Disclaimer: Anything and everything you recognize from the books belongs to JKR.

A/N: This fic is rated M for swearing and adult situations. I want to mention specifically that there is mention of rape, but only in discussion because it has not actually happened to any of the characters. I don't want to get any more specific in fear of spoiling the plot a bit, but I wanted to make sure y'all knew that. Again, the characters talk about rape, but nobody was actually raped.

Also, for my HTMAM readers, I promise I am almost done with the next chapter! I need to do a few more rounds of revision and then it will be ready to post. The only reason I'm posting this first is because the plot bunny molested me until I wrote out the entire thing. Every time I tried to work on HTMAM, I'd think of the perfect way to word something in this story, so I just couldn't focus properly. Please forgive me! I hope you enjoy this in the meantime!

Now, without further ado, I present to you...

~~~\~~~

Regret

It started off as normal a day as any other. Hermione Granger went to class, took notes, answered questions, and ate quickly. She lectured Harry and Ron on their table manners (or lack thereof) and advised them not to procrastinate on their homework. Right after dinner, she went straight to the library to start on the essays that had just been assigned and intended to spend most of the night there until she had at least finished the outlines.

The unusual part was that, while Hermione was normally alone in what the other students tacitly acknowledged as 'her section' of the library, today she was not. Today, this unremarkable Thursday in every other way, there was someone else studying two tables over.

At first, Hermione had ignored the other student when they had entered. She could easily forget her surroundings when concentrating on an essay. The sounds of scratching on parchment, tapping a quill on the edge of an inkwell, and turning a page were so common that they became soothing background music. Those did not bother her.

What started to bother her was the rhythmic drumming of fingers on a tabletop. This particular student appeared to have been so caught up in their own essay, that they failed to remember they were in a public area. Around five minutes after she had first noticed the sound, she gave up and lifted her head to glare at the student.

The student's back was turned, and the outline of the gray uniform sweater gave her no clue as to who the hunched figure was, except that it was male. She continued searching the figure for indications of any sort, but found none. His school bag was very common. His black robes were folded over the chair so that the house badge was not visible to her. His trousers and shoes, from what she could see, were also standard uniform.

Finally, the boy raised his head and turned it various ways to keep his neck muscles from cramping. The platinum blond hair told her everything she needed to know. She felt her irritation drain out of her and so she returned to her work.

Draco Malfoy, like everyone else who had been intimately involved in the war, was not the same. He was no longer the little boy who had worshipped his father and antagonized anyone and everyone at every available opportunity. She assumed part of that was because the Slytherins were no longer as numerous as they once were, but mostly because he, like the rest of them, had grown up too quickly.

In a way, he had been in the exact same position as Harry. His destiny had been laid out for him with no room for argument. He had to be proud and arrogant. He had to be rich and successful. He had to be intelligent and resourceful. He had to become a Death Eater and serve Lord Voldemort. While on trial, his mother had tearfully admitted that the only reason she did not bear the Mark was because her husband had promised Voldemort their first born child as a servant. Since birth, Malfoy had literally been raised to be a servant. While the thought alone was rather funny, the context was not. Voldemort had accidentally ensured that Harry would destroy him, but he had intentionally bargained for Malfoy's servitude.

So actually, she revised, Malfoy's situation had been worse, as Harry's destiny had been luck of the draw. Voldemort could have interpreted the prophecy to mean Neville, who would have become the horcrux and had the task of defeating him. Hermione had no doubt his mother would have died for him, just as Harry's mother had. But Malfoy's destiny had been determined even before his conception. Once the bargain had been struck, there was nothing Malfoy could have done to save himself from it.

This reasoning was precisely why Draco Malfoy was the only Death Eater to avoid Azkaban, and any true punishment altogether. As a sentence of some sort had to be given, the Wizengamot had ordered that Malfoy help rebuild Hogwarts and finish his schooling with acceptable N.E.W.T. scores. He also had to help Headmistress McGonagall with any extra errands that needed doing during summer holiday. As far as McGonagall had indicated, he had done exactly as he was told with minimal fuss. When Harry and Ron had not-so-subtly implied that Malfoy had no remorse whatsoever, McGonagall had sternly informed them that they did not know their so-called enemy as well as they thought they did, but refused to comment any more on the subject.

Her boys had ranted about that comment for hours afterward, but it had made Hermione think. It was true that the so-called Light Side had just as many prejudices as the Dark. Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws, and especially Gryffindors all had preconceived notions of Slytherins from the moment a student was Sorted. It reminded her of Fifth Year, when Harry had sworn up and down that Malfoy had become a Death Eater, but she hadn't wanted to believe it. While it did turn out to be true, she still thought it was wrong of him to have assumed. A person's surname was not the last say on their life choices.

Draco Malfoy was a prime example of that. Since school had started up again, Hermione had not heard him utter the word Mudblood on a single occasion. He did not sneer as much as he used to and he barely talked to anyone except his closest friends, Blaise Zabini, Pansy Parkinson, and Theodore Nott. He used to spend so much time insulting her, but he hadn't spoken a word to her since their return.

This was why she let the drumming slide. She still remembered how much it had hurt to be constantly insulted, so she preferred the silence. Honestly, worst case, she could get up and leave. He had been through so much in his short life. She pitied him enough to give him the space he needed to heal his own wounds. He deserved some peace.

~~~\~~~

On Friday, the same thing happened. Malfoy entered the library some time after her, settled down in the same exact spot as the previous day, and started his homework, finger drumming and all. It irritated her, but she powered through it.

~~~\~~~

A week later, she realized she no longer thought of his drumming as irritating and rude, but instead a nice addition to the background music.

~~~\~~~

A month after that, there was a day when Malfoy did not sit at his table. He did not come to the library at all. Hermione had trouble concentrating the whole time she was there, as her mind kept wandering to him, curious about what had interrupted their routine. It reminded her of Third Year, after she had slapped him because he had been mocking her friend Hagrid and his pet, Buckbeak. She had come to the library to do some Arithmancy homework and had fallen asleep with only two problems finished because the thought of him had kept distracting her. She was just as distracted now. Eventually, she gave up and decided to go find her friends to give her something else to focus on.

~~~\~~~

The next day, Malfoy arrived at his seat as usual, but Hermione still couldn't concentrate. Compared to every other year, this year had been painfully dull. There were no mysteries to solve, so her imagination had latched onto the closest thing to one: where Malfoy had gone yesterday.

She wondered if he had done something scandalous like an illicit liaison, or something as mundane as helping McGonagall grade First Year Transfiguration exams. Maybe it had been someone's birthday, or he had brewed a potion for extra credit. The possibilities were infinite.

It was driving her mad, not knowing. She hated the idea that her routine had been broken for something as silly as he had decided not to study that day. She was even angrier that it had impaired her own ability to study. She had even gone so far as to drum on the table herself, but it hadn't been the same. One, she had needed both hands, one hand to write and the other to turn the page, and two, it hadn't sounded as soothing.

Glaring at the back of his head was not helping, so she finally decided to do something about it.

She pushed back her chair, stood up, and marched over to his table, standing directly across from him. She waited for him to notice, which took mere moments, and only because he was finishing writing down a thought. He added a full stop to the end of the sentence with a small flourish and looked up.

"Granger?" he acknowledged.

"Where were you yesterday?" she demanded.

He raised a single eyebrow and that alone made her blush in embarrassment. Alright, so she did sound a little like a stalker, but she had a legitimate reason to ask!

"It was distracting," she tried to explain, as he stared at her in silence. "You not being here, I mean. I was so used to your little...drumming quirk that it was too hard to focus without hearing it."

She blushed further, feeling like she was once again stupidly making herself vulnerable to his attack. She wondered, on a scale of one to ten, how crazy he thought she was right now.

Probably a six or a seven, she guessed. Nine, if he really did think she was stalking him, which she wasn't, of course, but she acknowledged it could seem that way because of how she had asked.

"Pansy wanted my help with Charms," he answered slowly. "She's rubbish at it, you know, just like I have trouble with Transfiguration. We were helping each other, it would be more accurate to say. I apologize if my absence negatively impacted your studying. I shall inform you in advance next time I expect to be absent."

Nothing. There was no smirk, no mocking lilt, not a single twitch on his face that implied he was making fun of her. He seemed entirely serious, as if she had asked what color the sky was on a cloudless day, and he had simply answered blue.

She wasn't sure how to respond.

"But since you're over here, I am stuck on this one concept. Perhaps you can explain it to me. How, exactly, is elemental transfiguration different from live transfiguration? Obviously, live transfigurations involve living things, but how is that less difficult than conjuring water?"

"Oh, that's simple," she commented, feeling herself become comfortable as she switched into lecture mode. She walked around and sat down in the chair next to him.

"All living things are made of the same parts: bone, blood, skin, etc. Even though the specific parts can be different, such as the venom glands on a snake and spikes on a porcupine, both the glands and the spikes are made up of the same essential elements. The difference is that each element has a different concentration. True elements, however, like earth and water, are not made up of the same parts. They do not have the same essential elements, and therefore, you have nothing to start with when transfiguring them."

He still seemed lost, so she tried to think of a more physical example. Perhaps he was a visual learner instead of an auditory learner.

"Alright, think about this. Take dirt, for example. If you take a handful of dirt in your hand, you see a mass of tiny lumps and specs, right?"

He nodded.

"Now imagine taking your other hand and filling that with another handful of dirt. The dirt in your right hand is the same as the dirt in your left hand. It's all dirt in the same amount. Now imagine piling lumps of dirt together into one giant pile on the ground. First you'll get something like a hill, but if you kept at it long enough, you'd get a mountain. A mountain is merely a giant pile of rock and dirt. But you would not say that a mountain is the same as that pile of dirt that was initially in your hand..."

"Because the mountain is more than just dirt, although dirt is a component of it," he finished.

She smiled. "Exactly. The same way humans are not just flesh, bone, and blood, but a combination of all three. And what are other animals, like a kneazle?"

"Flesh, bone, and blood. A combination," he repeated with a slight smile.

"Precisely. Theoretically, it is easier to turn a kneazle into a human because..."

"They are both made up of bone, flesh, and blood, but in different amounts of each. So all you have to do is imagine changing the amounts. You don't have to waste extra power conjuring something that isn't already there."

"So now can you guess why turning fire into water is harder?"

"Because if you keep putting fire together in any sort of combination, you will never get water. It is a whole other entity entirely."

"So what are you actually doing, when you transmute elements?"

"Changing one element into energy, and using that energy to conjure a new element."

"See? You knew the answer to your own question all along."

He smirked. "Of course I did. I was just testing you."

She rolled her eyes, suppressing the urge to laugh at his teasing tone. "Of course you were."

She moved to stand up.

"Sit down, Granger. We're not done yet," he ordered imperiously.

She raised an eyebrow but obliged. "What else is there?"

He grinned, a true, happy grin, one that she had seen on her boys' faces but never Malfoy's. "It's your turn. What do you need help with?"

She scoffed. "I don't need help with anything. I understand it all perfectly."

"It doesn't have to be Transfiguration-related," he mentioned.

She tilted her head to the side thoughtfully. "What can it be related to?"

His grin slowly faded as he shifted in his chair and then faced her head on. "Anything."

Her eyes widened. "Truly anything?"

He nodded.

She bit her lip, deciding what to ask first. This was an unexpected, once-in-a-lifetime opportunity she refused to miss.

"Do you still hate us? Harry, Ron, and me, that is," she blurted.

He didn't look surprised at all. He shook his head. "Not anymore. Potter and I...we've reached a silent agreement of sorts. We stay out of the other's way. The world is too grey for us to hate, but we're never going to be mates. We've hated each other for too long to just forget. It's still instinctive for us to wish misfortune on each other, but we both have found traits to respect in the other."

"Ron?"

He scoffed. "Weasel and I are of the opinion the other doesn't exist, and we prefer it that way."

She smiled. It was probably better that way for all parties involved.

Then she hesitated.

"...And me?"

He smirked. "What do you think?"

"I don't know what to think," she confessed. "You haven't called me any foul names, but you could be biding your time."

He chuckled. "You think I'm trying to lure you into a false sense of security?"

She shrugged. "Maybe. What do I really know about what you will and will not do? The most I know about that is you're not a murderer. But there are a lot of hurtful actions that aren't so extreme."

He sobered instantly. "I see your point. For what it's worth, I'm no longer interested in hurting others for the sake of it, or just because I can. It seems too childish now."

She nodded. "That's good to know."

"And, might I point out, if I still held my old prejudices, we would not be having this conversation right now," he added.

She smiled. "That is true."

His happy grin was back, and she found herself stunned by the sheer novelty of it. It made him look...dare she say it?

Attractive. Handsome. Youthful. Like he hadn't been forced to watch her torture at the hands of his lunatic aunt in his very own home. Maybe one day, in the far future, they could be friends. Maybe.

He checked his watch and sighed. "Time to go help Pans." He gathered his things and slung the strap of his schoolbag over his shoulder.

He made to leave but then turned around.

She looked up at him curiously.

"Same time tomorrow?"

They shared a smile and she nodded. "See you then."

He swiftly left and Hermione decided that she could get used to seeing him smile.

~~~\~~~

"Have you ever wondered how the first centaur was made?"

Hermione looked up and wrinkled her nose at him. "No," she said firmly. "And I never will."

Malfoy grinned. "Liar. I bet you've thought about it. Are any of the centaur creation myths true? Or was someone just crazy enough to shag a horse?"

Hermione had found over the past two months that he had a peculiar way of wording things. She was often torn between laughing and being horrified. Like now, for instance.

She chose horrified this time. "No! I can honestly say I've never thought about it."

"Until now, you mean. You're certainly thinking about it right now," he teased.

She blushed, avoiding his laughing stare. "I am not!"

"Yes, you are! I can tell when you lie to me, Granger, and that blush right there is giving you away completely. I'm going to tell the whole school that Prude Queen Granger is thinking about shagging a horse."

At the look of utter horror and mortification on her face, he burst out laughing.

"You are such an utter prat!" she hissed, glancing around to make sure nobody was within hearing distance.

"Oh, relax. Madame Pince can't even hear us. Nicely done, by the way, for finding this little out-of-the-way nook. We can be as loud as we want and she'll never be any the wiser. We could shag here and she wouldn't have a clue."

He had such a devious smirk on his face that she instantly blushed and tried very hard not to let her imagination get too carried away.

Ever since that first grin of his, she had noticed that his little quirks suddenly became endearing rather than irritating, much like the way he drummed his fingers on the table while mulling something over. He blew air up into his bangs when he was bored. He snuck her secretive looks during their shared classes, as if to say, 'we have a secret that nobody in this entire castle knows but us.' He always said her surname in an affectionate or teasing tone. He always used a black eagle feather quill because he swore they always wrote more smoothly than any other. He insisted that only idiots used multi-colored ink because they were trying to make up for what their essays (and brains) lacked in substance.

She felt like she finally knew who Draco Malfoy truly was, and she liked him. Friendship didn't seem so far away after all.

"Speaking of," he continued, "why haven't you been shagging any blokes? You and Weasel have been long over, and there isn't a lack of interest."

She eyed him, trying to suss out whether he was joking.

He raised an eyebrow. "Don't tell me you don't know, Granger. You have to know."

"I have to know what?" she asked indignantly.

He scoffed. "Merlin, you're obtuse. Have you been completely blind to MacMillan and Goldstein fighting over you?"

She blinked. She'd hardly spoken to the pair of them her entire time at Hogwarts. "Ernie and Anthony are not fighting over me. I wasn't with either of them in the first place."

"Precisely. They're trying to decide who gets to ask you to Hogsmeade first. Though, really, they're both wasting their time. They'd bore you to tears."

She rolled her eyes. "And how do you know so much about what I'd like in a bloke? Maybe I like boring."

He laughed. "No, you don't. Look at the company you keep. Potter can't go a week without getting into trouble," he ticked off one finger, "the entire Weasley family is pure chaos from what you've told me," he ticked off another, "you're still corresponding with Krum, who tells you about all his adventures," he ticked off a third, "and then there's me, obviously."

"What about you?"

"Not only am I devastatingly sexy, but also entertaining with my sharp wit and intellect."

"Don't forget modest."

"Modest? Blasphemy! A god is never modest."

"And what are you the god of? Vanity? Promiscuity? Verbosity?"

"Says the walking and talking library," he countered. "But I'll accept promiscuity. It's a hard job, being the male version of Venus or Aphrodite, but I'll do it."

Hermione snorted.

"You don't believe me? You've heard what they call me. I deserve every bit of that title."

"Of Slytherin Sex God?" she said skeptically.

"You doubt the rumors?"

"Yes. I doubt every rumor I've ever heard."

"You don't have to doubt those. They're all true," he assured her nonchalantly.

"I'm still going to doubt them."

"Why?"

She laughed. "Because I can't just take your word for it! Of course you're going to say they're true."

He leaned toward her with the same mischievous smirk that she had found made her insides squirm pleasantly.

"Shall I give you empirical proof, then?"

She blushed profusely and stared at her textbook. "No, no. That's not necessary."

"But you've just implied that you won't believe anything you haven't experienced yourself," he reasoned.

"Some mysteries are better left unsolved," she said cryptically.

He eyed her carefully for a full minute. "That is the biggest load of tripe you've ever attempted to feed me. You hate unsolved mysteries."

"Not this one," she muttered.

He shook his head. "Why is this mystery so special?"

She sighed exasperatedly. "Because it's you, Malfoy! I just...can't think of you like that. It causes too many problems."

Little did he know the problems were that she found herself staring at him too long, imagining what it would be like to kiss him, and feeling a little depressed that he'd never want to be with her in that way. But daydreaming from afar was nice and safe. It didn't change anything and allowed their tentative acquaintance to flourish, which she was perfectly happy with.

"What sort of problems?"

"Just, problems, alright?"

He gave her a very stern, no-nonsense look. "Granger, do you think I'm attractive?"

Uh oh. She did not like the way this was going.

"How are you doing on problem number eight? I think I shifted a number somewhere because the answer is wrong."

He snatched her parchment away. "Focus. Do you think I'm attractive?"

She groaned. This was going to end so badly.

"Yes," she bit out, "of course you're attractive. You constantly remind me so I don't forget."

An amused smirk flickered on his lips for a moment before resuming his serious expression.

"Would you shag me?"

She gaped. "What? No!" Although the denial was sputtered out more because she was terrified he had used Legilimency on her without her realizing it.

He smirked triumphantly. "Liar. I knew you weren't as innocent as everyone thinks."

"I wouldn't!" she retorted indignantly.

"Why not?"

"It would be too weird with you. We're not even friends yet!"

"You only shag your friends?"

She glared. "You know what I mean."

"I know what you said," he replied with a cheeky grin. "How do I become your friend?"

She scoffed. "Be serious, Malfoy."

"I'm being entirely serious," he said.

She chanced a look at him to see how serious he was.

He looked pretty serious.

She swallowed and licked her lips, noticing the way his eyes flicked down to watch her tongue. She was suddenly feeling a little breathless. She pulled one of her textbooks in front of her to distract herself.

"No," was all she could think to say. It was the only thing she could say, because if she said anything else, the universe would implode. Hermione Granger did not kiss Draco Malfoy. It was a fact of life and always would be.

He pulled her textbook away from her, too, then shoved them all off the table onto the floor.

"Careful with those!" she fumed, standing to go pick them up.

He used one hand to grab the hand nearest him, and the other to turn her back around.

She blinked at him slowly, unsure of what was happening.

The hand holding hers held fast, but the one that had turned her around slid up to her jaw and cheek.

"Granger," he whispered, "let me show you the pleasure you deserve. You won't regret it, I promise."

Her eyelids fluttered, torn between savoring his touch and staring into his darkened eyes.

"You'd promise anything to get what you want," she said softly.

"Is that such a bad thing, when you want the same thing I do?"

He leaned in, ghosting his lips upon her neck. She shivered, and he smirked against her skin. "I can give you everything I promise and more. Just say the word and I'll give you whatever you desire. Anything and everything."

This was a bad idea. It was a really, really bad idea. On a scale of one to ten, of how bad this idea was, it would rank a twenty. There were so many reasons this was a bad idea, but she was having a spot of trouble remembering any of them.

It was so incredibly tempting to take him up on his offer, though. She was still a virgin, so maybe having her first time with someone so experienced was a good thing. He would know what to do. There would be no fumbling and embarrassing moments. If he knew what he was doing, if the rumors really were true, she probably wouldn't find a better candidate to minimize the pain and discomfort.

But it was Malfoy. They had only just gotten to the friendly acquaintance stage. Did she really want to mess it all up with sex? What if it went horribly wrong and he didn't want to be around her anymore?

"This is a really bad idea," she said.

"It's a fantastically good idea," he insisted, holding her hair back and placing light kisses down her neck.

"No," she breathed, unable to move. "I'm very certain this is a terrible idea. Horrendous, really."

The hand not tangled in her hair moved down to her waist and pulled her whole body against his.

She gasped at the sudden movement, her hands instinctively placing themselves on his chest to lessen the impact.

"You must have fantasized about this," he persuaded. "Tell me how you imagined it...how I kissed you...how I touched you..."

Her fingers fisted his sweater, her eyes fluttering closed, as she was swept away from reality into the recollection of her daydreams.

"Or better yet," he whispered seductively, "show me."

He kissed her, only a light brushing of lips at first, but her lips parted and he took full advantage. He crushed her body against his, challenging her tongue to a duel.

She flung her arms around his neck and eagerly accepted his challenge, pressing her body into his as much as possible. Before long, his hand creeped down to the edge of her wool skirt and slid underneath, fingers stroking her bare skin.

She had lost all concept of traditional time, instead measuring it by their actions. He spent eight tongue strokes sliding up to her knee, and fifteen to slide all the way up the outside of her thigh. By the time he had brushed the knickers on her hip, she was going mad from the teasing. She didn't want it to end, yet she didn't know how much more of this torture she could take. She needed him to touch her. She had never been so aroused in her life, and knew that she'd always masturbate to him, to the memory of this.

She tried to communicate her urging through their kiss and the way she clutched at his body to keep them pressed together. He broke the kiss, letting them get their breath back, and removed his hands from her.

She was ready to scream at him for doing this to her and then leaving, when he started unbuttoning her shirt. She blushed, embarrassed that she already felt like a wanton hussy when all they had done was kiss and grope a bit.

Twenty-two pants later, he was cupping her bare breasts and kissing his way down to one of them, when he stopped. He made short work of her skirt and then nudged her to sit on top of the table. She did and he grinned wickedly at her before introducing his lips and tongue to her breasts. She admitted it must have been an easier angle for him, having her sit up on the table, but that was as far as her thoughts got before his hands were running up and down her thighs, rubbing and stroking, and she was lost again.

When his fingers reached her sex, teasing it through her knickers, her whole body tensed deliciously, hoping he would let her have an orgasm.

"Gods, Granger," he breathed. "You're so wet already." He pressed harder against her and her hips rose to add to the pressure on their own.

"Please," she begged. "I want you. I need you."

"As you command," he replied, smirking triumphantly. He kissed his way down to her navel and motioned for her to lie down. He slowly dragged off the impeding fabric and kissed his way up her inner thigh. He halted at the apex, placing a lingering kiss on it. Her hips bucked.

He rose and looked directly at her. "You're a virgin?" he asked with mild surprise.

She nodded and then leaned up on her elbows. "Is...that a problem?" she asked timidly.

He gave her the sexiest grin she had ever seen. "No, Granger. It is no problem at all. I'm just glad I noticed beforehand. You should have mentioned it," he scolded playfully. "I would have gone about this differently."

She bit her lip. "Would it have ended up like this either way?"

He paused, thinking it over. "Probably," he shrugged.

"Then it probably doesn't matter how it started, does it?"

He nodded. "Indeed." Then he ducked back down and played with her some more until she was visibly squirming.

"Now you're ready," he announced roguishly.

He stood back up and slowly shed his own clothing. "A few notes of warning, although I'm sure you've already done research on even this."

She blushed and nodded, slightly distracted by the skin being revealed before her. God, the rumors about his body were a lot less exaggerated than she had assumed. They called him a greek god, which still wasn't true, but he was certainly pleasantly muscled and toned.

"As you know, it will hurt and be uncomfortable at first. I'll do my best to minimize that, but I can't get rid of it completely. If at any point you want to stop, just say the word and I will. I promise I will stop or go as slow as you need, no matter how much I don't want to. I am not a rapist."

She nodded.

"Any questions before we begin?" he teased.

She shook her head sheepishly.

"Alright then. Now budge up there so I can join you."

A tiny part in the back of her brain gawked at the fact that her first time was about to be with Draco Malfoy on a study table in the library. This couldn't be real.

He bent down to slide his wand out of his robe pocket, performed several spells in quick succession on himself and the table, and then dropped it back onto the clothing pile.

"Safety first," he smirked, before climbing up onto the table and partially laying on top of her.

She closed her eyes and sighed, enjoying his warmth. She finally noticed that the wood against her back didn't seem to stick to her skin anymore, and rather felt like silk sheets. She smiled. How thoughtful of him. It felt like she was laying on a very sturdy, but very soft bed.

Then they were kissing again and her mind blanked due to the overwhelming barrage of sensations. He was rubbing and stroking every section of skin his fingers could reach and she could not imagine feeling any more desirable. He kissed her with passion and need, yet touched her with reverence and intention. She felt like she was being worshipped and didn't ever want it to stop.

The next thing she knew, he thrust into her and halted, waiting to see her reaction. She gasped at the intrusion, wincing at the discomfort. It was almost funny how the initial pain of her hymen breaking hadn't even compared to the constant discomfort of being stretched in a way she never had been before. She didn't notice she had shed any tears until he wiped them away with his thumb.

"Will you be alright?" he asked softly.

She took a few moments to assess. It was still uncomfortable down there, but she was getting used to it. It helped that he wasn't moving at all because her body was still tense.

"I think so," she replied, not sure how long it would take her to adjust. The extreme discomfort had sort of taken her out of the mood.

"I'll stay like this as long as you need. Just let me know if you're ready to move."

She nodded and he kissed her again, his hands resuming their attentions to relax her.

She tried to focus on the way his skin felt against hers and it wasn't long before the discomfort dissipated, leaving her feeling strangely comfortable. Her muscles had finally relaxed.

One of his hands ran up and down the outside of her thigh. When his fingers reached the bend of her knee, they closed and lifted her leg up just a bit before stopping and laying it back down. The movement, however small, had actually had a big impact. Raising her knee had shifted her pelvis, which had caused the tiniest amount of friction inside her. It hadn't hurt at all, so she tentatively tilted her hips.

Malfoy stopped his ministrations and moaned against her mouth. She smirked and did it again, enjoying the sudden shift in power.

"Minx," he growled. "Does this mean you're ready?"

She nodded. "Yes."

"Thank Merlin," he sighed in relief.

He started pushing in slowly, making sure he didn't start off too fast, but she was ready. She pushed back, moving to his thrusts, giving him permission to go faster and harder. She couldn't figure out why so many girls had claimed sex was the best thing ever, but it still felt nice to be wanted like this.

She opened her eyes to watch his face, but found that he was watching hers intently. "Are you feeling anything?"

She shook her head, sussing out that he meant some particular feeling she hadn't found yet. "Not really."

He frowned and lifted up her knee to fold her leg against her side, using the same motion he had meant to earlier. He tilted his pelvis a little and then started moving again.

Now she felt a tingle, every time he brushed against a certain area. She closed her eyes and concentrated on it, trying to pinpoint its exact location.

"Better?"

She nodded, still focusing on the new sensation.

He thrust harder and her mouth parted as the sensation grew stronger. Her legs shifted of their own accord, trying to give him better access to the spot. It felt better, but she still felt like something was missing.

Instead of moving with his thrusts, she tried moving against them, in the same rhythm but in a different direction.

The first time she thrust down while he thrust up, the friction felt so incredible that she gasped. Her hands instinctively felt for the sheets to hold onto but then she remembered they were actually on a table. So she grabbed whatever parts of him her hands could reach and held on, maintaining the rhythm as best she could.

She knew she was on the right track now. This was what all the girls whispered about at night. The building of tension and pleasure, bigger and higher, reaching for some invisible, unquantifiable threshold that she knew was going to feel best of all.

"Faster," she whispered.

He kissed her and obeyed. She almost didn't want to kiss him because she knew it was going to distract her, but his tongue refused to be denied and engaged her in another duel. She was pleasantly surprised to find that the extra stimulation only helped her rush to the top.

She set the pace of the kiss to match their thrusts. She didn't know how long they kept it up, as it could have been three seconds or thirty minutes. It felt too good for her to think about anything trivial like the time.

Too soon, he hit the right spot at the right time and she broke the kiss, arching her back and moaning incoherently. Her inner walls clamped down on him in a series of contractions and expansions, and she held on for dear life as she surfed the pleasurable waves straight into the higher atmospheres.

As she floated gently back down to reality, she registered Malfoy finishing with a groan before collapsing on top of her.

"Gods, Granger," he muttered.

She grinned at his exhausted tone and enjoyed the hazy aftermath.

A minute later, they heard footsteps and a low muttering . Nobody was ever back here with them, so they realized they must have been too loud.

They both scrambled off of the table and dove for their wands, magicking their clothing back on. They had only had enough time to focus on the basics, shirt, bottoms, socks, and shoes and make themselves somewhat presentable. Malfoy sat down with a textbook in front of him and Hermione rushed to pick up her books, which were still on the floor.

"...students. Don't know why Minerva insists...no respect at all for the sanctity-"

Madame Pince rounded the corner bookshelf and seemed startled to find Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger sitting casually in their chairs, at the same table, reading textbooks.

"Is something the matter, Madame Pince?" Malfoy asked innocently.

She blushed, flustered. "I, well, I thought I heard...but there were noises..."

Hermione looked at her anxiously. "I am so sorry, Madame Pince. It was all my fault. I stacked one too many books and the whole thing toppled over onto the floor, and I was just so distressed I didn't notice how loud I was. But Malfoy reminded me where I was and I calmed down. I am so, so sorry for the interruption."

Madame Pince blinked confusedly, eyes darting between Hermione and Malfoy.

"Well," she said finally, "that's quite alright, Miss Granger. I can understand your distress, so you are forgiven. Just please be more careful in future."

Hermione nodded solemnly. "Of course. Thank you for being so understanding."

With one last suspicious look at the pair of them, she turned around and went back to her post.

Hermione sighed and buried her head in her arms on top of her book. "Merlin, that was so close."

Malfoy chuckled. "Look at you, being naughty and lying about it as smoothly as a Slytherin. I'm impressed, Granger."

She shot him a glare. "I blame you. This is all your fault. You've corrupted me."

He smirked. "But doesn't it feel so good to be bad?"

She rolled her eyes, but couldn't hide a slight smile. "Maybe," she admitted.

She looked at the time, wondering how long they had spent together.

"Shouldn't you be helping Parkinson?" she noted.

Malfoy looked at the time and swore. "She's going to be furious with me. Got to go. See you."

He shoved everything into his bag and dashed off, Hermione chuckling after him. Boys. They were always late and in a rush to be somewhere.

~~~\~~~

That night, her body was pleasantly tired from their activities and she drifted right off to sleep, thinking that she was glad it had been with him. She didn't regret it one bit.

~~~\~~~

The next morning, Hermione decided to lounge in bed for an extra fifteen minutes, simply enjoying how comfortable her bed was and how well-rested she felt. Her thoughts automatically drifted back to Malfoy and she decided she certainly wouldn't mind doing it with him again. He had been such a caring and gentle lover. Now she was in on the secret. Now she knew exactly why he had become a legend in the girls bathrooms, and she couldn't say she disagreed. It had been perfect.

By the time she made it to breakfast, she was so caught up in her recollection of the previous day that she didn't even notice the whispers.

The moment she sat down, Parvati and Lavender accosted her on either side.

"Is it true?" Lavender gushed.

Hermione blinked, frowning. "Is what true?"

"That Malfoy took your virginity last night!" Parvati answered.

Hermione stared at Parvati in horror. How could they all know? "What-?"

"That's what Malfoy's telling everyone, anyway," Lavender noted. "Normally we'd believe him, but-"

"-it is you after all," finished Parvati. "We had to verify it first."

She was going to cry. She felt it in her chest, behind her eyes. He had tricked her. He hadn't changed, not really. Had everything been a lie? Maybe it had just slipped out, or one of his friends had interrogated him. Maybe Parkinson had demanded to know where he had been, and it just came out. Yes! That must have been it. He hadn't been able to lie to his friend, and she had told everyone. That was a perfectly reasonable explanation.

But she was not going to confirm or deny the rumor until she figured this out.

Hermione stood up, ignoring Parvati and Lavender, and calmly walked over to Malfoy at the Slytherin table. She walked up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder, even as the other Slytherins were gathered around, laughing at something he had just said.

He turned and smirked.

"Ah, Granger. There you are. Have you come back for more? I knew you couldn't stay away."

"Is it true?" she asked, feeling the anger build in her. "Did you start the rumor?"

"Well, it's the truth isn't it? How you begged for me to take you and make you a proper witch? I only thought everyone deserved to know you aren't as innocent as they all claim."

There was no teasing lilt. His malicious tone was back, cutting her to the bone with every sharpened word. It had all been a lie. He had manipulated and seduced her to gain back his popularity. He had used her to gain the respect of other people.

"Oh, and by the way, here is the advance notice that I won't be meeting you in the library."

As if that sentence alone weren't enough, Parkinson giggled cruelly.

There were no words to adequately explain the fury in her. This was a million times worse than what Ron had done. Ron had been an ignoramus when he hadn't been able to decide between her and Lavender, but Malfoy had planned it all out, each and every step. All she saw was red, Malfoy's red, red blood. She wanted to make him bleed Gryffindor red.

The next thing she knew, her hand stung like she had slapped a brick wall and Malfoy's head was flung to the side, a red handprint already forming on his pale cheek. She was slightly pleased to have marked him red, but it wasn't enough.

"Harry was right about you," she whispered harshly, her voice trembling as the tears built up behind her eyes. "The only difference between you and Voldemort is that Voldemort actually killed. You aren't even human!" she spat.

She walked back to the Gryffindor table, grabbed her schoolbag, and left the Great Hall, her tears splattering on the floor like a trail of sorrow.

~~~\~~~

She had gone straight back to her room, fallen onto her bed, and cried her heart out. She cried until her muscles hurt, until she had no tears left, until her body could not physically cry any more. She had warded the door so that nobody could come in, not that Harry or Ron could make it up the Girls' Staircase anyway. She knew they would be waiting for her.

By late afternoon, she thought she was ready to face them. Her tears had long dried and she felt she could speak normally. She calmly walked downstairs.

Just as she had predicted, Harry and Ron were waiting for her. They looked up and jumped out of their chairs, clearly worried.

"You missed class," Harry said. "Hermione, what happened?"

"Is it true?" Ron demanded. "We went down to breakfast after you had left. We know what they're saying."

She had thought she was alright, but seeing Ron's red-blotched face, she was suddenly afraid that they would shun her. She had willingly been with Malfoy, and just the thought of it was making her friends crazy. Would they abandon her?

For all her courage and bravery, she couldn't tell them. Tears leaked out of her eyes. She had thought she had none left to cry, but she was wrong. The sobs wracked her body again and she crumpled to the floor.

Malfoy had finally done it. After all this time, he had finally broken her.

Harry and Ron both dove to catch her and hugged her, letting her cry it out. She vaguely registered her boys leading her up to their bedroom to give them privacy. She was overcome with love and affection for them and sobbed harder because she knew they would hate her once they knew the truth. She had slept with the enemy and deserved everything she got.

Eventually, she calmed down again and Harry wiped away her tears. It reminded her of the way Malfoy had done, and just the memory made her cry again.

"Hermione, please tell us what happened," Harry begged.

She shook her head, knowing she wouldn't be able to speak the words. She was such a fool.

"Look, we know he did something to you. Just tell us what it was," Ron tried to persuade her.

She sniffled, knowing she had to tell them something. Maybe if she said it in the most roundabout way possible, she wouldn't have to actually speak the words, but they would still know.

"We...We've been...studying in the library together. We've been on good terms for months. We sat in my usual spot, at the back of the library, and started talking about something stupid. It somehow led to talking about..." she blushed, "sex, and he asked if I wanted to...with him. I said no. But then he...touched me...and..." She couldn't say anymore. The shame was too fresh, too real.

Ron looked at her in horror.

Harry swallowed thickly. "Hermione," he said, his voice trembling though she couldn't tell if it was from fear or rage, "did he...er, go all the way with you?"

She bit her lip and nodded, more tears spilling onto her cheeks and onto Ron's bed.

"That...bloody Death Eater scum!" Ron howled, jumping up and flat out running out of the room.

"Ron! Wait! Stop!" Harry darted after him.

Hermione considered following them, but didn't feel like moving much. She got up to shut the door and then curled up on Ron's bed, thankful that they were more angry with Malfoy than they were with her. They knew the truth, and they weren't abandoning her.

***/***

"Where's Malfoy?" Ron shouted at a second year Slytherin coming out of the common room. "Is he in there?"

The poor boy stared like a deer in headlights and started trembling.

"What are you waiting for? Go get him!"

The second year dashed back into the common room.

"RON!" Harry called after him, running down the corridor. "We have to THINK about this!"

Ron ignored him. He started pounding on the wall. "GET YOUR FERRETY ARSE OUT HERE, MALFOY, AND GET WHAT'S COMING TO YOU, YOU FUCKING DEATH EATER!"

"RON!" Harry yelled, trying to pull his best friend away from the wall. "Stop it! We can't just walk up to him and-"

The wall opened and Malfoy stepped out, haughty as ever. "You called, Weasel?"

Ron responded with a punch to the face.

Malfoy recoiled. "Fucking hell, Weasley!"

"We know what you did and you're going to fucking pay!"

Ron went at him again, but Harry held him back as best he could.

"Let me go, Harry! He doesn't deserve to live!"

"No, Ron! You can't just kill him like this!"

"I bloody well can!"

"Is this about Granger?" Malfoy asked. The other two stopped moving to glare at him.

He smirked. "Ah, I thought so. Listen, just because she wanted her first time to be with someone who actually knows what a clitoris is, doesn't mean it's my fault. Blame her, or yourselves, but not me."

This time Harry did not hold Ron back when the redhead lunged for the blond.

"YOU - FUCKING - RAPED - HER - AND - IT'S - NOT - YOUR - FAULT?" Ron screamed between punches.

"What?" Malfoy coughed out between grunts of pain. "No!"

A sudden spell flung Ron off of Malfoy.

"Mister Weasley! What is going on here?" Professor Slughorn asked in shock.

Ron got right back up and pointed at Malfoy, who was still on the floor. "THAT BLOODY DEATH EATER RAPED HERMIONE, THAT'S WHAT!"

Slughorn suddenly turned pale. "That..." he cleared his throat, "that is a very serious accusation, Mister Weasley," he responded nervously. "Are you quite sure?"

"She told us herself, Professor," Harry answered, as Ron looked about to pop a blood vessel in several places. "She said no, but he did it, anyway."

Malfoy finally stood up shakily, one hand on the wall and the other clutching at his ribs. "I didn't rape her! She consented!"

"LIAR!" Ron yelled.

"Mister Weasley! Please calm down. We shall sort this out." Slughorn turned to the second year who had fetched him. "Please escort Mister Malfoy, or find someone who can, to the hospital wing."

The second year nodded and left to fetch someone.

Slughorn turned to the boys. "Do you know where Miss Granger is now?"

They nodded.

"Then let us fetch her and have her tell the Headmistress herself."

"She was barely able to tell us, Professor. I don't know if she'll be able to say it again," Harry objected.

Slughorn shifted uneasily. "I understand this is a very delicate topic, Harry, m'boy, but she must tell the Headmistress if anything is to be done. She must make the accusation herself."

Harry nodded. "Then can you have her summon Hermione? She won't go on her own, but maybe once she gets there, she'll feel more comfortable talking to Professor McGonagall. They've always been close."

Slughorn relaxed. "I certainly can, m'boy. I will pass along the request to the Headmistress. In the meantime, I suggest you and Mister Weasley return to your friend and comfort her in her time of need."

***/***

Later that night, Hermione was summoned to the Headmistress' office via owl and she stared at the parchment. She knew she should have gone after Harry and Ron. Now McGonagall was probably going to punish them for beating up Malfoy for no good reason. Although, that didn't explain why she was being summoned. Harry and Ron hadn't said a word about getting detention or any sort of punishment, but they'd been distracting her with games of Exploding Snap and homework revision.

"I have to go see McGonagall," she announced.

The boys nodded, as if expecting her to say that. She narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

"What did you two do, anyway? You never told me."

Ron smiled satisfactorily, hiding his hands behind his back. "Nothing, Hermione. Don't worry about it. Go see McGonagall."

"Ronald Bilius Weasley, did you hurt Malfoy?"

"No," he said too quickly.

"Let me see your hands."

"Hermione, you really shouldn't make McGonagall wait," he stalled as she approached.

She sighed, giving up. He was acting guiltily enough, anyway. She didn't need to see the physical proof. While a part of her hoped he had made Malfoy suffer, she did feel somewhat responsible for unleashing Ron on him. She should have known that Ron was going to act irrationally. Not even Harry had been able to stop him, she bet. She shouldn't have told them.

~~~\~~~

"You summoned me, Headmistress?" Hermione picked a seat in front of the desk and sat down.

McGonagall smiled tiredly. "Ah, there you are, Miss Granger. I'm sorry to summon you this late at night, but there is a matter that has been brought to my attention that must be dealt with as quickly as possible. The only thing I need from you is confirmation, if it is, indeed, what happened."

Hermione nodded, steeling herself for more humiliation. She didn't know why having sex with Malfoy was a matter for the Headmistress, but she had a hunch that Ron and Harry were involved. Once again she was going to clean up their mess.

"Professor Slughorn told me that he had caught Mister Weasley assaulting Mister Malfoy in front of the Slytherin common room this evening, while Mister Potter watched. Do you know anything about that?"

Hermione sighed. "I believe it did happen, Professor. Ron all but admitted it to me afterward. He refused to show me his hands, which I'm positive have bruises, and he had this...satisfied smile on his face he only gets when he beats Malfoy in some way, literally or figuratively."

McGonagall sighed, too. "I don't know what I'm going to do about those three. They always seem to be antagonizing each other one way or another." She took a deep breath. "Which brings me to the reason I asked you here, what I need you to confirm."

Hermione blinked. "You mean that wasn't it?"

McGonagall watched her intently. "No. There has been an accusation against Mister Malfoy which is very serious. If it is true, then he will be sent to Azkaban. There will be no leniency for him this time as he is the only...Marked person who did not receive punishment."

She paused, letting that information sink in.

"On the other hand, if the accusation is false, then I assure you neither Mister Weasley nor Mister Potter will be punished for the accusation, though I must punish them for their fight with Mister Malfoy. All I want to know is the truth, Miss Granger, no matter what it is. I do not wish to embarrass you, but your modesty is not more important than saving an innocent boy from prison."

Hermione nodded seriously, indicating she understood the importance of this meeting.

"What is the accusation, Professor?"

Hermione swallowed, preparing herself to admit what had happened between her and Malfoy, though she had no idea how two people having consensual sex could be punishable by Azkaban.

"It is my understanding, that last night, you and Mister Malfoy...had an encounter," McGonagall said delicately. "Is this true, that you were together?"

Hermione nodded. "We were studying together in the library," she confirmed, blushing.

McGonagall's eyebrows rose. "Indeed?"

She nodded again. "He and I have...well, were getting rather close over the last two months."

She felt the tell-tale prickle behind her eyes, signaling she was going to cry again. God, she had been so stupid to trust him, but he didn't deserve to go to Azkaban because she had made a bad decision.

She could tell McGonagall was intrigued at the sudden change in dynamic, but the Headmistress pressed onward anyway.

"And did this...encounter turn...sexual at any point?"

Hermione nodded again, firmly staring at the floor to hide her profuse blush. "Yes," she confirmed.

The Headmistress paused. "There is no tactful way to ask this, so I shall just ask. Did he, at any point, ever force himself on you?"

Hermione's head shot up and she gaped. That was the accusation? Harry and Ron thought...oh Merlin. They thought Malfoy had raped her!

"No!" she hastened to say. "No, he didn't. Not at all! I assure you, Professor, it was entirely consensual at the time. I regret it now, but he didn't...force himself on me."

She blushed, hoping that McGonagall didn't think too lowly of her.

The Headmistress let out a large sigh of relief. "Oh, thank Merlin. I was so worried...nevermind. Thank you for clearing that up, Miss Granger." She eyed Hermione's embarrassment with a small smile on her face.

"My dear, it is not a crime to be a teenager. As unfortunate as it is that Mister Malfoy has not matured as much as I had hoped, there is nothing wrong with following your...urges from time to time. I understand how embarrassed you must feel admitting it, but just remember that I was a teenager, too, once. I remember the overwhelming emotions that hormones can move you to, so I have no opinion at all about your personal life, except that it is your decision alone what you do with it. That being said, I will most certainly have a talk with Mister Malfoy about the proper way to treat a lady."

Hermione smiled. "Thank you, Professor." She stood up to leave.

"Hermione," McGonagall started.

"Yes?"

"If I may give you one piece of personal advice...all of you have been through so much in your young lives...you deserve whatever happiness you can find. I do hope you won't let this...incident tarnish your view of love and romance. There is a man or wizard out there for you who will treat you the way you deserve. If you do find him, I hope you will not be afraid to let him."

Hermione nodded reassuringly. "I won't be afraid, Minerva."

McGonagall smiled back. "Good...good."

~~~\~~~

A week later, Hermione was back in the library, in her usual spot. She refused to let Malfoy ruin her perfect study spot just because he had decided to be an arse. Sure, the first couple days were hard, as she couldn't look at the table without remembering the pleasurable things he had done to her, but she had two choices. One, she could go insane and avoid this spot forever. Two, she could accept the fact that Malfoy was a git, but he had given her a fantastic night and made her first time special, in both a good and bad way.

She had decided to go for option two. She was stronger now, because of him, and so she preferred to think of the incident as a life lesson. Sometimes boys were gits, but sex could be really, really fun with the right person. All she had to do was find a man who made sex fun and didn't want to humiliate her for it. She could do that.

"Why didn't you lie?"

Hermione looked up and shot a confused look at Malfoy, who sat down across from her.

"Why would I lie?"

"One little lie and I would have been rotting in Azkaban the rest of my life. I humiliated you in front of everyone, but you still told the truth and got me out of trouble."

She rolled her eyes. "I didn't do it for you. I told the truth because that's what you're supposed to do. Besides, it would have broken Professor McGonagall's heart to send one of her students to Azkaban. Moreover, I wouldn't be able to live with the guilt. I can't send an innocent person to Azkaban and not feel anything."

"I'm not innocent."

"You are, regarding the accusation of raping me, and that's all that mattered."

"You Gryffindors are crazy."

"If by 'crazy' you mean we have principles and stick by them, then thank you."

He rolled his eyes.

"Speaking of which, I'd sleep with one eye open, if I were you," she mentioned nonchalantly.

He eyed her warily. "Why? Are Potter and Weasel going to come after me again?"

"Oh, no. I set them perfectly straight on that. They won't hurt you again. Professor McGonagall is making them serve detention for a long time, so they won't have enough free time to antagonize you. That's not whom you ought to watch out for, anyway."

"And who is that?"

She smiled. "Me, of course. You're right. You did humiliate me, and I don't appreciate it much. Do you remember in Fifth Year, when Marietta Edgecombe had 'SNEAK' written across her face in pimples for weeks? I'm fairly certain it permanently scarred a bit as well."

He raised an eyebrow. "That was you?"

She nodded. "I made every member of Dumbledore's Army sign a piece of parchment that I had charmed beforehand. If they betrayed us, something appropriately bad would happen to them, depending on the offence. As you saw, it worked."

She paused to let that sink in.

"Now, Marietta made no personal slight against me, but I scarred her face for life. Can you imagine all the curses I know, and how I intend to combine them for you, who have slighted me personally?"

Malfoy went perfectly still.

"If not, I can tell you some of the ideas I rejected because they wouldn't be painful or humiliating enough. Would you like to hear them?"

She slowly drew out her wand, and his eyes darted to it.

"Or better yet, shall I show you?" she smirked.

Malfoy slowly stood up and backed away, never turning his back to her and with one hand near his wand.

"I think I'll be going now, actually."

She shrugged and put her wand away. "Suit yourself."

She heard his swift footsteps leave the area quicker than usual, and she didn't regret it one bit.

~~~\~~~

A/N2: I think that ending is just so perfect! But I do have this absolutely devious idea in my head of how Hermione gets back at him, so let me know if you think I should write it out as a sequel. Thanks for reading!