If asked what happened during Christmas holidays between he and Granger, Draco would say that it all happened too fast to properly recall, even though he does.

One minute Granger is shrieking at him about what a disgusting, bigoted prat he is, then the next he's kissing her.

The funny thing is, she's kissing him back. And he enjoys it.

They stumble through the empty Great Hall towards the Slytherin quarters, keeping some form of contact the whole time.

They come together again before he breaks away to gasp out the answer to the awaiting riddle. When they're granted access, they practically fall over theirselves in their haste to get in his dormitory.

He slams the door behind them and returns back to her. He kisses her frantically and backs her up towards his desk. She lifts herself up, sits on the desk, and wraps her legs around him.

Merlin, is this really happening?, he wonders.

"I hate you. I hate you so much," she whispers in his ear as he kisses her neck.

"I hate you too, Mudblood."

Granger stills and pulls away from him. He notices that she's not nearly as ugly as Pansy's always making her out to be.

"That's not my name."

He surveys her stonily. She just has to kill the mood. "Sorry," he offers insincerely.

"You're a special type of bastard, Malfoy. Say my name," she commands, knowing just how unrepentant he actually is.

He grits his teeth. "Granger." He says, knowing damn well that that's not what she means.

"Say my name," she insists, impatiently this time.

He hesitates and she wraps her legs around him tighter and grinds against him. "Say my fucking name," she growls.

"Hermione," he groans, wanting to resume whatever they had been doing, partly out of surprise; he hadn't thought the Gryffindor was capable of swearing.

Before she could kiss him again, he looks at her. "Say my name."

She raises an eyebrow and sighs before saying, "Draco."

He kisses her before lifting her up and placing her on his bed. She runs one of her hands through his hair while the other one undoes his shirt buttons. When he pauses to shrug out of his shirt, she's sitting on her heels, undoing her own shirt.

He pushes her hands away in a gentle manner that surprises both of them, and undoes the rest for her.

When she straddles him and he reaches up to touch her face, she catches sight of the Dark Mark on his arm. Her fingers hover above it before coming down and tracing the skin around it.

"Harry was right," she breathed.

He was silent.

"Why?"

"What?" That was the last thing he expected her to say. He expected her to start on again about how he was scum.

"Why would you want to be a goddamn Death Eater," she asked, her voice rising towards the end.

"Who said I wanted to be?"

"Of course you do, you're a Malfoy," she sneered as she got off of his lap.

He felt his temper rise. "You damn Gryffindors all think that everything is so black and white, don't you?"

"As if you Slytherins aren't all alike! It's you lots dream to just kill all of the rest of us, isn't it," she shrieked.

"He'll kill my family if I don't do as he says, Hermione!"

Her eyes widened. "What?"

"He says he'll torture them until they're mad and then kill them. He'll make me watch."

She sits down next to him. "Draco-"

He kisses her hard, not wanting to hear her spill out words of pity. When she doesn't react negatively, he reaches down towards her skirt and slides it off of her. She returns the favor.

When they're left in nothing but their underwear, he asks if she's sure. He knows that she thinks he's a lot of things, none of them particularly good, and he doesn't want to add rapist to that list. She nods.

They waste no time in exploring each others bodies and when she's under him, swearing, saying his name over and over as if it's a prayer, Draco realizes that he doesn't know what it means to hate someone because you don't do this with someone you hate.

You don't enjoy hearing them gasp and sigh or holding their hips so tightly, you know it's going to bruise. You don't masochistically enjoy having them dig their nails into your back. And you sure as hell don't love being inside of them and it damn well doesn't feel right to you.

Another thing you don't do is touch them in their most private part and grin when they moan.

Running your hands through their hair while they have their mouth around you is also frowned upon.

One more thing is you don't do with someone you hate is come inside them and not immediately panic.

Draco knows he doesn't hate Hermione because he does all of those things without hesitation. The thought of not hating her scares him.

He doesn't show it as he rolls onto his side and observes her as she rolls over to face him, smugly noticing her swollen lips and the many bruises on her neck.

"Were you a virgin?" he bluntly asks.

"I doubt that you need to know that," she replies loftily.

"No. But I am curious," he admits.

She looks at him. "No."

He clenches his jaw. "Weasley?"

"No."

He's taken aback. Did she sleep with Potter? "Who?"

"Krum."

"Damn Granger," he smirks.

"Shut up. I already know you weren't a virgin," she says with a scowl.

"How would you know?"

"Pansy likes to brag."

He mentally says a string of expletives then pauses when he remembers something.

"What if you end up... you know... pregnant?"

"I'm on birth control."

"What's that," he asks. It sounded odd.

"A pill that helps prevent pregnancy. It's a Muggle thing, I suppose."

"You Muggles are strange."

Her eyes flare. "I'm not a Muggle."

"My bad."

"I'm going to sleep now," Granger says abruptly.

"In my bed?"

"No, in Snape's bed," she says sarcastically, "of course your bed, you git."

"No need to get your knickers in a twist, Granger," he drawls.

Suddenly she sits up, gathering the sheets in order to cover her chest. "My name is Hermione. Not Granger, not Mudblood, Hermione," she snaps fiercely, glaring at him.

He rolls his eyes. "Okay, sure," he agrees, mainly to appease her.

She glared at him for another second before slightly softening her gaze and lying back down.

"Sorry."

"No you're not," she mutters.

"You're right."

"Prat," she mumbles before she falls asleep.

Draco stares up at the ceiling above them. He doesn't know where he and Granger will stand when she wakes up. He also doesn't know what to call whatever it was that they just did.

It wasn't as simple and empty as fucking but they definitely didn't 'make love', if there even was such a thing.

Would he even like to make love to Granger, he idly wonders.

He feels his eyes widen and his breathing get shallow when he realizes that the answer is yes.

Draco is about to sit up when he feels an arm go around his waist. Frowning, he looks down to see Granger shifting in her sleep and mouthing words that he can't quite make out.

He looks at her for another moment before sighing and lying back down. It wouldn't hurt to just sleep with her, he persuades himself.

"G'night Hermione," he mumbles, half asleep. Not Mudblood. Not Granger. Hermione.

He doesn't hate her anymore. He hasn't for a long time.