Author's Note: EXAMS ARE OVER! Well, no. The last day of the exam period is tomorrow, but it's officially over for me! I am, as of now, an English undergraduate. Feels kinda weird, but still nice. :) Anyway, so all my American exchange student friends have informed me that it's Thanksgiving so for all you Americans, HAPPY THANKSGIVING! :) I got invited to a few Thanksgiving dinners throughout the night and holy crap, do you guys prepare a lot for them.

Anyway, thanks for the reviews too! The reviews left recently have been overwhelmingly awesome, and I love them ALL. KEEP ON REVIEWING, GUYS!

All right then, I'll leave you to it. Psst, it's a real exciting chapter too. :) Enjoy!

P.S. Kindly ignore any mistakes. This chapter gave me a whole lot of problems (had to rewrite it four times) then I had my exams and everything ... and I couldn't wait to upload it so ... well, I did a couple of skims and it seemed okay. If there're too many mistakes, just tell me and I'll edit it properly. As for now, I'm just too tired. :) Cheers.

Chapter Ten:

A Moment Of Weakness

It is the start of December, and everybody's taken to layering coat after coat in his or her bid to battle the brutal winter cold because while the inside of the castle is all warm and toasty, stepping outside in less than two thick layers is positively suicide. Students and staff alike are constantly seen walking around briskly as even strong warming charms do nothing to deter the wintry chill. Last night was particularly nipping, with various light sleepers waking up to a full-blown storm in the middle of the night and the entire school waking up to a snow-covered Hogwarts.

The rather forceful snowstorm was witnessed by Hermione, who had gotten up from her seat in the library to walk up towards the window, enthralled by the ferocity of the heavy fall of snow. Malfoy, on the other hand, merely remained on his chair reading, and only looked up once with a cocked eyebrow in response to the howling winter winds.

The both of them had gotten back just fine. Hermione had initially half expected Malfoy to offer to walk her back, but then immediately disabused herself of that notion. After having spent practically every night with him of the past month or so, she should've known better. So needless to say, she was extremely surprised when, upon leaving the library and walking towards the Entrance Hall in their usual silence, Malfoy announced that he was going to walk her back.

"Uh …," was all Hermione could think of at that point of time.

"Don't worry, Granger," he'd smoothly drawled; she could detect a hint of laughter in his tone. "The main reason why I'm walking you back is just so that you won't faint in the middle of a corridor from the cold."

"I- I am capable of a decent Hot Air Charm, Malfoy," she stammered slightly, feeling somewhat indignant that he might be questioning her magical skills.

"Does everything have to be an argument with you?" He had responded and then gave her no time to think of a retort as he gently began to push her up the stairs.

"It would be on my head should anything happen to you. I may get expelled," he added, taking his place by her side again.

Hermione should have be comforted by that, by the fact that the only reason he wanted to walk her to the Gryffindor Tower was simply because he wanted to protect himself. That's how things were last time, and that's how things should remain. Yet somehow, her traitorous heart began to leap in excitement and she stole a quick glance at him, blushing furiously at the same time. She'd caught his sharp eyes, and he'd directed a small smirk at her before turning to face the front again. Hermione turned to look forward as well, unable to suppress a small grin.

The both of them were fully aware of his small lie. And the both of them did not mind in the slightest.

--

"Here," Harry thrusts a piece of parchment, a quill and a half-empty inkpot on to the thick blanket that is covering Ron's crossed legs.

"Wha- What?" Ron laggardly looks up at his friend who is towering over him, trying to shake off the remnants of the previously sleepy stupor he's been in since the start of his watch three hours ago. It is almost four in the morning, and Ron had learned from all his previous night watches that almost nothing happens at four in the bloody morning.

"What the hell are you doing up now anyway? Shouldn't you be sleeping?" Ron asks, having been jerked so rudely out of his open-eyed slumber by Harry. "We've got a big day tomorrow."

"Precisely why I gave you the parchment and quill, Ron," Harry rolls his eyes in reply as he seats himself down next to Ron, at the entrance of the tent, instantly feeling the bitter cold. "You should write to her."

For a moment, Ron's mind draws a blank. "To her?"

"Hermione, Ron," Harry speaks slowly and enunciates his words carefully. "Your girlfriend."

Oh. That her. Ron turns back to his lap that is tucked into a comfortably warm deep blue blanket and upon which lay the writing materials Harry had thrown at him not a few minutes ago. He does not reply for a while, and Harry heaves a sigh.

"We're going off tomorrow, Ron. Don't you think that you should at least write her and tell her you're going to be okay?"

Ah. Tomorrow. The day in which the motley crew of four will be packing their things and heading up the mountains, where some diehard Death Eaters are rumoured to be hiding. From their last correspondence with Kingsley, he had informed them that Mulciber, caught just a few days ago hiding out in Asia, had divulged upon intense interrogation that some Death Eaters have reconvened in Albania, under the unstable leadership of Rabastan Lestrange. Kingsley had warned them to be careful because according to the testimonies of those captured, the death of Bellatrix and imprisonment of Rodolphus have contributed significantly to the decline in Rabastan's mental health.

Ron remembers it all quite clearly. Lucius Malfoy that smarmy idiot even had the gall to smirk when Kingsley was warning them about Rabastan. At that point, Ron was so close to punching Lucius in the face, only because it seemed as though that smug bastard was making light of their situation.

"Have you sent your letter to Ginny yet then?" Ron breaks out of his reverie and quietly mumbles back, still staring intently at the things on his lap.

"Nope," Harry replies. "Waiting for you, mate."

Another pause of silence as the two boys sit near the entrance of the Malfoys' dome tent, listening to the flapping of the canvas tent made by the strong winds. Ron notices that the quill on his lap looks vaguely familiar, and he picks up and turns to Harry with a questioning look on his face.

"Yeah, it's Hermione's. Nicked it off her before she left for Hogwarts," Harry grins then shrugs. "She wouldn't have minded. She's got tons of quills anyway."

Ron drops the quill back on to the blanket stretched over his crossed legs. Even thinking twice, he voices out his one main concern to Harry, whom he knows will not judge him. "What if she doesn't want me to write to her?"

His friend lets out another sigh as he rubs his hands together in an effort to keep warm. "Ron, it's Hermione. No matter how angry she is at you, she'll never hate you. And if I were her," he speaks confidently, "I'd want a letter, even if I'm still mad." He turns to his friend, and adds. "She'd want to know that you're safe."

"Besides," he stretches his arms out over his head then, upon realising what a mistake it is to do that right at the entrance of the tent, immediately withdraws them and crosses them across his chest, hiding his hands under his armpits. "Besides, it's the last letter you're going to be able to write to her till we come back down. And that can take ages."

Ron nods silently, then sets the writing materials down on the floor and flattens the parchment obsessively, as though stalling for time. Harry looks at his friend compulsively smoothing out the rather crumpled piece of parchment, then sighs once more. "Go inside and write it, you git. I'll take over your watch for the time being."

The fiery redhead turns to Harry, a look of gratitude etched on his face. "Thanks, Harry," he mutters before collecting the writing materials and prepares to stand up to walk over to the kitchen table.

"Oi!" Harry interrupts his friend as Ron turns away towards the warmth of the tent. "I want that blanket!"

With a quick grin, Ron throws the blanket to Harry, effectively hitting his head and doing a far better job of messing up his raven-black hair than Harry ever can. "Idiot," Harry mutters under his breath as he adjusts his spectacles and covers himself with the thick comforter. He casts the Hot Air Charm and sets his wand before him, warming his hands in the steaming air that the tip of his wand is emitting. And then he smiles to himself.

Everything's going to be all right. He's got a good feeling about it.

--

Hermione is sitting in between Ginny and Seamus, trying her best to swallow her food down as calmly as possible. Harry and Ron must have started their trek up the mountains now, with the Malfoys. Under the pretense of turning to look at the entrance of the Great Hall, she chances a glance at Malfoy, who is sitting next to Blaise Zabini, staring glumly at the table. Even from way across the grand chamber, she can tell that he is feeling as worried, if not more than her.

"Hermione," Ginny's voice startles her back into reality. Swiftly, she turns back to her scrambled eggs that, while having looked delicious earlier on, she now has no appetite for. "What're you looking at?"

"Nothing," Hermione replies in a believably casual tone. "Just… thinking, that's all."

Ginny nods knowingly, then drops her voice. "I know you must be worried. But they can take care of themselves."

She sighs, mashing her eggs up into an indiscernible yellow mush on her plate, just to give herself something to do. "I know, Gin. I'm just…" She trails off with another frustrated sigh.

"They're going to be all right," Ginny replies in an assuring voice. "Don't think so much about it."

Hermione nods, training her eyes on her eggs. She just can't look at Ginny today, with her uncanny resemblance with her older brother.

"Wonder how Malfoy's doing," Ginny continues, nodding towards the pale boy who, Hermione notices, still hasn't touched his food. "Must be Hell knowing that his own parents are risking their lives too."

"Yeah," Hermione replies while looking up at him. "It's more dangerous for them too, isn't it?"

"Harry told me that the Death Eaters have placed a contract on the Malfoys," Ginny whispers softly, not desiring to be overhead by anyone else. "No wonder Malfoy's been looking so gloomy."

Hermione nods again, not knowing how or what to reply to that. She'd read about that obviously touchy topic with Malfoy in their nightly study meetings. She wonders if the anything's going to happen to him, if any of the Slytherins might try to hurt him in some way. At the mere thought of that possibility, Hermione's heart constricts painfully for a second, making it difficult for her to breathe.

And right then, Malfoy looks up and catches the two Gryffindor girls staring at him, one with curiosity tinged with sympathy and the other, just concern. He continues looking at them for a while before nodding curtly, then rising up from his seat. All eyes on the Slytherin table turn to look at him as he walks out of the Great Hall alone, and Hermione feels a strange compulsion to yell after him to be careful, to not go out alone, to be alert.

She successfully suppresses that urge though. There's no knowing what everybody might do if she is to publicly show concern for him.

"Poor thing," Ginny comments before turning back to her food. "Wouldn't want to be in his shoes."

Hermione nods once again, not feeling the urge to talk at all. She stares at the yellow pulpy mass of mashed eggs on her plate, and tries her best to quell the now overwhelming desire to talk to him. In fact, she tries so hard that she doesn't notice that she's driven her silver fork into the table until Neville, all the while engrossed in their Advanced Herbology text, points it out to her with a bewildered look on his scarred face.

And before she can think of any hasty explanation behind her uncharacteristic violence, she hears languid flapping of wings and looks up. Hundreds of owls of all colours and sizes fly over their heads, landing on the tables in front of their addressees. A large tawny owl lands in front of her, and clicks its beak impatiently. Hurriedly, Hermione reaches over and pulls out the bundle tied to the owl's leg and it takes off immediately, not even waiting for her to feed it some small bit of kipper. In the bundle is two letters, one addressed to Ginny in Harry's familiar scrawl and the other to her, and she is surprised to see that it is not Harry who had written to her as he has for the past few days, but Ron.

She passes Ginny's letter over to her friend, then quickly unfurls hers.

Dear Hermione,

I know things have been pretty weird between us. But I thought it would be best if I'd sent you something, just to let you know that I'm not dead.

By the time you read this, we're probably on our way up the mountains by now. I'm sure Harry has already told you all this, so… we won't be able to write to you guys for at least the next few weeks. Too dangerous. So here's wishing you an early Christmas and, if needed, a Happy New Year. Sorry I won't be spending those occasions with you.

But that's not the only thing I'm sorry about. I'm sorry about… well, a lot of things. And I hope you can forgive me. I'm not saying that I regret being here, this is what I want to do. But I'm sorry for causing you… pain, I guess.

You know I'm not good with words. That's why I always copied off you and Harry at school ha ha.

Anyway, I just want you to know that I miss you terribly and… I wish I was somewhere with you now. But that will have to wait until I come back, which will be soon. It's going to be fine, Hermione. Don't worry about us too much.

Love always,
Ron

Hermione feels her eyes welling up, and knows that if she doesn't leave the Great Hall soon, she will end up bursting into tears in front of the entire school. Turning to look at Ginny, her eyes begin to shed its tears as her heart wrenches at the sight of her friend quietly sobbing. Reaching over, she hugs Ginny tightly, hoping to assuage the younger girl's fears which she has so convincingly hidden underneath her façade of toughness. Even with her skin as thick as any of her brothers, Hermione knows that Ginny is still as soft as the next girl.

And together, both girls comfort each other and cry silent tears while gripping their respective letters tightly in front of a rather puzzled and baffled Gryffindor table.

--

Draco is sitting out at the Quidditch pitch alone, feeling no colder than he usually does, even amidst the frosty winds and snow lightly falling down around him. His cloak is wrapped loosely around him, billowing heavily in the wind like a great big black cape. He stares at the empty Quidditch pitch, the grass half hidden underneath a layer of snow. Strangely enough, he finds himself missing the sport. He misses the excitement, the anticipation, the adrenaline that courses through him as he whips around, trying to find the Snitch. He was an excellent Seeker; his acute sense of awareness and quick observational skills had aided him greatly, and he had led the Slytherin House team to many victories. Why Potter was always able to get one over him is something that Draco will never be able to understand because … while Potter may be the better flier of the two, Draco knows that he is the better Seeker.

Grunting his annoyance at the countless memories of him having to deal with the sneering Slytherins every time he'd lost to Potter, Draco then notices a big brown owl flying towards him, a speck of burnt sienna amidst a white blanket of snow. Even from a distance, he can see that a letter is tied to the leg of the owl, attached on the tightly rolled parchment is a long piece of midnight black satin ribbon.

Mother.

The owl lands on the seat next to his and extends its leg. Draco quickly unties the letter then shoos the offended bird away, concentrating solely on the tightly furled roll of parchment in his hand and not the infernal owl which tries to nip him a couple of times before taking off abruptly. He stretches the letter out in his hands and reads his mother's letter, written in her elegantly sophisticated writing and filled with words of love, care and caution.

He rereads it twice, not feeling any better than he had felt this entire week. His mother's carefully chosen words have done nothing to alleviate his fears and general unease about the entire mission. He knows that his parents are formidable enough fighters, but it still does nothing to dull his worries.

After all, his parents are risking their lives. Never mind bloody Potter and Weasel, the both of them have always sought to do good for mankind anyway.

Briefly, he thinks about Granger. Judging from her puffy eyes that he'd noticed from way across the Great Hall, he instinctively surmises that she must have had as rough a night as he did after he had left her at that damned portrait. The image of Weasel and Granger flash momentarily in his mind and for a moment, he feels an inexplicable sudden rush of anger that passes quickly.

Silently, he folds the parchment in half and slips it into the pocket of his slim cut, specifically tailored black pants. Instead of leaving for some place warmer, he stubbornly chooses to remain outdoors, at the Quidditch pitch, where he knows nobody will go even though it's a Saturday. He just wants to be left alone.

--

In the midst of packing her things for her usual trip down to the library, Hermione is interrupted by a knock on her door. Instantly knowing that there can only be one person who will be knocking on her door at such a late hour, she simply yells for Ginny to come right on in while continuing to search for extra quills.

Ginny, in worn crumpled pajamas, sits on Hermione's neatly made bed, her eyes still a little puffy from a whole day of crying over Harry's long love letter to her. "Hey," Ginny softly says. "Off to the library again?"

Hermione turns to look at her friend. Ginny's fiery auburn hair is in an absolute mess, with knots sticking out of her loosely tied ponytail that slants to the left. Her face is covered in splotches of red that only serve to highlight her numerous freckles. Her eyes are bloodshot and betray signs of exhaustion. The seventh year walks over and embraces Ginny, knowing that while it is an extremely poor replacement of Harry's strong arms, it is still something.

"Yeah, I'm going to the library," Hermione whispers as she continues to hold Ginny tightly. "Or do you want me to stay?"

"No," Ginny shakes her head and pulls away gently from the hug. "You go do your own thing. I think it's best for me to go to sleep anyway."

"Yes," Hermione agrees with an emphatic nod of her head, sending her umber locks flying all over the place. "You should sleep, Gin. You'll feel better tomorrow after a good night's rest."

"Okay," Ginny mumbles while tiredly nodding her head, allowing Hermione to pull her up and lead her back into the sixth-year girls dormitory, where two other girls seated on one bed, gossiping. Their voices lower to mere whispers upon seeing Hermione enter with Ginny in tow and while Ginny doesn't notice, Hermione is aware of the fact that the hushed whispers are about them. All of a sudden, she is struck with the knowledge that this, multiplied by a thousand, must be how Malfoy feels every single day.

All of a sudden, her already anguished heart goes out to Malfoy, a little piece of her that she instinctively knows will always stay with the memory of him.

Taking a note from his book, she straightens her back and pointedly ignores the gossiping girls. She tucks Ginny into bed and softly whispers soothing words in her ear then kisses her close friend on the forehead, igniting more fervent murmurings from the two girls. Once Ginny nods and closes her eyes, Hermione turns to leave, not before shooting the other Gryffindor sixth year girls a dirty glare.

And so when she steps into the library twenty minutes later with her bag slung on her shoulder and spots Malfoy intently engrossed in a thick tome, she quells the urge to speak up, to voice her knowledge of how he must feel every day – alone, outcast, abandoned. Instead, she strives to put her thoughts into the simple action of nodding her head in greeting, injecting an unnecessary smile of understanding.

What she doesn't know, as she dismisses his usual indifference as incomprehension, is that he had indeed caught it and that upon seeing her smile at him, his heart had begun to race a little faster.

--

He hasn't been able to concentrate on his book for the past half hour. Not really absorbing anything, he's been stuck on the same page for fifteen minutes, reading the same line over and over again. Why it may not be schoolwork, it is still frustrating for him to be fully aware of the fact that because of one issue that does not even directly involve him, he can't seem to digest any sodding thing he reads. All he can seem to think of are his parents, and though he knows for a fact that Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy are perfectly capable of taking care of themselves, he is still unable to help but feel nagging twinges of fretfulness. Nagging twinges that seem to grow with each second, not exactly helping with his already bad mood. Grunting exasperatedly, he violently pushes his book away in displeasure and yawns, stretching himself out on the hard mahogany chair.

Settling back, he turns and sees her staring at him curiously. "Yes, Granger?" He snaps curtly, not understanding why his mood has taken such a sharp dive upon looking at her.

He notices her immediate fluster, her rapidly reddening cheeks, and her convulsive, jerky movements in order to keep calm. Not really caring about it now, he opens his mouth to yawn again, not particularly bothered by the fact that he hardly does such revealing actions to people. Because Granger isn't just people, a fact that he has learned to accept.

"I was just wondering…" She trails off, leaving him quite irritated at her apparent inability to produce properly formed, coherent sentences. At present, his temper is not something to be trifled with.

"Yes?" He prods again.

"I…"

Sighing, he rolls his eyes impatiently and decides to get her to the point, not wishing to hear her stammer and stutter her way into asking him what he already knows she is going to ask. "Yes, I know what today is."

"W- Was that why you walked out of the Great Hall this morning during breakfast?" She shyly asks, her piercing brown eyes training on him.

"Perceptive," he replies dryly, and leans back against the chair to stare at his shoes, not in any mood to hold a proper conversation right now.

"Do you want to talk about it?" She is still staring at him, as though trying to see past his façade of apathy. A sharp jolt of annoyance runs through him, and he suddenly does not even feel like being there anymore. It is like a sudden switch, and he proceeds to lash out without prior consideration.

"What is there to talk about, Granger? My parents and your best pals are stuck in Albania and will not be able to contact anyone for a good month or so," he replies harshly, all the while not really knowing why he is feeling so vexed. "Yes, let's air our thoughts and comfort each other, shall we?"

The library is filled with a cackling tension, and Draco immediately regrets what he said before. He sits rigidly in his chair for a while, refusing to look at her. Nothing will make him feel worse than seeing her hurt expression.

She breaks the awkward silence. "You arrogant git."

Draco instantly whips his head up, and is greeted by the sight of an obviously upset Hermione Granger. Her eyes are shining with unshed tears in the light of their wands, her cheeks are essentially blotchy patches of red, her left hand is curled into a fist while her other, holding her quill, is trembling.

"What makes you think that you're the only one who's worried?" Her tone is almost as brusque as the one he'd used earlier. "What makes you think that the ones you care about are the only ones who might die?"

A tear falls, leaving a wet trail behind on her cheek. Like the last time he had been witness to her crying, he feels an urge to reach over and wipe her tears away with his calloused thumb. Not knowing what to do, he simply looks away, unable to deal with so many conflicting emotions right now. He wants to yell at her, to grab her by the shoulders and scream at her, to slap her, to punch her, to hold her tight and kiss her like he has never kissed before, to protect her, to argue back, to apologise …

He doesn't need this now. Abruptly, he stands up and collects his things swiftly, not even chancing a glance at her to see her reaction. So intent on leaving, his acute senses fail him for the first time ever and he does not notice that she has gotten up from her chair and is standing right beside him.

"No," she speaks up, and he is forced to hide his surprise at her stealth. "You don't get to leave."

--

As he slowly turns to face her, Hermione is startled by the anger shown in his eyes. Not just anger, but raw emotions of rage and fear. Anybody else in her position would have stepped back immediately and let him go, but Hermione stands her ground, meeting his eyes with a defiant glare.

"Excuse me?" He quietly replies, his tone laced with a type of silent anger that she knows is highly dangerous. However she is not going to back down now. All the pent-up feelings from the entire day seems to be clouding her judgment, but she has gone beyond the point of caring.

"You don't just get to leave, Malfoy. Who do you think you are anyway? Do you think that running away is the best sol-"

She is unable to finish her rebuke of his appalling behaviour because his long slender arms has reached out and pulled her hard against his chest, and his lips are crashing down on hers. While alarm bells start ringing immediately in her head, the feel of his soft lips against her and his hands grabbing her arms tightly sends her into a spiral of nothingness and within a split-second, she responds fervently, her own nails digging into his arms through his long sleeves.

Shivers run up her spine as he moves his arms around her, his hands snaking up to grab fistfuls of her brown curls without breaking away from the intensely passionate kiss. Instinctively, she encircles his neck with her arms, her fingers grazing the back of his neck, causing him to push her against him even harder. His tongue, brazenly leaving a hot trail across her lips, darts into her mouth and runs across her teeth, causing goose pimples to rise on her skin.

And then as suddenly as he'd initiated the kiss, he ended it. Their faces still mere inches apart, Hermione can feel his warm breath ghosting across her face in fast pants, as though he's been running. Her eyes meet his, and she senses a desperate longing amidst the confusion raging in those silver-grey orbs. She moves her hand from around his neck and caresses his cheek softly, watching as he closes his eyes and leans into her hand, as though drawing comfort from her gentle and soothing touch.

Simply following her instincts, she leans in to brush her lips against his, feeling his hot spurts of breath on her mouth. Once again, he pushes against her and deepens the kiss, running his tongue across her lips then into her mouth, exploring every bit of it ardently. His hands run up and down the sides of her body, and she is trembling with desire and pleasure.

And then he ends the kiss again, this time letting his hands fall by his sides and taking a step back. Trying to keep up with his abrupt actions, she takes a step back too, her hand flying to her bruised lips. Hermione tries to read his expression and is unsuccessful, that skilled he is in hiding his emotions.

"Excuse me," he repeats, but in a softer and kinder tone, with a hint of a struggle injected in it. He then picks his things up for the table and walks towards her, his eyes betraying nothing by avoiding hers. "Good night," he adds before walking past her and through the main aisle, disappearing into the darkness that covers the rest of the library. She hears the doors creaking open then being shut quietly, and knows that he is no longer there with her.

For some reason unknown to her, she is still standing at the same spot with her fingers still touching her lips, the lips that had been on Malfoy's own not two minutes ago. And somehow, even though she does not understand, she allows herself to be comforted by her own sobbing that echoes throughout the library.