but the discomfort in his abdomen remained.

Fuck this.

He set down another empty glass and shifted towards Pansy. She was blabbering on about some random singer to Theo, very animated with her hand motions and facial expressions. He then placed an arm around her shoulders and pretended to listen, spotting a pair of warm bronze-flecked eyes dart in his direction.

"Is that true?" he chimed, wondering if he made any sense. "I wouldn't have guessed that about her."

Pansy nodded, quite enthused with whatever she was going on about. "Right? It's like she doesn't even know she's famous. I mean – every tabloid magazine has been reporting her divorce and she still claims they're together. It's madness, really. I can't believe I used to be a fan of hers. She's a total…"

The sounds and voices melted away. Draco could feel something. It was underneath the table – against his left ankle and then higher. He continued weighing in on the conversation, and then darted his eyes to the source when he figured no one was looking.

His face blanched.

Granger's leg was there, between his, where any number of people could have noticed, rubbing up against him.

Her eyes drifted to him – right then – and she parted her lips, running her tongue between them in a swift yet delicate maneuver. She was looking at him the entire time, having gathered her hair to one side, hiding her facial cues from Blaise for the few seconds it took.

Well, all right then.

Draco could hardly remember the timid young woman from their previous meeting. The one in front of him was different – but with the same air of calculation that simply shouted Hermione. He knew exactly what she was up to. He had some tricks of his own.

The wizard ignored his conscience and reciprocated some of her movements, as he leaned closer to Pansy, who, for some reason, was completely oblivious to him that night. It could have had something to do with Theo's newfound partiality towards her, but he didn't care enough to find out.

"I love this song," Pansy remarked, gesturing to the music coming from the nearby speakers. She grabbed Theo's arm. "Let's dance."

He gaped. "Er – I don't know – I –"

"Go on," encouraged Blaise, snaking an arm around Granger's waist. "'Mione and I were thinking of heading to the dance floor, as well."

Pansy looked to her choice with hopeful eyes. "Please."

There was a twitch along Theo's bottom lip, and then he nodded, begrudgingly. "I'll warn you ahead of time. I was definitely born with two left feet."

But she didn't care.

The pairs went off to the second floor of Emerald Lounge, where the music was blaring loudest. It was an electro tune this time around, something from Eastern Europe with an almost ethereal voice singing over the mix. Still not something Draco would be caught dead listening to, but it didn't matter. In about six seconds, he was deserted at the table with empty glasses and a leg that felt as though it had been stripped bare.

His eyes drifted to the time on his wristwatch. There was still an hour. The contract was tucked in his pocket. All he had to do was find Granger on the dance floor and straighten things out. Did she or did she not wish to go forth with their arrangement? Her actions with regards to Blaise would imply no, but the feeling of her leg brushing up against Draco's under the table spoke different volumes.

He thought back to the moment against the stuccoed wall. I should've just done it right then. She had opened herself to him, to his lips. He could feel it. He could see it in her eyes. But for some reason, he listened to the voice inside his head and told himself their kiss was better suited in a different setting, without dry cleaners or dubstep.

Seeing her with Blaise eclipsed these sentiments.

Draco had nothing against his mate but he would be damned if he'd sit by and allow Blaise to take what was intended for him. Not that Granger's virginity was his by right or anything – just contract.

He shook his head, having had enough with these strange, mildly sexist thoughts.

Her virginity wasn't his – contractually or otherwise.

He didn't care about being her first.

He wanted to be her right now, her tonight – or maybe not. He definitely wanted to be something …just something else, something daunting.

Draco downed the last of his drink and proceeded upstairs, to the dance floor. It was filled to the brim with grinding bodies and music and smoke and liquor – a contrasting atmosphere from the lounge area. He'd been to Emerald Lounge many a time, but had only come up to the second floor maybe once or twice. He wasn't one for provocative dancing or any sort of dancing, really.

His eyes darted from one end of the area to the other, searching through several different groups until he came upon a blur of sapphire near the opposite corner.

The music sounded familiar. She knew this song, but couldn't quite place the artist. The name was right on the tip of her tongue. All she needed was maybe a second longer to –

"Granger?"

Hermione took a moment to turn around, recognizing the voice before she had even laid eyes on him. She sucked in a sharp breath, startled by the lack of distance between them. He was standing there, all six feet and three inches, with his pale blond hair coiffed gently to the side and the dress shirt inside his designer robes a nice shade of midnight blue, offsetting those smoky orbs.

She exhaled, realizing only then that she'd been holding her breath.

"Malfoy," Hermione greeted, glancing up at him. "Interesting locale you've invited me to."

He stepped forward, shielding her from a couple that lost their footing on the dance floor. An embarrassed look danced across his face, and then he gestured for them to move a little further from the chaos. The pair found a place near the upstairs bar, and Malfoy ordered them a couple drinks.

They were reddish in colour and tasted of blood orange. Hermione hadn't a drink all night, but only because she didn't know Blaise well enough to accept drinks from him. For some reason, she didn't entertain the same caution when it came to Malfoy.

"This is good," she decided, half done. "What's it called?"

His expression wavered. "Er – Bloody Virgin."

Hermione clapped a hand over her lips, bursting from the seams with laughter. It took a moment for her reaction to settle in before Malfoy joined her, cracking an actual smile as opposed to his usual smirk. This diffused about a tenth of the tension between them, but the rest multiplied as the music went from an up-tempo pop tune to something slower.

The crowd on the dance floor thinned out.

"So," Malfoy broke through, placing their empty glasses on the counter. "Where did Blaise run off to?"

"I believe he's chatting up a young lady near the main stage," she answered with a smile. "Impressive chest on that one."

"Oh. He just – He just left you?"

"He was actually quite the gentleman about it," she confessed, a touch of colour on both cheeks. "Even after I told him I had plans with someone else tonight."

Her words lingered in the air between them. Hermione had considered being up-front about her arrangements with Malfoy, going so far as to planning an entire speech to explain her being there, but seeing him with his friends as she entered Emerald Lounge put a damper on that idea. She had initially thought that this was Malfoy's way of telling her he was no longer interested, but those insecurities vanished when Blaise mentioned running into him as opposed to going there together.

From there, she had no choice but to play along, throwing sideways glances at the time every now and then.

There was just under an hour left.

"What are you thinking about?" Malfoy inquired, oddly concerned.

Hermione's gaze shifted to the hardwood floor. "I've been meaning to tell you that – that you needn't feel guilty about what happened before."

There was no doubt she was referring to their previous meeting. The atmosphere between them changed, as they both recalled what happened – or rather – what didn't happen. The feeling of being so close yet so far had yet to leave either of their bloodstreams. It had been Malfoy to rush home that afternoon, strip off all his clothes and take an ice cold shower.

In fact, he'd been taking cold showers all week.

"I meant what I said about being immature and insensitive," he furthered. "I should have respected your wishes – and I do." The wizard reached into his pocket and retrieved the contract. His flourished signature was scrawled across the designated area in velvet black. "I don't want to pressure you into following through with this. I – I'm sure you've changed your mind about it but –"

"I haven't," Hermione interjected, meeting eyes with him. "I – erm – I thought I made my intentions quite clear – under the table."

There was a glimmer of something familiar in those smoky orbs. It was both winding and licentious – like a deep, unresolved ache. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she soon found herself within inches of him, catching his scent of spice and wine.

She breathed in.

The music changed.

The temperature changed.

She could feel him close, so close that his staggered, uneven breath tickled the flyaway strands around her forehead. He opened his mouth to say something – one time, two times, and then three – but no words escaped his lips. There was nothing left to be said – not with words, anyway.

Hermione opened her eyes, releasing something close to a whimper as he brushed the bud of his thumb along her left cheekbone. She clasped her hand over his and glanced up, communicating her thoughts with one definitive look.

"Let's go," she mouthed.

Draco followed her through the door, mentally reminding himself that this was, in fact, happening. His eyes drifted to all corners of the bedroom. The walls were lavender. The furniture – consisting of a bed, a desk and chair, and a dresser – was an antique white colour. There were photographs – some moving and some not – pinned to the bulletin board above the desk and on the closet door. The room was, of course, spotless and exactly how he'd imagined.

Not that he'd given it much thought.

Granger set her clutch purse on the desk and turned to him. "I – I'll get us something to drink. Make yourself comfortable."

He watched her leave, with a touch of amusement tugging on his facial muscles. She seemed nervous. In fact, he'd never seen her this way without an essay or a rather difficult Potions assignment involved. The girl skirted past him and out the door, leaving him to his own devices. He shifted his attention to the photographs on the bulletin board. They were a mix of Muggle and magic photographs, depicting family outings and various moments with her friends. There was also a single photograph of her with Viktor Krum, dressed to the nines.

Draco recalled that night. It was the Yule Ball. Granger had been asked to attend the function by the famous Seeker, and arrived looking – well – gorgeous. Even he, fourteen-year-old Draco, couldn't deny the obvious. Queen Mudblood had managed to take his breath away, much to fourteen-year-old Pansy's chagrin.

This only furthered his attempts to make Granger's life miserable. Because there was no way – absolutely no way – he could possibly be attracted to the bookish minger. She was the bane of his existence, and he her. But in that particular moment – standing in her bedroom, with her parents out for the weekend and her gentle footsteps climbing up the staircase, towards him – he couldn't help but wonder her side of the story.

She entered the bedroom with a couple glasses of wine in hand. "I'm not sure if this is any good but – here."

Draco curved his hand around one of the glasses and made motion to have a drink, but he stopped mid-way through, as Granger downed hers in one go. "Nervous?" he asked, sounding quite nervous himself.

The brunette breathed in – deeply. "I – I don't know what to do with myself."

He wondered if his own nervousness came through. "In terms of…the mechanics?"

Granger threw him an obvious look. "I know the mechanics, you twat." She reached for his glass of wine, ripped it out of his loose grip and downed it, setting the empty glass on her desk, with the other. "I just – I'm not sure how to – how to –" Her eyes drifted to his. "I'm not sure how to begin."

There was innocence about her, something he'd failed to understand preceding that moment. It wasn't chaste innocence or naïve innocence. It verged along the lines of goodness, more than anything. Draco moved towards her, careful not to move too fast or too close, and did the only thing he could think of, to settle both their nerves.

He rolled up the sleeve on his left forearm, and watched as her eyes went from normal to the size of Galleons.

She looked to him, perplexed. "How – How is that even –?"

"I had it removed last spring," he explained, pulling his sleeve back down, covering the once-marked patch of skin, where the Dark Lord's symbol had been tattooed.

The expression on Granger's face was a mixture of confusion, bewilderment – and even a touch of anger. "Why didn't you tell me?" she asked, embarrassed. "I would have added something else to the contract, something that would actually benefit you."

Draco hadn't an answer he was willing to give. "It's all right," he assured her. "I know it's not typical of House Slytherin – but there are times when I help people without expecting anything in return."

"But –" She searched through his eyes for a trace of explanation, anything. "This isn't a normal favour, I've asked…"

Indeed.

He considered telling her the truth, but he wasn't sure of it himself. There was so much going through his mind, so much he couldn't just compartmentalize and think about later – as he usually did.

He met eyes with her, finding the words as they came. "The contract forbids me from being honest with you."

She breathed in. "I – I don't understand what you –"

"Think about it," he interjected, sounding more powerless than anything else, as though he tried to avoid this topic. "I wish I could tell you, Granger, I really do, but–" Hitch. "That damned contract–" Hitch. "Prevents me from –" Deep breath.

"From what?" she asked, in a slow, quiet voice.

Draco closed his eyes. "From everything."

It was silent, at first, so silent an almost eerie feeling swept over the room. She then stepped towards him, as his eyes flickered open. "From what?" she asked again, so quiet he wasn't sure if any words had left her lips.

Their bodies stood inches apart. He could count the freckles on her face. He could see the flecks in her eyes. He could smell her scent of vanilla and lavender. He could practically hear her heartbeat. And as his hand cupped her cheek, he could hear her heartbeat quicken.

"From kissing you," he told her, the bud of his thumb brushing over her cupid's bow and down her bottom lip, causing a gentle part. "Right here."

She inhaled, chest rising.

"From acknowledging you back at Emerald Lounge," he continued, combing some hair behind her ear and allowing his fingers to run through it, all the way to the bottom. "As something other than a rival."

She closed her eyes – breathing in and out, in a way that appeared as though she had to consciously remind herself to do it. There had been a gap between them, an inch or two. It was now closing, with each passing second.

Draco leaned in, careful not to brush their lips together, as he pressed his forehead against hers – delicately. "From liking you," he whispered, so close to kissing her that even the slightest movement would have done it. "Because in case it isn't obvious, I do like you, Granger."

Hermione could hear the words reverberate in her subconscious. She could see them in the way he'd been looking at her all night. She could smell them in his cologne. She could feel them in the way he touched her with longing and because of the contract, with desperation.

She didn't know this could happen.

She didn't know Draco Malfoy could fancy anyone – let alone her.

She chose him, knowing this wouldn't happen.

But it did.

It happened fast. It happened hard. It happened in the span of one week and two meetings. It happened because of one letter. It happened despite another letter. It happened at Hennessey's. It happened against that stuccoed wall. It happened at Emerald Lounge.

And it was now happening in the middle of her bedroom, with the lights out and no one home.

Hermione filled her lungs with oxygen – with his scent – and opened her eyes. His were open, too. He was gazing at her, straight into her thoughts. It felt incredibly intimate, being this close to him, so close she could feel each of his breaths on her lips – long, drawn out and hot with desire.

Shit, the brunette thought to herself. I fancy him, too.

Malfoy exhaled – delivering another one of those delicious drafts of air. "Is this really happening?" he asked, voice low.

She could do nothing else but nod. Her mind, body and soul wouldn't allow her to do anything else. Because the thing about desire, the thing Hermione had grown to learn over the past week, was that it had no preconceptions. She could desire anyone she damned well wanted – and as fate would have it, she desired him.

Badly.

His hands found her sides, where he smoothed them along her waist and drew her body even closer. She could feel him now – really feel him.

Her lips parted and she breathed – or was it a whimper? She didn't know, because whatever it was, it turned into a moan, as he dragged his fingers up her spine and then back down, tugging at the single tie that held her dress together.

It happened slowly.

He held the narrow strip of fabric between his middle finger and index finger, and gave it one gentle pull.

Hermione stood there – against him – as her silky sapphire dress unraveled, hanging on the curve of her shoulders for dear life.

She didn't dare look at him. She didn't dare look at him, as those smoky orbs beheld her as if for the first time.

But when his finger drifted to the bottom of her chin, and he tilted her face up, in his direction, she could see that his eyes hadn't traveled down her body.

The brunette licked her lips, finally bringing moisture to them after standing there in something of a stupor for the past several minutes. This alone made the muscles underneath his dress robes tighten – and then release. She didn't know it until then, but she longed to see those muscles. She longed to feel them – against her. Hard. Solid. Hot.

It was now her turn.

She brought her hands to the clasp on the coat of his dress robes and yanked it free, pushing the heavy black fabric down to the floor. She then traced a single finger down his front, down the line of buttons on his midnight blue shirt, coaxing those muscles to life once again. It looked expensive. It felt expensive. It probably should have been treated expensive, but her patience was starting to wear thin.

Don't be a wuss. Do it. On behalf of every Gryffindor girl ever to have fantasized about this wretched human being, DO IT.

She started from the top and worked her way down, popping each button open with both her hands at work. His skin was the colour of moonlight, revealing itself to her with each button she released. She first saw his pectorals – defined but not protruding in that overly exercised manner. She then made her way to his abdomen. Once again, defined …in such a way that she wanted to run her tongue along the ridges and taste every millimeter of skin.

An inescapable blush found her cheeks.

There was a hint of a smirk on his lips, as he shrugged the shirt off. Arrogant, little… Hermione wanted nothing more than to wipe that smirk off his face, and as she bit softly on her bottom lip, his smirk turned into an open-mouthed look of complete and utter trance.

His muscles contracted.

It happened then – right then.

His eyes drifted down her body, down the uncovered skin above and below her black lace bra …down the space below her abdomen, where only a thin triangle of lace veiled her from him.

His muscles contracted again, lower this time.

He then did as she had done, and pushed the dress from her shoulders, watching it ripple to the hardwood in a flush of sapphire.

Hermione's eyes fluttered shut, in perfect conjunction with the moment his arms found her, holding her close to him, as they touched skin-to-skin. She could feel his heat. She had no doubt he could feel hers, too. She could feel it, around her face and neck, and between her legs. It grew in depth and temperature; with each second his hands grazed the modest curves of her body.

Her back. Her hips. Her waist. Everywhere. Everything.

Malfoy tugged on the clasp of her bra and released it.

She panted, overcome with a mixture of tension and liberation, as she was now extraordinarily, brilliantly exposed.

"At the risk of sounding cliché, I won't tell you I think you're beautiful," he said, tossing her bra to the floor. "As if it were ever up for debate."

Well.

If she didn't know any better, she would think this was something of an indirect compliment. How very un-Slytherin of him.

Hermione opened her eyes, slowly breathing in as a collection of chills ran the length of her spine. She used this time to reach down, between them, and fumble with his belt buckle. Once again, it looked expensive, designer, worth more than anything she had ever touched. But those thoughts dissipated into the thick, humid air, as she unfastened his belt and dragged his black trousers down. They fell to his feet, where he stepped out of them along with his boots.

His boxer briefs were also black, and beneath them she could see something, the exact measure of his arousal.

Lord have mercy on my soul.

Draco had to consciously stop himself from taking her, right then and there, on the floor. He could easily have devoured her from the bottom up, but there was something in this exchange that held him back. It wasn't the contract. It wasn't their obvious disdain for one another – or rather, their former disdain. Strange, how that happens. It wasn't even the chance that her parents might wander home at any moment.

It was the fact that she had quite literally never done this before.

Then, and only then, did Draco realize he'd never been with a virgin. His first time had been with someone a couple years older and with enough experience to make even Blaise Zabini blush. It was a curious thing, standing there with every reason to relish this moment …and every reason not to.

Granger noticed the change in his demeanour. "Is something wrong?"

He shook his head. "It's nothing. I just – I –"

There was a twitch in her bottom lip, and for a moment she looked completely mortified.

"It's really nothing," Draco assured her, with more conviction this time. "I just need you to be ready before we do this."

She arched her eyebrow. "I wouldn't have sent you that letter or drawn up the contract, if I were anything less than read –"

"Not what I meant." His gaze cascaded down her body, to the triangle of lace. "I need you to be ready …for what happens next."

Her cheeks flushed. "Oh."

Draco tried to steady the raucous beat of his heart, but something about being there with Hermione Granger of all people, made his blood pump hard and fast. In truth, his chest had been palpitating since the moment he received her letter. He slept for barely an hour that night, and the night after that. Their subsequent meetings only increased this now tangible tension, preventing him from turning back even if he wanted to – which he very much did not.

Their eyes met.

She didn't look anxious. The colour on her cheeks and slow, steady breathing suggested something else, something far less uneasy but equally intense in the way it enveloped her entire body – and his.

He moved closer to her and combed through her long spirals of hair. "Around now, I would usually touch you like this," he started, cupping her cheek. "And I would usually kiss you here," he continued, tracing over her lips and then her neck.

"What then?" she managed to ask.

"I could show you," he said, feeling her pulse quicken under his touch. "I could make you fall apart without breaching a single line in that contract."

Granger arched an eyebrow, suddenly aware of his true intentions. "Is that so?"

Draco nodded, just once, and moved his hands to her hips, only to hook his fingers into the sides of her panties and wind. "Just say the words, Granger."

Her chest rose in response, unintentionally pressing against his. "Damn you, Malfoy."

He couldn't help the smile that tugged at his lips. "What's wrong?" he teased. "Isn't this what you want?"

She bit her bottom lip in response. "How could you possibly know what I want?"

"Because you're here with me," Draco whispered, blowing air along her neck, making her petite body quake against his. "If you wanted fairytale sex, you could easily have turned to one of your Gryffindor admirers, but you don't and you didn't."

Her eyes fluttered shut. "Damn you," she repeated. "Straight to hell."

His abdomen twitched with laughter. "You're lucky the rules prevent me from kissing you," he continued. "Or else I'd have you hanging on the edge of an orgasm, with my tongue sliding between your lips – and I'm not talking about the ones you purse together when I outdo you in Potions." Something close to a moan came from her mouth, washing over him like the tidal wave of desire that had inspired it. "Though I suppose that rule could also be seen as unlucky. Semantics, really."

Their bodies were pressed together, so tight he was sure she could feel his arousal, as it pulsated against her.

"Fuck your semantics," she suddenly said, practically purring.

Draco breathed hard. "If you don't mind, I'd rather fuck you."

If there were ever a moment to find the contract and set the damned thing alight – it was then.

The almost kiss. The silent treatment. The innocent flirtation. The quick glances. The subtle bite of her lip. The contact under the table. It was all foreplay. It was all slow, excruciating build-up to then, to the moment urges could no longer be satiated with just words.

Hermione tossed her head back and panted for oxygen, as he dropped low and grazed his face against every inch of her – along her neck, between her breasts and down her abdomen. It was all she could do not to grab him by the hair on his head and smash their lips together in a deep, lustful kiss.

Malfoy sunk to his knees and tore the panties clean off her body, using only his teeth.

Oh, fuck me.

He blew air against her core, millimeters away from pressing those lips against hers.

Her entire body shook.

His hands rubbed the length of her legs, from her thighs down to her strappy heels, where he unfastened them. He then came back up, rose to his feet and lifted her up, out of her heels, and into his arms. She wrapped her legs around his waist, nose-to-nose with him as he carried to the bed.

Their bodies crashed into the ocean of crème-coloured pillows and duvet. It was a soft and sensual landing – but the heat radiating from them was quite the opposite. Hermione struggled to keep her urges at bay. She needed control. She needed to be in one piece again.

But the way Malfoy dragged her to the centre of the bed and crawled down her body, to the place between her legs, made certain she would see stars until the night was over.

"You're an animal," she breathed.

He growled in response, sending chills down her spine. There was a different way he could have done this. He could have done as Ron or as Harry would have done. He could have spread her across the bed and been nice and sweet about it – but Malfoy was right about one thing.

She didn't want that.

She was not a delicate flower.

There was a difference between handling her with care as opposed to caution, and he seemed to know this. For each second he worshipped her body with his delicious hand movements and slow, heart-stopping expulsions of air, another layer of her inhibitions disappeared.

She could feel him there. She could feel his right hand teasing her and testing her. It was beginning to drive her insane, the back and forth. She was on the verge of seeing stars already – and no actual sex had been had. Hermione took deep, rousing breaths and tried to calm herself. But the way his digits worked in those special places, made any such efforts impossible.

His head came down, inches away from hers, as the first orgasm rippled through her body.

She opened her mouth all the way, and released several staggered moans, trapped in the smoky, sensual haze of what had just happened. Her eyes were closed. Her chest was heaving. Her lips trembled. There was one hand combing the damp hair from her face, allowing for more oxygen to be sucked in, whilst the other hand continued to stimulate her, steering wave after wave of orgasmic bliss through her heated bloodstream.

It had been painful, at first, but the pain was eclipsed by pleasure – tenfold.

Still caught in the throws of her first orgasm, a second one came down on her hard and fast. She couldn't help but think back to what Malfoy had said, about being able to make her fall apart without breaching a single line in her contract.

Hermione had never felt so glad to know he'd been right.

"That," she breathed. "That was – I don't even know what to – to –"

The fair-haired wizard lifted his glistening hand from between her legs and caused another collection of chills to crawl the length of her spine, hardening the points of her breasts as he licked the essence from between his fingers.

His lips then hovered over hers, practically challenging her to stay within the bounds of the contract.

She exhaled, temporarily speechless. "I – I didn't expect you to – to do th – that."

Another one of those devilish grins found him. "Sorry, Peaches. Couldn't help myself."

Hermione raised both eyebrows. "Peaches?"

"Your taste," he whispered, running a tongue between his wet lips. "Hope you don't mind the name."

She didn't mind. She didn't mind one bit. In fact, hearing the name spoken in his low, husky voice made her entire body tingle with anticipation. She ran her fingers through his pale blond hair and spread her legs wider, purring for more as his arousal pulsated against hers.

His eyes darkened. He suspended himself above her, allowing his fringe to brush the skin of her forehead. The subtle touches were the most difficult to bear, because there was no release. There was only more and more and more, until neither of them could handle the impassioned energy building between their bodies.

Hermione moaned for him, raw with desire. "I can – I can feel you against me."

"Would you like to feel me somewhere else?" he asked, speaking low.

Her eyes rolled to the back of her skull in response, having neither the focus nor the energy to form a proper sentence. She pressed her chest against his, knowing this action would drive him wild with temptation.

Malfoy hissed against the skin of her neck and rubbed up against her some more, coaxing another moan from her lips. She quivered against him, on the verge of another explosion without any stimulation this time around. She bit down on her lip and tried to hold it in, wanting release but not in this way.

"I'm ready," she breathed. "I'm ready for you."

The sight of her in mid-orgasm brought him terrifyingly close to the edge, and without further ado, he reached between their bodies and lowered his boxer briefs, kicking them off as they huddled around his feet. There was now nothing between them, no clothes, nothing.

Draco combed the hair from her face, knowing he'd been quite aggressive until then, but also aware of what this meant – even if Granger wasn't.

His length skimmed her entrance, causing the colour on her cheeks to darken. "Tell me if it hurts too much," he said, trying his best to keep calm.

She nodded once, eyes already closed and chest already rising and falling at a rapid rate.

He then leaned into her with his hips and barely moved half an inch inside her, before those bronze-flecked irises shot open. She gasped, open mouthed and sweating from the forehead.

"Keep – Keep going," she murmured, sensing his apprehension. "It – It's OK. I'm – I'm fine."

There was moisture collecting around her eyes – but the manner in which she calmed herself, told him it was safe to continue. Still, he waited another few seconds and then leaned in further. Her bottom lip quivered. She squeezed her eyes shut. A single tear slid down her cheek. But the determination laced within her features was as apparent as the strain.

Draco moved in – deeper and deeper – until ten or twelve minutes had gone by and finally, he could feel her all around him. He was beginning to sweat, as well. The hair on his head grew damp as their moment carried on. His muscles tensed up every so often, overcome with the echo of what was about to happen.

"Shall I continue?"

"Yes –" Granger was panting. "Pl – Please."

She was in pain. She was in a lot of pain.

It made his chest ache. He didn't like seeing her in pain. There was only one thing left to do, only one way to fill those eyes with pleasure as he had done moments before.

He suspended himself higher and moved against her body. She dug her fingernails into his back, maddened with equal parts pleasure and pain. His movements were close to a sway, just enough to satisfy their aching cores without going too hard, too fast. Her whimpers slowly transitioned into sounds of bliss, echoing her earlier moans in a way that made his abdomen tighten with anticipation.

She whimpered beneath him, grasping his shoulders for dear life. "Keep going. Oh – Oh my – Oh my –"

His pace quickened. Her walls tightened. So close. So unbelievably close. She had no idea what this was doing to him. She had no idea. Not one.

Draco fell to his elbows and moved faster, sweating profusely and teetering so close to the edge that his vision was beginning to blur. He couldn't do it. He couldn't hold back. He grabbed at her hips and flipped them over, directing her for the first few seconds until she found the rhythm and rode him with purpose.

Her hair bounced. Her breasts called to him.

He hurriedly palmed them and moved with her, meeting each of her descents with a grinding thrust that left both of them weak and desperate for release.

Almost there. Just one more thrust. Just one more thrust until –

Granger cried out, frozen and feverish.

The orgasm surged through her bloodstream like an electric current, increasing in voltage with his continued thrusts. Her eyes widened. She gasped and panted and moaned and soared to the high heavens, dismantling him with each excruciating second until his own cache of ammunition detonated with sweet release.

It happened.

Draco held his arms open, as Hermione collapsed onto his chest in a shaken mess.

It happened.

It actually happened.

His eyelids grew heavy. His muscles weakened. His energy dissipated into the aftermath of their lovemaking.

He barely noticed the clock strike twelve.

He barely noticed the terms and conditions of their agreement burst into bluish flames.

There was something humming against her eardrums. It wasn't particularly loud, but the sound of it had awoken her in the middle of a rather heated dream. Hermione's eyes fluttered open – reluctant as ever – expecting to find that it was morning and that her alarm clock had gone off. But the gentle ambiance of her alarm had not yet been triggered, as it was not yet morning. The sky was still dark with promise and decorated in stars.

Hermione sighed with relief and rolled to the other side, making a grab for one of her pillows and instead grabbing what felt like a head of hair.

She gasped and jolted into upright position – awake.

As it turned out, her heated dream wasn't a dream. It actually happened. The proof was sprawled across the other side of her bed, releasing long and heavy breaths, echoing the strenuous activity that had rendered them unconscious just moments after they found release.

The brunette lay there motionless, watching him and wondering what on earth would happen come morning. She had quite obviously never been in this situation before and had no idea what to do. To be perfectly honest, she half-expected him to have Apparated home as soon as the fun was over. But that boy had worked himself into exhaustion. She could tell by the gentle snore leaving his nostrils.

Hermione suppressed a laugh, fighting the urge to record him like this in some way and use it as blackmail. Surely half the girls at school wouldn't want him, if they knew he was a snorer.

Not that she cared about other girls wanting him.

He was a free man.

There was nothing that bound them together. The time was up. The contract was no more. Not only that. The terms and conditions were no more. For some reason, this made her nervous. She had no reason to be nervous.

Her concentration shifted to his lips, which were ever so slightly parted, as to allow passage for his smooth, steady breaths. There was something about those lips that ignited her senses. She inadvertently moved closer to him, feeling every driving force within her body coax her into doing what came next.

She carefully leaned down, going as far as brushing her nose against his, before feeling a pair of arms wrap around her body.

His eyes slowly opened, and gazed into hers with enough passion to set the streets on fire. "I might be crazy about you," he said. "But there's only one way to know for sure."

Hermione breathed in his scent of spice and wine, and lost herself within the warmth of his being against hers. It was happening again. She could feel that same tingle return to her bloodstream, those same butterflies in her stomach. Her eyes fluttered shut, and without a moment left to spare, she allowed gravity to take control and met Draco Malfoy in a kiss that echoed through every inch of their bodies.

The End

A/N: I wrote this a very, very long time ago and found it in my documents last night. It's a little choppy and weird, but I couldn't bring myself to delete it, so here it is lol. I realize some of the language is um...questionable, but bear in mind that I cooked this up in my teens. Be nice? Haha. I've added some bits and pieces to update it a little, such as the title and where it comes from.

Playlist:

1. "Sexy Boy" by Air

2. "Poetic Justice" by Kendrick Lamar

3. "Katy on a Mission" by Katy B

If you enjoyed this in any way, I would recommend giving "Vibrations" a shot, or even "Phantom" as they're both dramione one-shots.

Thanks for reading this! Don't forget to tell me what you think. Feel free to pick this apart.

Cheers

xo.