The Definition of Insanity

Chapter One: Broom-Closet Indulgences and Lamentations

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

They could both pinpoint to the minute when it had all started. The torrid "affair" that consumed their nights and made their days drag in that slow monotony. It was different for both, but strikingly similar in nature. It was insane and lovely all at the same time. It was simple and complicated. It was a bundle of contradictions. The list was endless about what exactly "it" was. And somehow they couldn't explain it. Not to themselves or to their friends. So they didn't. They just let it happen. Just let things play out as they were.

For Hermione it had been a serious of rather out of character activities that led to the start of "it". Beginning with her waking up late, running about her room in a frenzy of frantic gathering, and mental check-listing that finally ended with a harried "Goodbye." and a peck on both of her parent's cheeks before she stepped through the entrance to the Hogwarts train platform.

Hermione Granger wasn't usually late. She had been prompt and efficient since the receiving of her first day planner, always on time since her first alarm clock, until THAT day. That day she had overslept. That day she had scrambled about her room for her uniform, throwing it on in a haphazard sort of fashion. That day she had snapped the elastic that usually held up the thick silky mass of material she called hair and she'd been in too much of a hurry to dig through her things for another. So she'd left it down, brushing it a few times in the car on the way to Kings Cross. Years of hair care training and frequent applications of various potions and serums had left it a mass of shining silk, with a slight bit of endearing frizz around its curls. Though no longer the bushy rat's nest of her youth it was still bothersome in its length and sheer volume, and while she had learned over the years to take a little time to maintain it, it was still a nuisance.

It was that day she'd almost missed the train to the one place on earth she could seriously call her haven that changed everything.

Sometimes she wondered if it would have been better if she HAD missed. If she'd just found some alternate mode of transportation. But in some ways she figured it was unavoidable. She had been bound to see him eventually, and the effect would be no different.

Hermione had barely had time for a hug and a peck on the cheek to both of her best friends, who gaped at her for a moment, laughing a bit at her frazzledness, and then a quick catch-up before the train had started moving. After that she was forced to hurry on to her first official meeting as Head Girl.

It was a heady feeling being Head Girl. A goal she had worked her entire academic life for. A goal that had taken many long nights of studying, many painful neck aches, and a loss of eyesight that forced her to wear the somewhat chic pink framed glasses perched on her nose, since her parents were against any sort of wizard eye correction. A goal that had been realized when the owl that had come on July 21 at exactly 2:35 midday declared that, yes, Hermione Granger, as expected, would in fact, be the newest Head Girl at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She could still remember the tears on her face and the squeal of delight. She could still feel the hugs of pride from her parents and still taste the tiramisu from the celebratory dinner. And like the train ride she wondered if it would be better to not be in her position, if that would have changed anything. She doubted it.

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She had fairly sprinted down the slightly rocking corridors of the train to the compartment at the very end, her hair a swirling mass behind her. She had reached the compartment, face flushed, eyes twinkling, and her school uniform in apparent disarray and without the customary school robes. Not the best first impression but at least she was on time she reasoned pushing open the door.

It had been then. At that exact second. First day of term, on the Hogwarts Express, in that little tiny compartment, that her life had changed.

For there, standing just 5 feet from her was the most beautiful man she had ever seen, and the most loathed person in her entire mind. Draco Malfoy. The summer had changed him almost to the point of no recognition. The baby fat that had been ever present the year before had melted away leaving behind smooth slightly dented cheeks, aristocratic cheeks bones, and giving emphasis to the same cold, slightly startling silver eyes that had looked on her with utter contempt for so many years. He was still as pale as moonlight, his hair still silver blonde but now, rather than the somewhat pouffy, slicked back style of his youth; it was parted down the middle, falling about his ears and forehead in a way that made her fingers itch to push it back.

He had always been tall, a bit on the lanky side in years past but he was well over six feet now, and no longer lanky it seemed. Muscles that had never been there before graced his arms and chest, filling out broad shoulders and giving way to a wide chest. His arms were still skinny, and his legs the same, but it was a muscular leanness, like a feral tomcat.

Hermione felt her breath catch for a moment.

Unlike Hermione, Draco Malfoy had seen nothing extraordinary about that day. He had woken early, before the rising of the sun, and had lain there staring at the ceiling for what seemed like hours before the cold hand of his mother rested on his forearm, her usual practice of waking him.

As per tradition he had given her the jerking nod, telling her he was awake. Then he had showered and dressed with the usual Draco Malfoy precision, no wrinkle allowed anywhere, not a crinkle in his pants, nothing but sleek smooth lines. He had arranged his things neatly beside the door for the House Elves to deal with and then had joined his mother for their silent, but customary breakfast.

Lucius was not there, as custom dictated. He had stopped his visits to the platform long ago, a rite of passage for young Draco into manhood.

And just like always he had sat in silence throughout the ride to the station to catch the train. His mother's only good-bye was the gentle, subtle squeezing of his hand as he stepped out of the coach, and his was only another jerky nod. He left his things in the carriage and boarded the train. Early as always.

So surely a day as ordinary and inconsequential should not have held such a surprise and life-changing event for him. Surely it was odd that such a thing had happened. But he didn't question it. Draco Malfoy had been raised to believe that everything that happened in life served a greater purpose that everything one did mattered in some way.

So when Hermione Granger had stepped into that compartment, and he had felt his stomach pull and his hands clench he knew it was for a reason. He just didn't know if it was a good one.

The light from the train of the window caught that glorious hair of hers, almost forming a halo of chestnut brown around her. That was not such a startling revelation as her hair had calmed bit by bit, year by year as adolescent hair tends to do. Her cheeks were rosy, her lips full and she was certainly not the mousy little runt of a girl that had shadowed the Boy Wonder and his peasant friend for all those years.

She was full-bodied and glorious to look at, still petite with her slim waist and hips and her somewhat compact breasts, her cheeks full, her lips alluring, her legs long and slender. He caught his breath. This was not the Hermione Granger he knew.

It had been such a simple meeting, an assessment of changes, a spark of surprised interest. But yet so complicated in nature, for these changes were not merely physical. The physical changes were expected, occurring slowly over time. It wasn't such a surprise that Hermione had finally matured so much. She had grown steadily prettier over the years. And Draco's leap into manhood was not a sudden one. It was not purely a physical attraction. But there was no word for it.

"What-" Hermione tried again, sucking in a breath. "What are you doing here?" Draco simply held up the badge that declared him Head Boy and shrugged, plopping onto the couch. And that had been that. So inconsequential, so normal, but it had changed everything.

The worst thing was not the lust, it was the tension. A tension that was purely sexual in nature. It was also the closeness.

Their bedrooms were a mere 12 feet away from each other, separated by a small two person common room only. Their conversations were forced, but pleasant, polite but strained. They avoided each other. At first.

She chose to seek refuge in the same place she always had, the library that had gotten her the position, the common room that she had once shared with her best friends, and now shared again, despite the fact that she had her own. One she didn't particularly want to share with HIM.

They couldn't say there was hate there anymore. They had somehow reached a silent truce of peace on the train with the lifting of that badge. They shouldered their responsibilities and their past at the same time and managed to somehow balance the two.

Draco had never really hated HER anyway. She had just been associated with too many bad things. Potter, Muggles, the Weasleys. Everything he had been taught in his life to loathe. The Boy Who Lived, the people who weren't pure, the people who weren't rich. She had been rude and obnoxious since they had met at age 11, but it was more in defense of her friends, of her heritage, and there was something in that to be respected. An honor he couldn't deny. He hadn't really hated her. Just everything she stood for, everything he was jealous of.

She HAD hated him, however. She thought him arrogant and more than a bit rude, he was, and all in all, a complete arse to both her and her friends and for years she had despised him. But Hermione had always been a quick one to change opinions about people, not so much about life views, but about people yes. She had always been tolerant of things most people weren't. Hagrid's being a half-giant for instance, the idea that House-Elves should be compensated for another. She had always looked at the person rather than the things they did. People were easily manipulated creatures and prone to acts of utter insanity that couldn't be explained, only forgiven. So it was just as easy for her to cast aside the years of ridicule, the number of infirmary visits and the hurt from his words as it was for him to decide she wasn't so bad after all. That was not where the complication lay. Not in hate turned to lust, not in years of feuding turned into nights of passion. The complication lay in the world around them and the views of others.

Insanity is by psychological terms defined as a deviation from the norms of a society. Insanity is defined as a chemical imbalance. And could lust not be qualified under these conditions?

And now they were mere months away from complete graduation from the place they had spent so much of their adolescence in. Months away from their destiny's.

And while they could pinpoint the day the change had taken place they couldn't for the life of them remember when it had started. Not that they much cared. That it HAD started was enough for them.

Hermione felt the gentle tug on her arm, the frenzied yank of her person into what she could only describe as a broom cupboard, where it was dark and smelled faintly of dust and the increasingly familiar scent of lemon and for some reason, roses. The first she knew was because of his love for candy of that flavor, which he kept secreted in a small box in the right pocket of his robes. The latter she really had no clue. But it was alluring nonetheless.

She opened her mouth to comment on his particularly romantic spot for a hallway tryst. But before she could his lips were on hers in a way that left no room for sarcastic jibes.

His kisses were hot and sweet at the same time, leaving her breathless, never failing to make her stomach flutter, the tug on her bellybutton increasing with every meeting of their lips, with ever harried kiss.

He murmured some unintelligible greeting, his lips finding hers again, his hands roaming over her stomach, caressing her sides for a moment under her shirt, thumbs brushing her navel. She shivered and pulled away a bit.

"Hello," was her shaky, breathless reply.

And then it started again. She felt her back pressed against the wall, his other hand in her hair, ruining the bun she had put it in just moments before. His other hand was snaking further up her shirt, calloused fingers brushing the small of her back, his thumb tracing the edge of her bra. He had such lovely fingers.

"I've missed this," he gasped, and then those lips were on her neck, sucking, biting, licking. She was running out of adjectives to describe it.

"The feeling is mutual," she said breathlessly, her hands finding their way to his face to pull him back up for another kiss. "But we can't do this here." She murmured against him, rubbing the inside of her leg against the outside of his a bit.

"Of course we can," He continued his assault, sending her into a lusty daze, her vision hazy, her glasses askew.

"No," she tried again. "We can't. Someone might hear us."

"There's no one here Hermione," she loved it when he said her name. It lilted off his lips, like a song to her ears, he dragged it out like no one she knew, making just her name itself sound like a lover's endearment. He didn't even realize he said it that way, it was a name he used only in private.

"That's not the ISSUE," Hermione felt her voice rise in pitch on the last word, coming out as a bit of a squeal, as his head dipped lower, tracing small wet kissed down her neck to her collar bone, his fingers moving languorously over her breasts. She moaned deep in the back of her throat.

"No Draco," she was almost panting now, rubbing her leg against his again. "I have to go to class."

"Bugger class," she could almost see his annoyed expression even in the pitch black of the room, but still he continued to slowly assault her senses, by bringing his head back up to nip playfully on her ear.

"You're learning more here," he whispered into it, before dipping his tongue just behind it. Hermione gave a little meek noise of pleasure, but resumed trying to push him away.

"I HAVE to go Draco," she gave him a demure little peck. "I'll see you tonight." She whispered.

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"Of course you will," he said as if it was perfectly obvious. As if she had no choice, and really, she didn't. She gave him another, resisting the urge to give into more. It was always like this when they parted. Draco wasn't as insecure as she was, but there was something he needed about their "relationship" for lack of a better word. Something he craved. It made a girl feel all tingly.

"Of course."

Like all days at Hogwarts since their initial tryst the time seemed to pass agonizingly slow. Minutes seemed hours, hours seemed endless and each ticking of the clock seemed to go slower than the last. During class they were the picture of innocence, snarling insults when the situation called for it, but their hearts weren't really in it anymore. In the halls they appeared to ignore each other, in the Great Hall they ate and laughed with their friends. On all fronts it appeared normal. They were becoming pro's at it. The lies, the deceit. There was a certain thrill to seeing each other. A certain exhilaration that came only with the knowledge that what they were doing was not allowed. And never would be.

It was only in the comforts on their tower they could be truthful again. It wasn't love, it was simply...release. Codependency. They each needed the other. If only for a little while.

So they counted the minutes. They edged further to the side of their seats closer to the door. They wolfed down meals. Spitting out excuses about tests, studying, and meetings with Dumbledore. Anything to get away.

It was a shock no one noticed them leaving in exactly 5 minute intervals.

That day it was Hermione who initiated it, almost choking on her meal, forcing conversation with Ron and Harry between bites, smiling at them as she stood.

"Sorry," she murmured apologetically. "Test tomorrow in Transfiguration. Did you guys study?"

They at least at the decency to be embarrassed, Ron turning a shade of red, Harry ducking his head. It was the best way to put them off, make them feel guilty. She shook her head in disapproval, feeling more than a little guilty herself, for lying to them.

"I'd suggest it." And she grabbed her bag, flouncing out of the Great Hall.

Exactly 4 minutes later Draco stood as well. Sighing exaggeratedly.

"Where are you going?" Pansy demanded, ever the vigilant stalker. He glared at her.

"If I wanted you to know I'm sure I would have told you." He wasn't much for excuses. He turned away from his fellow Slytherins and left the hall, arriving at their common room exactly 5 minutes after she had made her exit.

She was on him in an instant. Fingers tearing at the cloth that separated them, his cloak falling to the floor. There was nothing prim and proper about the Hermione he knew. The one who revealed herself only in secret, the one that belonged solely and utterly to him, just as everything he possessed did.

This Hermione had set her glasses on the end table beside the couch, tossed her books in her room and had already saved him the trouble of unbuttoning her blouse. This Hermione was well disguised in the other Hermione's almost knee length dull gray school skirt, and her crisp white blouse. But this Hermione was giving him a tempting glance at white lace underwear, her Gryffindor tie hanging sexily undone around her neck as her fingers struggled with his.

"It's been-" he kissed her, smirking.

"Hours," she finished breathlessly.

He bent his head and kissed her again, this time with meaning. There was no mistaking what it was. She didn't even nod, she simply began her fumbling with the tie again, stepping backwards further into the common room, bringing him with her by the neck. He almost sighed and reached up, batting her hands away as he undid the tie himself, her hands going to his robes, deciding they were far easier to deal with.

They were still meeting lips feverishly, drinking from each other, tasting the sweet intoxicants that lay just beyond full, slightly puffy lips.

"Your room or mine?" She breathed. Draco said nothing, merely angled her already walking backwards body towards his room, never pausing for a moment. They had little time before the Prefects meeting that night, and he wanted to savor it. Her fingers brushed his chest as she moved slowly down the buttons of his dress shirt, his robe lying forgotten on the cold stone floor just behind the couch she had steered him around. His tie had dropped forgotten onto the table beside her glasses, and her own shirt was tossed haphazardly over her armchair, her tie on the floor beside his robes. His lips went to her neck as they did a funny little backwards dance towards his room. She moaned low and husky.

"I waited all day," she murmured. He moved lower still, kissing the spot just between her breasts.

He shook his head, smirking. Every meeting went like this.

His lips went to her ear, her fingers raking up his chest, dancing lightly on the toned flesh there before pushing his shirt off his shoulders completely, where it landed in a pool of expensive silk just before the door. If he noticed he said nothing, just pushed her backwards against the door, grinding his hips against her for a moment as her right hand left his chest to fumble with the knob of the door, trying to balance on one leg as the other was wrapped around one of his.

His lips continued their assault on her senses, her eyes trying, it seemed, to roll completely back into her skull as she whimpered for more, arching against him as he dipped his head again and again. Finally, after what seemed like forever she finally managed to figure out the door handle, the door fell open, sending them stumbling into the room, his arms going around her waist to catch her before she fell. But he didn't pause for an instant. In these moments there were no distractions.

He half carried the girl to his bed, throwing her down upon it. Hermione giggled as his fingers traced small patterns on her stomach, the other hand worked on the front clasp of her skirt, just as her hands began to try and rid him of the confining and, now, somewhat uncomfortable slacks. He pulled back slightly from his kissing, her lips red and raw, her face flushed, her were eyes glassy from pleasure. His eyes met hers for a moment and then he kissed her. Severely, the passion still there but controlled now by something else entirely. Her hand went to his face, stroking the skin of his cheek for a moment, trying to take him all in, drinking from him as he kissed her. They had hours yet, but somehow it just didn't seem like enough. Though she wouldn't yet admit this to herself, she wanted forever.

Hermione waltzed into the old classroom that was used for prefects meetings, greeting the prefects with a nod, hoping she didn't look as flushed as she felt. Her hair was up in its usual haphazard bun, which usually was only haphazard because of a certain Slytherin who entered moments later, scowling as per usual before taking a seat at the front. He propped his booted feet onto a desk, and crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at the room. This was not unusual behavior for the boy and none of the occupants of the room had the decency to at least look a bit frightened, save for Neville Longbottom, an odd but satisfactory choice for prefect who would probably be scared of Malfoy if the boy presented him with flowers and heartfelt words of adoration. Ron gave her a grin from his seat which she returned. Hermione glared at Draco, if not a bit weakly before taking a seat beside him, pressing her fingers together before her.

It was moments like this that kept up the facade. Constant public hatred. They were both skilled at acting it seemed, for no one seemed the wiser. They had their meetings, they chatted with friends, they went to Hogsmeade and somehow managed to control themselves. Although it was times like this, with him sitting there glaring that glare that made her want to just dive on him and...Hermione cleared her throat, ready to begin the meeting. They always had later. Although the number of laters was decreasing rapidly.

The year was almost ending. It was mere months before graduation, before they left Hogwarts forever, and Hermione knew what awaited them beyond that. They had never discussed it, never even brought it up, but it was there, always.

Later that night, as she lay in his arms, Draco found himself unable to sleep. As he often did. Sleep was not a past-time he enjoyed. It was full of complications. When you slept you were vulnerable. Both internally and externally. So he usually didn't. Except for when she was there, but sometimes even should couldn't give him the rest he craved. Normally, when she was there sleep came easily. She grounded him, kept him away from the dark. She was all purity and softness She was conquest and possession. As he looked down at her he couldn't help but smile. What they shared was complicated. It wasn't quite love. But it wasn't quite hate either.

It was a mutual satisfaction of sexual desire. They both needed each other. For one purpose or another. They both used each other to achieve their means, and they felt no shame. Why should they? He ran his hand up her bare arm.

Draco needed her to keep away the dark. She was everything he had been taught to loathe. Everything he had hated with all his being. She was Muggle-born, a factor in itself that should have kept him away, she wasn't rich but she wasn't quite poor either. She was upper-middle class, but in his eyes it was only two steps above poverty. She was sweet and kind and utterly selfless, qualities that made a person weak. But she had something he needed. And he had something she needed. But most of all she was something forbidden. And that was probably the sweetest thing about it. Hermione was the ultimate rebellion.

She needed him for something else entirely. He wasn't forbidden to her. Potter and Weasley would be accepting enough after time. They loved her, they cherished her and for that he despised them. They had her in a way he would never and could never. Weasley especially. Weasley looked at her the same way Draco did. With unbridled lust, he leered at her and wanted to possess her just as Draco did. But he was a coward, and he always would be. Perhaps one day, after this was over he would have her, and Draco would be left with his life, but that day was not today, and it was not anytime in the near future. Weasley would have to wait. Potter had her in a way Draco couldn't even imagine. He was her friend, completely supportive and loving in everyway, and Draco would never be her friend. It was just one more thing to loathe Potter for. Draco hated to share.

But she needed him. She didn't need Potter and Weasley. She could live without them. He supposed she could live without him as well, and soon she would have to, just as he would have to live without her, but there would always be something missing, something changed. There were always new friends to have, new lovers to admire, but theirs was a unique situation. It wasn't hate. But it wasn't love either.

She needed him to help her. It was strange he knew but true. She seemed to have everything, good friends, perfect grades, a loving family, but she lacked something that only he could provide.

To the outside world Hermione was faultless. She made perfect marks and was hardly ever in trouble, and even when she was it was never, ever her fault. Her clothes were immaculate, prim and proper, tidy and neat, her skirts long, her blouses loose, her shoes utilitarian, and her robes shapeless and purposeful. She was smart and pretty but in a sexless kind of way. She was completely boring in other words.

Once, in the Potion's class they shared, he had gotten an idea of what exactly kept her from having someone besides him. It had been those two friends of hers, the girls Lavender and Parvati who had opened his eyes. They sat there giggling, as they were prone to do, their superior gazes on the girl hunched over her scroll, hastily copying notes from the board.

"If she ever had a sexual encounter it'd be for research only." The darker one, Parvati had remarked dryly.

"She'd probably take samples." the other one had said. And they had giggled. And he knew it was true. She was utterly asexual in nature. At least outside of here.

She needed him to break out of that stigma. To assure herself that she wasn't undesirable, to let herself know that she was indeed a woman, and that she was just the same as everyone else. He made her feel beautiful and desired and he gave her the intimacy and physical contact that she lacked everywhere else. No one would know of course. That was the nature of their relationship. But she would know, and that was all that concerned her in the end.

What they shared was something no one would really understand. Something they didn't understand.

Hermione stretched leisurely, thankful for the weekends. It was the only time she got to catch up with herself. She gravitated towards his warmth, sliding her leg against his. He stirred but barely, his arm dragging her closer in that unconscious way he had. She smiled against his chest. These were the only tender moments they shared. The only thing close to a real relationship they had. These few and sweet moments before and after the sex that consumed them. She cherished these moments.

Sometimes they talked. They talked about life and love in general. But never really about themselves. Sometimes they had the mundane, "How was your day?" "My day was great how was yours?" conversation. And sometimes they voiced complaints about fellow students and teachers that got on their nerves. But it never got personal. She didn't know about his family other than what she had seen. He didn't know about hers. They never talked about commitment or relationships, or even friendship. They never talked about the future. And they liked it that way. Ignorance was bliss. The not knowing was so much more interesting than the knowing.

This way she could speculate and mold him into what she wanted him to be. In her mind he was the tragic hero, abused and unloved for all his life and she was his savior. In her minds indulgences he loved her and she him and what they shared was so beautiful the two of them together stole the breath of those around them. What they shared provoked smiles and shared looks of "Aren't they in love." The fantasy was so much better in reality.

She wasn't in love with him. At times she loathed him. There were times when the emotions behind their fights were real. The sarcasm was true and the bribes were meant to hit home. But all was forgotten once they reached the four rooms they shared. It didn't matter what fight they had gotten into in the corridor before class. It didn't matter what foul names they called each other. Here it was forgotten, and replaced by memories that were forgotten outside of their space. She was living two lives it seemed.

In this one she was sexy and beautiful. In the other she was mousy and bookish.In this one she had a boy who kissed and held her, and she could pretend here that he wanted no one and nothing but her.

In the other she was alone and unwanted by all, regarded as a sexual pariah without feelings and totally without sexual desire. But she was love, loved for her mind and her friendship. In this one she was used.

She wasn't sure which one she preferred.

She stretched again, tracing one nailed finger down his bare chest, following the grooves of his abs, circling his navel. After a moment he caught her hand, and she looked up into those hard silver eyes and smiled.

"Good morning sleepy boy," she murmured, and leaned up to kiss him. His arm snaked around her, his hand in her hair. God he loved her hair. He loved the weight and silken feel of it. The way it moved across his body and wrapped around them. It was her best feature and it belonged to him. They both accepted this. She indulged him by keeping it up and in its tight secure bun all day, only letting it escape for him. Their kiss turned more serious and she felt his hand dip lower, across her back.

"Waking up with you is the best," she murmured. He nodded non-committal, and she began arranging herself across him. "And it's about to get better."

Ron and Harry were waiting for her when she reached the Great Hall that morning. They smiled in greeting, Ron offering her a small wave, scooting over slightly on the bench. She grinned at them and sauntered over, plopping happily down next to him.

"Good morning." They grinned at the chipper girl. She hadn't always been a morning person, but lately mornings seemed to be the best time for her. Usually she was antsy and on edge. They assumed it was the upcoming finals, the end of the school year, or possibly their graduation. It could be anything with Hermione.

"Coming to the game?" Ron, the keeper for the Gryffindor team asked through a mouth full of toast. She wrinkled her nose, lifting up his chin to close his mouth.

"Of course." She wasn't looking forward to it though. Slytherin versus Gryffindor. The matches she had come to dread. "But I know the outcome." She waved her hand dismissively. Harry was still grinning, this time knowingly. It was no secret that Gryffindor had a practically flawless record against their main rivals, and it was also no secret that Harry was a big factor in that. She wondered if it was starting to go to his head a bit. He had always been a fairly modest boy, shrugging at his fame and practically ignoring his fortune. He considered it a burden, and she had always admired that about him.

"You're our good luck charm," Ron grinned at her, flinging an arm over her shoulder and hugging her to his side. She laughed.

"Well, I have never missed a game since you both started playing...surely that has something to do with it." Sometimes though Hermione wasn't sure which side she was rooting for. Sometimes she just wanted Draco to have his moment in the sun.

"I think it'll be a long one tonight," Harry took a bite of his eggs. "Malfoy's getting better." As if on cue the two boys cast a disgusted look over to the Slytherin table where the boy in question was pushing his eggs around his plate. Ron turned back.

"We don't have to worry about him," he said angrily. "He's the worst seeker they've ever had." Hermione knew that wasn't true. What Draco lacked in Harry's natural talent he made up for in cunning and ruthlessness. His skill with a broom was less instinct and more honed.

"That's ridiculous," Hermione picked up a piece of toast, spreading strawberry jam on it. "Malfoy's a good seeker," at their look she forced a smile. "He's just not as good as Harry." The boys grinned again. Trying to get the topic off Draco, Hermione changed the subject.

"So, Double Potions today."

"Ugh." was Ron's reply.

"Double Ugh," was Harry's. They began to deconstruct the horrible character of the Potion's master, all thoughts of Draco banished, and she allowed herself to cast a look over at him for a moment. He was glaring at her, his own toast halfway to his mouth, his eyes on Ron's arm, which was still around her shoulder. She felt her heart swell, and than the guilt in the pit of her stomach. But she couldn't pick between the two. The thrill of his jealousy and her guilt over it were about equal. She left Ron's arm where it was.

Double Potions was possibly the worst thing about the long days at Hogwarts. Forced to sit in such close proximity to each other, not able to touch or even look was torture, a true test of their skill as liars. And they were very skilled.

Snape, the professor in charge of the horrendous period had it out for Hermione and her friends, but doted on Malfoy and his, taking points away from Gryffindor left and right, only to award them to his own house Slytherin. It was horribly biased and unfair, but that was the least of her worries. Snape was incredibly perceptive, and more than once he had cast a suspicious eye upon her and Draco, eyebrow raised, wondering. And wondering was never a good thing. Suspicion could get you in trouble, and both of them had too much to lose.

So she sat there, demure, taking her notes, trying to ignore the feel of him. Just being near him made the hair on her arm rise. It made her fingers itch to touch, and for the whole two periods, every time they had them, she would cross and uncross her legs over and over as some kind of displacement activity. The soft scratch of her cotton knee socks against each other was oddly comforting, and the click of her heels against each other distracted her from her thoughts.

Harry and Ron always noticed her tension during this period. They attributed it to her strive for perfection and Snape's utter disregard for her brilliance. More than once he had jeopardized her marks, taking off points and grading unfairly on what Ron called the Malfoy Curve. They did what they could: reassuring smiles, jokes, affectionate pats on the head or hand.

Today though, in an uncharacteristic show of boldness Ron had taken to rubbing her back. His feelings for the girl were no secret to anyone but her. She was completely oblivious it seemed, too caught up in grades and her pursuit of knowledge to notice. But everyone else knew. They looked upon him with sympathy, showered him with encouragement and more than once he had heard the phrase "Just GO for it Weasley." from his mates. But he usually kept things pretty platonic with an occasional hug or affectionate arm and hand holding. But today he was feeling confident, her acceptance of his arm at breakfast, which he had left there for as long as possible, until eating became too much of a chore with one hand, had further inspired him.

So when he heard her frustrated sigh as she leaned over her cauldron, looking at the bright green bubbling liquid with distaste, occasionally throwing in the ingredients they had chopped up so meticulously he couldn't help but try and comfort her. His hand went to her back, right at the small of it above her skirt. She smiled at him, a small, encouraging smile in his eyes, but in hers a smile of thanks, nothing more. He continued to rub her back, massaging the skin with his fingers.

"Just relax," he held up a small Gregorian mushroom, which she had clenched to a battered mess. "Innocent ingredients everywhere are suffering." She smiled again, and tossed in a little wolfsbane.

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"It's just..." she sighed. "…this class is so frustrating." He nodded in understanding, giving her the hemlock with his free hand.

Across the room Draco angrily dumped a whole bottle of a red liquid into his own potion, turning it a deep ugly brown. It bubbled for a moment, a few bursting here and there. He then tossed a whole chunk of the wolfsbane before him in, the satisfying plop of it in the liquid doing nothing to curb his anger. Merlin he hated Weasley. He hated his hair and his freckles and his poverty. He hated his utter disregard for the line between purebloods and muggle-borns. Although lately for Draco that line had been so severely blurred it was practically nonexistent most of the time. But most of all he hated his closeness to her. Closeness they could share in public. Something Draco, a boy who had been taught at a young age that one could have anything if they tried hard enough, had enough money and power, could never ever have.

Snape looked between the two sides of the room. He looked at his favorite student, face flushed with rage, eyes hard and cold, glaring daggers at the side that held the other half of Snape's attention. The potion before the boy was ruined, but Snape wouldn't hold that against him. He never did. Why, he didn't know. His ties with the Dark Side were banished, for appearance purposes only. But still he felt a respect and kinship with the young Malfoy, a respect for the boy's father as well, and thus he treated him better.

The other half of his attention rested on another utterly disgusting pair Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley. Hermione herself was beautiful, she was intelligent, but he hated her with a passion born only of years of prejudice. Ron Weasley himself was an oafish idiot, and not worth Snape's time in the least. But Hermione had promise. She rarely made mistakes, and when she did they were not as horrible as he sometimes made them out to be.

He saw the Weasley boy's hand on the girl's back, rubbing small circles to ease her obvious tension, his face close to hers whispering sweet nothings and words of comfort into her ears. And he saw the anger on Draco's face as he watched it. The boy continued to toss ingredients in with a force that startled a few of the classmates surrounding him. Lavender and Parvati, who occupied the row in front of him, had moved as far forward as possible, to keep from getting splashed. There was something there, something he couldn't figure out, but he knew it wasn't good. He glared at the Granger girl. In his book whatever it was, it was just another reason to loathe her.

"You're going to the game." It wasn't a question, it was a request, or an order, she wasn't sure. Hermione nodded, sweeping her long hair up into its usual bun. She could see him behind her in the bathroom's large mirror.

"I suppose you're going to be rooting for them." Again it wasn't a question. She looked up. Her eyes catching his in the mirror.

"You don't know who I root for."

"But I know which side you sit on." She whirled, letting her hair fall about her shoulders and glared at him.

"What would you have me do? Just sit myself down on the Slytherin side? Oh hey guys, yeah, I decided I needed a change of scenery today." She scoffed, rolling her eyes. Draco said nothing, but she could see his fingers clench on the towel around his waist. "I'm sure that'll go over real well." She began putting her hair up once more.

"Fine." His tone was clipped and angry, she saw his mirror image leave the bathroom and sighed. Sometimes he could be such a child. He knew, just as she knew that it was impossible. And it had always been enough, until today. He had never questioned where she would sit. There was an unspoken agreement that they would remain normal.

Hermione checked her appearance once more, grabbing her scarf. On her way out of the bathroom she wound it around her neck.

Draco was sitting there, dressed in his Quidditch robes, his broom in one hand, glaring at her from his armchair.

"I can't do that," she finally. "You know that."

"I know." He continued to glare at her. "But while you're rooting for Weasley know that you choose the losing side."

"Draco what do you expect?" She could feel her anger rising again. Today was a day of firsts it seemed. "What do you want me to do for you?"

"Nothing." He stood up. "I don't expect anything. And I don't think you should either. We're going to graduate together but after that there's nothing. We won't get married, we won't have children and we won't ever see each other again so you can banish all those thoughts out of your pretty little deluded head."

"So this means nothing to you," Hermione whispered, she felt her stomach roll. Draco made his way to the door, broom clenched with white knuckles.

"No. It doesn't mean nothing," he looked up at her, silver meeting hazel. "It just doesn't mean everything."

Beside her Ginny Weasley clutched her arm, bobbing up and down in excitement. It was cold out, and Hermione was grateful for the enthusiastic girl's warmth. But she could have done without the hysterics.

She could remember a time when she was the same way, squealing and gasping with the crowd of people around her, digging her nails into whatever she could reach. But now it was different. Now she didn't cheer, she didn't chant, she simply watched and frequently held breath, her eyes darting after them on the field.

She felt like cheering would be an act of betrayal. So she'd stopped. Her eyes flashed from Harry, to Ron, to Draco, checking all of them to make sure they were all okay.

When Harry and Draco both pulled out of a dive at almost the same exact second she did dig her nails into the girls arm, her breath catching in her throat.

When a bludger was sent too close for comfort towards Draco's head she gasped, but too low for the girl beside her to hear it.

She hated Quidditch. It was a stupid sport that took up too much daily conversation for her liking. It made her have to choose. And until then she hadn't wanted too.

Then came the moment of truth. Ginny clutched her arm as both Harry and Draco saw the snitch, dancing right below them in glittering gold and both dived. Hermione held her breath, closing her eyes.

She could hear the gasp and cheers of the crowd, feel Ginny's nails digging into her arm, but she couldn't bring herself to watch.

She knew it was over when she could feel the rumble of the stands and the deafening cheers around her. She opened her eyes, and let out a breath.

Harry stood on the field, grinning triumphantly, snitch in hand. Next to her Ginny leapt up and down shouting at him, even though there was no way the boy could hear her over the crowd.

Hermione's eyes immediately sought out Draco, he was further behind Harry, clutching his broom angrily in his hand, glaring at the boy. She bit her lip, wanting to go to him, wanting to comfort him. Ginny was pulling her down the stands towards the field, towards Harry. Towards Draco.

Hermione's eyes caught his and she offered him a look. It seemed to say "I wanted it to be you." And he understood. He nodded gruffly. She had wanted it to be him, it was the last chance he had for victory, and he had failed, going back to join his teammates on the other side of the field.

Hermione forced a smile at Harry, giving him a hug in congratulations, watching Draco over his shoulder the whole time.