This is really short and a bit poo as I'm really hot atm and trying to think whilst juggling a bowl of ice cream and a fan...RR anyway please, next chapter coming soon.

Draco's POV

'Oh Gooood...' Draco sat with his fingers wrapped tightly in his hair. 'What the hell is the matter with me?' he thought despondently. How could he ever persuade Hermione to see him as even friend material if all he ever did was insult her?

Mudblood. He corrected himself sharply. Stop calling her by her name. That way madness lies. He was determined to put this to the back of his mind, concentrate on other things.

Unfortunately, Pansy Parkinson chose that moment to seat herself next to him exclaiming in vacuous tones, 'Drakeyyyyyy! What's wrong, you're so moody lately!'

Draco closed his eyes in consternation. Oh dear God, why do you hate me? He didn't trust himself to speak - the last time he'd been in a mood remotely similar to this he'd been forced to endure what she clearly considered were her puppy-dog eyes for an entire week, and he didn't think his stomach could take a repeat viewing. Instead he fixed his steely eyes on her wet brown ones and forced a smile to his lips.

'Nothing's wrong. Bad mood, that's all.'

Pansy simpered happily and settled down next to him, oblivious to Draco's highly audible sigh and stiff posture. A loud bang made the entire class jump (Draco noticed with irritation the dark looks Potter and Weasley cast in his direction as they filed past him - Granger however had the grace to look at the floor, a little red) as the tall, thin form of Severus Snape entered the dungeon.

'Books out, wands away, turn to page thirty-seven in complete silence,' he said in a bored voice that was barely more than a whisper, but which brooked no argument, and the dungeon was filled with the sounds of students riffling through their bags and flicking through their copies of Advanced Potions.

'Today we meet a new potion. This is a highly advanced concoction and it is extremely doubtful that most of you -' (here, Draco was pleased to note, he cast a dark look at Potter and Weasley, who glowered at him) '- will be successful in creating it. However, I am required to allow you the attempt, fruitless though it will clearly be. You will attempt to create the Desicoeur Potion - I see there is no need to ask for information. Our very own walking encyclopaedia is waving its arm around like a windmill - yes, Granger?'

'The Desicoeur Potion is the heart's desire potion. It shows you what you want, exactly what you want, and it's traditionally used by thieves and plunderers trying to find their way to hidden riches, as it's similar to a locator spell - it creates a beam of light which points the way towards the desire, whatev - '

'I asked for a brief descripition, Granger, not an essay. For once in your life know when to hold that incessant tongue.' Snape snapped at her. Hermione went very red and withdrew her hand.

'How about for once in your life you leave her alone?'

Draco heard the voice but he didn't know where it came from. It spoke again, louder this time. 'You ask her questions and then complain when she tells you the answer!'

It wasn't until Draco saw incredulous faces turned in his direction that he realised, with a jolt of shock, that it came from him. It was as though someone had thrown a bucket of icy water over him, such was the feeling of cold fear that ran through his body as he defended her, apparently against his will. None were more shocked than the Gryffindors. Potter looked utterly amazed, as though he'd been punched in the solar plexus. Weasley's face held complete revulsion tinged with disbelief, as though he'd just trodden in something disgusting and unusual. Hermione, however, was scarlet and trying very hard to hide it behind her textbook.

Snape recovered first.

'Well, since you seem so keen to befriend Granger perhaps you'd like to assist her in creating the potion she knows so very much about? Yes, I think so. Switch places with Weasley, now. Weasley, you will work with Parkinson. Potter, partner Longbottom - but use your cauldron. I doubt Longbottom can afford to melt another of his.'

The rest of the class was torture. Draco and Hermione worked alongside each other in utter silence, Hermione still a little pink in the face but apparently recovering slightly; her voice was surprisingly brisk as she issued orders to Draco such as 'You need to add more Gillyweed' , or, 'It says to stir in the Murtlap gradually'. Draco said not a word. He no longer trusted his mouth, his tongue, his lips. It was as though his body was mutinying against him. He could not believe he had said the words. Even to think them was bad, but at least then he could have hidden them, masked them with a veneer of cool hatred as he always had. But now? The entire class had heard him defend a Mudblood. How could he ever defend himself from something like that? An attack on himself had no defence. And yet...

And yet he could not help admiring her features in the flickering half-light of the candles that adorned the walls, throwing shadows across the room like faceless creatures. Her skin glowed, accentuating her cheekbones, and the dark curls that swirled about her face lent her a kind of elfin charm, though her wide brown eyes belied the intelligence in her. He noticed that while she worked she would wipe a hand across her eyes every so often, as if in exasperation, though in time he realised that it was as unconscious an act to her as breathing or blinking. She was slender but not ridiculously so, and despite the obvious awkwardness of the situation she seemed determined to avoid it, moving confidently about the workspace creating the potion and not looking at Draco even once.

He was a little disappointed by this. At least if she chanced a glance at him he could respond with a scathing comment or dark look to cover his tracks. But she was being so difficult! Draco sighed, resigned to his fate. He would have to do some serious thinking to get out of this one.