Disclaimer: As far as I know, everything related to Harry Potter still belongs to JK Rowling. I'm pretty sure she's not me. Or I'm not her. Or whatever. It's not her fault I wrote this. And I don't own Draco or Hermione. Naturally.

A/N: I know, chances are good noone will read this, or that I won't get any reviews at all, but I decided to take the risk anyway. I wrote this very spontaneously and it's the first Dramione I ever published. I noticed the Harry Potter section is very fond of flaming, but I hope you won't have reason to. This is just a stupid little oneshot that I had to write and feel confident enough to share with whoever is willing to read. Have fun, tell me whether you liked or hated it. I guess you know the drill.

Bright Red

I don't know how it happened and I don't know when it happened, let alone why, but I seem to have fallen in love with the one girl I always swore to detest.

It's not her looks. Definitely not. Hermione Granger isn't exactly the prettiest girl I have ever met. In fact, I never liked her appearance. Her hair's a bushy brown mess and nothing more. Her eyes are so ordinary and dull it makes me wonder if there's anything special about this girl. Her body... Not at all the body of a godess. I think the only thing I'm attracted to is her blood.

Now you probably think I'm a vampire. Wrong. I've always been pale and drop-dead sexy. Don't need to be a vampire for that. No, it's the fact that her blood is no less red than mine.

All my life, I've been taught that mudbloods were lesser beings, to be treated with menance and to be looked upon as filth. My father never warned me that her blood would be bright red.

It was the last year in Hogwarts. Naturally, I was Head Boy, and – being the little suck-up that she was – she was Head Girl. To say either of us was thrilled to find we'd have to share a common room would be a bloody lie.

I came back from class one day and opened the bathroom door without even knocking. I thought she'd be in the library or something, to keep to her reputation as the most annoying know-it-all I have ever encountered. But she was there, in the bathroom, and her arm was dripping with blood. Gloriously red blood.

She stared at me in shock. Can't say I blame her. I on the other hand couldn't tear my eyes away grom her blood. I'd always thought mudbloods would be what the title said. Apparently, I was completely wrong. There was absolutely no difference. She and I were the same.

That was the day when I stopped hating her, I know that much.

Eight years later, she somehow ended up being my secretary. It was only temporary, a job she only accepted because it was well paid for. Obviously, we had to work together instead of against each other, so we did our best being civil. For even more obvious reasons, our relationship was colder than ice.

Time didn't erase the memory of her blood, though, and I must admit, I was fascinated by her. Everything she said or did I analyzed, desperately trying to understand why she was human. I needed to start seeing her as a mudblood again. But she wasn't flith. She was Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of our time, and some day, it wasn't even a special day, I realized something about the way I anticipated meeting her, how her presence both calmed and stimulated me, something about my fascination, obsession was as wrong as can be. I was intrigued in the beginning and ended up falling in love.

How the fuck did that happen?

I was Draco Malfoy, pureblood extraordinaire, and yet the only thought that constantly occupied my mind was the way her blood had looked.

It was a day in July when I last saw her in person. The weather outside was as wonderful as her uncharacteristically cheerful attitude. It was a nice change from all the cold sidemarks and half-hidden insults. She cut her finger on a piece of paper I gave her. A single droplet of her blood and I was captured. I knew then as well as I know now that it was a mistake, bending down to kiss her, but I couldn't seem to help it.

The next day, I found her letter of resignation lying on my desk.

The only times I see her these days are in the Daily Prophet. The occasional addition of the Quibbler, which I buy for some odd reason or other. She seems to be happy, engaged to the Weasel, friends with the great Harry Potter. Not to mention the fact that's she's the best healer in St Mungo's. No surprise there, right?

I never employed another secretary. I do the work all by myself these days. Frankly, I'm working so hard I don't get more then four hours of sleep per day. And I don't care.

Because it doesn't matter where I see it. It's everywhere, all the time, in my thoughts, in my dreams, the mental image of her blood.

Bright red.