A/N/: Here's the next bit, hope you like it.

The song for this ones "Reckoner" by Radiohead. Beautiful.

In the last chapter:

"He instantly tries to think back to if he had remembered to lock the door or not, but he gets his answer when there is a click, the door opens, and Hermione follows.

"Malfoy, you prat, are you in here? I've been calling you for -" her rampage stops mid-sentence as she steps fully into the bathroom. Her eyes scan the room, widening on each detail, until they settle as big as saucers on Draco's form against the wall. Grey eyes lock on to amber, Hermione's wide in varying degrees of confusion and then horror, as obvious circumstances are deducted. Likewise, Draco's features fall into a defensive glare, just daring her to question him and his odd surroundings.

"Malfoy..." she starts slowly, wary of the daggers Draco is sending her way. But as much as he tries to look opposing, his demeanor comes off as something of a frightened, cornered animal; ready to bolt at anytime. "What exactly happened here...?"

It is pretty obvious by the shattered mirror, the blood, and the rather distraught, cut up, teenager with a piece of equally bloody glass in his hand to tell exactly what has happened. He knows she isn't stupid, that much is obvious to anyone in Hogwarts, so the only other option for her skirting around the subject is that she is extremely wary and uncomfortable in this situation. Draco has to smile at that. Wonderful, brave, one-third-of-the-golden-trio Granger is afraid of a little blood.

"What are you doing?" she asks when it becomes evident he isn't going to answer her first question.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" he says, and just to get a sickening rise out of her - he's always loved getting her upset - he slowly drags the jagged piece of glass across his arm once more, his eyes never leaving her face, watching her reaction.

"Stop that!" she cries, the horror and revulsion evident in her voice, as she watches a thick line of red liquid bubble up from under the sharp edge.

"Why do you care? You hate me!" he snaps and then feels immensely annoyed for sounding much to bothered by the fact.

She must have noticed the tone in his voice also, because she looks at him strangely then. "I don't hate you."

"Oh sure," Draco scoffs, rolling his eyes, "and I'm the Queen of England."

In that moment he suddenly feels like laughing at the absurdity of it all. Here he is, lying in a pool of his own blood and having a seemingly civil conversation with the mudblood about how much she doesn't hate him.

But before he can let out a chuckle, Hermione is talking again."I'm not joking, Malfoy. I don't hate you."

He stops and looks at her, his gray eyes boring into the back of her skull. "You... don't? " he asks her slowly, narrowing his eyes at her almost suspiciously.

"No, of course I don't hate you, " and then after a short awkward pause, "but I'd still like to know what in Merlin's name is going on in here."

He motions around him with both arms. "What do you think I'm doing? I'm having a fucking party!"

She seems to ignore him. "You're - " she stops and looks away uncomfortably for a moment. "You're not trying to kill yourself, are you?"

Kill himself? He has the unconscious urge to laugh at her again. Does it look like he's trying to k... His thoughts trail off uncomfortably. Is he? He looks around the room, and then his eyes scan over all the cuts on his arms and chest. And the slowly spreading pool of his own blood beneath him. How much more would he have to loose until he slipped into unconsciousness, and then death?

"Of course I'm not trying to kill myself," he says faintly. It sounds weak, even to his own ears.

Hermione frowns at him worriedly and it is the closet expression to concern he's ever seen directed his way. "I think we need to get you to Madame Pomfrey."

"No!" he yells, and then again because she looked offended - though he doesn't even want to think about why he even cares, "Don't take me to Madame Pomfrey, I'm fine. Really." At her unconvinced look he motions weakly with one arm, "Here, just come help me up."

She bites her lip but only hesitates briefly. There is a quiet awkwardness between them that is expected as she moves forward and grabs his arm to heft him up. He winces lightly as her hand closes around several cuts, but after a moment she has him standing upright. Yet the minute that is accomplished, Draco's masochistic activities from minutes earlier are brought drastically into effect and he lightly wavers on his feet.

With a small squeak of terror, Hermione grabs his torso to hold him upright. "It's alright, just a little blood loss!" she says tightly, too high pitched, and it's obvious that the statement was made in more of an effort to comfort herself then the boy in her arms.

Draco, after regaining a semblance of coherence and noticing his rather prone position leaning heavily against none other then Hermione Granger, is in the mood to protest. But Hermione will have none of it. After a brief scuffle, she has him securely upright with an arm slung over her shoulders, and one of her smaller ones curled carefully around his midsection - though his expression is anything but happy.

"Come on," she barely whispers and tugs lightly, leading the way out of the bathroom and into the common area. As they stumble along rather awkwardly, Hermione - with a slow spreading awareness - becomes conscious of the fact that she is pressed rather closely, and rather intimately, against one of her enemies. One of her enemies who happens to be male. Male and currently shirtless. Hermione Granger would never consider herself a normal hormonal teenager, but as her eyes slide along his pale torso, she is forced to realize a rather unsettling fact; he is tall and sleekly muscular from years of playing seeker on the Slytherin quidditch team and besides the metallic tinge of drying blood, he smells of a fresh shower and aftershave, and something more, something distinctly male.

Even more unsettling is that in that moment, with a small jolt, Hermione suddenly realizes that it is quite an appealing torso and a rather pleasant scent. Abruptly, her cheeks redden at the thought and she chastises herself internally, swiftly snapping her gaze away from his body to concentrate on the path ahead of them. Yet, the color on her cheeks refuses to fade.

Also as they walk, Hermione becomes aware of another fact; just how much Malfoy is using her for support and the way his eyes flutter tiredly. She bites her lip, concerned of how much blood he's lost. He seems close to passing out. She forms a plan in her mind, glancing briefly at the door to Malfoy's bedroom directly across from her own. It too, like hers, is locked with a password which she doubts Mafloy would let her know, even in his current state.

"Here, come this way." she says, and readjusts her arm on his waste, pulling him towards her own room. He doesn't really seem to notice where they are going or, thankfully, listen as she hurriedly whispers her password; Hogwarts a History.

She drags them into the room, and drops him down gracelessly onto her large crimson bedspread. His eyes snap open with the movement, and he blinks, finally bringing everything into focus. The relatively small room is clean and tidy, decorated with her house colors of red and gold. Nothing is very personal about it, except for a framed picture of her parents on the nightstand.

Realizing where he is, Draco cringes, "Yuck... so this is your room."

"Mmmhm," Hermione mumbles, not listening or caring about the disgusted tone of voice. She's digging under her bead for something, and with a small "aha!" she straightens up and plunks a white plastic box marked 'safety kit' onto the bed by his feet.

At the strange look Draco sends her, she smiles, which Draco finds slightly alarming. "You can never be too safe with Harry and Ron."

Hermione opens the box, and pulls out some gauze bandages. Both Gryfindor and Slytherin are silent as a look of concentration falls over Granger's face – one which Draco recognizes quite well from when she's working in class – and she directs her attention to the cuts marring his arms and chest. As she reaches out to touch him Draco stiffens, yet when her fingers touch his skin they are warm and gentle. He relaxes ever so slightly, becoming mildly embarrassed with his reaction; what did he expect? Burning Mudblood powers? It's just confusing, he decides, all this...strangeness with Granger. Hermione, for her part, hasn't noticed his odd behavior and continues to work in silence, broken only by Draco sighing tiredly.

"Well, you sure did a number on yourself, " she says lightly, after several minutes, trying unsuccessfully to break some of the tension in the room. Her tidy fingers continue to work magic - literally and figuratively - over his arms and chest. Draco shrugs his shoulders (causing Hermione to make a small sound of annoyance when a bandage slips).

"I'll be able to heal them all completely, " she tries again, as she lightly waves her wand over his left arm, then moves to his chest, "And hopefully I'll be able to remove any scarring."

He looks at her oddly out of the corner of his eyes as she continues to chatter away about healing spells. It isn't that he finds what she says boring, it's more that she's carrying on a conversation as if they were...friends. She hasn't seem to notice this fact yet; probably because she's falling into the casual and comforting atmosphere of a familiar conversation.

"-and there was this particularly nasty case that Madame Pomfrey showed me," she continues, "Oh, you should have seen-..." she trails off, finally aware of his eyes on her. "What?"

He shakes his head lightly. "Nothing."

Yet truly, Draco is confused. He doesn't understand why she's being so nice to him. He doesn't understand why, after years of torment, she would still go out of her way to help him. And most of all, he doesn't understand how a Mudblood can be so pretty. All these thoughts are giving him a migraine and he sighs, closing his eyes. Within minutes, with the blood loss making him tired and Hermione's gentle hands still working over him, he's drifted into sleep.

"There, done!" Hermione declares several moments later with a small sense of satisfaction and looks up with a smile. It falters as she notices for the first time that Draco has fallen asleep.

Slightly annoyed – a little gratitude would have been nice - she stands up and only then does she noticed all the blood. The red on his torso and the bedspread has dried into a dark dirty brown. She looks down, realizing that her sweater is also relatively soaked in dried blood.

She cringes a bit at the sight but a mess is not much for a witch and with a quick 'scourgify' any stains have disappeared. But the blood is the least of her problems, she quickly realizes, because Draco Malfoy is currently occupying a good half of her bed and seems to have no intention of moving. Or waking up, for that matter.

She has a brief internal struggle, weighing the pros and cons of leaving Malfoy in her bed. On one hand, this is Malfoy; mean spirited, Voldemort loving, icky little Slytherin weasel and what would Harry and Ron think? "So what did you do yesterday, Hermione? Oh, nothing, just had Malfoy in my room for a sleepover." Yes, that would go over well.

Yet in the end it is her sense of compassion that wins. Malfoy obviously needs a good nights rest after all the blood he's lost and Hermione can't bring herself to wake him. After all, it is now apparent that there is much more to Draco Malfoy's inner psyche then she initially thought.

Sighing tiredly, Hermione moves towards the other side of the bed and sits on the end lightly. She pulls her sweater over her head, leaving her in a light pink tank-top. However, she doesn't dare fully undress or wear pajamas – what if Malfoy woke in the night and saw her? Begrudgingly accepting her fate, she lays down on the bed and curls up on her side, regarding Malfoy as he lay sleeping on his back.

His bare chest is rising and falling in a steady rhythm and she can't help but admire the shadow and definition in the muscles of his chest and arms. It's not very often that Hermione Granger has the chance to appreciate the male form up close, so she's alarmed by the primal feelings it stirs within her, making her feel very female.

Slightly overwhelmed, she rolls to her other side and stares blankly at her dresser. Stupid Malfoy. Stupid Quidditch.

There's a sound from behind her and she flips back over, scared that she's woken him. She inhales sharply as she comes nose to nose with the aforementioned young man. Thankfully, he's still sleeping, but Hermione dare not move as his face is lying only inches from her. She can feel his breath tickle across her cheek as he exhales and she feels her own hitch in her throat. His face is so close she can make out the silvery blond stubble barely making a shadow along his jaw. Nor can she ignore the slight furrow in his brows, the stress he carries in his face, even while he's sleeping. It is something she's never noticed before.

Very quietly, Hermione turns back to her other side and once again, stares blankly at her dresser.

Hours later, in the moments before her eyes drift shut and she too, succumbs to slumber, she has a wonderful thought. Perhaps this is all a large misunderstanding; Malfoy is still the huge git she's grown up with and he doesn't have any strange self-mutilating behaviors that cover up layers of himself that she never wanted to know about. She almost smiles stupidly at the thought before Malfoy turns over in his sleep and jostles her back into reality. How the hell has she gotten herself into such a mess?

End of second chapter

A/N: Okay, on with the thrid one! REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW! Please?