Hermione sighed as she approached the portrait of the Fat Lady.

"Shinkles," she muttered at the painting, as this was the new and usually odd password of the term.

"On the button," the Fat Lady approved, and swung forth to allow Hermione to enter the noisy Gryffindor common room. Coincidentally, the first thing she saw was Ron and Lavender snuggling up next to each other in the same armchair. Hermione scowled at her shoes, pretending not to notice. Ron being with Lavender still disgusted her. He was too good for Lavender. Lavender was just a prat. In fact, the only person Hermione could think of that actually deserved to be with a boy like Ron was herself, but she pushed that thought to the back of her brain.

"Hey, Hermione! Hermione!" Harry called from across the room, waving an arm above a crowd of first years who were attempting to steal glances at the 'Chosen One.' Hermione was somehow unsurprised; this happened often nowadays. She was used to him having all the fame, and since they were like brother and sister, Hermione had never really found it annoying.

She stumbled over to Harry, who had taken his usual seat by the fireplace. Hermione greeted him, sat down and yawned. It was nearly 8:00.

"I suppose you'll be leaving for your lesson with Professor Dumbledore soon, Harry?" she asked him.

"Yes," he said simply, checking the time.

"Wonder what he'll be showing you in the Pensieve this time?" asked Hermione, keeping conversation.

Harry merely shrugged. "Probably more about Voldemort's life, his years at Hogwarts, I reckon."

They shared a few moments of silence. Hermione's eyes drifted to where Ron and Lavender where consuming each other on the armchair. She stared at them without knowing she was doing so until Harry got up.

"Well, 8:00 is approaching, I'd better get going. See you, Hermione," he cantered out of the common room, leaving Hermione alone by the prickling fire. She sighed again, and got up too. There was no use moping around when she could be safe in her dormitory studying, away from all the noise, or even just sleeping.

Hermione climbed the steps to the girls' rooms and lied down on her four poster without shutting the hangings. She lied there for what seemed like hours. Finally, she rolled over onto one side, and that was when she saw it: a single scrap of parchment with words scrawled sloppily onto it, taking up residence innocently on her bedside table. Hermione picked up the scrap, her heart beating faster with every word she read.

Hermione,
Meet me in the Charms corridor at 8:30 tonight.
Draco.

A million questions ran through her mind. Was this some kind of stupid joke? What did Draco want from her? Why the Charms corridor? Why at night with nobody around? She even wondered briefly how he had gotten the note in her dormitory, but then realized it didn't matter.

Should I go, Hermione thought, and risk whatever he has in mind?

She checked the time. It was precisely 8:21.

I'll go, she answered herself. I'm a much better wizard than Malfoy and if he tries to jinx me or hex me or any other rubbish like that, I'll whip out my wand and that'll make him think twice.

Hermione didn't know what made her go, what made her leave her warm and jinx-free dorm, but she felt for some reason that she must. She could even possibly get information for Harry - his suspicions about Malfoy were no laughing matter to him. That'd make his whole term, she rolled her eyes.

The Gryffindor common room was far from deserted when she arrived. Hermione shakily made her way to the exit hole and started towards the Charms corridor, wand at the ready. She was only ten feet...five feet...just inches...

Malfoy was nowhere to be seen.

So this was a joke.

She turned to leave, feeling embarrassed and angry with herself that she had come, when I voice spoke behind her:

"I didn't think you'd actually turn up."

Hermione whipped around, her hair splattering all around her face. What looked to be the figure of Draco Malfoy, with his piercing blue eyes and shock of white-blond hair, was lurking in a shadow by a pillar. Hermione said nothing, didn't dare to breathe, but raised her wand.

"You can put that away. I'm not going to hurt you," he said, jerking his head towards her wand. She didn't move.

"Away," Malfoy said again, raising his hands above his head to show he was defenseless. "I'm not armed. You can search me if you want."

Hermione lowered her wand to her side, still gripping it tightly.

Malfoy raised his eyebrows, walking out of the shadow. "Suit yourself."

"What do you want?" Hermione demanded.

"Just to," he paused, and smiled, "talk..."

"All right, well, go on. Make it quick."

"I don't know if I can make it quick, Hermione," Malfoy whispered, in a tone unusually like his own. He had called her Hermione. Not "Granger," and not "Mudblood." Hermione. Something was definitely dodgy. She waited. He held his broad smile.

"You've seemed quite down lately," he said.

"Oh, yeah? Have I?" she snapped.

"Indeed," Malfoy continued. "and I have no doubt in my mind that it's about Weasley and his new girlfriend." She didn't like the emphasis on the word "girlfriend."

"So what if it is?" Hermione asked quietly.

"You can do much better, Hermione."

Hermione gaped at him. "What are you playing at?"

Suddenly, she broke into tears, for more reasons than she could count. She had been feeling so alone lately, and here she was, acting weak in front of Malfoy, with him saying all kinds of ruddy things she didn't understand. And then there was Ron. Stupid, stupid Ron and his prat of a girlfriend. She let out a sob and sank to the floor.

She felt Malfoy sit down next to her. To her great surprise, he patted her shoulder. "There's honestly no need to be upset."

This has to be some kind of sick joke, she thought. It has to be. He wanted to come here and make me cry so that he could laugh about the weak little Mudblood with his Slytherin gang later.

Hermione looked at him, though she could hardly see through her tear-blurred vision. She shook her head and looked at her knees, as what seemed to be the last of her tears spilled onto her robes. Hermione sniffed, then managed, "Will you g-get to the p-point? What do you w-want?

Malfoy sighed, his hand still pressed into her shoulder. "Ron Weasley doesn't treat you like he should. That's my point. Don't sit here and cry about the boy when you could have someone greater, someone better."

"Like who!" she sobbed again and buried her face into hands. The truth was, the only person she had ever pictured herself with besides Ron was Viktor Krum, and he was much older than she and off in a distant country, where the best she could do was write to him. She never pictured herself with Harry or Neville or Dean or Seamus and definitely never Malfoy. The thought had never even crossed her mind.

They sat in silence, Hermione's sobs filling the deserted corridor and Malfoy awkwardly patting her shoulder. It seemed he could not come up with an answer. He uttered something she couldn't hear.

"What was that?" she looked up. His smile had long since faded.

"Me," he whispered, so quietly, barely audible, that Hermione thought she had heard wrong.

"Did you say...you?" Hermione asked.

"Me, yes. That is what I said."

"But - I mean - you? What gave you that crazy idea? You're joking, is that right?" she paused and let out a half-terrified, half-amused chuckle. "This is just a sick joke! You're going to go to sleep tonight laughing at me, aren't you? Aren't you?"

Malfoy shook his head slightly. "No, Hermione. I'm not."

"Tell the truth."

"I just did."

Hermione gaped at Malfoy again. This couldn't be real.

"But you hate me," she whispered.

"I never hated you, didn't you realize that? I had to put on my act, of course, which is a likely reason why you didn't. I have to admit, I did a damn good job of it, too. I pretended like I didn't care wen you befriended Weasley and Potter. Those two were never any good for you. I didn't care when you went to the Yule Ball with Krum. I don't care that you've been upset over Weasley. I do care, Hermione. I care so much. I tried not to let it bother me that from the minute I saw you, I knew you were special. I tried not to let it bother me that you thought I hated you - that you actually did hate me. But it did. A lot. And now, finally, I'm admitting it all to you in hopes that you'll believe me. Believe me, Hermione."

She was having trouble processing all this. Malfoy - doesn't hate - special - believe him - Harry - Ron - not good for her. She didn't speak, but just looked at him. His eyes had an odd tint of mist to them as he leaned forward and pushed the hair away from her cheek.

"Do you believe me?" he asked faintly.

Hermione still didn't say anything. Honestly, she didn't know whether she believe Malfoy or not, let alone whether she should believe him. When had he ever proved himself trustworthy? Everything was just happening so fast - she wanted to get out of here, to run, to fly away from everything, to make it all stop spinning...

His mouth was inches from hers. Hermione could see every detail of his face. She never realized how utterly perfect his features.

"Draco..." she breathed.

Their lips crashed together ungracefully and violently for several seconds until the two decided in a silent agreement that they had had enough. For a split second, the guilty part of Hermione considered getting up and walking away, but she thought better of it. She wasn't worrying about Ron or Lavender or anyone. She was here and all she could care about was Draco...

"You're brilliant," he murmured.

This made Hermione smiled her first real smile in weeks. She was feeling something new, something wonderful, something alive - a feeling that nobody had ever given to her before.

Human beings, Hermione realized, are designed for many things. Loneliness is not one of them.