Disclaimer: A shock to us all, I am not JK Rowling.

AN: Okay, HERE we go folks. Let me know what you think in the comments :)

Chapter 6

The caged bird sings

With a fearful trill

For things unknown

But longed for still

Maya Angelou

He was kissing her. Hermione felt like every cell in her body had been jolted into sudden life. She could think of nothing but his soft lips parting hers, his fingers gently pulling her hair, tilting her into him. His other arm curled around her body, pulling her closer as he deepened the kiss. Her stomach filled with butterflies as she was pressed against him, feeling the contours of his strong body. She knew this was the last thing, the very last thing she should be doing but without even meaning to, her hands wove into his hair, marveling at its softness. Her fingers traveled down over his shoulders, down to his chest. He gently bit her lip and she gasped into his mouth. She ached for his touch as his hand grabbed her hip, pulling her even closer to him. The world around them had disappeared, and they were standing on the edge of everything, just him and her. Nothing had felt more right, nothing less safe, nothing so captivating. Violently, she pushed herself away from him.

They stared at each other in shock, wide-eyed and breathless. Desire was smoldering in his grey stare as he looked down at her – desire and something else she couldn't place. As suddenly as he had kissed her, he turned and strode into his room, slamming the door behind him. Hermione was left standing there, completely stunned as her hand came up to touch her lips. It shouldn't have felt that way, she should have hated it. It shouldn't have felt so right. It was wrong. He was wrong. Slowly, fury filtered its way into her mind. How dare he kiss her? Was this some sort of sick joke of his?

"What the bloody fuck, Malfoy?!" The words flew out of her mouth, and angry yell, and she found herself storming up to his door. She discovered it locked and began to bang her hand on the wood. She needed an explanation. He had been leaving her with too many questions, and now this. Whipping out her wand she practically screamed 'alohomora' and the door almost flew off its hinges. She strode into the room her wand still drawn at her side. Malfoy was standing on the opposite side of the room, arms supporting him against the glass leading to his balcony.

"Malfoy." Her voice was menacingly low as she began to step towards him. He didn't move. He could have been paralyzed, standing there. Anger was whipping like a hurricane through her chest as she crossed the room. She froze a few feet away from him, a sliver of fear keeping her from getting too close.

"Turn. Around." She whispered, outrage dripping like venom from each word, but he still didn't move a muscle.

"You don't get to just stand there and ignore me. Turn around, Mal –"

Before she could finish her words, he had turned, closing the distance until there was barely any space separating them. Their eyes locked, and time disappeared. She felt as though he were staring into the very depths of her soul, his eyes almost glowing silver in the dim light, like pools of surging mercury. His breaths came out hard and shallow, and for a moment she thought he would kiss her again. For a moment she feared she would let him.

"Why?" She took a stumbling step away from him.

"Why what." His voice was low and gravely, and those seething, mournful, longing eyes were still fixated on hers.

"Everything. Why were you at the lake? Why did you – I don't know, rescue me? Why did you kiss me?" There were no words he could speak, and his eyes were flooding with emotion. He wanted to turn, to run from her. He wanted her to leave. He couldn't face this.

"Malfoy tell m—"

"I can't!" He yelled, closing his eyes. "I can't. I don't have an answer for you. Not now."

She slapped him. His eyes flew open, and he had never wanted to disappear more. She stood there, tears running like outlaws down her face, pain and confusion hidden just underneath the anger. He never wanted to be the person who caused that look on her face. But he was. He had been over and over.

"You don't get to treat me like the girls you bring back to you room. You will never touch me without my permission. Never again." Her voice was barely a whisper as she spoke, but it was there again in her eyes, that unconquerable fire. She turned and left the room.

xxxxx

Hermione woke with a start. She was freezing cold, feeling the ache of it deep in her bones. She sat up realizing she had fallen asleep on the floor. Her muscles were tired and weary, and her legs were gathered under her at an awkward angle. Her head felt clouded from lack of proper sleep. She had sunk to the floor by her door after leaving Malfoy's room the night before. For hours she had sat there just feeling it all, going over every second in her head again and again until she fell asleep like that. Suddenly, all the tiredness was gone. Malfoy had kissed her. She felt the sting of tears at her eyes.

"I hate you," she whispered. And she did, she did in that moment. She hated herself. Malfoy had felt like an electrical wire shocking her back to life. Every moment that had crashed them together, it had chipped away at the ice that had encased her since the war, since maybe even before then. It had invigorated her somehow. She didn't want to feel these things, didn't want to admit he had been a constant thought in the back of her mind. She felt furious, then. At herself, and at him. She hadn't even been worth an answer. He had brushed her off as if kissing her had just been the easiest way to shut her up. But it wasn't him she hated, no, it was her. She betrayed herself by feeling this way. Shakily she stood up, gently wiping away her tears. 'No' was not an answer she felt ready to accept. He needed to explain things to her. She deserved that much.

She felt a spike of hope course through her as she exited her room, and she cursed herself, her small, foolish self. What was she possibly hoping for? She didn't want to think about the way her heart seemed to leap at the thought of seeing him. She moved through the room too aware of every corner, every little shadow sitting silently across the floor. A knock at the portrait halted her in her tracks. She stared for a moment at his door before turning, frustrated, and yanking open the portrait hold. Dean raised his eyebrows at the scowl on her face.

"Bad time?" His deep voice asked her. She looked inward once more at his damn door, closed to her.

"No. It's fine. What's up?" Hermione pulled her gaze back to Dean's sweet and sexy half smile. She tried to let it erase everything she was feeling about – no, she wouldn't even think his name.

"There's something you're going to want to see," he said, holding out a hand to her, and it was so easy, so simple to reach out and take that hand and let him pull her out the door and away with him.

He led them down the familiar hallways, filling the corners with her laughter as they talked about everything they could think of. When they walked out the front doors of the castle, the cold of the winter felt far away next to him, and she liked the way that the white clouds of their breath seemed to collide around them.

"Dean, where on earth are you bringing me?" She asked when she saw they were standing at the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

"You'll just have to trust me, Mrs. Granger," he replied, and something about his bright eyes and intoxicating smile made her shake her head and laugh.

"By all means, lead on Mr. Thomas," she said, gesturing into the dimness of the forest stretching away before them.

As they walked between towering trees, Hermione felt as though she had stepped into a dream. The world glittered before them, kissed by ice and snow and no, the winter wasn't white, it was rainbow shards painted down on every branch. She lost herself in the freedom of wonder and the small sounds of walking with Dean. Several minutes passed before he stopped, turning and motioning for her to be silent, his finger hovering tantalizingly across his lips. She violently shoved away the memories of a different mouth pressed against hers. Dean took her hand and slowly, soundlessly, they crept to the center of a circle of tall beach trees that seemed to be smothered in ice.

Standing in the center of the trees, Dean turned to her once again with a smile on his face, and she felt her stomach tighten in excitement. He took one step away from her, and lifting his hands, he clapped them together. The sharp noise reverberated into the silence surrounding them and suddenly the air changed. Iridescent blue butterflies lifted like the chords of a song off the trees, surrounding the two of them as they escaped to the sky. Thousands of them filled the space between the trees and Hermione found herself slowly turning in wonder to watch them move, and then she was pressed against Dean, laughing while he watched her watch them.

When he leaned down to kiss her, it was a perfect moment, surrounded by butterflies, his lips so soft and gentle. He held her against him with a tenderness that made he feel warm against the cold. Nothing was wrong, and yet, yet, it didn't feel right. It didn't feel – like him. She pulled away and he let her, reaching up to tuck a curl behind her ear. She stared up at him, wanting so desperately to feel more than she knew she did. Dean was so good and probably exactly what she needed, and yet – how could she be satisfied kissing him when she knew that it could feel like Malfoy. She swallowed hard, more angry than ever that the prat had gone and messed with her head so much that she was about to say what she knew she was going to say to Dean – perfect, sweet, sexy Dean.

"I can't do this," and she wondered if she would regret that, "I'm so sorry. You are everything I should want to be with, and I can't understand why, but I just – I can't be more than friends with you." She saw the hurt in his eyes as he pulled away from her, but he smiled anyway, and somehow that felt worse.

"Hermione, it's okay. I can do just friends. But if you ever change your mind –" and he stopped, she didn't blame him.

"Lead you out to the forest and kiss you in a storm of butterflies?" She offered. Laughing, he nodded.

"You know what to do, Granger, if you ever want me." So they walked back to the castle, and the quiet between them was easy, comfortable, and in a bitter sweet way it reminded her of Harry.

xxxxx

She stood in front of his room, holding her breath, listening, but she couldn't hear a sound. Maybe he had already left. Hesitantly, she raised a small hand and knocked softly on the door. There was a moment of silence.

"Come in, Granger." His voice from behind the door sounded subdued and weary. She carefully entered the room, the doorknob cold against her fingers. Again, she was struck by the sheer plainness of Malfoy's bedroom. The white walls were almost aggressive, as if shouting desperately that not a single spec of dirt had assailed their surfaces. He was such a guarded person. Her eyes landed on the photograph she had given to him, hung on the wall across from his bed. The sight of it hanging there made her lungs decide to skip a breath. And then she saw him, sitting on the floor in front of the glass balcony doors. The cold winter light fell gracefully onto his hair, his broad shoulders hunched over as he wrapped himself loosely around his knees. She wondered if he had slept at all.

Something about him seemed more sincere than she had ever seen in him before. It was like the sarcastic and cruel tempered barriers had melted away, revealing the actual human being that hid behind them. She walked over and sat down beside him, for some reason no longer feeling nervous. Her eyes roamed across the sky outside - the clouds looked like a broken and empyrean desert of grey and white. They sat like that, each observing the world from their different angles, solitude settling into the room like a thick dust. Hermione finally spoke, her voice soft, falling gently into the silence.

"Tell me what's going on."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his head sink downward, his hands coming up to run themselves through his hair as if he had somehow been hoping she wouldn't ask him at all. Seeing him struggle so internally, she wanted to reach out to him, to comfort him. A part of her felt confused by it, but she also knew that it didn't matter that he was Malfoy - the boy who had spent all of his time teasing her and trying to put her down. She knew how it felt to suffer alone, trapped in your own twisted thoughts. She wouldn't wish that on anyone. She stayed quiet, though, stayed still where she sat cross-legged next to him. Regardless of what was haunting him, he had dragged her into it all and she needed answers. She needed to hear him say it.

"I didn't mean –" he stopped, his jaw clenching. "I didn't intend for this to happen. Any of it."

He looked back out the window, as if searching the sky for answers, then turned to the girl beside him, his eyes meeting her patient gaze. Something about her calmness eased him. His feelings were eating him alive.

"I have – " He swallowed hard. He had to tell her. He had no choice now. He watched as she searched his face, confused, maybe even worried. He swallowed again, refusing to look away from her.

"It's been longer than I care to admit that I've had these – feeling for you." His voice seemed like a shiver in the air. His eyes were so intent on hers, as if he were pleading her to understand. She could hardly breathe, unsure of how to accept his words. Her head felt dizzy at hearing them.

"And I was wrong." His whisper cut through the air like the softest curve of a feather. She felt herself blush under the heat of his gaze.

"Hermione, I was wrong and I'm sorry for it. I've spent a long damn time trying hard to make you hate me, to be someone that you could hate. I don't want to be. I never wanted to be. Or, I don't know. I intended to be for all the wrong reasons." Malfoy closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. If he was going to move forward, he had to lay it all out for her.

"During first year, I found myself so curious, interested in the girl who kept besting me in every class, and when I found out who you were, I hated myself for what I felt. I hated myself so much that I started hating you and nothing felt worse than that. I've struggled so long to feel nothing but disgust for you, but everything I learned about you made me like you all the more, for real reasons, ones I couldn't deny – your brilliance and kindness and strength and determination. But I – damnit, I've been such an idiot. I can't say anything to repair what I've done. I know that. But these damn feelings just won't go away, and being so close to you – it makes it so much worse."

Emotions began to run rampant through her – anger, confusion, wonder. She wanted to hate him for it all, the stupidity of it, for being such an uncontrollable ass to her. But she couldn't. Because at the back of his eyes she saw that glimpse once more, that glimpse of what it meant to be a Death Eater's son. She wondered if he had ever really believed in those things, or if he had simply been reciting all the poison his father had told him was the truth, drowning in it and unable to escape. His steel grey eyes bore into hers. She realized that if you actually paid attention, they spoke volumes. He was being torn apart, she could see it so clearly, and it wounded her. What the hell was she meant to do? She didn't know, and there was no book that could give her the answer.

He watched as she battled with her thoughts; they played out across her face like a novel, a horrible, heart wrenching novel, because he knew she would never feel the same pull that he did. A part of him wanted nothing more than to throw himself out the window. Fuck, he had been falling for her from the moment he had first heard her say the right answer and had been denying it ever since. She was his equal in every aspect – brilliant, cunning, driven. He had despised her for making him feel the way he did. He had done everything to kill those feelings, to ensure they would never become anything, that he would never be given the opportunity to betray everything he had been raised to stand for. He had been so cruel, so angry - so wrong. Looking at her now, he was overwhelmed by the desire to kiss her, to hold her, to protect her, to be loved by her, to turn it all around and somehow fix all the damage he had inflicted on them. He swallowed that down, knowing none of those things were tangible, and never would be. He was convinced of that. Slowly she stood up, carefully avoiding his eyes, afraid of what she would find there.

"I have to think. I can't think." Her voice was a whisper, every breath from her lungs so heavy with emotion that she could barely drag them out. She walked to the door, measuring each step, only too conscious of his eyes on her, like a sword slowly sinking into her chest.

Closing the door quietly behind her, she walked slowly and measuredly to the portrait hole, carefully stepping into the hallway. She had to get out of here. She needed to get away from it all. Her lungs burned as she sprinted down halls, past doors, up and down stairs. Without thinking, her feet began to carry her towards Gryffindor tower. She had to find Harry. She needed to hear his voice. He always knew what to say. She lurched to a stop, eyes wide, heart hammering. She felt herself sink to her knees, a wracking sob tearing through her body. He was gone. Harry was gone. She would never see him again. Never hear his voice again. He was gone.

She had never cried so hard, sitting there on the cold hard floor, barely holding herself together. Her mind felt consumed by sorrow, nothing was clear anymore. She clutched her arms around her stomach as if she could somehow keep herself from falling apart that way. Gone. Gone. He was gone. She wished she would drown in these tears. Reaching out, her hand scraping against the wall, she heaved herself to her feet. She ran blindly, trying to escape her thoughts, her fears, her very self. Somehow, her pounding feet carried her to the door. The door, plain and brown, calling out to her, a haven against the world. She pushed it open, throwing herself inside, gasping through her sobs. The bracing cold of the wind through the courtyard washed over her skin as she carried herself to the tree at its center. She collapsed against it, empty and torn apart. Tears fell from her eyes as she screamed again and again, calls so painful, so filled with torment and agony, that she hardly recognized her voice as human.

She felt someone's hand gently take hers.

"Hermione." His soft, caring voice spoke her name like it was a poem.