Disclaimer: I don't own HP, even if I wanted to.
Warning: Well, Draco's a little crazy in this, but that's how I've imagined it, so you've been warned.
This world is so dark and horrifying. My mind just won't stop burying itself further and deeper into the dirty world. 'Dirty'—what a funny word, really. It's used to describe so many things: a perverted mind or even a Mudblood like Granger. And yet this word and its meanings are very entrancing—almost attractive.
Oh, for Merlin's sake, what's getting into me? How could such a thing possibly be attractive? That's like saying Granger's attractive, which could never be true—not in the least. Maybe I should see Madam Pomfrey about… oh, I don't even know what's wrong with me, but it can't be anything good.
The halls are empty as I slowly make my way to the infirmary. I don't recollect actually making the decision to go there—only the fact that my feet just seemed to guide me in that general direction until I realized where it was that I was going. I just hope the nurse can discover some asinine thing that's strange so she can fix it and make me better. I don't want to continue to think anything that could connect Granger with the word 'attractive'. She should only be connected with dirty words.
Funny thing is: when I open the door to the hospital wing and step inside, the only person I see there is Granger. So where the hell is Madam Pomfrey? Snogging idiot Dumbledore perhaps? Maybe they're shagging. Eww, that's extremely disgusting. "She better have some sort of potion to help me or I'll commit suicide," I murmur with a scowl as I pass the bed on which Granger is sitting.
"For everyone else's sake, I hope she doesn't."
I spin around at the words as they sink in. I really don't give a damn that she just said that she wants me to commit suicide. That's not what bothers me. What bothers me is the fact that she spoke to me. I hate it when Mudbloods speak to me, especially Granger. It's repulsive.
"For your sake," I counter with a sneer, "I hope you learn to shut your mouth, Mudblood." And I turn back and continue on my journey to Pomfrey's office where I know she keeps her potions. If she's smart, she'll keep her bucktoothed mouth closed… but I doubt that she'll be able to hold in her want for repartee.
"Hopefulness obviously isn't working, though, now is it, Malfoy?" she snaps with a fake smile. Yep, she's not very smart.
"If I were in a better mood, I might be able to tolerate you a little more, Granger, but, since I'm not, I don't think I really want to be bothered by you right now and I don't think you really want to bother me, especially with the consequences that will come from it," I reply without looking back at her but slowing my pace to hear her know-it-all response.
"Oh, and what consequences would those be? I'm not afraid of you, Malfoy, so don't you dare think I am. I don't have to be afraid of you. I know what you really are."
I laugh. "What's that, Granger? A Slytherin? Everyone knows that."
"Well, yes, but that's not what I was indicating. They do go hand in hand, though."
"Hand in hand? What does that mean?"
"It's an idiom. I'm sorry that you're incompetent, Malfoy."
I stop then, as I am at the door to Pomfrey's office, but I don't enter. Instead, I spin around and glare at her from across the room. "I was merely suggesting that I doubt you'd ever be able to get anyone to go hand in hand with you. I know what it means. It was a rhetorical question. Now, what were you indicating?"
"Oh, I'm so sorry, Malfoy," she says facetiously. "It never occurred to me that you actually had feelings. I'll try to be more considerate next time."
"What were you indicating, Mudblood?" I growl.
She smirks, something very unbefitting for her. "A coward. I don't have to be afraid of you because I know you're really a coward."
Now I can handle lots of insults and I may not be as brave as a Gryffindor, but that doesn't make me a coward. There are things that I hide from, but there are certain things that everyone hides from. That doesn't make them a lesser human being like the purity of blood does.
But I know she means this as a challenge. If I walk away, I don't accept it, so I have to do something else. I can't make her believe I'm not a coward if I just walk away from a challenge. So I approach her instead. "I'm no coward, Granger," I say dangerously.
"Why should I believe anything you say, Malfoy?"
"What bullocks is this? Do you need me to prove it to you?"
"There is nothing you could possibly do that would prove I'm wrong about your cowardice, Malfoy," she states firmly.
My mind is racing, trying to figure out some way that I could prove it to her, but I can't think of anything. Perhaps she's right and there is no way to prove it, but I have to try anyway. I know I'm not a coward. I just have to prove it to Granger.
"I'm annoying you, aren't I?" she continues, interrupting my thoughts. "You told me not to bother you because I wouldn't like the consequences. And yet you haven't 'punished' me in any way. What are your blessed consequences?"
"I really don't have time for this," I say in frustration as I decide to walk away. I really don't want to deal with her, even if she's mocking me and my honor or whatever the hell it is. I just want to take some potion that will stop me from connecting the words 'Granger' and 'attractive' together because, for some reason, that's happening.
"Coward," she challenges.
I stop, take a deep breath, and turn back to her. She's got that supposed innocent look on her face like she's some nice angel that would never insult someone. Everyone thinks she's such a goody-goody—she's a teacher's pet, but not a goody-goody.
"Is that all you have to say to me? Really, Malfoy, if you're going to resort to stupid, immature words that only ever hurt me in second year, I don't see why everyone else hasn't realized you're such a big coward."
I sneer and curiously say, "What are you even doing in here, Granger?"
She shrugs and moves off the white bed. "I don't see how that's your business."
I roll my eyes. "If you're going to be like that, I don't see why I should even remain here," I smirk, mocking her.
"Then leave and be a coward," she says before moving toward the window.
Finally, just as I'm about to say something, Madam Pomfrey rushes into the room, a medical book in her hands and her wand out. "Now, Miss Granger, here we are," she's saying as she approaches Granger's bed. "I've finally found it. This should tell us whether you are or not."
I'm a little confused. It obviously has something to do with whatever reason she's in here. Granger looks a little hesitant or anxious or probably both but allows Pomfrey, who still hasn't even realized I'm in the room, to perform the spell. I watch curiously as wisps of blue smoke emanate around Granger and she breathes a sigh of relief.
Then it hits me. It was a spell to see whether or not she's pregnant. I knew teenagers shagged—I, of course, have taken part in the act—but I never expected Granger to do that. Merlin, that's grand.
"You may go, Miss Granger," says Pomfrey. "I suggest you use some sort of protection next time or, better yet, don't even have a next time. You're far too young for this."
"Yes, ma'am," murmurs Granger and she moves toward the doors.
Pomfrey turns toward her office and finally sees me. "Mr. Malfoy!" she exclaims. "Whatever are you doing here?"
Once Granger is safely out of hearing distance, I say, "Madam Pomfrey, I'm a little worried about some thoughts I've been having."
"What sort of thoughts, Mr. Malfoy?" she asks. "Are they dangerous? Are they scary? Are you having trouble sleeping?"
"No, no, no," I respond. "It's just a strange… er, attraction that I've been experiencing lately."
"Attraction? What's wrong with attraction? Everyone's attracted to something or another. Tell me, Mr. Malfoy, how does your attraction manifest itself?"
"I've been considering having sexual activities with an odd sort of person," I say slowly, hesitating with my word choice.
"Odd? How so? Er, are you finding yourself attracted to another boy?" asks Madam Pomfrey apprehensively.
"Oh, Merlin, no!" I yell. "I'm not that crazy."
"Then what do you mean by 'odd'?" she insists with growing frustration.
"I think I'm developing an attraction to a Gryffindor," I eventually let out.
She looks surprised and suspicious. "Mr. Malfoy," she begins, "this must be strange for you, as I know that Gryffindors and Slytherins generally don't agree on anything or are in any way compatible, but I assure you that it's completely natural to develop feelings for other people. Just because it's a Gryffindor doesn't mean that it's bad."
I completely disagree with that, but I'll let it slide because she's a staff member and I'm a bit distraught right now.
"Is there anything you can give me to make it stop, though?" I ask anxiously.
"I'm afraid not. There is no cure for having a crush on someone. Besides, why would you want to put an end to such a beautiful thing? Now go—be on your way. I mustn't have you hanging out around here when someone ill comes in. I can't do anything for you, Mr. Malfoy. You'll just have to deal with it. Perhaps some good will come of this."
"I doubt it," I respond as she shoos me out the door.
When I'm outside the hospital wing, I take a deep breath and try to relax. If a Healer can't help me, how could I possibly get rid of the problem? Maybe there's no way to stop it. Maybe I'll actually carry through with some of these strange situations that have been plaguing my dreams of late. Maybe.
I guess I'm walking quickly—either that or Granger's walking extremely slowly or both—because I can see the Gryffindor up ahead. She glances back at me and almost stops completely. Has she been waiting for me?
When I come up next to her, she matches her pace with mine. "What do you want?" I ask her curiously.
"Why would I want anything from you?"
"Fine. Why were you waiting for me, then?"
"It's better to talk to someone I hate than to talk to no one at all."
I shrug. I really don't care either way. In fact, I tend to enjoy the time I spend alone, so I don't really have any opinions or experiences to compare. "If you say so."
"Which I obviously did."
"You're a lively conversationalist," she says sarcastically.
"You want me to talk? Okay, I can do that," I reply with a large smirk adorning my face. "Why did you need a pregnancy spell, Granger? Did Weasel finally get in your pants or has this been going on for a while now?"
She scowls but responds, "It was only one time, and it's never going to happen again."
"Why? Was he that bad?"
"Well, of course it was bad. It was my first time. I didn't really expect it to be that good anyway."
"It was only that bad because it was Weasel. You should be able to just take a look at him and tell that he'd be a terrible shag."
"Don't say that!" she demands.
"What? Are you in love with the blood traitor?"
"No, but Ron is still my friend. We just made one lousy mistake. We're never going to do it again, and I made that very clear to him. And I won't allow you to mock him in my presence."
"You know, if you really want a good shag, you should go to the master."
"Oh, and I suppose that would be you?"
"I never knew you to be so flattering, Granger. I'm impressed."
"It was a question and not flattery."
"Nevertheless, I shall take it as a compliment. And, yes, I am the master."
"Of course," she says with a small smirk of her own. "You are the biggest man-whore in Hogwarts, after all. What girl haven't you shagged?"
"There's actually a rather long list."
"Oh, I doubt it's a list of girl that you haven't shagged; it's probably titled Girls That I Plan on Shagging. I'm just thankful I'm a Gryffindor so that I'm not on that list."
"Dear me," I reply with a sad smile. "Granger, what makes you think you're not on that list?"
She scoffs at me. "Listen, Malfoy, there are a lot of horrible things you've done, but I know for certain that I'd never be on that list. I'm your worst enemy's best friend."
"I thought that was your boyfriend."
"Ron is not my boyfriend," she groans. "But, fine, one of his best friends."
"Now why is that a reason for you not to be on the list?"
"You really would shag anyone, wouldn't you?" she asks in disgust.
I smirk at that. She's finally getting the picture. "You expected less?" I'm talking about the amount of people. But that doesn't seem to be what she has in mind.
"No, I expected more of you."
I'm a little confused by that. Why would Hermione Granger ever think of me as anything that's not lowly and full of cowardice? Why would she even think of me without wanting to hex me or throw up? Why would she expect anything of me at all? We hate each other. Or at least we're supposed to.
We don't speak for a while after she says that. I'm a little hesitant to make any sort of remark. I don't know why. I'm not trying to think of something charming to say to her or anything like that. I guess I just don't know what to say.
And what's even worse is that this strange attraction to Granger is actually growing. I used to think that I'd just get over it over time, but it doesn't seem to want to let me go until I carry through with some of those odd scenarios in my dreams. Maybe I should… and maybe I will.
"So Weasel was your first time?" I finally ask.
Why do I have to bring that back up? I don't know. It's the only thing we really have to talk about except our Potions lessons—but that's a really boring subject… although, knowing her, she'd get a kick out it.
"He was," she responds after a time of silence. "And don't you dare say a word. It's not something I'm proud of, so don't say anything."
"So I can't say anything like, 'Merlin, Granger, what a pathetic first choice!'?"
"No, you can't."
"That's regrettable. That's what I was planning on saying."
"Okay." We're nearly to the point where our paths go separate ways (I go down and she goes up), so she slows down her pace and I match mine to hers. "Why him?"
"Ron's always fancied me."
"Thank Merlin you finally noticed. I was going crazy with the fact that you were the only one that hadn't realized it."
"I had realized it," she defends. "I just didn't want to jeopardize our friendship."
"Yet you did now? Why? Have you two finally decided to start dating or was it just the hormones?"
"Hormones, I guess. I hate to give in to something like that, but you have to surrender to your emotions eventually."
I look up at that. "I do?"
She furrows her brow. "Everyone does, I guess. What would be the point of living if you never do anything spontaneous?"
Suddenly, I stop.
I don't know what's gotten into me, but I agree with what she says. I want to do something spontaneous, and I think I have something in mind for it. Maybe I'm going crazy or maybe I've been crazy all my life from living with that father of mine, but, somehow, I've never done anything that I wasn't supposed to do or hadn't been planned out by some overseer like my father.
When she realizes I'm not walking alongside her anymore, she stops, turns, and looks at me in confusion. "Malfoy, are you all right? What's wrong with you?" She takes a step toward me and halts only a foot or two away.
This is it, I realize. I never really knew what was wrong with me before, but now I don't really care because I do want this. I just hope she doesn't scream and kick me somewhere… er, uncomfortable.
With a deep, calming breath, I close the remaining space between us, place my hands on her shoulders, pull her toward me as I move toward her, and crash my lips to hers.
She's tense—scared and startled beyond belief. Maybe I should have said something first to help break the ice. Maybe I should pull away before she attacks me. Maybe I should leave. But she's so warm against the chill that my family and father have put on this poor body. I don't want to let her go.
This is so wrong, though! Why am I doing this? Spontaneity? Attraction? Hormones? I've surrendered to my emotions finally, but I'm not sure whether or not that's a good thing. It feels good right now, but I have a suspicion that I won't be feeling very good soon. But maybe I'll be lucky. In the meanwhile, I'll enjoy myself.
Granger breaks away as quickly as she can, but it's obviously not quick enough to stop her from having difficulty breathing. When I let her go, she backs up against the wall to try to relax and catch her breath—probably so she can yell at me or something of the like.
"Spontaneous enough for you, Granger?" I ask with a suggestive smirk.
She looks away from me as she finally speaks. "Definitely spontaneous, but that isn't always a good thing." With that, she moves away from the wall and on toward the Gryffindor tower.
In surprise, I stand there for a moment before chasing after her. I refuse to let this go so easily. I can't just leave it at that and then never confront the subject again. If we're ever going to have this conversation, it has to be now.
"Wait! Don't walk away from me, Granger!" I yell after her as I run to catch up to her. She doesn't stop but I easily catch her and tug her back. "Don't you dare walk away from me. I won't allow you to just let this go."
"Will you leave me alone, Malfoy," she screams back.
"No! I will not do that. I can't."
"Can't? 'Can't' or 'won't'?"
Apprehensively, I respond, "Both."
"Oh, Merlin, Malfoy!" she shrieks, throwing her hands up in the air and barely missing me. "What the hell do you want with me? You hate me, remember?"
"You make it seem one-sided—like you don't hate me. You do, though, don't you, Granger?"
"Well, of course I do. I thought that was obvious."
"And my hatred for you isn't obvious?"
"Not with you kissing me," she snaps.
I just shrug. "Well, sometimes, things aren't always black and white."
"Don't try to bullshit me, Malfoy. Don't try to be all deep and philosophical. I don't give a damn."
"What if I said you were on that list of mine?"
"Frankly, I'd be a little confused. What else could I be?"
"And what if I said you were number one on that list?"
"I'd say you're bullshitting me."
"You know what I was doing in the infirmary today?"
"What's with all of this changing subjects, Malfoy?" she asks in frustration.
"I was trying to find some sort of potion that would help me stop thinking about a certain person in a very unconventional yet very flattering way."
"Unconventional? What way of thinking could you possibly believe to be unconventional?"
"Well, considering the girl, anything other than fighting and hatred and jealousy is unconventional, so it's a rather wide range of possibilities."
"But what's the specifics, Malfoy? It's not like I have all day."
"I can't tell you."
"Then what's the point of even mentioning it?"
"But I can show you."
She appears interested but hesitantly so. "No. I'm not agreeing to allow you to show me anything."
"Oh, you hurt me, Granger, you really do," I respond sarcastically. "Just let me give you a little… taste of it all, and you can decide after that."
"There's no stopping you, is there? Fine, but make it quick."
"Don't rush me."
"I will rush you if I find it—"
I interrupt her with another kiss. She's certainly surprised again, but she's getting over it more quickly this time. Eventually, she actually starts to respond to me.
I slam her against the stone wall but not hard enough to hit her head—I don't want her to have a concussion while we're snogging, after all—and my hands make a way of their own, wandering toward her and up and down her sides until they finally sneak underneath the waist of her skirt and un-tuck her shirt so that I can more easily remove it later.
She's the one to pull away again, trying to speak. "Malfoy, this wasn't really what I thought you had in mind. I'm a little confused. Please let's just talk about this." I look at her for a moment, my hands stopped as they cling to her waist.
I had definitely been thinking about doing this for a long time, and I really don't care about the consequences anymore, especially since talking with Madam Pomfrey despite her lack of help. I look at her and all I feel is want and need and an aching because of it. Maybe this is all hormones, but it feels so much stronger than that. I don't want to stop, even if it's just to talk for a while before continuing.
The look in her eyes says almost everything. She's confused, but her instinct tells her to just go with it because it feels right. She does want this, too.
And I realize that no dirty words could possibly describe her to me anymore. For some reason, somehow, she's no longer a filthy Mudblood. But the words just seem to fit so well that I need to say them at least one more time, even if I don't mean it, which I know she'll see in my eyes.
"Shut up, Mudblood," and my lips find hers again. She saw it in my eyes—I know she did—so, this time, she doesn't try to push away. She's enveloped in this just as much as I am, and I never want it to stop.