It was well after midnight when Hermione tiptoed out of bed, Harry's Invisibility Cloak thrown over her head, underneath wearing only her nightgown and slippers. A mischievous smile spread across her face as she exited the Gryffindor common room.

The dark hallways were deserted, snoring noises coming from either side of the walls. She didn't need a light, it wasn't completely dark and she knew the way to the library by heart. Besides, all of the portraits would probably start shouting murder if she interrupted their beauty sleep.

Once, she stopped dead in her tracks when Mrs. Norris strutted past, luckily Filch didn't follow.

"Alohomora," she whispered, arriving at the library door.

She had been trying to study for her exams these past few days, but the noise of her fellow students wasn't helping. The library was always packed and so was the Gryffindor common room. She needed to find a place for herself. She had thought about the Room of Requirement, but ever since it had been rediscovered people used it for when they needed a 'private place'. No, she needed something smaller, secret, something that belonged only to her.

She had often read about people enlarging spaces, living in them. One famous example being the suitcase of Next Scamander, which had contained a whole zoo.

She'd already practised with her purse, and it had worked better than expected. But space wasn't the only thing she needed, she needed a room, here, in the castle, where she could experiment, study, hide even.

When she arrived at her usual table she took of the cloak and started collecting books. It was hard to keep focused, every book she came across wanted to be opened, it's secrets discovered. No, she needed to focus.

A shiver ran through the library and Hermione looked up, trying to detect it's origin. But the smell of the pages and the feeling of the spines soon distracted her once more.

Book after book she had placed gently aside, not finding what she'd been looking for. But then, when she got to the Restricted Section, there it was Magical Architecture: How to build a House for the common Witch or Wizard by Germanus Goetheanum.

With a spell she lifted the book from its shelf. Carefully she opened it and flipped through its pages, knowing books from the Restricted Section could be tricky. When she found the right chapter she almost jumped with excitement. How to conjure a hidden room. She waved her wand to copy the chapter, but her quill wouldn't budge. She tried again, to no avail. The book was enchanted.

"There is always the old fashioned way," she sighed and wished she had taken a normal pen with her. She started copying, this could take days.

After spending a few hours in the library Hermione decided she'd return to bed. Her whole arm was aching. That stash of coffee she'd brought from home would go faster than she'd anticipated. She'd have to ask her parents to send more. Perhaps she could sneak some from the kitchens, but she didn't like the idea of the house elves going above and beyond to fulfil her every wish.

As she put back the rest of her books an all too recognizable voice cut through her thoughts.

"Well, well, if it isn't Granger. Doing a bit of midnight reading, are we?" Draco sneered behind her. Hermione jumped and dropped the books. With a flick of his wand Draco stopped them mid-air.

"That's none of your business," she said after she'd collected herself and turned to face him, very aware that she was only wearing her nightgown. She almost felt his eyes piercing the thin fabric as he scanned her from top to toe. Her own eyes darted to the heap of silver that lay on the table behind the Slytherin. If only he would move she could-

He gave her a devilish smirk. "Wait till Professor Snape hears of it." Her attention snapped back to him.

"That worked out well last time, did it. When you thought we were hiding a dragon," Hermione sneered back, she couldn't help adding a ridiculing tone. It had been truly humorous.

Draco's face turned dark. "You were, I'm sure of it!"

The sound of the library door opening distracted them both and a faint 'meow' alerted them to trouble. When Draco turned to look, Hermione reached around him to grab the Cloak. Turning back Draco found he had been left alone.

"Granger! Granger, where are you," he whispered, his eyes wide and the panic apparent in his voice. He looked around nervously. Footsteps sounded as Filch closed in on him, light reaching around bookcases, licking at the points of Draco's boots.

"Granger, please, I'll owe you." He almost immediately regretted those words, what would his father think? He, a Malfoy, having to seek help by a mudblood. But Filch would not be kind to him and seeing this wasn't the first time he'd been caught roaming about the castle after curfew he was about to be in serious trouble.

An invisible force took hold of his hand and pulled him further towards the back of the library, right in between two bookcases. He got pushed against the wall and suddenly Hermione appeared.

"You owe me," she stated as she threw the cloak over his head. The cloak, not being built for two full grown people made it that she had to press herself into Draco, if she wanted both of them covered.

She laid her head against his chest and listened to his heartbeat, feeling the rise and falling of his chest, his shallow breaths warm in her hair. She hadn't realised she'd been cold until she indulged in the warmth he was radiating.

If he wasn't such a jerk this could have been quite romantic. Like the films she watched over the holidays.

Draco, equally aware of their close proximity, had a little more trouble staying indifferent. Sure, Hermione was a mudblood, but she was also a beautiful girl. And he – being the seventeen year old boy he was – couldn't help but notice her firm breasts pressing into his torso.

Suddenly an embarrassing memory floated to the surface. It had been last spring, Hermione had been sitting in the library, studying. The soft light that had flushed through the windows had surrounded her, giving her brown curls a hint of gold.

He had sat in an armchair, lazily studying her, unaware he even was. When he had closed his eyes it was had almost been like reality had continued.

Hermione looked up and smiled at him, motioning for him to come over.

"Draco," she said, her voice soft as honey. "I've been working on the assignment for Potions, but I can't quite figure it out. Can you help me?"

"Of course," he said boastfully, noticing her faint blush. She turned back to her books and he leaned over her, hand on her back and with the other he pointed and explained. He noticed the smell of her blossomy perfume. She put a loose string of hair behind her ear, it was still the colour of molten chocolate. With his hand he stroked back all of her hair, laying bare the crook of her neck. She sat quietly, didn't oppose. Slowly he started kissing her shoulder, moving on to her neck. She gasped when he found her sweet spot and she laced her fingers through his hair.

"Draco," she whispered, her voice thick with pleasure. Then she turned around, hand on his chest, lowered eyes. "Draco, I'm new to this, does it hurt?"

"It won't, I promise," he said as he closed in to kiss her again. Slowly, at first, but then she pressed her hips against him and fiercely kissed back. With one hand he reached behind her, swiping the books aside. He lifted her by her waist and sat her down on the table, she made a little sound of surprise and perhaps even pleasure.

His hand slithered underneath her skirt, reaching the side of her knickers he pulled at them playfully.

"Draco, I want you, Draco -" Her voice was hoarse, desperate, and who was he to refuse her.

"Malfoy!" A voice sneered at him, forcing him to open his eyes. Blood flushed towards his face when he realised what he'd thought about.

Hermione was no longer pressing himself against him, in reality or otherwise. He was glad the darkness surrounding them hid his face, but he could not see hers, either

"Filch is gone. Not a word about this, to anyone, understood?"

Draco nodded, realised she couldn't see and cleared his throat. "Understood."

He heard her tiptoe away and let out a deep breath, shoulders sagging. Relieve or disappointment, he couldn't say. It had been a dream, a crooked fantasy. He made himself remember all the times he had hated her, that minion of Potters, and clung to it. Yes, she was a filthy mudblood, and he would treat her as such.

Hermione, however, had not needed to see his face to know what he'd been thinking about. She'd felt it sure enough, when she'd stood so close to him. There had been absolutely no denying it. She truly thought it was funny. Next time he insulted her she'd know he was nothing more than a boy with boy's desires.

He must feel so conflicted, having to hate her and at the same time wanting her. That would teach him, she thought. Hermione slid into bed quite content, it had been a productive night.