Oh my goodness, it's been an entire year! It's all coming back to me now. I've got loads more time to burn now, so hopefully I can continue writing. Hope you enjoy!

-

The next week went by relatively uneveventfully – by Hogwarts standards, at least. To the student population, Hermione seemed to have fully rebounded from the initial shock of seeing her ex's face being practically eaten by another person. Only a certain perceptive Slytherin noticed that something had changed about the usually close-bloused Head Girl.

"You got laid, didn't you?" he accused suddenly one night. The two were discussing administrative issues over an evening snack in the empty Great Hall when Draco altogether disregarded their current dull debate.

Hermione choked on her tea, her high cheekbones turning a violent shade of pink. "H-How did you – I mean, that's a completely absurd assumption to make, Malfoy!" she sputtered, anxiously shuffling the parchment in front of her.

"So I'm right!" he smirked triumphantly. "Now as your Head Boy, I command that you dish on all the juicy details, you dirty little skank."

Hermione attempted to scoff away Draco's unimaginative, misogynistic jabs, but instead emitted a high squeak. After nervously tucking her thick curls behind her ear, she managed to rattle off, "First of all, you are not in any position to command anything out of me. And furthermore, as the Head Boy you so pompously claim yourself to be, your horridly offensive range of vocabulary and treatment towards women is in need of dire amendment, you slimy, egotistical cad …How could you possibly have come to a conclusion like that, anyway?" Hermione let the last sentence fall haphazardly out of her lips, morbidly incredulous and reluctantly curious.

"I can see it in your eyes," he drawled, his sharp tongue dripping with satisfaction. "How charming," he cooed, reaching over to pinch the girl's cheek before she slapped his hand away, "my darling little Mudblood is finally opening up to the world, if you know what I mean."

Hermione groaned in frustration. "Malfoy, for the record, I did not get laid! Now let's please drop the subject." She had no qualms releasing that statement, seeing as Oliver had only stolen a kiss from her. And as heated as that encounter was, she had made sure she had walked away with her panties intact.

"Whatever, Granger," he replied, making it clear to her that he did not buy her story one bit. "But if you ever find yourself in a compromising position, you are more than welcome to come crying to me. You know I always save my best insults for you."

And just like that, the two reverted back to their original discussion on the confiscation policy of dung bombs. Though, Hermione made certain to guard the look in her eyes – whatever that meant – more closely from the world from then on. Because no matter how aggravating that damn Malfoy could get, his opinion was as solid and scathingly honest as any other's.

-

Oliver Wood made a pact over breakfast Monday morning to swear off women for the rest of his life. It had been more than a week, and the man still had trouble comprehending his actions that rainy, torrential night.

She's fucking seventeen, and a fucking student!

But the dark side of him argued otherwise. Hermione was much more intelligent than any other woman he had ever met, and was certainly in control of the direction she wanted to go in life.

Or is she? After all, her inexperience makes her impressionable, and easy to take advantage of.

His mind flashed back to that night; her long legs buckling against his, her trembling body pressed up against the wall of his office as he took what he wanted, both physical beings barely on the edge of control.

Oliver realized that the situation was in his power, and he had to stop his lustful coercion with the girl before it could get any more out of hand.

Just then, his sharp Keeper eyes caught her shape coming into the Great Hall, accompanied closely by the holier-than-thou presence of Draco Malfoy. Oliver scrutinized the pair carefully, almost possessively, but the unconventional duo seemed to exude a solely professional connection between them.

Satisfied, he sat back in his chair, but continued to watch her from the corner of his consciousness throughout the rest of the morning.

Yes, ending it would be harder than he had hoped.

-

After classes, Hermione headed out to the Quidditch pitch with the pretence of wanting to watch Harry and Ron fly. Really, though, she had the intention of spying on the only man on her mind for the past few weeks.

Thankfully a whole crowd of students were gathered in the stands, observing Professor Wood as he gave the school's Keepers a special coaching session.

Really, he was quite beautiful in the air. Hell, he's beautiful all the time, admitted Hermione. The man's lean and muscular frame complimented his acrobatic ability on the broomstick, as he swerved, dipped, rose, and stopped on a hatpin – eliciting much applause and awe from the adoring students watching. Hermione, however, refused to even let her mouth relax from its pursed formation, knowing that somewhere in the crowd was a Malfoy waiting to pounce on her slightest admittance.

Oliver made a graceful sweep closer over the bleachers and curved to a halt near his goal posts to boyishly sweep his chestnut hair out of his eyes. A collective swoon washed over all the girls in the crowd, but Hermione merely deepened her frown.

"Oh Merlin, just look at his tan!" gushed Lavender Brown two seats away from her. If her friend only knew just how much of his skin she had seen, she'd be dead from the eye daggers of jealousy directed towards her, thought Hermione to herself wryly.

Hermione decided to leave and attempt to focus on her studies for the first time since his arrival. As she turned and headed for the school, however, she missed a pair of distracted hazel eyes watching her retreat from a distance.

-

History of Now-Extinct Tubular Fungi in Anglo-Saxon Potion-making:

Wormtongue and Sallowsprout can be found in the geographical regions of Oliver Wood…

Hermione threw her book down in frustration. Her thoughts were continually jarred by visions of that insufferably smug jock. Why couldn't she shut him out of her mind?

"I can see it in your eyes."

There was something about Draco's words that she still couldn't shake from her mind. Hermione impulsively scrambled off of her bed towards her dorm's full-length mirror – coincidentally the same one she had been caught indecent in front of years ago.

"Now what exactly am I revealing?" she wondered aloud, wiggling her eyebrows and staring straight into her reflection. In her opinion, Hermione still looked like Hermione. Her bushy hair was more manic than ever, most likely fed by the stress and anxiety of late. The girl turned to her side to examine her profile. She still felt skinny and awkward, not that many people could tell – what with her robes done up to the highest button all the time. What did he see in her, anyway?

"Okay, now I'm beginning to think that you're just a little bit vain."

"WHAT!" Hermione whipped around to witness a scene of torturous déjà vu. There he was once more, hovering like a shameless voyeur outside her window. This time, however, Hermione's undergarments were hidden securely under tightly done-up robes.

"Professor, do I even have to remind you how inappropriate this is?" shrieked Hermione, ducking behind her bedpost, despite being fully-clothed. Her heart had quickened its pace so rapidly that she feared he could hear her palpitations from across the room. "The other girls could come romping through the door at any minute!"

"They're still making their way back from the grounds, I believe," replied Oliver, his hair still sexily mussed from flying in the wind. "We have about five minutes – less if you don't let me in and someone spots me up here."

Hermione nodded slightly, momentarily losing her voice. He was there in the flesh – and in her bedroom, no less! And as he climbed soundlessly through the window, she could feel the tension between them mount and reach the boiling point.

Hermione quickly uttered a complex locking spell on the door and turned to face him, her arms folded protectively across her chest. "What do you want, Professor?" she asked in the most neutral tone her shaky voice could handle.

"I saw you in the crowd earlier."

"Yes, along with the rest of the female population of Hogwarts."

Hermione watched uneasily as he carefully laid his broomstick near the window and removed his Quidditch gloves. He took a step forward, causing Hermione's eyes to narrow like a hawk's. "Please, get to the point before someone catches you up here!" she implored, trying to disguise her shallow breaths.

"You were the only one who stood out to me, Miss Granger." He took her ensuing silence as tacit consent for him to go on. "I see you in my dreams." His tone sounded almost helpless.

Hermione's lips parted in surprise at the quiet words that had come to saturate the room with suffocating gravity. Her? Plain Jane Granger an object of a sex-god-celebrity-athlete-drop-dead-tauntingly-debonair-hottie's fantasies?

"It's too dangerous," she whispered unconsciously, half-kicking herself for the built-in self-discipline mechanism ingrained in her calculating head.

"Which is why we should end it," he responded calmly.

Something in Hermione snapped. What the fuck does he think he's doing?! First he builds me up, and then rips the world out from underneath my feet? Bastard. Bloody, smug, womanizing cad!

"You're right, Hermione," Oliver continued, using her first name. "I'm a professor and you're a student. Moral issues aside, you can imagine what would happen if we were caught. Both of our reputations would be ruined overnight."

"But…" The anger intensified inside the girl's thin frame.

"You're on to doing great things. I wouldn't want this mess to stand in the way of you becoming a reputable witch."

"And why do you get to decide my future? With all due respect, Oliver, I believe I can handle my own choices." Hermione was trembling from her inner outrage, barely able to contain her emotions.

"Fair enough," he replied, holding his hands out in a gesture of peace. "I never meant to imply that you were ever incapable of being independent. I apologize if I've ever taken advantage of you in the past. But I just want to let you know that it wasn't all acted out of recklessness." With a tinge of relief, he could see Hermione relax slightly.

"May I ask one more thing of you, Miss Granger?"

"What is it?" she seethed, her nerves still on edge.

"May I have just one last kiss?"

This sent her over the edge. "YOU BLOODY, IMPOSSIBLE MAN! AFTER ALL OF THAT, YOU STILL EXPECT ME TO LET YOU KISS ME? HOW BLOODY HYPOCRITICAL, PROFESSOR."

"I said we should end it. I never said I wanted to …At least let me find out one last thing." He slowly began to walk towards her.

Hermione stood her ground, hostilely maintaining eye contact with the man who she regarded with a superlative sense of ambivalence. She wanted him, but wouldn't admit it. And now, after all that he had said, she ended up feeling even more conflicted and powerless towards the whole situation.

She could smell his familiar scent now, his body so close they could have melted into each other. He smelled of grass and summer rain and spice. He could have taken her by force, just like he had done before, but this time he remained poised above a delicate face that was now slightly turned away.

"Please. I want to know if there really is something between us," he whispered into her ear. He leaned in towards her, and was surprised when he met no resistance. He brushed lightly across her lips with his, barely touching. Once again, he felt her body tremble beneath his touch, and his suspicions of her inexperience was confirmed.

Hermione Granger, innocent and bookish, was entering into relatively unfamiliar territory. He had hardly noticed before, when they were caught up in an incendiary tangle. But now, with their emotions laid more vulnerable, he could taste the virginal innocence on her sweet flesh.

Oliver gently parted her lips with his tongue, slowly exploring her mouth. Hermione gasped as he touched a sensitive spot, and clung to his body tighter, as if to say she wanted him more. He wrapped his strong arms around her hips, and lifted the girl onto her high four-poster bed. She sat on her crimson bed sheets, framed by his tall presence as he left her mouth to trail kisses down her neck.

"Professor…"

"You said you'd call me Oliver," the man uttered into the dip of her collarbone. Hermione ran her fingers through his chestnut hair, feeling the heat rise in the small room.

To his surprise, she began to loosen her robes, pulling them down to slightly reveal olive-tanned shoulders and skinny, emerald bra straps.

"What, no lilac?" Oliver teased, nipping her left shoulder playfully.

Hermione was about to open her mouth in retort, but the sound of footsteps and girly chirping suddenly rose up from the staircase beyond the door.

"They're back!" she hissed in a panicked voice, jumping up from the bedpost and pushing him towards the window. Oliver grabbed his broomstick hastily and turned once more to lavish Hermione with one last, searing kiss.

Dazed, she found him halfway out the window before she grabbed the edge of his cloak to hold him back. Oliver looked turned back questioningly.

"Let's do it in secret," she proposed hurriedly. "We'll be very careful, so that no one will ever know."

Oliver raised his eyebrow in intrigue at the bold girl's words. He affectionately tucked her dangling robes back over her shoulder. "I'm glad you felt something too," he said before launching himself out into the darkening sky.

Just as he disappeared around the corner, a loud banging jerked Hermione out of her daze. The locking charm!

"Hey, bookface, are you in there?"

Hermione quickly waved her wand, admitting a crowd of manic Seventh Year girls.

"Did you see him, Hermione? He was simply ravishing," gushed Parvati Patil, no doubt talking about a certain young Professor.

"Oh, please, Parvati, pull yourself together," she chided in response, leaning back on to the window sill for support – Merlin knew she needed a breather. Feeling something soft behind her, she turned and saw a pair of leather Quidditch gloves. Oliver must have left them for an excuse to see her again, she thought with a secret smile on her face.

"What's that funny look in your eyes, Herm? You look a little bit dizzy," observed Lavender offhandedly.

"Oh, it must be the heat," she replied casually, tucking the gloves deeply into her pocket.

-end-

Author's Note:

Hey everyone! Sorry for the massively delayed update. Haha, school really consumed me for a year, but I'm back now! Hurrah for summer!

I'm trying to remember what I had planned for this fic. It's slowly coming back to me now, so hopefully I'll be able to put it down in words before the next year hits me. Thanks for your patience!