Hi all. Thanks so much for the reviews, much appreciated! Please do the same for this chapter! I'd love some feedback.

This is my first fanfic by the way, so bear with me! Here's the next chapter. Now it gets interesting!

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters – although I dearly wish I did. It all belongs to the amazing Jo Rowling. I do not own Taylor Swift's song lyrics either. I own nothing but the plot.

Chapter 2: But I Do

Ten months later (5th Year)

The sun just set. Its dying rays had stained the castle a deep red before swathing it in shadows. The common room was packed and noisy. Fred and George were advertising their Skiving Snackboxes to an animated crowed of admirers who seemed to think nothing was more entertaining than watching the redhead twins vomiting spectacularly into a cauldron, or repeatedly toppling over in a dead faint.

Hermione was sitting stiffly in an armchair near the fire; a pair of knitting needles clicking away beside her, producing yet another hat which, Harry was sure, would end up joining Dobby's collection. Harry and Ron were bent over their Divination homework, quills scratching swiftly over their parchment, pausing now and then thoughtfully.

Ron looked up irritably as Hermione heaved another sigh, clearly audible over the sound of vomit hitting the bottom of Fred ad George's cauldron.

'If it's annoying you so much why don't you just go and stop them?' he asked, taking the opportunity to flex his stiff fingers.

Hermione scowled. 'I can't stop them using the stupid things on themselves. They aren't exactly breaking any rules.'

'Well, then quit all the sighing, Harry and I are trying to concentrate.' Uncharacteristically studious, Ron turned back to his essay.

Hermione checked her watch. It was almost eight. 'We've got rounds to do in ten minutes anyway,' she said, standing up and smoothing out the creases in her plaid shirt.

Ron looked up, horrified. 'Oh, please can you cover for me? Just for tonight?'

'Absolutely not!' Hermione snapped. 'I've had enough of you skiving off every second week!'

'Look at this,' Ron bellowed, thrusting his parchment under her nose. 'I've got twenty more inches and it's due tomorrow! Come on, Hermione, please.'

'Fine!' Hermione spat. 'But you owe me!' And with that she turned on her heel and stormed out of the portrait hole. She was halfway down the hall before she stopped to catch her breath – and temper, before it could get out of hand.

To be honest, she didn't particularly mind doing Ron's rounds, it gave her an excuse to roam the castle for longer – a pleasure she enjoyed each evening. It gave her quiet time to just stroll and fall deep into her thoughts. Her life was so busy, what with her upcoming OWLs and immense workload being piled upon her, she had little to time to simply think.

But that was what she did now, and before she knew it, her unruly thoughts had lead themselves right into the topic of Viktor Krum. It had been eight months since they had called off their relationship. It had lasted barely two months before, on a cold, rainy February evening, Viktor had pulled her aside and explained, none too gently, why this wasn't working for him. And while she had nodded bravely and smiled and agreed, she had cried herself to sleep that night.

It was hard enough being the Gryffindor know-it all, without having been rejected by Viktor. Hard enough bearing the taunts and jeer thrown at her when Rita Skeeter had written that article about her in Witch Weekly. The first thing that had been going right in her life in a long time had been ripped away in the blink of an eye.

It had taken time to heal. A long time. Many sleepless nights had passed before she could think of the Bulgarian Quidditch player without feeling a lump rise to her throat. Even now, eight months later, roaming the corridors of the quiet castle brought memories rushing back. Memories of stolen kisses in dark corners. Conversations, softly spoken, as they sat in tranquil silence of the library.

So caught up in her thoughts, Hermione barely noticed where she was going, until she found herself in the Astronomy tower – the scene of yet another romantic late-night stroll. And as strong as she had become over the last few months, as many walls she had put up around her heart, the mere sight of this place brought tears, stinging, hot tears, coursing down her cheeks.

She slid down the wall, into the vague impression of a sitting position. A crumpled, sobbing girl at the top of the Astronomy tower in the middle of the night.

The moon had risen, and was now high above Hogwarts' battlements, shedding an eerie silver glow onto the world. A full moon. A blue moon, in fact. It was the second one this month. Didn't people usually say strange things happened on a blue moon? But Hermione was not a superstitious girl. No, hadn't she proved that when she had stormed from Trelawney's class in her third year? And yet something was really quiet mysterious about her current predicament. A crying girl, all alone on the highest tower of Hogwarts, under a full moon. Oh wonderful, she thought irritably, sniffing and wiping her eyes on the back of her hand, now I'm getting sentimental. All I need now is for someone to find me.

And, unfortunately, how events seem to go when you're feeling as miserable as humanely possible, that was exactly what happened; and by the most unlikely person imaginable.

Draco stopped short at the sight of a sniffing, sobbing huddle curled up against the wall. Her face has hidden in her arms but it was impossible to miss her unmistakable bushy brown hair.

'Granger?'

Hermione gasped and looked up. Her face was red and blotchy and she had tearstains glittering on her cheeks.

She hadn't heard him climbing the stairs to the tower. His white-blond hair shone brightly in the moonlight and his eyes, usually so cold and grey, glowed brightly. He looked tired and wan, though. His hair was rumpled and untidy – and strangely attractive, Hermione found herself thinking.

She sniffed and looked up at him. 'What?' she muttered, furious that he had found her in this state. 'What are you doing here?'

Malfoy raised his eyebrows and looked her up and down. 'I might ask you the same thing.' Hermione squirmed uncomfortably under his gaze, horribly aware of how dishevelled she must look. Malfoy suddenly squinted at her and took a step nearer. 'Granger, are you – crying?'

Oh why did the tears have to come back now? Why? She scrubbed her sleeve angrily across her eyes.

'No,' she said forcefully, but the fresh tears now leaking out of her eyes somehow contradicted her. 'Fine, yes. But why do you even care? Come to have a gloat, have you? Couldn't resist another chance to poke fun a stupid little Granger girl?' Her voice was rising shrilly as more tears streamed down her face. 'You don't even –'

'Granger... Granger, calm down.'

Hermione stopped short; and it wasn't because he interrupted her, it was because of the gentle tone in which he spoke. A tone, mere hours ago, she could have sworn he was not capable of.

Unaware of her shock, Draco went on. 'I'm not here to have a go at you. I was on my prefect rounds. Granger – are you ok?' There was something like concern in his eyes that made her heart falter slightly.

She stared up at him through watery, deep brown eyes, and sniffed again. 'Does it look like I'm ok?' Her voice had a hard edge to it. 'I don't see why you care anyway.'

To her surprise, the tall blond made his way over to her and crouched down beside her slim form. When she didn't look up from her lap he sighed and lowered himself into a sitting position, leaning against the cold stone wall. He was so close Hermione could feel his body heat through her think cotton shirt.

After a minute or two of taught silence, he spoke. 'You can talk to me, you know.'

Hermione stared at him. His cheeks coloured slightly but he did not break their gaze. 'Since when?' Hermione retorted, shifting her position slightly so that she was no longer huddled. 'Since when can I talk to you? You've never shown me any decency – let alone compassion!' She lowered her voice suspiciously. 'What do you want from me?'

She studied him closely. Up close he looked even paler and wan than usual. But there was utmost sincerity in his eyes when he said, 'Nothing. I don't want anything from you.' He turned away and began to rise. Before she knew what she was doing, Hermione shot out a hand and grabbed him by the elbow, stalling him.

'Wait! Don't go.'

Draco stared at her.

she did not admit it to him – she could barely admit it to herself – but there was something comforting about his presence, and she found herself wishing that there wasn't years of built-up resentment between them, and that she could simply spill all her fears and woes to him. But of course she couldn't. So when he asked her why, she shrugged – but that seemed to be enough for him. He sat back down beside her.

'So do you want to talk about it?' he repeated.

She shook her heard.

'Right.'

They sat in silence for a couple of minutes. Hermione's mind was whirling. What was she doing? Why was she talking to Draco Malfoy, of all people? The trio's sworn enemy who had spent the last four years finding every opportunity to throw insults at her – the filthy little mudblood. The bushy-haired know-it-all. The ridiculous friend of famous Harry Potter and pathetic Ron Weasley.

Before she when what was happening she had opened her mouth – and suddenly her whole sad predicament spilled out. From the beginning to the end. Every feeling she had ever felt, from the initial butterflies to the final, heart-wrenching pain and sadness. It all poured from her mouth like some inexorable stream. Because once she started she could not stop. There was nothing she could do but talk, and let it all out. Eight months of bottled up emotions. Eight months of crying quietly into her pillow. Eight months of confused and heart-wrenching feelings. Her fragile secret was trusted to none other than Draco Malfoy.

'And now I've been spending these last eight months thinking all love ever does is break... and burn and end!' She stopped suddenly. She had run out of words. She turned to look at the boy beside her and found her gazing at her with the strangest expression on his face. But she could not place it. He was like a closed book. Impossible to read. But how she would love to be able to read him.

There was silence for a while and then Malfoy said softly, 'So you loved him?'

Hermione jerked. Of all the things she had expected him to say, this certainly was not it.

'I... well... I don't know. For a moment it sort of seemed like it – but I don't know. It's too complicated – all of it.'

'Love isn't that complicated.'

'Oh?'

'Yeah, it's more – pure and sudden and there! The aftermath is complicated – but if you loved him, you would know.'

'Oh.'

It seemed the strangest thing, to be sitting here, on the Astronomy tower, under the moonlight, discussing something as deep as love with Draco Malfoy. But somehow it felt right. As if sharing her feelings with him had been the most obvious thing to do. She was almost surprised she hadn't spoken to him before.

Glancing at her watched, she jumped. It was already 10:30. She was supposed to have been back in Gryffindor tower an hour ago!

She leapt to her feet. 'I've got to go.'

Draco stood up too, still surveying her strangely. He suddenly looked awkward. 'Granger, would you mind if we – if we don't talk to anyone else about this... this little meeting we had?'

Hermione suddenly, bizarrely, felt as giggle rise up in her chest. Fighting to keep and straight face she said evenly, 'Of course. We can't have your reputation as a muggle-hating, snide Slytherin be ruined by the fact that you just offered comfort to a sobbing Hermione Granger at the top of the Astronomy tower. No, no, that wouldn't do at all.'

And then to Hermione's everlasting surprise, Draco threw back his head and laughed; laughed like a little boy. Had Hermione not been there to witness it, she would never have believed he was capable of such a beautiful sound. It was rich and warm and lovely beyond compare. And his face lit up in a way she had never seen it before.

She let out a reluctant giggle.

'Ok, I've got to go.' She turned away but –

'Wait!'

She turned and looked into his grey eyes curiously.

'You know, however amazing you think they are,' Draco said softly. 'No one's worth your tears.' As if unaware of what he was doing, he reached out and touched her tear stained cheek gently. Hermione flinched at the unexpected touch and Draco withdrew his hand as though he had been burned, a pale blush colouring his cheeks.

'Goodnight, Draco.' And she turned away, heart pounding and hurried down the stairs. But not before she heard his words, barely more than a whisper –

'Goodnight... Hermione...'