This is just a quick shortie inspired by that perennially-favourite hallmark of teenage experiences – the game Seven Minutes in Heaven. I thought it would be fun to examine this within the context of a Dramione dynamic – my perennially-favourite coupling.

It was the night before the last day of school, and the graduating seventh years had agreed to put aside their house differences for one night to throw a party in the Room of Requirement. More remarkably, this party was being conducted with express permission from Professor McGonagall, provided they 'end all revelries and returned in an orderly fashion to their common rooms by midnight'.

Hermione looked around, a tinge of pride swelling in her chest as she observed the inter-house unity around her, which she realised in all her seven years at Hogwarts, was more a rarity than a norm. This, she thought soberly, seemed to hint at an insidious, fundamental problem in a centuries-old housing system that Hogwarts may have ill-advisedly taken pride in for so long. It was only upon the conclusion of the war a year ago that the houses realised they were indeed stronger together, at least if they hoped to survive. Even some of the Slytherins had stayed on to fight, suggesting they too, were tired of the ongoing suffering that had not left their families unscathed. Perhaps the greatest surprise borne out of their support was the fact that Draco Malfoy had approached Harry personally, offering secret information that had ultimately proved crucial to the downfall of Voldemort's regime. Hence, why even Slytherins were present at the party tonight.

This did not mean Hermione exactly trusted nor remotely liked Malfoy now. While she constantly espoused Harry and Ron for the need to forgive, mend bridges and move on, a small part of her was still wary of Malfoy's true intentions in turning traitor on the Death Eaters. He had never struck her as someone who did things out of an altruistic desire for the greater good, though she supposed in this case the ends justified the means, whatever his were. While Malfoy no longer explicitly disparaged her blood status, she still could not shake completely free of a perpetually forbidding aura emanating from him. Sometimes she even caught him with his eyes on her, but somehow could not definitively attribute this seemingly disturbing preoccupation with her to extant blood prejudices.

"I'm bored," Dean Thomas proclaimed loudly from one of the squashy couches furnishing the room.

"Well then, why don't you suggest something," said Seamus irritably, who was unhappy at having been rudely disengaged from Tracey Davis, whom he had been enthusiastically snogging up till then. Inter-house unity indeed, Hermione thought wryly as she observed the closely entwined pair – she couldn't tell where one person began and the other one ended.

Dean threw Seamus and Tracey a dirty look (he hadn't quite gotten used to the pains of singlehood after Ginny), then his eyes brightened.

"I've got a suggestion," he said, eyeing the newfound lovers with a kind of vindictive interest. "Let's play a game. Seven Minutes in Heaven."

"Oh no, anything but that, Dean," Hermione said, rubbing her forehead in exasperation.

"What's Seven Minutes in Heaven?" asked Ron, who had just walked over with a Butterbeer, an intrigued look on his face.

"It's just this silly Muggle game where everybody gets in a circle and someone spins a bottle," Hermione explained. "Whoever the bottle points to, that's the person you have to spend seven minutes in a closet with."

"Doing what, exactly?" Tracey Davis asked curiously.

"It's obvious, isn't it?" said Dean, grinning from ear to ear. "Seven minutes. You kiss, snog, and if you're really quick, some people manage to—

"That's not the point, Dean," Hermione interjected quickly. "Like I said, it's just a silly game. I hardly think anybody would want to play." It wasn't that she was trying to be a wet blanket – Hermione knew she was eons different from the rule-abiding girl who first stepped into Hogwarts seven years ago. Hell, she was the one who spearheaded Dumbledore's Army and led a teacher into the clutches of a very angry centaur herd, all within the same year. It was just that McGonagall had appointed her unofficial chaperone of this party (part of the reason why the party had even been allowed), and she was fairly certain celebratory graduation pregnancies conceived in a closet would fall just outside McGonagall's domain of approval.

But of course, saying nobody wanted to play the game was exactly the wrong thing to say.

"I'd like to play!" said Tracey enthusiastically.

"I'm playing too!" Seamus chimed in, glaring around at the room of boys whose attention had perked up at the sound of Tracey volunteering to play. Tracey had risen in popularity ever since that unexpected growth spurt in sixth year.

"Sounds like fun, don't you think, Won-Won?" said Lavender, who has just come sauntering up to Ron, encircling her arms tightly around his waist. Hermione threw them a world-weary look – while she had gotten over Ron and Lav-lav's eternal on-and-off romance, she never did quite appreciate the necessity of them flaunting their very public displays of affections everywhere, closet or no closet.

Across the room, Pansy turned to Draco.

"What do you think, Draco?" she asked, boring simpering doe-eyes on him.

Draco had been reclining comfortably on a sofa next to Blaise. The Slytherins had kept mostly to themselves tonight. Free Firewhiskey did not mean obligatory 'mingling'.

"I don't know, doesn't seem particularly hygienic, does it?" said Draco haughtily. But it was really because he knew Pansy was particularly over-enthusiastic when it came to the oral interchange department. He wasn't looking forward to an encore of that one time (thankfully, it had only been one time) if he was stuck on the bottle with her.

"Might be fun though, mate," Blaise said, his golden eyes scanning the plethora of girls spread throughout the room. "Last night and all, you know."

"C'mon guys, it's only fun the more people play," Dean called, rallying the room of students, consisting of a mix of apprehensive and interested onlookers. One by one people came forward to join in the circle. Hermione would have disappeared opportunely into the bathroom for plausible deniability, had Parvati not wrung her hand and dragged her towards the circle.

Hermione rolled her eyes and shrugged.

"Fine," she conceded in a mix of exasperated defeat and amusement.

Then she grimaced when she saw Malfoy and his gang joining in the merriment.

"Erm, Hermione," Harry said from beside her, "If that bottle ends up on anybody other than my girlfriend, you wouldn't mind not letting her know about this, would you?"

Distracted from the entrance of the Slytherins, Hermione snorted. Ginny was not here tonight, not being a seventh year. Well-acquainted with the fiery red-head's temper though, Hermione was certain Harry snogging anybody 'other than his girlfriend' would not be received kindly.

"Didn't think you'd be getting in on a game like this, Granger," Malfoy called sneeringly across the circle to snickers from his cohort.

"So long as my bottle doesn't land on you Malfoy, I think I'll survive the night," she shot back, earning a few laughs of her own.

Malfoy narrowed his eyes but said nothing. Ron gallantly donated his empty Butterbeer bottle and soon, the game was in full swing. Even the Room of Requirement had already obliged them by presenting with a non-descript door at the far end of the room. Hermione had to admire its efficiency.

"Me first!" Dean said, leaning forward.

But then he tripped on his robes mid-lean, and ended up only giving the bottle a little wobble. It moved a few spaces and landed on…

Millicent Bulstrode.

Dean looked up and gulped as Millicent smiled in a rather sinister way at him. She was perhaps a head taller than him, but he could hardly back out now, especially since it was his idea to play this game. Hermione felt guilty for joining in the laughter as she watched Dean walk like a man heading for the guillotine towards that little closet door. Seamus looked like a boy barely containing his excitement that Christmas had come early as he held the door ajar for the unlikely couple.

Seven minutes later, Dean tumbled out of the closet. Hermione expected to see him thoroughly ruffled and disoriented at the least, but not in the way she had envisioned it. Instead, there was a sheepish grin on Dean's face.

"How was it, mate?" Seamus asked as Dean rejoined the group.

"Not bad," Dean mumbled. Then he threw a shy smile across the group at Millicent and Hermione did a double-take. Maybe Millicent was a good kisser after all.

"Me next!" Pansy screeched with excitement, and reached for the bottle. Hermione knew exactly who she would try to train the bottle on, but she could not see how Pansy might hope to re-direct the bottle such that it fell on exactly whom she was aiming for. There were quite a lot of them in the circle, so the bottle ended up pointing instead at…

Ron choked on his Chocolate Frog and Lavender let out an indignant cry of surprise.

While the rest of the group laughed their heads off, Ron could only match Pansy's face for disbelief.

"No, no way!" she screamed shrilly. "Not that freckled gecko!"

"Hey, I wasn't the one who spun the bottle, you know!"

"You know you guys don't actually have to snog, or do anything, right?" Hermione cautioned them, fighting to hide a smile.

"Oh, but what would be the fun in that?" Dean said. Easy for you to say, Hermione thought wryly, you just had what looks like a fantastic snog.

Ron and Pansy spent the whole way to the closet bickering.

Seven minutes later though, it transpired they had clearly reached some sort of conflict resolution. Judging by the fact they still had their tongues in each other's mouths when Dean opened the door.

Ron emerged from the closet, his ears a bright shade of red. He then proceeded to chase after Lavender, who had burst into tears upon witnessing his infidelity.

Hermione did feel a little sorry for Lavender, though her unusual show of altruistic remorse was cut short when she saw whose turn it was next to spin the bottle.

Malfoy learned forward, reaching out a pale hand with delicate fingers. A split second before he spun the bottle though, he raised his eyes and met Hermione's, as she was sitting directly across from him. He smirked, and gave the bottle a strong, hard spin. It spun very quickly, its glass reflecting the lamplight overhead in a dizzying whirl.

Hermione held her breath, hoping the female population would be spared by that bottle landing on someone like Crabbe or Goyle. There were no rules about same-sex couples going into the closet, Hermione thought with sudden amusement. They were very progressive that way. In any case, she always did wonder whether—

Bloody fucking hell.

Karma was real. And karma was a bitch.

There were huge shouts of laughter and gasps of shock. Hermione raised her eyes from the solitary end of the bottle pointing straight at her, up to the eyes of Draco Malfoy, who was smirking victoriously at her, a malicious glint in his eyes. One would think that… no, he couldn't have.

"No, no way," Hermione said, leaning back instinctively as though Malfoy might pounce on her at once. Even Harry was being of completely no help, guffawing beside her.

"You know the rules, Hermione!" Parvati said, giggling uncontrollably. "Seven minutes with Malfoy in the closet!"

"You must be joking," said Hermione weakly, looking imploringly around at the gaggle of onlookers. It did not appear an unlikely saviour would arise from the throng any time soon. Well, Pansy looked ready to wage murder, at least. That was something.

Malfoy got up, brushing down his robes with great show.

"At least I am willing to be a team player here," he announced. "We Slytherins know how to keep our promises."

"Oh shove off, Malfoy," Hermione said, getting up to meet him eye to eye. "Fine, seven minutes. You know nothing's actually going to happen, right?" Hermione called after her traitor friends, as the group broke up temporarily to get more drinks to while away the seven minutes, already betting Sickles and Galleons on the outcome of the 'match'.

Hermione and Malfoy were more or less shoved into the closet, which Hermione found to her displeasure was so small she had to press herself against the wall to keep from brushing even infinitesimally against Malfoy in any way.

"Have fun, guys," Dean winked as he closed the door behind them. Complete darkness descended upon them, and Hermione felt a gut-wrenching sense of imprisonment at the sound of the door locking from the outside.

"Ouch, get off!" she spat as she felt him step on her foot.

"Well, so-rry, but in case you haven't noticed, there's not much room to manoeuvre in here," he retorted.

"Well, somebody doesn't sound as valiant anymore, does he?" she said, mocking his earlier magnanimous proclamation of showmanship.

"Hey, at least I didn't think I was impervious to the laws of probability," he snapped back.

"Oh, this is ridiculous," Hermione said. "Lumos!" Her wand flared at the tip, bringing Malfoy's scowling face out into sharp relief.

"Whatever, Malfoy," she added, narrowing her eyes at him. "Look, we've lasted seven years without killing each other. I'm sure we can last another seven minutes. Just don't touch me!"

"That's a bit hard considering you're basically in my space, anyways!"

"I'm not in your space, there just isn't any space!" She was already shrinking as much as she could against the walls of the closeted space, trying as much as possible to prevent brushing her chest against Malfoy's. She wondered if this already constituted sexual harassment, because it certainly felt like it.

Suddenly, they heard a muffled guffaw from the outside. "They're not going to make it, just listen to them in there! Looks like you owe me a Galleon, mate!"

Irritably, Malfoy pointed his wand at the door and muttered, "Silencio!"

"Well, nice going, Malfoy. Now everybody's going to think we traded verbal activities for non-verbal ones," Hermione said sarcastically.

"Well, forgive me if I don't want everybody crouching at that door listening in on everything we say."

"Look, let's just sit down, and wait out these seven minutes, deal?"

"Bloody fine by me," he muttered.

But trying to sit down in that space proved harder than they thought. There was absolutely no way they could sit down side-by-side, so they had to sit opposite each other – Hermione with her legs pulled up together and held tightly against her body, Draco his long legs spread apart across the narrow space. Hermione fumed inside. Why had she chosen to wear a skirt tonight? She should be so lucky they were submerged in semi-darkness.

Hermione kept her wand aloft, her eyes trained like a hawk on Malfoy, who scowled back. It was hard to tell how long they sat there staring death at each other, but they had clearly met their match in the other.

Then Draco's scowl transformed slowly into a smirk.

"I should have expected this."

"Expected what?" she snapped.

"Of course the Gryffindor Princess can't take even seven minutes of snogging in a closet."

"Excuse me?"

"It's no secret, Granger. The only reason you joined the game was because you couldn't get away. You can't stand games that are even remotely dirty."

"What makes you think you know me so well, Malfoy?" she sneered.

"Was I wrong?" he said in a false, taunting voice. "Miss Goody-Two Shoes has probably got the whitest pair of knickers Hogwarts has ever seen in its 400 year old history! And that's including Moaning Myrtle's!"

Hermione was angry, and tired. Tired of people thinking she was once and forevermore a prissy, rule-abiding, pressed-pantied do-gooder. Her assertiveness was misinterpreted as bossiness, her sense of integrity taken as self-righteous sanctity.

"I have no problem snogging any other boy, Malfoy—well, maybe with the exception of Crabbe and Goyle—you're just particularly reprehensible, that's all. I do have standards, you know."

"Aren't you the least bit curious?" he asked innocently, with a none-too-innocent look in his eyes.

"Curious about kissing you? Not really," she said. Well, she lied. It was all Ginny's fault, really. The girls had been up one night a few months ago talking about which boy they would do more than just snog. Even she had been forced to concede then that apart from his absolutely vile personality, Draco was passable in other departments. Well, maybe more than passable.

"What if I told you it might not have been an accident that the bottle landed on you?" he suggested silkily.

"What are you on about, Malfoy?" Hermione asked testily.

"All I'm saying is," Draco said slowly. "Last night of school. Sometimes you want to make sure you've tried as many new things as you can before moving on to greener pastures. Even if it takes a little non-verbal magic to get there."

"YOU rigged that bottle? What, how—

"You should know better than anybody else wands aren't absolutely necessary for magic, Granger, especially when you concentrate very hard… on what you want." His gaze intensified on her face as he said this.

Hermione couldn't feel more than just plain dumbstruck in that moment. "Why would you even want to—

"Like I said, I want to try new things. I couldn't before, but now I can," he said cryptically.

Hermione eyed him beadily. She was beginning to feel uncomfortably hot around the collar the more he stared at her. Finally, she bit out, "This is ridiculous. You're ridiculous, and you know what? I'm leaving."

She struggled to get up with as much sophistication as possible, then tried to use her wand to open the door, but of course, the Room's magic would not yield as easily. Then she stood there briefly wondering whether plain, simple Muggle fists would be enough to break down the door.

Draco got up in response, his hands in his pockets. She hated how she could feel his warm breath on the back of her neck.

"What have you got to lose, Granger? It's the last night, and no one will ever know for sure," he whispered. "After tonight, we probably won't even see each other again."

"And that should be incentive enough?" Hermione said, turning around with her arms tightly folded.

"That, and the fact that I want you. "

She blushed crimson and felt an instant thrill run up her spine at the way he said that. No boy had ever said that to her with quite the deadpan directness he had.

Moreover, what he said wasn't untrue. She knew Malfoy had just as much to lose by way of reputation if it ever got out they did kiss. It was also, the last night…

Draco checked his wristwatch in the glow of her wandlight.

"Three minutes to go," he said quietly.

Narrowing her eyes at him, Hermione tried hard to maintain her ice-cold glare on him. But it was difficult, because even in the light of her wand, she could not help but notice his eyes darken…

She leaned in slowly towards him and whispered loud and clear in his face, "I loathe you."

Then her wand went out with a puff and he felt a pair of soft lips ram into his.

He stumbled backwards and hit solid wall, taken aback by the urgency and passion in her kiss. It was ravenous and uninhibited. But quickly and instinctively, he found himself rising to the demands of the task. His hand clasped itself in her wild tumble of soft curls and he pulled her in closer than he thought possible within those small confines. There was something doubly exciting about doing this in the darkness, where all they had to rely on was their sense of touch to find each other. And he was very happy with what he was finding so far.

Her tongue grazed the edge of his lips as she bit and tugged sharply at the lower lip she found there.

Dear Merlin, where had she learned to kiss like that? No, you know what, he didn't want to think about where she had learned that, because that would mean having to think about other boys she'd kissed. Right now, she was his, and his alone.

He growled deep in his throat and plunged his tongue straight into her mouth. Then he retracted it and thrust it in a few more times, insolently mimicking another more ribald activity playing out in his mind. She seemed to be responding to his message though, as she pressed her breasts promptly and firmly against him, causing him to release a surprised sort of choke mid-kiss. She was going all in.

Detaching his lips from her, he shoved her against the wall and proceeded to trail soft, urgent kisses along her chin and down her outstretched neck, breathing in her sweet, fresh scent. He couldn't resist himself – he bit her hard on the neck, causing her to cry out with pain and pleasure, leaving a hickey he hoped she would have enough sense to hide or Heal after that. Then again, the idea of her hiding a hickey he had given her didn't seem to please him in the slightest.

She had thrown her arms around his neck, drawing him closer, allowing him to press his entire body against hers. He knew she could feel a very firm, very hard something pressing against her lower belly, and knew she didn't dislike it either, judging by the way she was rubbing intimately up against it.

He had resumed his ravaging of her lips, but by now his hands had found a new place to explore. Namely, the underside of her shirt, as his right hand crept ever higher towards her breasts. Pushing down the fabric-covered restriction he found there, he gave her taut nipple a hard flick and then rolled it between his thumb and index finger, eliciting a gasp that came close to making him cum right there and then.

Keeping a firm grip on her hair to deepen their kiss, his right hand then trailed even lower. Thank Merlin she had decided to wear a skirt tonight. He had been watching her long, shapely legs across the room all night – and now he wanted to feel what they felt like at their apex. This was a place he had spent many wet nights dreaming about taking and making his own… of plunging his fingers into and feeling her heat pool and drip down his fingers.

His hand flirted to the edge of her skirt and was just about to plunge underneath when—

"TIME'S UP!"

Draco swore loudly.

There was a pattering of footsteps from outside drawing nearer the door. They jumped apart like scalded cats and quickly disentangled themselves, hurrying to smooth down their clothes and hair. Then, without having to even confer, mutually assumed rigid postures which they hoped communicated both anger at each other and indignity at the stupidity of this game. Though really, he thought with a smirk, it was perhaps the most brilliant Muggle invention he had ever heard of.

The door swung open and they were momentarily blinded by the light. A gaggle of curious faces were looking in on the closet. Many were already turning disappointed quickly – maybe they really were pretty good actors.

"Can we come out now?" Hermione demanded, faux-angrily, hoping the flush on her neck would be mistaken for pent-up anger.

"Don't need asking twice, princess," Draco sneered, getting up and pushing his way past Dean. He was glad he chose to wear robes tonight as he was convinced his body would have played gleefully vindictive traitor to him had he chosen jeans instead. "This game is rubbish anyways. I don't know about you Slytherins, but I'm heading back."

There was clear disappointment on Harry's face as Hermione emerged from the closet. She supposed he had lost some bet on the outcome of their match. Wouldn't he like to know, she smirked to herself.

"It's getting late anyways, guys," Harry called to the room. "We may as well call it a night."

Everyone exited the Room of Requirement, whose door promptly disappeared with the last exit.

Hermione watched out of the corner of her eye as she saw Draco walking ahead slowly, slightly apart from the other Slytherins ahead of him. Then she turned to Harry (Ron had not returned to the party), and said, "You go ahead, Harry, I'll meet you back. I think I left a book behind in the Room."

He shrugged, and left. Hermione watched Draco as he disappeared around the corner, weighing up what she was about to do very quickly in her mind. It was crazy, completely stupid, and completely unlike her. But he was right – they wouldn't see each other again after graduation anyways. She had nothing to lose.

Well, technically, she did. But without a moment's more hesitation beyond fumbling a bit where she was, she ran ahead and caught up to Malfoy, who thankfully had kept enough distance from the other Slytherins.

"Malfoy!" she panted, bringing him to a stop.

He turned around at the sound of her voice, both wary and intrigued. Perhaps expecting some retribution for his goading her into their earlier wanton behaviour. He wasn't going to apologise, if that was what she was expecting.

But instead, she took his hand and pressed something into his palm, something soft and fabric-like. He looked down and his eyes widened in shock.

A lace pair of knickers. And by the feel of them: wet.

"For your information, my knickers are black," she stood on her tiptoes and whispered into his ear. Then she turned around and sauntered back up the corridor – and it was all he could do to keep from running after her.