A/N. Hello readers! Thank you so much to those who reviewed me. Reviews are such good things to come home to after school. Because of you guys I will stop angsting about the lack of love for this fic HAHAHA. Here's the next chapter! And here's hoping I never disappoint you wonderful people.

I'd also like to apologize for inconsistencies in my story (memory POV, how I refer to Hermione). I'm trying my best.

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Draco woke with a start as something heavy came down on his head. Moaning, and blinking away the stars and the sudden light in his eyes, he slowly lifted his head. His hand gingerly touched the sort part at the back of his head and winced. He could almost feel it swelling. He felt like he'd almost been concussed.

Finally upright, he squinted at the figure shaking before him, a large red tome in her hands. He blinked, once, twice, and the stars finally went away and his vision sharpened. For a moment he simply stared at her. And then she raised the book above her head to deal another blow and he finally reacted, recoiling, terrified.

"You – stupid – arse – Draco – Malfoy!" Hermione hissed, punctuating each word with a blow from the book. Draco cowered under the onslaught, trying to shield his head with his arms. "You just – couldn't – stay out – of my head – could you – you filthy – pureblood –prat!" Squealing in frustration, she dropped the book on his head.

"Ow!" he bellowed, clutching his head. "Bloody hell, what was that for?"

"What do you think, Malfoy? Oh, maybe I just did it for fun! Or maybe I did it because a bloody little git has been sneaking his way into my head so often? I really wonder, I do." Draco retreated further, scared. He wondered if he should restrain her somehow. She looked quite manic.

"And what the bloody hell are you doing here of all places? Merlin, I come here for some peace and of all people I find you. You!" She stopped abruptly, pushing her hair out of her eyes. He studied her through the gap between his arms, judging whether she'd get another book to hurl at him. When she just stood there, fuming at him, her face red, he slowly got up and lowered his arms, watching her all the while. Which was a mistake. As soon as his arms were low enough she reached forward and slapped him.

"Owww!" he cried, throwing his hands up again. "What the bloody hell, Hermione?"

She'd been about to hit him again but when she heard her name from his lips, she stopped, her hand raised and hovering just a few inches from his face. Her mouth opened slightly, her brow furrowed. Draco fought the urge to slap himself (she'd already slapped him; that would have to do) and struggled to calm down. Trying to come up with something to say that would get him out of this and failing, he thought, could things possibly get any worse?

Movement caught his eye and he turned and, nearly stumbling in his haste, backed away from the sight of a very irate Madam Pince.

"What is going on here?" the librarian demanded, her nostrils flaring.

It seems, Draco thought wryly, as though they can.

"The library is a place of silence," Madam Pince admonished, waving her wand threateningly at the unlikely pair. "I will not tolerate shouting in –WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO THAT BOOK, BOY?" she screeched, catching sight of the red tome where it had fallen, open and with pages rumpled, on the seat.

"Madam Pince, I-"

"My apologies, my dear Madam Pince," Draco said, smoothly cutting Hermione off. Determinedly not looking at her, he went on. "I'd been reading here alone when Hermione startled me, so I dropped the book." He bowed slightly, in order to heighten his repentant air. With a wave of his wand, the pages straightened and the book flew up and landed neatly on the table. "I hadn't even noticed. But I reassure you, I will never let it happen again. I understand that the preservation and care of these wonderful books is of the utmost importance in the library and I sincerely regret my lapse in judgment." He remained bowed slightly, looking at the floor, partly to keep appearing apologetic and partly so the librarian wouldn't see his struggle to control his laughter. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the corners of Hermione's mouth twitching as well, though whether from suppressed rage or laughter, he couldn't tell. Deciding he had been bent for an appropriate amount of time, he straightened, fighting to keep his face straight. Madam Pince eyed him suspiciously, but simply waved her wand and caused the book to zoom away to its shelf, and walked away.

Draco sighed in relief and sat down heavily on the window seat. That had been close. A stinging pain suddenly erupted at the side of his head and he bit his lip, drawing blood in his attempt not to yell and attract the attention of that owlish librarian again. He'd rather forgotten about Hermione in his relief.

"Thank you for that completely painless reminder of your presence, Granger," he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. Rubbing his head, he stood up again. "Now if you're done maiming me, perhaps you'd like to give me a few moments to explain myself."

"And why would I want to do that?" Hermione asked through gritted teeth. Draco looked down and saw her hand balled into a fist in her pocket. Probably gripping her wand. He stepped back a little.

"Well you did ask me before what I wanted with you. So I believe an answer is due, however late it may be," he replied, keeping his eyes on her hand. When she took it out of her pocket (and Draco was immensely relieved to see it wasn't holding her wand), his eyes shifted to her face. She was eyeing him, suspicion all over her face, and Draco couldn't blame her. After what he'd done to her, it was only a normal reaction.

While she contemplated on his offer, Draco contemplated on how he'd been reacting to her today. He knew self-preservation was a Slytherin instinct, but he could have fought back even a little. He hadn't even resisted. And when Madam Pince had showed up… he couldn't fathom why he'd done that. He'd lied for her, covered up for her… taken the blame. Normally he wouldn't even do that to a fellow Slytherin. Self-preservation and all. But he had cut through her own explanation, shifted all the blame to him. He hadn't wanted her to get in trouble. Damnit, what was this girl doing to him!

"Fine." Draco was surprised. He hadn't really expected her to agree. He'd offended her deeply, intruded upon things he'd bet his broomstick even Potty and Weasel didn't know. But he was relieved to know she'd give him a chance. As long as she didn't hit him, things would go fine. "But not here," she said, smiling slightly. "Madam Pince might reappear and hex books to chase us or something." The smile took Draco aback. He hadn't expected that. She'd been furious at him for the past three months, but now she was smiling? He didn't know whether to be afraid or relieved. Hesitating a little as she walked off, he pondered. What was he risking by following her? She couldn't do much to him without earning some nasty detention from Snape, but she was capable of doing something. Draco had a feeling she could even hex him and make it look like an accident. But he had a feeling she would actually listen to him. She wasn't like Potter or Weasely, who'd probably have slugged him to the ground in a fist fight instead of thwacking at him with a book, or hexed him without warning. That thought reassured him slightly. Slinging his bag over his shoulder, he followed her out.

Not knowing what to expect, he was surprised, but mildly pleased, when she took him not to some deserted classroom or empty corridor, but down to the lake. It was quiet now, and cloudy. Most students had gone on to do other things, like answer homework and gossip, so the grounds were mostly empty. He was relieved, since it meant they wouldn't be seen together (they did make an incredibly odd pair), but also nervous, because no one could come to his help if she did decide to hex him. He decided (against his better instincts) to trust her. What was the worst she could do? (Not that he wanted to find out.)

She stopped in the shade of a large tree, where good-sized boulders were scattered. The rocks had dents worn into them, probably from the generations of Hogwarts students sitting there. She placed her bag down, glanced at the lake. As soon as Draco reached the spot, she rounded on him. Without so much as a preamble, she demanded, "why have you been calling me Hermione?"

Draco had been about to put his bag down, but her question caught him off guard, so he ended up dropping it on his foot instead. Hopping up and down and clutching at his foot (and mentally cursing large, heavy school books to oblivion), he looked at her. She was serious. Draco wondered how he could get out of this one. He took his time, setting down his foot, examining it as if it were a newly discovered magical creature. He couldn't exactly tell her the truth. Knowing he was spying for Voldemort would give her an excellent reason to unleash her stunning repertoire of curses on him. But he couldn't seem to find a suitable lie that she could buy. Draco had to admit it –the question had him utterly floored. He had no snappy comeback, no scathing remark. He was… lost. The great Draco Malfoy, lord of having the final say, had, well, nothing to say.

Walking over to one of the rocks nearby, he sat down, his head in his hands. He could feel Hermione watching him intently, waiting. Maybe he could tell the truth… just not all of it.

"I was… curious," he finally said, not looking up. When she didn't reply or curse him or throw a rock at his head, he continued. "Snape's been teaching me Legilimency as a favor to my father, and I'd wanted to try it out. Legilimency is easiest when your target is vulnerable, and that first time I saw you, well…" He peeked at her through his fingers, wondering if his next remark would trigger her fury. "That day in the library, you seemed pretty vulnerable." He paused, watching for her reaction. Her lips tightened and she folded her arms, but that was all. "And I wanted to know why."

"That doesn't answer my question," she said, her voice cold.

"I'll get to that, Granger. Don't get your panties in a twist," he said dryly, in a small attempt at normality. He could still insult her. That had to count for something. "After… after I saw what I saw… I couldn't help it. I'd never have imagined you'd had such…" He trailed off at the darkening expression on her face.

"Such?" she prompted, her lips barely moving. Draco noted her face was white, and realized she was probably suppressing anger in order to let him finish his explanation. Unbelievably, she was still putting knowledge and learning in priority, even above turning him into some loathsome, tiny creature. She was such a nerd. He almost chuckled, but caught himself. He didn't want to do anything that might put hexing him at top priority.

"Such… well…" Draco couldn't believe it. He was mumbling, stammering, unable to find the right thing to say. Usually he could control a conversation, could intimidate others with his clear, concise statements and cutting remarks. But today he was completely at a loss. "I didn't think… that those could be the reasons for your… being who you are." What the hell was he saying? "There's actually… more to you than I thought. And so… your name just slipped out," he finished lamely, looking at his shoes. Merlin, what was she doing to him? He was a mess inside, full of conflict and confusion. He had never, ever, in his entire life, felt like this before. He had to admit, it was a rather humbling experience.

She wasn't saying anything. When he finally found the courage to look up at her, he found she was staring at him, a peculiar expression on her face. He couldn't tell if it was irritation, or laughter, or confusion or… relief? But before he could look any further, she quickly looked away. She stalked over to her bag and picked it up and, after a moment's hesitation (and was he imagining it, or did her hand reach toward him, ever so slightly?), she walked off without a word. Draco sat, rooted; could only watch her walk away, a look of utter disbelief on his face.

But, when she had finally disappeared into the castle, Draco felt himself smile at the thought that she had listened to him. That had to count for something.

xxxxx

NOW.

I still find it amazing, how one day, one seemingly insignificant afternoon, can change so much just by happening. When I'd awoken that morning, I could never have imagined that that could have happened, between two people such as us. I still remember the joy I felt, though I'd worked hard to keep it hidden at that time. Denial is such a strange emotion. Why do we struggle so much to bury the obvious? Why refuse to acknowledge what you already know?

The candle's almost completely gone by now. There's just a stub left. I'll put it out, soon; preserve what little remains. I still have the matches; maybe I can come up with something. Scrape up dried-up wax, rebuild the candle, use paper as a wick. I'll think of something, anything, to survive.

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A/N. Okay, honestly, is this chapter weird? I'm worried I'm going into this a little fast, or that maybe it all seems too fake and forced. Please review and let me know if you don't like what I wrote. Constructive criticism will be much appreciated! (I don't bite, don't worry.) I'm only a budding writer after all. Please and thank you! Next chapter to follow soon, I hope. School's already started, though, so I'm sorry if I can't get it up as fast as you would like (since I've been updating on an almost daily basis recently). Looking forward to what you'll say!