Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot. The rest is all J.K Rowling

Sublime

Part I

The word sublime in reference to aesthetics is more than beauty, according to Immanuel Kant, a German philosopher. He noted that beauty is connected with the form of the object having "boundaries", while the sublime is to be found in a formless object, represented by "boundlessness." Sublime occurs when we encounter something we can't explain with words and includes a quality of greatness or vast magnitude. The experience of the sublime involves a self-forgetfulness where personal fear is replaced by a sense of well-being and security when confronted with an object exhibiting superior might. Overwhelmed with speechlessness, we stand at the precipice of life and beauty and there are no words to describe what we're feeling, what we're seeing.

Does anyone know when the important moments in their lives are? What of the small moments in time, the seconds that alter the course of our lives forever, will we look back and recognize these times or never realize that it was in these moments that our lives were changed. Hermione Granger had no idea when she entered her potions class that this was the instant—this was the time in which her life would forever be changed. Sweat dripped down the back of her neck, moistening the perfectly pressed collar she wore with pride. She pulled her hair into a frizzy pony tail on the crown of her head and took a deep breath of the delectable smelling potion in front of her. She recognized it immediately of course: Amortentia, one of the strongest love potions in the world. It smelled divine and she had the strangest urge to lie in bed with the covers cocooned around her and read her favorite book. Professor Slughorn waddled to the front of the classroom and began asking about each potion he had lined up in front of the class. She answered willingly as she always did. He finally reached the pearly potion in front of Hermione's desk and asked who knew what it was.

"It's Amortentia!" she answered readily.

"It is indeed, it almost seems foolish to ask," Said an impressed Slughorn, "but I assume you know what it does?"

"It's the most powerful love potion in the world!" she gushed, taking in the pearly smoke.

"Quite right! You recognized it, I suppose, by its distinctive mother-of-pearl sheen?"

"And the steam rising in characteristic spirals," said Hermione enthusiastically, "and it's supposed to smell differently to each of us, according to what attracts us, and I can smell freshly mown grass and new parchment and—" but she turned slightly pink and did not complete the sentence. Hermione tilted her head down in embarrassment. She had almost admitted it out loud. She almost admitted her secret, a secret held in her heart under lock and key and spell. She snuck a look out of the corner of her eye over at him, draped across his chair casually, easily, as if he lived in the potions classroom. Everything he did was casual, deliberate, and languid. From the way he tapped his long fingers against the desk, to his mouth tilted slightly in a purposeful smirk. She turned back to her open potions book, her mouth set in a determined line. This was a phase, a passing fancy and nothing more. There was no way she could find him at all attractive.

She didn't even know the exact moment she had decided he was good-looking. One day she observed the curve of his strong back, two weeks later she noticed his smile from across the great hall, and four days after that she caught his fathomless glance from across the classroom. It was a buildup of casual observation until one night she woke up breathing rapidly, his face fading from her mind, and it was then that she realized that she found him not just mildly attractive, but heartbreakingly beautiful. Although she would deny it if anyone asked.

Class passed quickly and as soon as it was dismissed, she was up and out of the room. Ducking her head and pulling her bag across her slim shoulders, she hurried down the corridors until she reached Moaning Myrtle's bathroom which was almost always deserted. She closed herself in a stall and began to breathe deeply; in and out, in and out, in and out. She heard the door open and someone come in, footsteps echoing softly.

In and out

She heard the faucet turn on, and the steady sounds of breathing.

In and out

The breathing became gasps and Hermione knew she wasn't alone in her misery.

In and out

She quietly opened her stall and had to stifle a gasp at who exactly was leaning over the sink. Grey jumper stretched tight over a taunt back, hair dripping with water, face dripping with tears—it was him. He turned around sharply, narrow chin set defiantly, ready for a fight.

"Granger, what a surprise." His voice didn't waver from its standard silkiness.

"Likewise, Malfoy," she said, hiding her shaking hands behind her back in a tight clasp. She saw his hand twitch in the direction of his wand. She moved to the left as he did the right, circling each other, round and round.

"You alright?" she asked, keeping her voice light as she stepped to the side once more.

"Just peachy, Granger." A hint of a snarl marred his words.

"No need to be hostile, Malfoy. Just being polite," she said, wrapping her hand around the wand in her pocket.

"Be polite somewhere else, won't you Granger?" he asked, taking a step toward her. She backed herself into a wall. His wand was at her throat in an instant and his heady mint scent made her brain slightly fuzzy. "And if you tell anyone about what you saw, you won't be able to open your Mudblood mouth ever again," he hissed, his wand jabbing into her jugular. Hermione took in his bloodshot eyes and pale, drawn face before nodding slowly. He pocketed his wand, still blocking her against the wall.

"Well, haven't you grown up to be a pretty little Mudblood," he smirked as one of his long fingers traced the curve of her jaw and down her pale neck.

"Get off me, Malfoy!" she spat as she shuddered—whether out of disgust or pleasure she didn't know.

"Fine, wouldn't want to get your dirtiness on me anyway," he stepped away from her quickly, leaving her reeling with the lack of proximity and his distinct scent. "I'll see you around, Granger." With the loud slam of the bathroom door, he was gone and now it was Hermione's turn to weep.

Flipping the page of her novel, she looked up at the commotion that tumbled into the Gryffindor common room. She allowed herself a small smile at the sight of her friends, sweaty and decked out in Quidditch gear. They collapsed into the chairs around the fire in slumps of red and gold.

"Hey Herms, watcha reading?" Ginny asked, propping her feet up on the table loudly.

"Shakespeare," she replied casually, dog-earing her page and setting the play aside. "How was practice?" she asked.

"Long…this guy had us do drills for an hour straight," Ron said, lazily throwing one of his shoulder pads at Harry's general chest area.

"Hey! It's not my fault that I have to whip you slackers into shape," he replied, easily catching the shoulder pad and throwing it back at Ron in one smooth motion. It hit Ron in the side of the head and his dazed expression was enough to send both Hermione and Ginny into a fit of giggles.

"Oi!" Ron yelled, pushing himself out of his chair and onto Harry as they began to wrestle in a distinctly boy-like fashion. Hermione and Ginny looked at each other and rolled their eyes.

"If you two are done acting like Neanderthals, you can ask Hermione about that potions essay that you both have yet to start," Ginny stated sternly, the set of her mouth markedly like her mothers.

"You haven't started!" Hermione cried, aghast, staring at her two best friends who looked back at her sheepishly.

"Shut up, Ginny… We've started, but can you look over it for us, Mione?" Ron pleaded as he and Harry looked at her pitifully.

"Ugh, fine…go get your things," she said, settling back in her armchair with a sigh. Ginny disappeared into the Girls dormitories to change and the boys were stomping back down the stairs in record time, their bags banging against their legs and the stairs.

"Thanks so much, Mione. You're a life saver!" Harry said, swinging his bag onto the table, quills and parchment popping out from the top. They both rifled through the mess they called a book-bag and finally pulled out a crumpled roll of parchment each. Hermione took the essays with a roll of her eyes and with a flick of her wand un-wrinkled them, then she went about correcting them. She made little sighs and huffs of annoyance as her wand casually corrected mistakes. Harry and Ron talked about everything from new plays, the food in the great hall, to Dumbledore's meetings that Harry went too. The last topic was only discussed under a hastily cast Muffliato spell. Hermione was just finishing Harry's final paragraph when the conversation shifted.

"I swear, he just disappears off the map!"

"Let it go, Harry. Who-the-bloody-hell-cares what Malfoy is doing in the Room of Requirement," Ron said, exasperated. Both he and Hermione were tired of Harry's incessant obsession with Malfoy being a Death Eater.

"It's just strange is all…I wish I knew what he was doing…" Harry trailed off. Hermione ignored the flush in her cheeks and the slight tremor of her hand. She hadn't told anyone about her crush or their meeting in the bathroom. And she didn't plan on telling anyone either. It was normal for a teenage girl to be attracted to the bad boy…right?

"Maybe ferret face is shagging Crabe and Goyle in there or something," Ron quipped, digging in his bag for his deck of exploding snap.

"That is one mental picture I could have gone the rest of my life without," Hermione said dryly, wrinkling her nose.

"I second that statement," Harry said, making a gagging noise.

Ron only shrugged innocently as he laid his cards down on the table, but it was then that Hermione corrected the last sentence of their papers and the common room door opened to the screech of, "WON WON!" The common room collectively winced at the shrill sound of Lavender's voice.

"Well, that's my cue to leave," Hermione said, gathering her things and rushing up the stairs into her dormitory, leaving Harry struggling to gather his papers and Ron already sucking face with his girlfriend.

Lying on top of the astronomy tower, Hermione let her mind shut down, giving herself a few minutes of rest and peace. She had laid a blanket out and was stretched across it, wearing her old jeans and favorite jumper. Her fingers mindlessly traced patterns across the quilt as she closed her eyes and breathed in the crisp night air.

In and out

"Enjoying yourself, Granger?" His voice was like water across silk, and she cursed the goosebumps that rose across her chest and arms.

"Actually yes, so could you leave?" she said, her eyes still closed.

"I'm enjoying the view," he said lowly. She opened her eyes to see him sitting precariously on the edge of the tower wall, his legs dangling off the edge, his body facing the grounds. One wrong move and he would fall to his death. His face was shadowed in the moonlight, and he had never looked more dangerous.

She averted her eyes and looked up to the sky, "Do you think there's an alternate universe where things turn out differently?" she asked.

"I wouldn't know, Granger…" he stood up and balanced himself on the ledge, his toes on the edge and his body facing the expanse of the Hogwarts lawn. "I hope so," he said, so quietly Hermione wasn't sure if she was supposed to even hear.

He stretched his arms wide as if to embrace the midnight sky. His body flexed and he tilted up onto his toes as if to dive off the tower. It was horrifying and beautiful and Hermione was speechless, words caught like flies in her throat. He tilted his head to the sky, moonlight falling across his face; a fallen angel or a beautiful demon. Hermione didn't know.

His voice fell from his lips in a whisper, "Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, creeps in this petty pace from day to day, to the last syllable of recorded time; and all our yesterdays have lighted fools the way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow."

A chill raced down Hermione's spine as he was tilting forwards. She shot up from the ground wrapped her arms around his waist and jerked him backwards on top of her and onto the safety of the tower floor. His body knocked the breath out of her, and she gasped to get it back as he rolled off of her.

"Damn it Granger, why didn't you let me jump?" He cursed, pressing the palms of his hands into his eyes.

"What is wrong with you, Malfoy?" she screamed as she jumped up in anger.

"What the bloody hell is wrong with you? When someone is trying to die you let them die, damn it!" He rose up to tower over her.

"You scared the shit out of me, asshole!" She pushed him angrily.

His fingers wrapped around her wrists tightly, "Just leave me alone, Granger," he sneered. Their eyes caught. She couldn't tear her eyes away from his dark stare, his eyes were sunken with depravation and they were as clear as smoke. When he tore himself away from her, she staggered back. She rubbed her wrists in pain and he was gone. For the next week she had to wear long sleeves to cover the hand-shaped bruises on her wrists.

It had been weeks since the incident on the Astronomy tower and every night, Hermione woke herself up in a cold sweat to the sight of Draco plummeting to his death over the ledge, his body twisted and bloody on the front lawn. She had begun to take a nightly bath in the prefect's bathroom in hopes that it would calm her down enough that she wouldn't have nightmares. So far it hadn't worked. Sinking down into the comfort of the warm water and strawberry bubbles, Hermione sighed, her muscles melting into relaxation. She closed her eyes and let herself float at the top, her hair swirling around her, her breathing deep and slow and loud in her ears.

In and out

"Well, well, what do we have here…" His voice spurred her body to attention in embarrassing ways and she quickly ducked under the water, hoping the bubbles covered enough of her up.

"Malfoy! Get out!" she screeched, part in humiliation and part in frustration.

"I came to get a bath, and I'm going to do just that - with or without you in here," he said coolly. Hermione averted her eyes as he began to strip. She heard each of his items of clothing dropping to the stone floor before the soft splash of him slipping into the water. She willed the blush staining her cheeks to disappear as she turned back to look at him. His arms stretched along the edge of the pool, his eyes observing her lazily, his smirk predatory, deadly. She backed up against the opposite side of the pool; she couldn't get out without him seeing her…all of her. Slowly, he began to make his way toward her. He moved through the water soundlessly and purposefully.

From the deepest desires often come the deadliest hate.

-Socrates

She sunk into the water up to her neck, silently begging him not to come closer. He stole her breath with his determination, and she knew she would never be able to tell him no. He was her kryptonite, the one person who could make her stomach coil with only a glance, no matter how he treated her. Whether it was simply her shallowness at his attractiveness or maybe the danger he offered, or possibly the sadness that lurked behind those smoke screen eyes. Whatever it was, Draco Malfoy made her weak, and Hermione was powerless to stop it, powerless to stop him.

"Do you want me, Granger?" he asked deeply, his voice vibrating in the hollowness of her chest.

"Of course not, Malfoy," she lied. He could tell.

"I think you do…Hermione," her name a caress across his lips.

"Why do you want me? A Mudblood?" she asked, focusing on anything but his dark eyes.

"I'm going to hell anyway," he murmured, his lips brushing softly against her shoulder.

"Please don't," she begged unconvincingly, chill bumps rising along the skin of her chest and shoulders. He hummed against her skin, his fingers twisting into her wet curls and before she could utter one more protest, he was kissing her mouth. Dominantly, he nipped and sucked at her lips, sliding his tongue into her mouth as she gasped for breath. He had pressed them up against the side of the pool, water rippling, pulling, and pressing around them. He gripped her side with his hand, fingertips pressing into her hip bone, anchoring himself to her, holding them together as they used each other. Hermione's mind was a strange sort of blankness, filled with bursts of color and sound. Soon all she knew was speechlessness and pleasure and when they were done, he left her in the now cold water. Her cries seemed especially loud in her ears as they echoed across stone and water.

For weeks afterward, she would stare at herself in the mirror and trace the hand print on her hip. At night she would press her fingers into the painful groves where his fingertips had damaged her. A part of her wished that he would pull her into an abandoned classroom; the other part avoided him constantly. She watched him covertly over the rest of the school year: the way his face paled to a mild grey, the sunkenness of his eyes, and the thin line of his downward-turned mouth. She inwardly denied her worry for him, but the memories of their meetings didn't fade and neither did her attraction to him. She woke up often with his name dying on her lips and his eyes fading from her dreams. She wondered if he thought of her too, if she lived in his memories and thrived in his dreams. She doubted it, since he never came to her again even though she secretly longed for his touch. They never met together again, and when he ran away with Snape after Dumbledore was murdered, no one knew that some of the tears she shed were for the broken boy she had given her heart to.