The next day at breakfast, McGonagall, true to her word, gave the points to Ravenclaw, announcing that Myrtle had saved a student's life, and then she went on, revealing that Hermione Granger had been attacked, possibly by another student, and that the matter was being investigated. Very oddly, Pansy was absent.

After breakfast, Draco should have expected Weasley and Potter to find him. He really should have. But maybe pulling off an act of actual kindness had damaged his brain. He wouldn't be surprised if it had. Above all else, Malfoys were not kind. His body probably had internal defenses against it, and it was only natural that there'd be side effects.

"What did you do to her?" Weasley growled at him, pushing him up against the wall. Harry glowered over his friend's shoulder.

For once in his life, Draco's face showed actual surprise. He shouldn't have been surprised. No one ever surprised him. But after actually saving Granger, it was just unexpected to be accused of trying to kill her. Actually, at that moment, with thoughts of holding her hand and wanting nothing but to keep her alive flying through his head, well, the thought of doing something like that to her didn't seem possible.

"I didn't do anything," he insisted.

"He's a Death Eater, Ron," Harry said. "He wants to kill off the Muggle-borns. Check his arm." His stomach twisted in horror.

"Get your filthy hands off me," Draco tried to snap, but his words came out in an extremely pleading tone. He tried to struggle, but it was two on one.

"Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter, let him go this instant," McGonagall snapped, just as Ron got his hands on the struggling Malfoy's sleeve. Both him and Harry stepped back in shock, and Draco fell to the ground, his knees shaking with pure relief.

"Mr. Malfoy, you may go now." Draco didn't complain, slinking off to potions as quickly as he could, his heart still thudding against his chest.

Well, he thought grimly, there's the proof that I'm not the only one who's prejudiced.

He wondered if Granger would have accused him if Harry or Ron had been hospitalized. No, he decided. She wouldn't have. He couldn't imagine her cornering him anyway. Punching him, sure, but only when he was being an arse to her face. She needed facts for everything, though, and he knew she wouldn't blame him unless she was absolutely sure. Right?

His doubt left him when he remembered her holding onto his hand the night before, looking up at him with those big brown eyes. It was like she wanted him there, like she needed him. She'd even told him to stay. No, she wouldn't have cornered him and yelled at him. She was too good to do that.

Draco pushed his mind away from her when Slughorn started talking, but just before he started trying to brew his potion, he allowed himself to think of the small, purple-lipped smile she'd given him after he'd ordered her to stay alive. Even though his face stayed blank, the thought made his cold gray eyes soften, just marginally.

After all his classes were done that day, he put himself under Potter's cloak again, but this time it wasn't because he wanted to play matchmaker. No, he wanted to see how Granger was doing.

He didn't actually care, obviously. He'd helped her and now whatever happened would happen. But he wanted to know. So he could be mad at her if she died. You know, for putting him through that effort. Because he'd gotten up in the middle of the night and covered himself in blood for her. And it'd be a waste if she died.

No one was there when he snuck into the hospital wing, so he just sat in a chair beside her bed and watched her. She was sitting up, and even though she looked pale, she was awake. He guessed they'd managed to get some blood into her to keep her alive. It was surprising that she managed not to die. She always seemed to mess things up.

"Are you awake, Hermione?" an all too familiar voice asked from behind him. Draco sighed internally, then pushed himself out of his chair and leaned against the wall across the room from her bed.

Moments later, the other two musketeers came trampling in, their boisterous movements a hilariously sharp contrast to Draco's undetected entrance.

"Are you okay?" Potter asked, his face filled with nothing but concern.

"Now I am, yes," she said softly. Her voice was still slightly hoarse.

"That old hag hasn't been treating you too badly, has she?" Ron wondered, planting a kiss on her forehead. Draco tried not to gag.

"She isn't that bad," Hermione scolded, the corners of her lips lifting just a little bit.

"Of course she isn't," Ron said sarcastically. Then he plopped down into a chair beside her, while Harry stood behind them.

"Don't be so hard on her. She has to deal with students like you and Harry all the time." A smirk found its way to Draco's lips.

"Hey, you've been here before, too," complained Ron.

"I got petrified by a basilisk," Hermione said, "I could hardly help that. But let's see… you've fallen off a giant stone horse while playing life-sized wizarding chess…"

"For you," he tried. Hermione thankfully ignored him. If she would've made some gross romantic comment, Draco would have thrown up.

"You've had your leg torn apart by Sirius while you were trying to rescue your evil rat…"

"He could have been more gentle," Ron interrupted again.

"Then there are those Quidditch accidents…"

"It's a dangerous sport."

"And that time you couldn't stop throwing up slugs after Malfoy called me a Mudblood for the first time."

"If I would've known he'd eventually replace your name with that, I would've saved myself the trouble." Malfoy felt himself smirking, right along with Granger's smiling.

"Yeah, you'd have some troubles if you tried to hex him every time he said that now." Ron took her hand.

"Speaking of Malfoy," Harry said, speaking up for the first time. The two lovebirds both started, as if they'd forgotten about him. "Just who did this to you?"

Hermione sat up a little straighter, her eyes darkening slightly.

"You think it was Malfoy," she said. It was a statement, not a question.

"Well, who else would it be?"

"Pansy Parkinson did it," Hermione said, her tone defensive. For some stupid reason, Draco liked that. "McGonagall talked to me this morning, and she's most likely going to be expelled." Hermione almost sounded like she felt bad about it. Draco tried not to snort, realizing that there was a such thing as being too nice. Even he was happy that Pansy was going to be gone. If anything, Granger should be organizing a powwow or something. Parkinson was even worse to her than Malfoy usually was.

"I bet Malfoy set her up," Ron said. Isn't he just friendly, trying to find out how to blame me.

"You're trying to figure out a way to blame him, aren't you?" It was eerie, how she'd voiced exactly what he'd been thinking. He shook it off as dumb coincidence.

"Yes, we are. Because we know it was him. We cornered him today, and he started freaking out when Ron tried to get his left sleeve down," insisted Harry.

"You what?" Hermione exclaimed, sounding horrified. The Slytherin's smirk grew as he took in her reaction.

"I said we-"

"I heard you," she said. "But why? It wasn't him, I can assure you of that."

"Did he use a memory charm on you?" Ron wondered.

"No, he did not. It was Pansy, not Malfoy, I'm pretty sure."

"Then why did he freak out when we tried to look at his arm?" Draco kicked himself at that once he thought about how obvious he'd been. It didn't bother him for long, though. Next time they tried that crap, he would curses them so hard that their grandchildren would feel it.

"If someone walked up to you and started trying to look at your arms for no reason, wouldn't you freak out too?"

"Whatever," Ron said, losing his steam. "It was still him."

"Ron, do you know Malfoy said a few weeks ago, when we were in Defense Against the Dark Arts?"

"What?"

"That everyone else was just as prejudiced as Slytherins, because they made his house, made him, out to be the bad guys no matter what. You're proving him right. I saw who did it, and you still try to argue that it was his fault anyway, when I know it wasn't."

"But it's Malfoy," Ron insisted.

"And? I know he didn't do it, so just drop it."

"Fine. I don't know what kind of medicine they're giving you, but it's obviously messing with your head, if you're defending that git." Hermione squeezed his hand a little bit.

"Aw, you're so cute when you're mad," she said. That's just a little disgusting.

"Oh, shut up," Ron said, kissing the hand.

"You guys, please," Harry said. Thank you, Potter.

"Sorry," Hermione said, blushing furiously.

"Hey, what are you doing here?" the medi-witch's familiar voice called. "She needs rest. You can visit with her later, when she's released."

"But-"

"No buts. Let her sleep." Then she waved her wand as she chased the other two wizards out of the room. Draco stayed behind and waited for the nurse to check over Hermione. When Pomfrey told the girl that she'd be able to return to classes the next day, Draco had to smirk, just a little. Not because he was excited for her to come back, but because he'd had to practice his hexes on Snape that day, and it was even worse than Hermione. That was the only reason he wanted her in class. Obviously.

"You're very lucky that boy got help for you as quickly as he did." She smiled gently.

"I know, I am." Then the nurse left. Draco slowly walked back over to her bed and studied the pale girl lying there, her wild chestnut hair spilling over the pillow, and her dark eyes smiling just because that was the way they were. As he watched her, her eyes slowly closed, and he realized that her dark lashes were so long that they almost brushed against her cheeks.

As he studied her, he realized how appropriately colored her hair and eyes were- the same brown as mud. He didn't think it maliciously, but more just acknowledging the fact. Really, neither her hair or eyes were ugly. Actually, her eyes were… not ugly.

And with that awkward, strangled thought, he got out of there as quickly as he could, before he thought something else that wasn't only stupid, but dangerous. The epiphany that he'd had the night before didn't just magically wipe away sixteen years worth of teachings, and thinking anything like that about the Mudblood was still borderline disgusting for him. Besides, if his father, or any of the Dark Lord's followers, knew he was thinking things like that, well… it wouldn't turn out well.

...

The next morning, Pansy wasn't at breakfast, and Draco heard whispers going around that she'd left the previous night, all of her bags with her. Sure enough, when Draco asked Hestia, she told him that her things were gone. He fixed Zabini with an evil smile. Blaise ignored him.

All of Draco's classes that day flew by quickly up until Transfiguration. That was the class before DADA, and every second seemed to stretch out into hundreds. He knew that Granger was aware that he saved her, and he wanted to see her reaction. He didn't know if she was going to suddenly start being nice to him, and he wouldn't know how to react if she did. If she kept up the usual 'I'm smarter than you' attitude that she reserved just for Draco, then everything would be fine. If not... he had no idea what he'd do. The notion was too strange to think about.

He glanced at her, sitting across the room, but she was twirling her hair for Weasley. Immediately he looked away and focused on his book.

"Mr. Malfoy," Professor McGonagall said. After her conversation with him two days previously, she'd been treating him slightly differently. Better, almost. Like she respected him.

"Um, yes?"

"As you haven't found anything this year difficult so far, I would like to see you attempt to demonstrate how you would turn a person into an animal. I do believe that you are familiar with the art." He cringed, remembering getting turned into a ferret his fourth year by his crazy DADA teacher.

"Yeah, I'll try. Where's MacMillan?" Ernie MacMillan was the class's test dummy of choice. It was more or less because he was the only Hufflepuff who'd managed to get into the higher level transfiguration class, and as his house was usually downtrodden upon by the Slytherins and even Ravenclaws, he became more or less the guinea pig, unless a Gryffindor was called upon to demonstrate.

As always, Ernie cooperated the best he could, and sauntered to the front of the classroom. Draco gave him a mischievous smile.

"If you lose any limbs, it's not my fault," he told him, then drew on his hours of practice with his aunt, waved his wand, and turned Ernie MacMillan into a boar. Big black eyes looked up at him. McGonagall started clapping.

"Never in my years of teaching have I had such talented students. Both you and Miss Granger are performing magic that wizards and witches much older than you have trouble with. If I didn't know any better, I'd say that you've been practicing over the summer." Draco smirked at her.

"I would never consider doing anything like that," he said innocently. Then he almost kicked himself. What was he doing, bantering with a teacher like that? He was going soft. That's what he got for talking to stupid fat ghosts and saving Mudbloods.

"Of course not," McGonagall agreed with a good natured smile. Draco tried to glare at her, but her remarks about how proud she'd been of him, about how great he was, came back to him, and could do nothing other than return to his seat.

"Now, Miss Granger, would you care to change Mr. Macmillan back to his original form?" Draco buried his face in his book, not letting himself watch her, because watching her would turn into more bad thoughts and then bad actions, and he simply couldn't let that happen.

"Very good, Miss Granger," their professor said, clapping once again. Draco allowed himself a small glance up and saw a perfectly human Ernie Macmillan in front of them. Annoyed that Granger was on level with him even after his training, he twisted his face into a scowl and kept to himself the rest of the class period.

After transfiguration, he seriously debated just faking sick, but no doubt they'd send him to Pomfrey, and he absolutely did not want to go through a visit with her for an imaginary cold, so he trudged down to Snape's classroom as slowly as he could, not wanting to get to class any earlier than he had to. If he was late enough, he knew, then there'd be little chance to talk.

"Ten points from Slytherin," Snape stated when Draco walked in after everyone else. He ignored the glowers from his housemates and plopped down into his seat next to Hermione. Her stupid brown eyes wouldn't leave his face. As a precaution, he made sure to reinforce the chains around his heart, which had unfortunately gotten weaker the past few days. He wasn't positive, but he didn't think that his efforts made much of a difference.

"If I have heard correctly, I do believe that most of you have received a demonstration of the three unforgivable curses in your fourth year," Snape said to start his lecture. Several students squirmed uncomfortably, and Draco had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. I've had exclusive demonstrations with one of them many times.

He'd also seen the other two in use, as well as being taught how to cast them. All in all, the three spells that so many feared were almost basic to him.

"Well, I will not go so far as to demonstrate them, but I do, however, want you to know how to defend yourselves against them. First, we will focus on the Cruciatus curse." Several of his classmates flinched, but the mention of it did nothing to Draco. It was practically dinnertime conversation at his house. "I want a three foot long essay on what it does, how it is cast, and the long term effects that it could cause. You may consult your partners on it today, but I expect each of you to do further research on it later. It is due next Wednesday. I'd encourage you to get to work immediately."

Draco sighed, then started writing furiously, making a rough outline of everything he knew. He wasn't planning on using a book. He didn't need to.

After writing for a couple minutes, he noticed Granger's eyes on him and glanced up.

"Enjoying the view?" he wondered. Instead of blushing, like any normal girl, she just waved his comment away.

"You're writing a lot down," she stated.

"And you're writing nothing down," he said in the same tone, taking note of her nearly blank sheet of paper.

"Because we're supposed to be discussing what we're writing," she said.

The sentences were said in awkward, clipped tones, and neither of them met the other's eye when they were talking. He didn't want to work with her. It would probably only make the twisting in his gut worse.

"When have you ever needed my help?" he asked bitterly. Then he realized what he said, and wanted to perform the Cruciatus on himself. That was stupid. Seriously? When have you ever needed my help? Two days after he saved her life. Wow, Draco. Way to pretend like nothing ever happened.

"I think you know the answer to that," she said simply. There was another bout of extremely awkward silence before she sighed. "I know that you still hate me, and I don't expect anything to be different, so why don't we just pretend that nothing has ever happened, and get done with our work?"

Yeah, she could say that. She wasn't fully coherent when the handholding, and joking, and smiling was all going on. She could easily pretend that nothing had happened. For Draco, though, it wasn't going to be quite that easy. He was thankful for the proposal, however, so he nodded in agreement.

"Okay, Granger. But if everything goes back to normal, then why do you expect me to help you?"

"I don't want help. I want ideas."

"Isn't it the same thing in this case?."

"Malfoy," she complained.

"Well, the spell hurts like hell," he said with just a little too much familiarity in his tone. Granger tilted her head at him, giving him a very strange look.

"You say that like you know."

He kept his composure, although he was annoyed at her for noticing something like that.

"It isn't that hard to figure out," he told her forcefully. She studied him for a while longer, then she shook her head.

"I already knew that," she finally said.

"Well, you said you wanted to share ideas, and I just did, but because you're a know-it-all little arseho-"

"Haven't you ever heard that saying, 'if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all'?" she wondered, cutting him off before he could finish his sentence.

"So you want me to quit speaking?" She laughed.

He wanted to hurt himself. He was joking. With someone he wasn't supposed to be joking with, let alone speaking with. He looked back at his paper, then fiercely continued writing, doing his best to ignore the stupid Gryffindor girl who seemed to have an affinity for forcing him into talking.

The second class was done, he streaked out of that classroom and headed directly for the dungeons, not wanting to give Granger another chance to speak to him.

...

The last two days of that week, he tried as hard as he could to put his thoughts where they should be. Every day after classes, he'd put Potter's cloak on and throw himself into making Ron and Hermione the most nauseatingly cute couple anyone had ever seen. He'd leave love notes around and whisper in Ron's ear, causing him to say and do things that made Hermione blush and giggle. Once, he even stuffed a poem in Ron's bag, and when he read it, his face turned beet red, but he gave Granger a look that truly did make Malfoy sick.

When he wasn't doing that, he scoured the library for curses and potions that would be considered deadly, trying to convince himself he really was doing something about his Dumbledore problem, when really he was only finding ways to shoot down anything that sounded like it'd work.

That Friday during DADA, the class was required to undergo a simple test that supposedly simulated the Cruciatus curse to an extent, so that Snape could be assured they had some kind of idea about what it felt like. If comfortable with the activity, the student would have to approach an artifcact imbedded with a curse similar to a weakened Cruciatus and stand it for as long as they felt comfortable.

When Snape had explained the activity, the class got into a line, all of them whispering and humming nervously, except for Draco, who was, of course, accustomed to much worse than he knew this was going to be.

"Does it hurt?" Granger asked him once they'd gotten closer to the front. He let out an over-exaggerated sigh.

"For the millionth time, Granger, I do not know. Would you get that idea through your thick skull?" His voice was extremely condescending, as though he were talking to a small child. As a reward, she tried to shoot him a glare, although it kind of gave Draco the impression of one of those puffy little dogs that barked all the time, trying to be meaner than they really were.

"You're a lying git," she told him.

"And you aren't as scary as you think you are," he said. To which she raised her wand and gave him a very nice nonverbal stinging jinx. He staggered back, but didn't completely fall.

"You're like a Pomeranian," he continued. "You try to act mean, but it just comes across as bloody annoying, and the Lord knows you have the hair for it." She tried to glare at him again, but she was too amused for it to turn out well, a smile breaking across her face despite her best efforts. Draco smirked at her reaction.

"Compare me to a dog one more time-"

"Miss Granger," Snape droned, ready to produce another ball.

"Enjoy," said Draco darkly.

He tried not to care when the thing started, and she crumpled to her knees. And he tried not to be relieved when she looked up with a twisted face, grabbed her wand, and deactivated the artifact, but he hated seeing her in pain like that. She was too sweet for pain, too good. What am I thinking? It doesn't matter what kind of pain she goes through. Yet, when she was done, he couldn't help but relax.

Draco quickly stepped up to his place, glad that he was going to get smacked with a painful curse, because he deserved it after worrying about a Mudblood. With one last glance at a slightly frazzled looking Hermione, he cleared Snape to start.

The pain didn't knock him to his knees. It got the burning sensation of the Cruciatus right, but it wasn't half as bad at the actual thing, and Draco had known it was coming. Not letting his placid face show the pain he was feeling, he pulled out his wand and stopped the curse, while the rest of the class watched in a mix of shock and something almost like awe.

Almost immediately, Granger shot him an 'I told you so' look, and he glared back at her, and mouthed, "Pomeranian", which caused her to attempt another amusing dog glare. He tried not to laugh as he turned away and returned to his seat.