A/N

Written for my friend, Jess as a birthday present! I hope you like it (:

Lots of love,

~ Carrot

Just Tonight

When Harry came back to the common room in the middle of the night and told them all of the great and epic battle Snape had interrupted, they were all quiet. Then, everybody burst into rowdy whoops and cheers, and thumping pats on the back for all.

"You were brilliant, Harry!" Ron shouted at Harry, pushing through the crowd to talk further with him.

Hermione, who had been curled up on the couch reading a book when Harry had burst in, wet and bloodied, was frozen. She stared with large, cinnamon eyes as Harry and Ron 'celebrated' this new 'victory'.

" . . . Half-Blood Prince!" Harry exclaimed, he and Ron's voices getting louder and louder as they approached her.

After the noise had died down, and most people had retired to their dormitories- it was a late night after all- they settled into couches across from Hermione's own little loveseat.

"Harry," Hermione said in a troubled voice, carefully folding her book away onto one of the tables, "I really don't think you should be celebrating this."

"What do you mean, 'Mione?" Ron scoffed with a derisive laugh, one of his most unbecoming traits, in her opinion- especially when it was being used on her.

"Well," she began again, "Is almost killing another human being something to be proud of?"

"I didn't know what it could do, Hermione," Harry said slowly, thinking.

His ears becoming tinged slightly pink, Ron demanded, "Why do you care about that stupid Slytherin git anyway?"

"I don't- I mean, I don't care about him in particular," Hermione protested, "It's just, do you really think that harming another person should be a cause to be happy?"

"Uh, Hermione, I'm pretty sure if somebody offed You-Know-Who right now, they'd be pretty bloody happy."

Harry, whom Hermione felt had been wavering towards her side a little, snapped firmly back onto Ron's side once more. Oh, Merlin, what was she doing? They didn't have sides over something so, so, well . . . She wasn't quite sure what this was anymore. But it certainly wasn't trivial.

"Ron, Draco Malfoy isn't You-Know-Who!" she exclaimed, suddenly exasperated with the both of them for no good reason.

The way Harry had told it, Draco Malfoy had been minding his own business, depressed about Merlin only knew what, and Harry had come in in the midst of his despair. It seemed pretty obvious to her that he'd tell Harry to leave him alone and such, they were 'men' after all. But Harry, in her opinion, had taken it a bit too far. Anyway, what had he expected Malfoy to do when Harry found him crying?

She thought of Draco cold, alone, and hurt. And, despite the fact that yes, it was Malfoy they were talking about, and yes, perhaps his father was a Death Eater, but that didn't necessarily mean Draco himself was one, or that he didn't feel pain.

"He might as well be, Hermione," Harry said knowledgeably, leaning forward, "We know he's a Death Eater."

She sighed- huzzah, here was a topic Harry was actually interested in, one other than flying and Quidditch.

"We don't know that he's a Death Eater, you only think he is one."

Harry shook his head obstinately, "You didn't see him, Hermione! He-"

"Please, let's not get into an argument about Dr- Malfoy being a Death Eater," she cut in, "And I wasn't trying to start an argument no matter what you think- I was just stating my opinion on torturing other people."

There was an uncomfortable silence during which Ron looked at her suspiciously and Harry stared down at his hands, which he was fiddling with. She watched as he laced them together tightly.

At last, he said quietly, "It wasn't like that, Hermione. I wasn't- I didn't do it on purpose, I just . . ."

"Of course you did, Harry!" Ron frowned, "And I'm quite proud of you, really; the snake deserved it anyway."

She could have screamed in frustration. Ron was such a bigot! And with Harry on the warpath about Malfoy lately, Merlin, he wasn't much better. Standing up abruptly, she turned her back on the two boys who had over the years become her two very best friends and made her way over the entrance of the common room.

"'Mione, wait!" Ron called out. She could almost hear what he was thinking- there Hermione went, throwing one of her hissy fits; girls these days. The very thought of what she imagined him to be thinking made her even more upset with him, although it wasn't like she could blame Ron. It was just her overthinking things, as usual.

But, she thought snidely, it wasn't like he was getting up to come after her. That would have been nice- perhaps redeemed him somewhat.

"You're out past curfew, young lady!" the Fat Lady whisper-yelled at her fast retreating back.

Or perhaps not.

Hermione didn't know where she was going, but her feet were moving of their own accord, and she was too troubled right now to take notice of where exactly she was. It was always like this, when she couldn't sleep. She would just walk and walk to nowhere, and when she was ready to come back, she would.

After a while of continuous walking, her body seemed to catch up with the temperature of the night, and the flimsy cotton pyjamas she had on were little protection against the cool gusts of night wind racing up and down the corridors at random.

As she walked, she began to think of the little dispute, she, Harry and Ron had had in the common room. It was hard to believe a little over two year ago she'd had feelings for Ron. Not that he wasn't great- rather, she had ended up thinking about their relationship on a night much like the one she was having now. Yes, Ron wasn't not great, but he wasn't great either. He was just . . . Ron. And Ron was normal, safe, and predictable. She knew him better then he knew himself, or so she liked to think. Indeed, she knew him better then she knew herself, but lately, that wasn't much of a challenge. She was just so different now, and her tastes were changing.

Ron had been her old flame, but she believed it had been born out of their close proximity to each other, not actual attraction. It had always been assumed that she would be with Ron- she had always assumed to be so. And before, she'd been happy with that, completely, and utterly happy. Her life was planned out, and it had fit her to the 't'. It had been what she wanted.

Ron was fine, but fine wasn't what she wanted anymore.

It was a funny sort of irony, because in fourth year, that dreadful year when everything seemed to be going wrong, she had come into the height of her passion for Ron. And yet, that year was the year she had been disillusioned as well, although nothing exactly had actually happened.

Everybody thought it was fine, and wonderful, and romantic to go falling in love, but they were so naive to think that you would always stay in love with that person. People were always falling out of love, but it was something that was ignored, and never thought about.

The truth was, Hermione had never really been at all into Victor Krum. Yes, he had made her feel beautiful, and wanted, but . . . They were friends, and even though he had made his interest clear, he had never crossed that line. The one that once crossed, could never be drawn again. The one she most certainly didn't want to cross with Ron.

On the night of the Yule Ball . . . Yes, she mused, coming to a stop at one of the arched windows, that was probably when her insomnia had first begun to take root.

A cloud passing over the moon dimmed the night and cast everything into shadow. She looked up at the spot where the moon had disappeared, staring fixedly at it until it showed its face once more. There was something so tranquil about it, so serene.

To Hermione, in their 'Golden Trio', she would be the moon, Harry the Sun, and Ron the Earth. She was only living on borrowed fame from Harry- or at least, it was what the Slytherins had always informed her of snidely in dark corners. Ron revolved around Harry, always with him, always talking about him, even as he tried to include her as well. And Hermione was supposed to revolve mainly around Ron, but the thing was, that wasn't what she wanted anymore.

She wanted something new and wild and beautiful; something unpredictable.

After the Yule Ball, when everyone, even the professors, had gone to sleep, Hermione had gone roaming. She hadn't even changed out of her fancy dress, or washed the makeup from her face. It was the first time she'd ever felt like a proper girl, and she wasn't ready to let go of the feeling, and face tomorrow, where it was back to plain old Hermione Granger, bookworm and know-it-all extraordinaire.

First she had explored the castle, but the grey stone walls and endless hallways had made her restless. The feeling that she was missing something fundamental kept filling her, into it seemed to settle into her very bones. It was a feeling that had never really left her since that night, if she was telling the truth. The grounds had seemed to draw her to them, the garden still done up in all its finery, so much so that the very plants seemed to be preening. It was all very different in the darker night, however. The gardens had seemed hidden, mysterious- a place where you could lose yourself and let time pass you by in. So she had gone to the gardens. In retrospect, it now seemed like she had had an internal radar, one that forced her to gravitate to none other than Draco Malfoy.

And almost immediately upon entering, she had stumbled into him. He had been seated on one of the stone benches, lean frame sprawled out without care and looking up at something. He himself looked like some kind of statue, and he was so still he could have easily been passed off as one. Hermione wouldn't have minded admiring him . . .

The plan had been to back slowly away, before he realised she was encroaching on his privacy, on the one moment of peace he's had all year. Not that she'd noticed his gaunt face, getting paler and paler each week, or the way he picked at his food, or how he didn't participate in his usual shenanigans. No, she hadn't noticed a thing.

But his white-gold hair had shone, captured light travelling along the blonde strands as he turned his head towards her, foiling her one and only plan (although it had been thought up at the last moment) with that one movement. Even though she hadn't made a sound, even though she had been sure that her accidental intrusion had gone unnoticed.

His smooth, pale face had been expressionless, but his eyes pinned her to her spot, and she stood frozen, mouth half-open and poised in a well practised apology, the words half out of her mouth- And she hadn't been able to say a word.

Until he looked away and broke the hold he somehow had over her, and she blinked.

"I'm sorry," she said cautiously- he was Malfoy, after all. An insufferable git. "I didn't mean to- I didn't know you were here."

"It's fine," he said in a detached sort of voice, looking down at the ground. He shifted on his bench, moving over to the left. "You can sit down if you want."

Several seconds passed where she did not dare breath. This moment was impossible, and it most certainly should not be taking place with her as a main player! But oh, it was so fascinating, he was so fascinating, and she just couldn't walk away from who she thought might possible be the most interesting person she'd ever met.

Mouth quirked in a little half-smile, he laughed softly. "Or not."

Shaking her head at herself, Hermione stepped hesitantly over one of the little shrubs and in front of the bench. Then she paused, looking down at him. He looked up at her, and his grey-blue eyes seemed almost luminous as he caught her in his gaze.

Rearranging her skirts, she sat down beside him, but it was awkward, and it didn't seem to feel right. It didn't feel quite real. They sat almost stiffly, the distance between them seeming all the wider for it.

He looked away again, up at the moon, and she followed his gaze, curious to see what could hold the great Draco Malfoy captive.

"It's beautiful," she said softly, closing her eyes against the silvery light. It looked like his eyes, and she could see the colour on the back of her eyelids.

"Did he tell you you look beautiful?" Malf- Draco asked, in an offhand manner.

Hermione smiled, remembering Viktor's smooth charm. "He did." Then she laughed. "Many times, actually."

"Not him," he said, without bothering to clarify.

She frowned, opening her eyes and looking at him. Somehow, they'd drifting closer together, and their shoulders were almost touching. Her breath caught.

"Then who?" she forced herself to ask. This was Malfoy, for Merlin's sake! He shouldn't be giving her butterflies in her belly, ore sending electric sparks up and down her spine.

"You know. Weasel."

"Oh. You mean Ron," she said in realisation, "We're not talking."

Then she frowned again, but this time to herself. She wasn't supposed to give out information like that to people who were worse than strangers.

"Well, you look beautiful," he said, and then added as what seemed to be an afterthought, " . . . Granger."

She was glad the night hid her blush.

The hard sharp tapping of footsteps broke her out of her trance, and she quickly crept to the corner, hoping to whoever it was wouldn't be turning the corner. Quickly dousing the light at the tip of her wand, she held the length of wood against her chest, trying not to breathe too loudly.

It wouldn't be too good for her reputation as Head Girl to be caught out past curfew for no good reason, after all. Especially as she was Harry's beset friend, seeing as he'd done what he had done.

She held her breath as Snape appeared, his long black robes swirling behind him. Luckily, he seemed to be rather preoccupied with muttering about "goddamned pesky Malfoys" to notice her.

With a sudden sharp moment of clarity, she realised where she was- right around the corner from the Hospital Wing! Also, the place where a certain Slytherin was stationed, recovering from his injuries . . .

Making up her mind in a split second, she waited a few moments before darting out after the professor.

It was only curiousity, she told herself. She only wanted to see how bad the damage was. It was only that.

She stood outside the doors, pressing her ear against them, attempting to listen to whatever was going on inside.

"Draco," she heard Snape say. There was a murmur from someone else, but it was too weak her Hermione to make out the words. Her eyebrows furrowed as she attempted to press her ear even closer to the door.

"I'm worried about you," the professor said, and Hermione almost fell over in surprise.

Professor Snape was worried about someone? And he's openly told them so? What on earth was the world coming to? Well, Draco was a Slytherin, after all, she mused.

But then Snape dropped his voice even lower, and for a moment, she couldn't hear anything.

"You have a visitor," Snape said, suddenly louder, louder than he needed to be, and Hermione was too late to spring back and away from the door by the time she heard the sharp staccato footsteps approaching once more. The doors were flung open, and she froze, looking up into the cold, expressionless mask that was Professor Snape's face. It was devoid even of the usual sneer.

He sighed, and looked impossibly weary.

"Good evening, Miss Granger," he enunciated very carefully.

Sidestepping carefully around her, he waited for Hermione to take two uncertain steps forward before shutting the doors. Taken by almost-surprise, Hermione whirled around, staring hard at the doors where Snape had previously been.

There was a cleared throat, and an amused chuckle, and she slowly turned around.

"Draco," she breathed out, walking slowly over to his bed.

He was propped against the headboard, looking at her with indifferent curiousity.

"Hello Granger," he smiled sardonically, "Come to gloat for your dear Potter?"

"No," she said quickly, "I wouldn't do that."

He eased himself back so that he was lying normally on his bed, looking up at the ceiling. The smile disappeared. "I know," he sighed.

Hermione pulled up a chair and took a seat, looking steadily at Draco's face. He didn't look at her, instead closing his eyes and breathing in deep, even breaths.

"Are you alright now?" she asked timidly, referring to his earlier despair.

"Yes. Potter didn't do so much damage that Pomfrey couldn't patch me up."

"That's . . . That's not what I meant."

If she was being truthful, the fact was, Hermione did care for Draco in some strange way. After that night in the garden, she had started to wander the hallways at night, and yes, maybe a little bit of it was because some small part of her was hoping to run into him again. Malfoy.

"Then tell me, Granger, what did you mean?"

"Forget about it," she sighed.

Despite the strange fondness she had taken care never to actively show before tonight for Draco, it didn't mean the sentiment was reciprocated. But . .. she had thought that that one night might have meant something to him to, even if it was only a little something. They hadn't even argued once, and he hadn't called her a single name. Instead, he'd said she was, well, beautiful.

"I'm not alright, Granger," he sighed, "And I don't think I ever will be, okay?"

"Don't say that. Tell me what's wrong."

He turned his head to look at her with a raised eyebrow and a sceptical look. "Why would I tell you?"

The words stung, but she made an effort to look unaffected. "Because I care."

He laughed then, but it was a weak, broken thing. He looked so sickly, lying there in that bed. He didn't belong there, and it was Harry's fault. Everything part of him was so pale, as if the colour had been drained away. Even his grey blue eyes seemed like the colour had been bleached out of them.

"I can help you fix it," she said carefully.

"Hermione, I can't be fixed. It's too late for me," he said bleakly, matter-of-factly.

It was killing her, how was she supposed to help him when he'd already given up on himself?

"But I can try," she said earnestly. Even if he gave up, she absolutely wouldn't. Because there was at the very least a little kernel of goodness in him, a small grain of hope for him- there was something that his father hadn't yet stamped out.

"You don't understand," he said fiercely, "I can't get out of this. I'm trapped, and I have to go through with it."

Her eyes were starting to tear up; he sounded so serious, so lost, and there didn't seem to be anything she could do for him. She leaned forward and reached under the sheets for his hand.

His skin was smooth and silky and, surprisingly, warm. He looked up at the contact, but said nothing. Hermione felt his fingers curl around hers, and she squeezed once.

"I don't want this, you know," he whispered sorrowfully, "I never wanted this."

"I know, I know," she murmured over and over again, soothingly, "I know."

"But you don't know, that's the problem! I never wanted to be like this- I just- I can be good, I can, but it was just that I was so much better at being bad and I-"

His pale face, glowing with the moonlight, was wet with glistening tears, and she carefully brushed them away. He closed his eyes, lips slightly parted, and she couldn't help herself. Leaning in even closer, until her torso was hovering slightly above his chest, she closed the distance between them slowly, ever so slowly, afraid that he would be startled away if she moved too fast.

Then she was kissing him gently, and his lips were impossible soft. She felt him blink once, eyelashes whispering against her cheek, but she didn't stop, she couldn't, because everything was just so monumentally messed up- this was messed up- and he was hurting and she didn't know what to do or say anymore. Then he wasn't blinking anymore, but his hand was moving up her back and up to the nape of her neck, leaving a trail of languid heat blossoming on her skin in its wake.

He curled his fingers in her hair and pulled her even closer to him, something she didn't think was possible anymore, and the whole school was quiet, the silence and perfection of the moment unbroken. Her own hand came up to his face, tracing the straight line of his jaw with her thumb, and then she felt the scar near his nose on his cheekbone, which had happened when she punched him in their third year. She remembered how angry she had been, and she remembered why, and she remembered why had had done what he did.

She remembered that they were two very different people whose paths could never cross in the way she wanted them too.

Breaking away, she got slowly to her feet, the cotton of her pyjamas rasping softly against her skin, seemingly at ease, striding over to the doors. She was aware of his eyes on her the whole time, and she bowed her head, also painfully aware that what had happened in this room could never happen again outside of it, anywhere.

"Don't go."

The murmured plea was unbearably hard to resist, but it was soft, so soft she could pretend she had never heard it.

So she did.

The big doors shut behind her with a click that resonated finality, and she leaned against them, clutching her wand tightly, knuckles white and unforgiving. A silent sob tore through her frame, and the hot tears that had been waiting- ready- spilled out onto her cheeks. Her other hand flew up to her mouth, touching her lips, remembering the pressure of Draco's lips on hers, the searing heat. But it was fleeting and gone now.

Then she walked away, her heart beating frantically in her chest like a trapped bird, leaving her love for Draco Malfoy behind a closed door.

Tomorrow it would be back to normal, and she would be cheerful, and make up with Harry and Ron, and everything would be forgotten. If she saw Draco Malfoy again in passing, she'd perhaps trade a spiteful comment or two with him, or turn her back on him along with her best friends, and she wouldn't ever feel that wonderful, welcome, tabooed pressure again. And it would be all for the best.

"It's all for the best," she said softly to herself, smiling a sad little smile.

A/N

Again, Happy Birthday, Jess!

(Reviews are always welcome ;))

~ Carrot