Disclaimer: Just in case you arrived here by some strange sort of accident and are unfamiliar with the world of fanfiction, please note that I am not actually Joanne Rowling, and this is not the "lost chapters" of the Harry Potter series. I'm a horrible faker, and this is just for fun, not for profit.

A/N: This starts out in 6th year, but is AU in that Draco wasn't given his assignment from Voldemort. The rest is pretty self-explanatory.

Kissing Hermione Granger

The first time Draco Malfoy kissed Hermione Granger…

He did it to frighten her. He was out on one of his late night walks, stalking the empty corridors while the castle slept around him when he spotted her, clearly on her way back from another late night study session in the library, nose still stuck in a book, wand gripped precariously and casting a faint lumos in the darkness. She didn't notice him, of course. So bloody unconcerned with her surroundings, so baselessly confident and sure of herself, with her swotty little walk and her wild, bouncing curls. It set his teeth on edge to see her walking about like she owned the place, like she didn't even know what an abomination she was. She shouldn't look so at ease, and Draco felt it his Slytherin duty, his pureblood calling to correct the situation.

He followed along behind her, silently creeping up until he could reach out and grab her shoulder, spinning her back into the wall and pressing in close against her. She let out a gasp as her book tumbled to the floor, but the grip on her wand remained steady, and as her back hit the wall, the tip of her wand pressed into the soft flesh beneath his chin. Her eyes, where he had been expecting fear, were hard and cold as ice, her jaw set and body taut beneath his, and Draco finally understood why she'd been placed in Gryffindor instead of Ravenclaw.

With the light from her wand extinguished, Draco was now backlit by the faint moonlight pouring in from the windows behind him, giving her a crisp view of his outline, but nothing more. Her features though, hard as they were, were perfectly visible to Draco, and he reveled in the psychological advantage it gave him.

"Little mudbloods oughtn't be alone in the castle this time of night." He hissed, jaw moving against the pressure of her wand. "Who knows what could happen."

Hermione's eyes narrowed briefly, then her entire being relaxed minutely as she lowered her wand. "Oh, it's just you."

Draco's jaw dropped at her reaction, the annoyance and faint relief not exactly what he'd been going for.

Hermione tried to push past him with an aggravated sigh. "Get off me, Malfoy, I've not finished with that book, and it's late already."

Draco pushed back, pinning her to the wall with his forearm across her chest and his hips pressed into her soft stomach. He sneered down at her and injected as much menace into his voice as he could. "I don't think so, mudblood. I'm not one of your pathetic little Gryffindors you can order about. You'll leave when I say you can."

"Oh really?" Hermione replied, sounding some combination of bored and amused. "You don't scare me, Malfoy. Why don't you go bully some first years?"

With that, she stepped down hard on his foot and shoved against his shoulders, successfully moving him off of her, stooped to gather her fallen book, and set off down the hall again. Draco was furious. He stomped after her, grabbing her arm roughly and swinging her back against the wall with a vicious snarl. She started to yell at him, looking truly mad now, but he cut her off with a harsh and bruising press of his mouth against hers.

Hermione froze against him as he violently thrust his tongue past her still-parted lips. The kiss, if it could be called that, was over quickly, with Draco panting over her wearing an expression of angry triumph. Hermione stared up at him, wide-eyed, then lifted her hand to press her palm against his forehead.

"Are you ill? Have you been hexed? Did you drink anything odd today, Malfoy? Perhaps we ought to get you to the infirmary…"

Draco pounded his fist against the wall next to her head with an angry yell.

"Seriously, Malfoy, what is wrong with you?"

"You…" Draco panted, "are infuriating."

"Well," Hermione spoke slowly, cautiously. "Alright then. But you really ought to speak with Madam Pomfrey, or Professor Snape even. You're acting very oddly. I have to get to bed, but…you will be alright, yes?"

Draco turned until his own back was pressed against cool stone, feeling suddenly drained and weirdly disappointed. "Just go away, Granger."

"Hmm." Hermione watched him closely for a moment, brows knitted in concern, before slowly turning and walking away. If she stopped and turned around to look at him again several times before turning the corner, Draco pretended not to notice.

The second time Draco Malfoy kissed Hermione Granger…

He did it to piss her friends off. Well, mostly. It was the day of the biggest quidditch match of the year, Slytherin versus Gryffindor, and tensions were running high. Everyone in the school had chosen a side, bets were placed, and taunts and cheers alike echoed down the hallways whenever a player walked past.

Scarhead and the Weasel were being particularly loathsome, all cocky swaggers and over-confident smirks, not able to walk two feet without some sycophant or other patting their backs and offering luck. They were just so bloody sure of themselves, so sure of everything, and there she was, trotting along at their side, oblivious to the fever possessing the rest of the student body.

During the match, his eyes were continually drawn down to her, the sun bouncing off her wind-tousled hair in shades of honey and gold a constant distraction from the gold he ought to be seeking. She bounced, she cheered, she cringed with worry, while the bloodiest and most exciting match of the year played out. And when Potter, that scarred, bespeckled git beat Draco to the snitch yet again, she was first on the pitch with arms thrown open in congratulations.

A sizeable crowd was amassing around the victorious team and, at its center, stood the golden trio, tangled in a tight hug. Draco watched Potter and Weasley wrap possessive arms around Hermione, saw the look of warm affection she held only for them, and his vision glossed over red.

Shoving and pushing viciously, Draco made his way to the center of the crowd, earning puzzled and hostile looks from the celebrating Gryffindors. Ignoring them all, he reached out for Hermione's slender hand, gripping it tight and jerking her hard until she tumbled right out of their arms and into his. He had just the briefest moment to note the bewildered look in her eyes before he was crushing their mouths together.

The collective gasp that tore through the crowd was almost loud enough to drown out Hermione's soft little whimper, but not quite. Draco heard it, and it spurred him on until he was dipping her back, supported by a firm arm wrapped around her waist. He lifted his other hand to cradle the back of her head, holding her close while he licked his way past trembling lips and into the wonderful warmth of her mouth.

He had but a moment to enjoy the taste of her before he was shoved away, hard, but not by her. Angry green eyes flashed dangerously behind crooked frames, as the Chosen One tried to insinuate himself between Draco and Hermione. If Potty was furious, it was nothing on Weasley. His blotchy skin was turning the most unflattering shade of burgundy, and Draco was half surprised he hadn't steam coming out of his ears. Draco turned back to a furiously blushing, visibly shocked Hermione, flashed her his most dashing smirk and a quick wink, just before the first fist connected with his jaw.

The third time Draco Malfoy kissed Hermione Granger…

He, well, he might have done it just to make her feel better. And to stick it to Weasley, which is always good. The whole school was well aware of the icky sticky feelings between Granger and Weasley. Everyone knew it was only a matter of time before they ran off to make dozens of redheaded bookworm babies and live in squalor like the rest of his family. It was just accepted as a given at this point.

So, when the Weasel started publicly slobbering all over that obnoxious tart, Brown, it caused quite the scandal. Everyone was talking about it, even those fortunate enough to avoid their frequent and very public displays of affection. Even Draco's housemates, god help him. Granger was looked on with either pity or vindictive amusement, neither of which she seemed to appreciate very much.

And then the redheaded monstrosity had to go and make fun of her in front of the tart and the tart's equally annoying friend, as well as the rest of their Transfiguration class. He was still sporting his spectacular failure of a mustache and bouncing up and down with his hand in the air, while Hermione looked to be holding back tears, when Draco sauntered across the room. Edging up beside Hermione, he crossed his arms over his chest and cocked his head, regarding Weasley somberly.

"What do you say, Granger…does Weasley look more like a half-shaved orangutan or the offspring of Slughorn and that beastly cat of yours?"

Hermione half-hid a laugh behind her hand before turning to look at him in surprise, while Weasley finally dropped his ridiculous impersonation with an angry sputter. Hermione was still looking at him in that curious way of hers, so Draco smiled silkily and leaned in till his lips were brushing her ear.

"Chin up, then. What's that you're always saying about me? He's not worth it." He brushed a brief kiss against her cheek and turned away, moving back to his own flabbergasted housemates and dutifully ignoring Weasley's bellows and the tarts' over-excited chatter. Granger, for once, had nothing to say.

The fourth time Draco Malfoy kissed Hermione Granger…

He did it just because he knew he might never get another chance to. It was the end of term, and something told him she'd not be returning in the fall. It might have been the somber air between the trio, or the wistful, lingering looks she wore when passing through her favorite spots, or the way she seemed to be memorizing everything and everyone with the same rapt attention she'd always paid to lectures. Regardless, he just knew.

When she left the great hall early one night, expression thoughtful while her friends stayed behind in conversation, Draco took the opportunity and followed her, through the entrance and out the doors, down the lawn to the lake. There she stood as the sun set over the water, still and quiet and waiting, maybe for him.

She didn't startle when he moved in beside her, didn't seem surprised at all when his hand slipped into hers. She stood with him a moment before speaking, eyes still cast out over the water.

"What will you do?"

Ah, yes. That. She seemed to understand the choice that was looming ahead of him better than most. He'd spent many hours contemplating just that, but without really talking to anyone about it. He'd felt quite torn, but all of a sudden he knew exactly what he would do.

"I'll leave. Take my mother and go, until it's safe again."

She closed her eyes and smiled, just a little, as the sun's last rays sunk below the horizon.

"You're going with Potter, then?" A question that wasn't a question, for what else would she do?

She looked at him then, still with that small smile that suddenly seemed quite sad. She didn't answer, but rather reached up on her tip toes to press her soft mouth against his, just once, before dropping down again.

And it was nothing like those other kisses. Without the anger burning hot and righteous in his chest, he was left with this horrid sort of aching, a tightness like steel bands wrapping tight around his ribs. It hurt to breath, and it hurt to look at her, with her too bright eyes and those sweet, lovely lips. And all he wanted, and all he needed, was more.

He leaned in, kissing her slow and gentle, while the world went dark around them.

The nine hundred and sixty-eighth time Draco Malfoy kissed Hermione Granger…

He did it because she was his. The white silk of her gown fisted in his hands, the scent of her bouquet close and cloying and almost-but-not-quite overpowering the ever-pervasive smell of her hair, the tickle of her veil against his cheek, the cheers and catcalls from the crowd watching them, all of it melting and melding into one perfect moment where everything was right with the world.

Hermione pulled away, breathless and flushed to whisper admonishingly, "Goodness, Draco! Our mothers are watching."

"I don't care if the resurrected corpse of Voldemort himself is watching, you're my wife now and I'll kiss you as I damn well please."

She laughed softly, swaying into him as they turned to begin their walk back down the aisle together. "Still, we've got the whole reception to get through, and if you keep kissing me like that, we'll never make it."

"Ah yes, the insatiable Mrs. Malfoy. Forever ruined her reputation on her first day of marriage with a most scandalous display at her own wedding reception. Our children's children will write ballads of our epic and licentious romance."

Her soft laughter swept over him in waves, leaving that feeling of satisfaction and completion that he only ever found with her.

"Of course they will, dear. But until then…"

Draco pulled her against him at the end of the aisle, the eyes of the whole congregation still following their every movement. "Yes, until then…" he lowered his head and kissed her, like it was the first time, like it was the last time, like no one was watching.