Thank you, Astrid Goes For A Spin! You are the world's AWESOMEST beta, as I hope I've shown that to you. People, read her stories. They're wicked awesome.

Let's get this over with: I don't own anything.

There.

That was easy.

Chapter 1

I walk briskly down the red-carpeted stairs of the Girl's tower. I don't call for Ron to come down, tonight I feel like patrolling alone. The Fat Lady rolls her eyes but says nothing as I march along the corridor, armed with a wand and a healthy suspicion that there will be silly little Ravenclaws out tonight.

For the first few hours, nothing happens. I'm just starting to imagine the smell of coffee, almost asleep on my feet, when a quiet noise jolts energy up into my skull, adrenaline flooding my veins. Somehow, the dark hallways make everything more dramatic.

. Tap.

The footsteps are soft. Like whoever's making them is making a conscious effort not to, but they're not dulling their progress…. I'm used to hearing them at this time of night, even though I shouldn't. It's almost the golden rule of Hogwarts – do not be out of your dormitory after curfew. Even though I'm a Prefect, I'm only sixteen, and no one with sense thinks it's under their radar.

I'm just not simply important enough to obey.

I wait, silent, against the wall, waiting for the footsteps to get closer. It could be a Professor, I think. But it's not likely. I'm sure it's just a student out after hours, most likely a Slytherin looking for a thrill or a confounded Hufflepuff. There are enough of those around.

My long hair falls in front of my face as I peek around the corner, glimpsing a long, dark shape with a cloaked shadow dancing on the wall.

"Excuse me," I say loudly, pronouncing each syllable sharply. Waiting to see if the person sees me. "Come here!"

I'm not nervous. I'm never nervous, in non-life-threatening situations, or in non-exams situations. Anything academic, I'm practically a butterfly museum.

Not now. Now is a test of my authority. Whoever it is shouldn't be out past curfew, no exceptions.

The person turns toward me for a moment, regarding me, light eyes shining in the darkness. He keeps approaching. I'm confused. Usually, if it's a lowerclassmen, they scatter. This must be a sixth or seventh year that thinks they're too good for a rookie Prefect.

"Who are you?" Shouting, I slowly move my hand to the wand in my pocket. Stealth is never too good.

"You might want to be quiet, Granger, before you wake the whole castle."

Malfoy.

"What are you doing out?" I breathe, trying not to seem too angry, even though I'm steaming. Control. But it's not smart to show him how much he gets to me. Although, you can't say hate your guts much more efficiently than a punch in the face…

"Nothing you need to worry about."

"Then leave. I have a job to do, perhaps unlike you. You're still a student, and its afterhours, and I know for a fact that it's not your night to patrol."

"I was, for a matter of fact, told to stand here."

This throws me, although it shouldn't. Why shouldn't a slimy Slytherin lie about breaking rules? "By who?" I snap, skeptic.

"Professor Snape." Of course. Who else would station a Slytherin prefect to cause trouble in the middle of the night?

I sniff, trying to think up a snazzy retort. "Fine." I try to say it with as much attitude as I can. I think S.P.E.W. weakens my snappiness.

I turn on my heel, trying to make my footsteps make as much noise as I can against the stones. He follows, loping along easily, even though I'm practically sprinting.

"Where were you patrolling before?" I ask, trying to break the silence. It frightens me, just a bit, that he seems to anticipate my every move. They way I turn. Where I'll walk. How I think.

"Sixth floor," he drawls, sounding even more bored than before. The way he enunciates draws me in, but I try to fight the changing tide by reminding myself how much I hate him. I can't… I can't… I'm so distracted I don't hear the next few words.

"You…do you enjoy being a prefect?"

"Excuse me?"

"I said, do you enjoy flouting your authority over others?"

What an odd question. It sounds like it was originally a feeble stab at a conversation I might like, but the asker got annoyed. I frown and snap, " You seem to like terrorizing the first years enough."

I can't see his face in the shadows, but he looks like he's scowling. "No need to be-"

"Granger." The words are sharp, clear, and low. I swivel slowly, feeling like a cornered mouse. In a patch of moonlight shines Professor Snape's oily head, his hooked nose casting shadows, his limbs stiff with irritation as he raises his lit wand higher, throwing gleaming yellow beams of light over all of us. I glance at Draco. His white cheeks have the smallest of pinks highlighting his high, majestic cheekbones. "Do not let me catch you out when it is not your night to patrol. Just because Professor Dumbledore has seen fit to grant you minute responsibility it does not mean that you can prance from here to Azkaban. Be on your way."

"Yes, sir," I say, smiling gently at Malfoy as I walk away. I feel coloring rising up my neck, and furiously thinking about quenching it only causes it to intensify. I'm glad I escaped more conversation, but it seems like I'm… empty. Hollow. Lifeless.

A warm glow that belongs inside me was drawn away when I left him.

For some reason, this Hogsmeade trip some members of the DA decided to go as a group, despite the enormous tip-off that we from different houses are up to something. Oh well.

Someone calls my name. I avert my eyes from Luna's protuberant ones, watching out of the corner of my eye the way they swirled around with the straw of her… I think it's a gillywater, but I can't tell for sure with all the embellishments she's added.

"Hermione? Hermione? Is it a Wrackspurt?" I look up at Luna just in time to see her batting her hands enthusiastically at Ginny, who swats at her as she tries to put down about five bottles of butterbeer at once. I'm glad I ordered tea, since she looks fed up already.

"Oh, yes, sorry Luna – what? No! Wrackspurt - they don't - no. I just got distracted for a moment," I say, trying not to start an argument by blatantly claiming her mythical creatures don't exist. She's more pleasant to be around that way.

"Oh, good then. I was just thinking…" Ordinarily I would ask what thoughts do indeed go through that head of hers, but I feel so bland and sad today its nothing I want to hear about.

"So…" I can tell by Ron's voice that he's already, so early in his sentence, mocking me. I'm suddenly struck by a thought I push frantically away. How different Draco and Ron are. Besides looking like night and day themselves, Ron always seems to set fires, but Draco smothers them. "I hear you're going shopping with the girls, Hermione?" He snorts, smirking into his lap. I scowl. Wait -

"We're…what?" I hope the panic didn't show up too clearly in my voice.

Since when do I think about Draco Malfoy by his first name, while I'm simply out on a shopping spree with my friends?

Oh, Merlin, what is wrong with me? First I start comparing my best friend to my worst enemy, then I start reveling in a girls' day out?

Ginny bursts into laughter, butterbeer coming out her nose. She wipes it off, tears of laughter squeezing out of her eyes, her face so red it could light her flaming hair. "N-no, Ron. It's just…" she's unable to finish, and covers her face with a napkin, it fluttering up then sticking to her face as she wheezes with excessive hilarity.

"Girl stuff," Luna finishes, a faraway look in her eyes as she dreamily stirs her unfathomable drink.

I don't want to go, I have better things to do. Sleeping, reading, studying, knitting…

Fifteen minutes later, the two have managed to convince me into going to a borderline interesting boutique on a side street in Hogsmeade. Not as flashy as Dervish and Banges, but the clothes are plainer, nicer. I even find myself admiring a white blouse that buttons at my sternum.

As I hand over two galleons, I find myself wondering if he'll like it when I wear it on Prefect Duty tomorrow night…

Since I'm vastly quicker at my shopping, I spend a good forty-five minutes loitering in the main part of the store, toying with the jewelry racks, my irritation level rising while Ginny tries to decide how to avoid spending a fortune and Luna does… something involving what looks like a rain dance. I turn away, trying to appear an innocent bystander.

That crazy girl? Loony Lovegood? Oh, I don't know her. I was just here by chance. You know, shopping the sales.

Unfortunately, Luna drifts over to me, urging me forward while she holds me by the elbow. I wonder, if, her being a Ravenclaw, she plans to knock me out with that pressure point and lock me up somewhere, like a broom closet, for discouraging her Wrackspurt fantasy earlier. Even though it's certain Harry and Ron would rescue me, I allow myself a brief moment to wonder what would happen if the unimaginable did. If Draco helped them and they all got along. Or even more unbelievable – became friends.

I shake myself out of the unrealistic thoughts that seem to be plaguing me lately and let myself be led along toward a jewelry rack, glancing back for Ginny, to see her staring, frowning really, at a pair of scarlet pumps. Oh, Merlin.

Luna seems calm, but her hand jerks away from my forearm for a second, pointing at a pair of dangly earrings that have huge circles hanging from them, covered in butterflies so realistic they seem to be flying in and out of the frames.

"Crumple Horned Snorkacks eat butterflies," Luna says complacently.

"Of course," I agree blankly, not responding to the sharp poke of irritation.

"I usually make my clothes, but I do quite fancy these earrings. I believe he'd like them…" I do quite wish that Luna would finish a sentence crisply once in a while, not just fading away.

"So are you going to buy them?" Who is he? A thestral? A heliopath? A unicorn she met in the woods?

"I've left my money in my sock, but if I could just-" I almost reach for my purse, where I have a few spare sickles, but then I stop my hand. Who knows what happens with rash actions around Luna?

"We're not stealing anything." I try to be firm, but I can't be sure I made an impression on her.

"I would never say that. All I was implying was that there seem to be a lot of Nargles-"

"No."

She goes slack for a minute, then brightens as a thought occurs to her, but, thank heavens, someone calling her name from behind me distracts her.

"Neville…" Luna sighs. I swivel around, my eyebrows flying up my forehead in surprise that he'd find us.

"Neville," I start, but am interrupted by Ginny, who seems to see what's going on.

"Neville," Ginny says quietly, "Why don't you buy these for Luna?"

He appears to contemplate, but I know he's just desperate to get out of the situation.

"Sure. They're really nice." He looks uncomfortable, but reaches for his money anyway. I'm glad I didn't buy them for her.

And that was that. Neville bought them for Luna, who decided that they'd look better on him, and after he showed her that his ears weren't pierced, and Luna declared that she knew a good spell to pierce them, ('Not very dangerous, I've used it once before, and she may have gone deaf in one ear for a while but she looked so very pretty, or I could pierce another part of your head, if you wanted,') and by the time we ended back up at Hogwarts, Neville had a earring hanging out of his hair, and Luna trailing after him, shouting for her to help fix the other one in too.

"Of course not!" I'm scandalized. Of all things, they expect me to go practice with them when we've got that huge Charms test tomorrow. How dare they.

"Hermione!" Harry looks angry, but he always seems to look angry nowadays. I turn and sniff at him. "You've practically founded the D.A., and now you decide to abandon us whenever you fancy?" His voice is rising, his face a stubborn shade of red.

"My grades are more important to me than a review session," I say firmly, then turn on my heel – somehow, Ginny managed to make me wear the pumps she was looking at, and they're actually quite professional, when turned down to a calm navy. But I lose my balance and go careening into a wall.

Someone grabs my wrists, and I let out a gasp of pain from my ankle and wrist and head at the same time, but I open my eyes only long enough to see a flash of blonde hair. Then I snatch my hands away from his – so long and strong and warm – and rush off, trying to shield my burning face in a cloud of hair.

The Library, I think. No one will find me there – he won't know, and the others are all at the meeting.

I walk in as sedately as I can, pick a Charms book at random and sit down primly, opening to the first page and reading the introductions without absorbing a word. I've gone through several books like this before I realize I've learned nothing. But then again, I'm well equipped, and right now I just want to go to bed.

As I look up, I notice how dark the sky looks out the windows. The D.A. meeting is just coming to a close, and I've long missed dinner. There's nothing left to do tonight but sleep.

I walk with my stack of books to return them to the shelves, and lucky for me they know where they go, I keep dropping them and misplacing them. I'm dazed from something – I try to convince myself it's tiredness, but I can't seem to brush away the feeling of his palms braced against my wrists, keeping me from running away.

Because I want to, I insist to myself. But a quieter part says, No.

I hear a whisper, and I freeze as the sound of someone hissing reaches me through two of the shelves. Behind them, is my favorite part of the library, but lately, I've become so popular, I don't want to lead people there. In the farthest corner is the section on the History of Magic, a subject vastly interesting when it has to do with people and not trolls, goblins, or wars. There's a little, musty old armchair, and a polished desk, where I go to be by myself.

I can tell by the sound of the voices that someone's in my special place.

I put down my books and shift aside another few, giving me a serrated portion of vision of the pair.

A girl is sitting in my chair, her feet propped up. I can tell it's a girl by the shoes, they're very insensible. But then again, so are mine… and on the desk is someone I can only see from the waist down – I can tell they're Slytherins by the green insides of their robes, and I wonder who it is. What upperclassman, by the looks of it, sits on a desk and swings his feet like a six-year-old?

"Pansy, stop." The voice sends chills down my back – pleasant chills. I have no idea why, though. Pansy? Pansy Parkinson knows we have a library? Much less would come? Why? With who? The image that pops into my head isn't pleasant, but I momentarily appease myself by making my mental portrait of her grow antlers. "I don't need to take this, all you say anymore is about…" the voice hesitates, then continues a moment later, after I've scooted forward as far as I can go without revealing myself from suspense. "Her."

"How do you mean? You have to agree with me, that heartless Mudblood Granger's not good for you." Me? Good for – oh, no, I don't like the sound of this. But the way she sounds so threatened gives me a rush of power. Me? Hermione Granger, Prefect, Bookworm, Gryffindor, can make her jealous just by existing?

"Shut up. I swear, if you say things like that again…" the speaker momentarily calms himself, and Pansy leans forward in suspense, her feet down from the desk as she goes as close as possible. "…Just don't talk to me anymore. Leave me alone."

In the flurry of movement that ensues, I lose my balance as Pansy darts off somewhere, and the boy who was with her stands, his hands pulling at his hair, and walks straight into me. I fall backward, books flying off the shelves, shocked beyond belief.

Who I ran into doesn't stop.

He doesn't lean down, pick up my books, offer me a hand to get to my feet.

He doesn't even apologize.

He runs away.

But I know who it was. In the fraction of a second we made eye contact, the whole scene made sense to me. Eyes are revealing things, the window to the soul, they say. Well, in the usually cold, gray eyes, I saw confusion and anger.

Malfoy.

But… Draco's soul hurts, too.

Hermione: Ah! Me…and Draco? Are you kidding me?

Luki: Uh…no?

Hermione: No! That's all you can say?

Luki: Uh…yeah?

Hermione: *scoff*

Draco: *smirk* The next chapter…she's all mine…

Luki: Don't get ahead of yourself, Malfoy.

Draco: Shut up! You're just a crazed fan girl! No one cares about you.

Luki: *muttering to self* Well, as I am the author of this fanfic, I was contemplating just killing him off in the next chapter…or the next…

Hermione: Go ahead…it's not like I care….at all…

Luki: If I don't get reviews, I feel no need to update…*walks off*

Draco: Wait, wait! Don't let me die! Review!