Author's Note: God, I miss writing. I've been swamped with schoolwork and reports, tests and migraines. I hate growing up. School only gets harder and then there's work… but on to the important stuff right. I don't own Harry Potter or Draco and Hermione.

Chapter Seven: You know who I am

Shall I say what moves me?

Where the mirror tells its tale

A thousand, flitting expressions

Are briefly shadow impaled.

But the written word must speak for

My hard-to-comprehend mind,

And the warm hand of a friendship

Midst letters bend to find.

A hundred conversations

From a dozen words must show,

Withal warm confirmation

That strengthens, says: "'tis so".

-Shadow World by John McNeil

-

The weekend- Draco inhaled the scent of his momentary freedom. No classes, no teachers, no… However, the thought died off when he realized foggy memory of Macbeth lingering over his head. He had completely forgotten about that stupid project.

Why did he care whether some muggle got a taste of old-fashioned power? Why did he care what Shapeskear or whatever thought? He didn't.

Draco snorted as he shoved on his black pants. Glancing at his watch, he noted that it was past noon. He had promised Hermione that he would meet her in the library at 11:30. Running a hand through his soft locks, he three on a black t-shirt. Making his way to the door, he froze, hand outstretched for the hand.

Insidiously, a gaping skull glared up at him from his bare arm. The wicked tattoo tormented him as he flexed his muscles in anger. Forever, he will be branded and deemed by his flesh. Draco swung away from the door, ripping a coat from his trunk. His eyes flashed silver as he exhaled a shaky breath. What did it matter what was beneath his skin anyway? Wasn't he just here to die? After all, what did Voldemort, greatest wizard of the time, want with the son of a washed-up Death Eater.

"I have to get these thoughts out of my mind," Draco murmured, exiting his room. He was here for Voldemort and loyal to no one else.

Upon entering the library, he realized that Hermione was in the process of packing up her stuff. "I should have known," she said, nostrils flaring. "When have you ever cared about anyone but yourself. I've been waiting here for an hour! An hour for you. And all you wanted was a few extra minutes of sleep," Hermione briefly glanced up at him as she flung a large tome into her backpack.

Draco bit back the snide remark that was boiling in his stomach. How dare she talk to me like that, a Mudblood? However, he knew how much he needed her help. "Granger… Hermione," the name fell unsteadily from his lips, drawing a grimace. "Look, I need…could you just… stay." He watched her briefly, noting that she relaxed her tense muscles, giving in. "Now, I'll admit that I think I've seen the movie when I was really young. Macbeth- there are witches in there right?"

"Yes," Hermione sighed wearily, pulling her books back out. "How do you think power corrupts,Malfoy?"

Draco lowered himself into the chair in front of her, eyebrows fused together in thought. "Well, I suppose-" his sentence died as he inhaled the perfumed air. It smelled of magnolias. When had he smelled that before? "Are you wearing something?"

Hermione cocked her head to the side, forehead wrinkling. "I'm not sure I'm following." She glanced down at her jeans and shirt.

"No, I mean… perfume, something of that nature." Draco clarified, seemingly exasperated.

"Not that I'm sure how it has anything to do with power and Macbeth, but yes, I am. A body spray."

"Magnolias," he whispered, fingers holding up his head on bended elbow. He shook his head, pushing the orchard out of his mind. He studied her briefly in the late afternoon light. It accentuated the soft curls of blond that wove through her hair. She was staring at him, dumbstruck and uncertain. Briefly, he thought she was going to run and beg Madam Monfrey to ship him to St. Mungo's. "Macbeth… I really think all the power in the play belonged to the three witches. After all, didn't they convince Macbeth to do the evil deed?"

-

The time passed slowly that day as they translated the manuscript. Soon, he was lounging on the sofa watching Hermione read off her favorite lines from the play. He contemplated why he was still lingering around after they had finished the assignment. In his mind, he rationalized that it would be good material for the Dark Lord, chatting up the best friend of the boy who lived.

But, Draco knew the truth.

When was the last time he felt true companionship? Blaise, hardly and Pansy and her peanut-brained friends were barely enough to sate other forms of lust. He enjoyed listening to Hermione, though he hated to admit it. She, at least, could compete with him on some intellectual scale.

He skimmed over her relaxed frame. Her hair was pulled back in the usual messy bun, legs tucked under her with her feet dangling off the side of the chair. A small white crescent shape caught Draco's eye where it hung like the moon on the edge of Hermione's ankle.

"And that's my all time favorite line," Hermione interrupted his thoughts, drawing his attention back to her face.

"Oh, and a very good one it is." Draco intoned quickly, hiding his ignorance.

Hermione watched him for what seemed like hours, scrutinizing every facet of his face. Finally, she turned away. "Malfoy, I don't know why we are here but do you think there is a reason that it is you and me?"

Draco felt the weight in her question, knew that the answer could change the meaning of the past seven years of his life. "A reason…" his eyes raised to her chocolate orbs. He just couldn't bring himself to say it. Swiftly, he jerked himself to his feet, snapping, "unless you count God's indescribable desire to torment me with you, then no."

Hermione's eyes widened, comebacks fumbling like dying fish on her lips. The warmth in her eyes died, leaving only the cold shell Draco remembered from his Hogwarts days. It comforted him because he was used to it. "Very well," she supplied, pulling her backpack onto her shoulders. "If that is how you feel about me, then…"

Leaving her sentence unfinished, she pushed past him and out of the library.

Draco turned back to the empty chair and for a second he could still see her form inhabiting the space. But then, the shape spoke, "Free me…" it bemoaned, words a scream of agony. "It was not our love that did us in… Don't be afraid." The figure rose from the chair, ghostly steps closing in on him.

A cool hand brushed his cheek, light as feathery kiss. He wasn't even sure he actually felt it. "Who are you?" Draco managed to get out past his dry mouth.

"You know who I am. Can't you feel me?" It stepped toward him as if to embrace, but it melded inside him, disappearing.

Draco touched his chest, fingers lingering over his heart. This place was only getting stranger by the second.

Author's ending note:

Nothing real special here… just a little Draco and Hermione action. More to come in the next installment. It should be out sooner than this one. I'm sorry for the delay like I said I've been real busy lately.

Thank you for reading and if you have the time, reviews are love. Criticism, good news, pleas, desires… anything, I love it all.

Much love,

M.R.