Cry Me Tears of Fire by Pensive Puddles

Ron laid on his bed, trying to avoid chores for another five minutes. Technically, a half-hour ago his room was supposed to cleaned, but still the bed was unmade, clothes were in piles in the corners of the room, and books and comics were scattered haphazardly on the floor and on any open surface. Once upon a time, he had a rug, but he couldn't recall when he had last seen it. His mother had allowed Harry and him to sleep in the twins' bedroom for the time being, until the twins came to stay at the Burrow for the winter holidays.

The outgoing identical duo had been incredibly busy lately. Their joke shop had instantly become quite famous, rivaling Zonko's. Supposedly, Zonko's had offered them a deal, and the twin's were having a hard time in accepting. After all, Zonko's was their paradise, their inspiration…but then they wouldn't be The Weasley's; they would simply be a part of Zonko's.

He silently savored the tranquility. It was quite rare for silence to fill the Weasley Burrow. There had to be some sort of noise: his mother cooking and cleaning in the kitchen, the questionable, loud and disturbing sounds muffled behind the twins door, Ginny banging on the door, demanding to be let in; it was a zoo. Although with the absence of the comical twins, things were a lot quieter.

Bill and Charlie were coming home for Christmas. Percy wasn't coming of course; Percy hadn't stepped into the house since he had packed up and left two years before. But the family was making up for the lost seat at the table with Harry. Speaking of which, Ron wondered what Harry was doing, if Ginny was harassing him or if his father was pestering him on the many different Muggle instruments, their uses, and their names.

Ron rolled off his bright orange bed and stretched, his hands brushing the ceiling. He needed to move. Percy's old room was bigger, maybe he could switch. He'd personally move the git's stuff if he had too. A room was a room, no matter what was inside of it. Besides, it wasn't like Percy missed it, obviously. Ron shoved thoughts of Percy aside. He had grown distant from Percy. True, he was still his brother, and that was a bond that would never be broken. But it was harder to stay friends and loyal to a brother who cared more about his boss, and the thickness of cauldrons than his own family, and their well-being. Well, that's not completely true, he snorted sarcastically to himself; Percy did show Ron some sort of favoritism in writing him and telling him that he wanted Ron to follow in his, Percy's, footsteps, and to shun Harry. Ron still hadn't quite forgiven Percy for that nasty letter.

A sharp tapping pricked at his ears and he turned towards the sound, fixing his eyes on a brown school owl that tiredly but consistently pecked the window. Opening the small glass pane in his room, Ron untied the package from the owl's leg, before it hooted and flew off without another sound.

Thinking it was an early Christmas present--after all, it was already Christmas Eve--Ron eagerly opened the letter, seeing Hermione's familiar handwriting. A small pang of regret and guilt swept over him, as he remembered Lavender's kisses. He hadn't meant for it to go so far. He hadn't meant for it to happen in the first place! He had been the one who stop it. Lavender was a pretty girl…oh hell! He was boy! Couldn't that give him some justification?

Scanning the letter and with a quizzical brow, he opened the package. Blood draining from his face, Ron sprinted out of his room, howling, "HARRY!"

:-:-:-:-:-:-:

Harry rested on the couch, eyes dropping down to close. He could hear Mrs. Weasley cooking and talking to her cookbook that instructed her how to make the evening's meal. The rest of the house was still. Mr. Weasley was meeting Charlie and Bill, and Ginny had gone with them. The twins were still at work; they had lengthened their hours courteously for the last-minuet shoppers.

He wished Hermione were there at the moment. He missed her greatly. He never told a soul, but he did like Hermione, as in more than just a friend. It had probably started after fifth year, the summer before sixth year. Merlin, he had been so miserable; there hadn't been a day when he didn't think of Sirius falling behind the veil. She hadn't said anything, unlike everyone else who tried to comfort him verbally. She merely sat next to him and placed her hand over his, as if saying she was there for him.

He hadn't cried throughout Sirius's funeral. He hadn't cried at all since the last day of school. Many thought it was unhealthy. He thought so too, and he felt horrible because he couldn't cry. The tears were gone. When the summer had started, it was as if all tears in him had evaporated. He felt guilty, unable to cry for his godfather, his friend. Then with Hermione's simply touch, the tears finally were unleashed from the hidden depths in his soul. She never said anything. She never commented on how Sirius was a good man or how he was in a better place. She merely held him, as he sobbed into her shirt.

He'd never tell Ron. Ron had been in love with her since third year. Well, he had had a crush on her at that point. And right before Harry was about to confess that he was feeling a certain, closer-than-friendship desire and feeling towards their best girl friend, Ron abruptly decided to declare he was officially in love with bookworm Hermione.

"How pitiful am I, Harry?" Ron had said feverishly, pacing. "I fell in love with her and I don't know how!"

Harry had wanted to say something, but his tongue was dry. He was crushed. On one side there was Hermione, his one chance of having her. On the other side was Ron, who – at least – claimed he loved her and would hate Harry if he fought the red head for Hermione. He was torn.

"I mean, she's a bookworm, and a know-it-all, and she's not incredibly pretty," Ron continued. Even while his blood boiled in incredible fury, Harry continued to sit in stony silence, as Ron kept rambling, "But she's…I don't know. She's…right? And I mean, she's just so…that…and then…you know?"

He had sounded like a complete idiot. Observing his lovesick visage, Harry knew he couldn't break Ron's heart and say he loved Hermione as well. He was quite aware Ron was upset with the scenario of Harry tending to get everything Ron wanted. And Harry decided to be humble. He would let Ron have her, even it killed him to watch them together. And so he gave a fake smile, congratulated him and agreed half heartedly, as Ron suddenly felt like asking her out on a date to the next Hogsmead weekend to confess his feelings.

"HARRY!" he heard Ron scream, his voice cracking at the 'RY'. He winced, appalled to suddenly find himself agreeing with Malfoy: when the hell would Ron's voice completely change?

"What?" Harry called, lying on the couch while watching Ron stumble down the stairs, tripping on the bottom step, yet somehow catching himself with his long legs. Merlin, the red head still seemed to be growing into his body.

"Come upstairs…now!" Ron whispered, before jolting back up the path he had stumbled down. Puzzled and slightly alarmed at how incredibly pale Ron was, and why he had the appearance of a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car, Harry quickly followed.

"What's the problem, Ron?" Harry asked, as Ron quickly closed the door, locked it and placed a silencing charm over it. His odd behavior only increased Harry's concern each passing second.

"Look on the bed," Ron whispered, avoiding the object in question and went to the window, opening it and letting the winter air chill his sweating brow. Harry turned and went over to the outrageously bright orange bed and looked at the thing that Ron was so petrified of.

An unfolded note, large letters scribbled in Hermione's perfect handwriting read:

Just in case you can't control yourself

when Lavender comes around again.

Happy Christmas and a Happy---

Harry's jaw dropped as he read the word between 'Happy' and 'New Year'. Hermione, their innocent Hermione writing such a word she had scolded Ron and Harry for using?

He looked at the package and his face paled as well, as he stared at a box of condoms. Harry looked between the box and the letter, and read an additional note he had overlooked:

P.S. Multi-colored…so you can match it

with her outfit, since we all know that

Lavender loves to be color coordinated.

Harry looked up at Ron, who's expression was slightly green now. "RON! WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO?" Harry bellowed, his own face reddening. The green monster that had plagued him for so long changed to red. Not only did Ron get the girl, he cheated on her with some ditz! It appalled Harry, and at that moment, he could only imagine his sweet Hermione heart broken with no shoulder to cry on.

"It's not my fault!" Ron responded just as loud, not in anger, but in despair.

"What's she talking about then? What happened between you and Lavender?" Harry questioned angrily. He looked away. She was alone in the castle without anyone, stuck with Malfoy. Harry wanted to bash his face in. He should have fought harder in saying goodbye to her. Maybe she was avoiding him on the platform. He should have punched Malfoy and searched for her and asked her if she was ok, and if she really wanted to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas. He should have been more of a friend, should have been her comforter. Now…she was alone.

Ron was silent for a good while. He merely looked in shock at the folded piece of paper crunched in Harry's hand. He swallowed and tried to speak but never said a word.

"What is she talking about then?" Harry repeated, louder and fiercer this time.

Ron hung his head in shame. "It was during the raid, the day before we left. You had just left me in the Room of Requirement, and I was going to go back to our House, I bumped into Lavender. Turns out she was heading back there too, so we walked together. And then the alarm went off, and she just went…berserk. Reminded me of a banshee. I dragged her back to the Room of Requirement; we weren't near any of the other safe houses. We didn't hear anything, and after enough time had passed, we decided to try and sneak back. So we went…and she said she was scared, and kept saying all these nice things about me…and then she kissed me…"

"Did you kiss her back?" Harry interrogated sharply.

A brief pause, and then a quiet, "Yes."

Through gritted teeth, Harry started, "You asshole—"

"Don't you start, Harry! Since first year I've always been at your side and constantly overlooked. Everyone praised you because of that stupid scar on your forehead. No one recalled the dangers I went through, all just because I didn't spend three weeks in the hospital wing at the end of the school year. And even this year, it happened. I'm always the ugly one when I stand next to you. I come back from Mungo's and suddenly all the girls are looking at me like they look at you and Malfoy. They look at me and they smile, and try and flirt with me. You don't know how great it feels, Harry, to feel like you're worth something. You don't know because you've always been treated like that, young people, old people, doesn't matter. You're always getting the attention, and just once, just once I get a little bit of that attention too, and yeah, I mess up. But you don't have the right to get on my case about it. Don't you dare patronize me about messing up and being an asshole. You're not as flawless as you think you are. At least I haven't gotten anyone killed yet."

Harry's mouth went dry and Ron seemed to have gone green after what he had said. Ron stared at the floor and Harry glared at Ron, in disbelief if anything else. He was shocked that Ron, his best mate, had struck him where he knew was a tender spot.

Harry walked towards the door and quickly unlocked it.

"Harry, I'm sorry!" Ron apologized, racing after his friend. He grabbed onto his arm. Harry turned around and seized Ron by his shirt, snarling, "Save it for someone who cares."

With a savage push, Harry flung Ron backwards, causing him to slam his back into the headboard of his bed. Ron muffled a cry of pain, which was stifled by the slamming of the door.

With tears of mortification from what he had said rolling down his face, Ron sat painfully on his bed. He didn't know what to do. Harry would forgive him in the end, wouldn't he? A small fear of doubt filled him. Ron was never good at apologizing. He felt sick at what he had said; he had no right to say such cruel words. Covering his face in shame, Ron thought what he should do, could do. His eyes rested on the crumbled letter lying on the floor. He had ruined one of his friendships; maybe he could save the other. And so, he grabbed a quill and a piece of parchment and began to write to Hermione.

:-:-:-:-:--:-:-:

Harry had never felt so livid before. He tried to control himself as he stomped down the steps. He didn't want to alarm Mrs. Weasley, nor drag her into the situation at hand. Despite his poor efforts in quieting his footsteps, Mrs. Weasley came towards him, asking, "Is everything all right, Harry, dear?"

"It's fine, don't worry. I'm just going to go for a walk," Harry said calmly and brushed by Mrs. Weasley, who looked at him perplexedly.

"Don't forget your coat, dear!" she called. Unfortunately, her reminder fell on deaf ears, and as he closed the door behind him, Mrs. Weasley didn't bother to chase after him. Her motherly instinct told her that he and Ron had gotten into a little row, and it was something that even she couldn't interpose. Sighing, she returned to preparing the Christmas Eve meal.

Harry, on the other hand, was walking in piles of snow mid calf high, wind blowing in his face. The icy blasts felt calming against his flaming skin.

How could Ron say those things? Harry had to put up with Ron's ridiculous behavior in fourth year when he had accused him of placing his name in the Goblet of Fire. Harry could live with those accusations. This time…this time Ron had gone too far. He could never forgiven him because Ron's barb wasn't one that slipped out accidentally. He had said it on purpose. How dare he accuse him of Sirius' death!

Why are you getting angry about it? You know it's true. It is your fault…

Go away…leave me alone…

I'm always here, and I'll never leave you alone. You know that. I'm the voice inside you that keeps you from denying the truth. You know Ron's right.

But for him to say it to my face?

Tears of anger coursed down his cheeks even when Harry tried hard not to cry. He wasn't crying over Ron. He was crying over Sirius. His shoes tangled with the thick snow and he stumbled to the padded ground. He stayed there, not bothering to get up. His body shook in painful sobs as he remembered his godfather. If only had had studied harder, if only he hadn't trusted that wretched house elf! Harry was going to have that elf killed.

Harry hadn't touched the mirror Sirius had given him. He had collected the pieces, put it in a bag and placed it in the loose floorboard in the Dursely's house. There it hid; there it would stay. He wished that had been the end of it. But the mortal toil that scorched and slashed at his heart and soul seemed incapable of ending. It still raged on inside of him.

After a few long moments of staring up at the stormy dark sky, Harry finally got up and made his way back to the Burrow. The windows were blurs of lights. He hadn't realized how far he had walked. He continued on, now feeling the coldness of the wind seep through him. He wiped his face, trying to keep his tears from freezing to his bare skin, hoping that no one would see his anguish. Step after step his heart became heavier until finally he reached the door of the Weasley household. He didn't know if he was ready to go in. His body screamed for the warmth that tempted him to bask himself in it. The cold tried to convince him into staying outside forever and freeze the pain that boiled inside him. He didn't know how long he stood there.

"Harry!" a voice cried out in excitement, as a huge bulk of black plowed him over into the snow. "No need to come out and freeze your arse off for us!"

"Although, it is rather touching…such devotion," George remarked, wiping away an invisible tear, before jumping on top of Fred, who was still hugging Harry in the snow, and thus further crushed Harry and made him wet and colder still. They laughed as Harry let out a sharp groan of pain.

"Boys! Let's get inside. My clock says it's dinner time already," Mr. Wealsey said, hands buried deeply in his thin jacket. Harry brushed himself off and tried to smile. He was surprised how easily it fitted to his face and a pang of guilt stabbed at him. How could he smile when he felt so…horribly inside?

The twins threw open the door, yelling at the top of their lungs Christmas greetings. Bill and Charlie followed, overcome with hugs from their mother, who tried to swallow them both up in her arms. Mr. Weasley quickly entered into the safe haven of warmth, leaving Harry to stare into the brightness. A soft hand grabbed onto his arm and lightly tugged him towards the house. "Come on, Harry," Ginny said, "You'll freeze to death in those wet clothes."

Harry only nodded and reluctantly walked in. Maybe he could surround himself with the twins, Bill, Charlie, and Ginny all night, avoiding Ron as long as possible. Seeing the person in question standing on the staircase, gazing sadly down at him weakened all hopes of such thoughts.

:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

Draco waved his hand at the fire that burned in the hearth. It gave a muted cough, spluttering flames. A blast of heat brushed over Draco's face and he basked in the warmth. Ever since he had obtained his Element, he noticed he constantly craved the sun's warm touch or anything hot. He was growing to despise England's weather, cursed with dreary rainy seasons and cloudy skies. It frustrated him because he really did enjoy the dark clouds and wild storms; and now, all that brought him joy was the idea of lounging on a beach with the tropical sun beating upon his brow. He gloomily pulled his jacket closer to him, savoring the soft material against his bare skin.

But even when the weather outside was quite horrid (it still hadn't snowed) with the harsh winds blowing the bare skeletons of the trees, ashes of leaves fluttering in the wind, skies overcastted with thick, gray clouds that held the snow captive, refusing to give up one flake, Draco waited patiently for the one thing that he was going to find most amusing all day…

A nasty groan grated against his ears. Oh! how he savored it. His ears carefully listened to the sounds of his roommate in her room. He heard heavy feet fall roughly to the floor and tread towards the bathroom. Some more horrible groans and moans, and then the grand finale…

The echoes of her spews vibrated the bathroom walls and Draco threw back his head and laughed. Oh, this was priceless. Perfect Hermione Granger hung over; he had to see this.

Eager to see someone in pain, he rolled off the couch and went towards the bathroom, flinging open the door and allowing it to slam into the wall. He watched sadistically, as Hermione grabbed her head in agony and winced. The side of her head rested against the toilet seat, saliva glistening around the corners of her parted lips.

"Most people don't approve of drinking out of toilet bowls, Hermione," Draco said, coming towards her, smirking down at her poor, sick form.

Hermione looked up at him, eyes bloodshot. She licked her lips and was about to speak, but instead, she leaned down and spewed again. Draco, as much as he enjoyed watching Hermione in turmoil, detested the sight of vomiting. He found the idea ironic: he enjoyed the behavior of a hung over person, yet he detested the sight of it. His stomach turned uneasily, and the stench of her vomit overpowered him. She coughed, gasping for breath, and wiped away her tears.

Draco walked out of the bathroom. All thrills he had once savored in watching the episode of Hermione's hangover were over. There was something…wrong…in seeing her body lean over the porcelain bowl and heave into it, tears rolling down her face because she couldn't stop and because of her pounding head that she clutched passionately. He could imagine her now, pressing her face against the icy cold porcelain, trying to cool her feverish brow. He knew she was because he experienced it one to many times. But Draco was good at holding his liquor, and he also hadn't drunk as much as his copartner who was now spewing her guts into the toilet.

A twang of…pity, overwhelmed him, so strongly that it made him sit on the couch, cross his arms, and have an argument with himself. Should he satisfy the urge to crush this pity feeling inside of him by helping ease her pain? Or should he go on a long walk and wait till she was over her hangover? Some people would have thought that such thoughts going through Draco's head were completely against his personality. And in a way, it is true. But you see, the Draco that the majority of the people thought they knew was changing, not only unbeknown to their eyes, but also to Draco's. Unlike the observers, however, Draco had no idea where this side of him had come from. He had never had a shoulder angel; at least, he always killed the little bugger before it could speak. And at times he wouldn't be surprised if he had two shoulder devils. Now, the little angel was tugging more to its own side, even when Draco desperately wanted the little red devil to win the tug-of-war game that occurred in indecisive situations such as this. He clutched his face. Why did he have to argue with himself?

:-:-:-:-:-:-:

Hermione rested against the toilet, her cooler, her savior. She patted the toilet bowl, "You're the only one who knows what I feel like inside…well, at least now you do." She closed her eyes and pressed her hand against her forehead. What was wrong? She couldn't remember anything. Did she eat something bad yesterday? Her thoughts were completely disoriented, and she felt incredibly confused and disgusting.

The door opened again, this time quieter. She couldn't believe the audacity of Malfoy. Here she thought they were making progress on their "friendship" (which really, if analyzed correctly, was just a simple truce), and Malfoy returned to his old ways of making fun of her, kicking her when she was down.

Merlin, why was this happening to her? She wished she were at the Burrow, sitting with her friends and having a good time and feeling good. She wished she were snuggling with Ron…what if he was snuggling with Lavender instead? She clutched her head and started to cry. Why did she have to cry over something so silly? He was just a guy. Her purpose and life didn't rest solely on the red head; otherwise life had no real meaning. This winter break was a time to finally get over him and to confront him on the first day back and break it off. She knew it was going to be awkward at first, and she'd let Ron try and explain himself. But she had seen what he had done and what he hadn't done, and some things just weren't forgivable. Once a cheater, always a cheater. Ron took something precious of hers, ripped it and destroyed it, and threw it back in her face. Not her virginity, thankfully. She was one of those girls who favored the idea of waiting till marriage to have sex. Her parents had raised her with the idea that sex was supposed to be a special thing between two people.

And she agreed with them, not because she was taught that idea, but because she believed it logical as well. If sex was supposed to be a special thing between two people, then what was the point of sleeping with every boyfriend you go through? She had seen multiple cases where a girl finally gave her heart, body, soul, and virginity to a man and watch sadly as the girl weep bitterly a few days later, as he ignored her after their love making. Girls tend to give their hearts more freely, more willingly than males. Therefore, Hermione wanted to wait for The One, and that was the one who would make the commitment, place the wedding band on her finger, swear to her that he would love her forever and never leave her side. That was whom she'd give it to.

And so, she was thankful that she didn't go as far as some of her friends. Especially when she now looked at what had happened. So why was she so upset? She gave Ron a good part of her heart, the sweetest center, and he had destroyed it. She had given him her loyalty, her faithfulness, her trust, and he had done the complete opposite of all the gifts she had given him. But the main reason why she was so upset with the whole ordeal was partly about loosing her boyfriend to a prettier girl, but mostly because it raised the old age question: what was wrong with her that made him go to another, prettier girl?

His new face. It was the same Ron inside; she knew he had to be there. She knew he had a new face, but she fell in love with the old Ron, her Ron, the one with the multiple freckles and large nose and small eyes. But Ron was handsome now. He caught the eyes of a lot of pretty girls, girls that Hermione didn't fear before because she knew that they had no desire in becoming Ron's girlfriend. Now, however, that situation had changed. Was it because she was ugly next to his side that made him search for a prettier companion? She knew she wasn't the best thing on the market; she was aware that her frizzy and wild hair was the butt of all the jokes.

In simple terms of the idea of what Hermione had deduced from all speculations of her now ex-boyfriend: Ron needed someone pretty to be by his new, pretty face. And that pretty face was not Hermione's.

Hot tears trickled down her face and landed on her chest. They were little hot licks of pain that scorched her skin, not because of the heat, but because of the bitterness, depression, and anguish that each tear was made of. She didn't care if Malfoy was in the bathroom. She didn't care if he made another joke about her lowly heritage. She was sick and tired of it all, and she just want to sleep and make the pounding in her heat cease, and the misery in her heart die.

"Here," a low voice said, automatically raising Hermione's eyes to what was being held out to her. She skeptically looked at the blue liquid in the glass. Draco added, "It'll kill your hangover."

Hangover…? she repeated silently in her mind. Why was she hung over? The pounding increased. Hangover or not, she took the drink (or poison) and gulped it down, coughing at the horrid taste. The glass was again pressed up against her lips, this time harshly, and the thick, nasty potion forcibly slide down her resisting throat. "You need to finish it all," he said in the same low voice. Hermione tried to squirm away from it. The taste was incredibly repulsive. But finally, as the glass was lifted off her lips, she coughed and vaguely noticed that her headache was gone. Her eyes blurred and she felt strong arms pull her to her feet. "You'll be passing out soon."

Whether in a dream or not, Hermione felt her feet lift off the ground and she rose into the familiar darkness of unconsciousness.

:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

Draco placed her on her disheveled bed. Her hands reached up for one of the spare pillows on her bed and cuddled is against her chest. Rolling up in a little ball, Hermione's face relaxed and Draco watched as her chest rose and fell consistently, signifying a person in deep sleep. He gently pulled the covers over her frail frame, up to her chin. He watched as his fingers reached downwards to brush her hair, but he grabbed hold of them and forced them to retreat. To busy his fingers, he closed the curtains to keep the sun from waking her.

Before he closed the door, he stood and watched her. What made him commit an act of kindness? Dreamers would love to believe that he had suddenly, out of the blue, discovered that he loved her. But Dreamers tend to be disappointed, just like they are now. If anything (for it is hard to understand the mind of Draco), it is possibly and most likely that the reason why Draco treated her with such tender care was because of Pansy and how he treated her.

Draco didn't love Pansy, or at least, all feelings of these sorts had faded into friendship ones. But even that type of "friendship love" was pushing it. If we take a brief review over the mindset and personality of Draco – which we might have forgotten with new and exciting events that have happened – we may come to a some-what complete conclusion. Draco was cold, evil, sadistic, and manipulative. He had allies, and no friends (except Blaise). Pansy was just his…girl. There really was no other word he could give her. He hated his family. He hated being belittled and overshadowed by Potter.

Draco knew that about himself. He knew he was prideful, intelligent, handsome, a pompous ass, and alone. But there was one thing that Draco couldn't understand about himself: his thoughts and feelings towards Hermione Granger. This is probably something that we've forgotten, and it might be necessary now to review what has happened these last few days. It's easy to get facts and thoughts confused in this tale. But Draco had, unrecognizable to his own eyes, a deep fascination with Hermione Granger. Unfortunately, it is hard to tell what his true feelings are seeing that Draco is a very complex person to unpeel. But, the one thing that is evident, if one studies the behavior of Draco throughout this ordeal, that he had become quite attached to the little fuzz ball in the sense that she was, to his pale eyes, a unique girl with intriguing thinking, not to mention the gift of dark art swirling in her muddy veins. True, he was jealous (for lack of a better word) that she was able to possess the gift of controlling an Element, and he repeatedly wondered how, just by a simple chant, she was able to obtain that power, while he had to endure a scarring night of humiliation and torture.

And as he watched her sleepy form shudder and pull the covers closer to her chin, he found himself almost grinning at seeing her childish face. But upon catching himself, his forced his lips down into a frown. As he slowly closed the door, he contemplated why, again, did he help her. As he recalled her frail form hunched painfully over the toilet, coughing and spewing, he remembered Pansy being in the exact same position multiple times before. But Pansy was different. She was the type of girl who was allowed to get drunk and have horribly hangovers the next morning. She was the party, wild girl that all men loved and adored and favored. She was the type of girl who was fun to get drunk with, never really knowing where you'd end up the next morning. Draco enjoyed her presence sometimes. And sometimes, he felt like a friend when he had to carry her unconscious body to Blaise's room (recall for a moment that steps leading towards the girls dormitories collapse into a slippery slope when male feet touch against the cool surface, and Draco would never allow the threat of loosing his Head's badge over her drunkenness). Blaise, being the gentlemen that he was, kindly let her sleep in his bed, and slept on the floor.

But Granger wasn't like Pansy. Her personality didn't allow her to get drunk and dance and have heavy hangovers. She was the unique girl who wasn't like the other girls, the unordinary girl that transfixed him with her oddity. And maybe, just maybe, deep down he felt a little guilty for her condition because he had been the one to cause it.

Last night's episode with Hermione in the bar and Flint's crude words came to Draco's mind and anger surged through him, at himself, at Hermione, at Flint. He could still see Flint's lusty gaze, as he stared at innocent Hermione, half drunk. Draco knew that if he hadn't been there, Hermione might have been waking up in musty hotel room with Flint's arm wrapped around her waist.

Draco felt disgusted with himself. And then he felt angry for being disgusted with himself. And then, to make emotions even more confusing, he felt ashamed for feeling angry for being disgusted with himself. The heart and mind and feelings of Draco Malfoy were one of the most complex things unknown to anyone in the castle. The blond haired boy massaged his temples and rested on the couch, his eyes still on her door. He could image her lying on her bed, at that very moment, content. He sighed.

:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

Pale gray eyes opened to see Hermione coming out of the bathroom with the flushing toilet echoing in the tiled room. Draco watched as her sleepy figure waddled over to him and sat in one of the adjacent chairs. She ran her fingers through her wild hair, and Draco watched, fascinated.

"What happened?" she asked, her voice raspy. She coughed and shook her head, trying to wake herself up.

"What?" he responded, not entirely sure what she was talking about.

"This morning…you gave me something…said something about a hangover?" she asked, looking at him for answers.

Draco didn't want to reply. He curled on the couch with his back towards her, mumbling that he didn't know, and that he was tired, so she should just piss off and let him sleep. He smirked, as he heard her mumble something that sounded like 'asshole'.

An aggravating pecking tapped against the window, and yawning, Hermione went over towards the sound, and Draco heard the window squeak open, followed by a soft coo of an owl. Still feigning sleep -- although he was tired -- the Slytherin listened keenly as he heard the girl open the letter and quietly dictate the letter. Her words were slurred like one who reads something quietly and fast and only for one's own personal benefit. Random little words were accented clearly, but soon were overlapped with slurred phrases and incomprehensible murmurs.

Draco was about to fall into slumber when a pillow whacked him quite roughly on the head. "What the hell?" Draco exclaimed, rubbing his bruised head and glaring at the culprit.

Standing with her arms crossed over her chest, foot tapping, and hair disheveled, she was a frightening sight. But the stripped pajamas she wore took out all ferocity she could have emitted.

"What happened last night?" she demanded loudly.

"Go ask the toilet bowl," he snapped, snuggling back into his warm, comfortable position. Hermione, infuriated, started pounding him on the head with the pillow again, watching happily, as he attempted to protect his head with his arms, and yelled again, "What happened last night?"

"Stop hitting me, damn it!" he said, grabbing the pillow and throwing it at her. "What exactly are you talking about?"

"This," she snapped, throwing a piece of parchment at him. Catching the rolled up letter, Draco opened it and quickly scanned it, muttering some of it out loud, "Dear Hermione…what's wrong…what's with the box of condoms – so that's what we got last night! Merlin, that part of last night is a little fuzzy in my mind."

"What do you mean 'last night'?" she asked coldly.

"After the bar—"

"THE WHAT?" she shrieked, causing Draco to wince.

"O'Brain's. Had a few drinks, danced a little — by the way, thank's for the lap dance," Draco added. Hermione, now slowly recalling the night's events, paled drastically and sank weakly into the chair, staring appalled at him. Drinks? Yes…I remember. Dancing…heck yes I remember that…he smelled good, she thought and then mentally kicked herself for the last comment. Lap dance…? she paused. Holy…shit…

Draco watched, as she covered her face, and he smiled. He couldn't help but add, "Flint thought you were pretty sexy, too. Wanted one himself, but you decided to run off after you were done with me."

"Shut up!" she yelled, humiliated and then as an after thought, said, "What do you mean, 'Flint'? What was he doing there?"

"O'Brain's a pretty popular club. All the young wizards go there," he lied. Well, it wasn't exactly a lie. O'Brain's was a popular place.

She groaned and covered her face again. "Why were we there?"

"Are you seriously telling me you don't remember any of this?" Draco asked, genuinely amused. She gave a weak nod.

"We went to O'Brain's for a break. Got drunk. Bought the condoms. Went to the owlery. Sent off your package to Weasley. And then you passed out," Draco said.

"That's it?" she asked.

"Do you have something in mind that you want to finish now?" he replied, raising a pale eyebrow. She glared at him, muttering, "Sex, sex, sex, that's all you ever think about."

Draco looked back down at the letter and finished skimming it. It was hard to read what the Weasel wrote, but through his chicken scratch, Draco could comprehend that he was confessing about his little 'accident' with Lavender, and how he still loved Hermione, and that he was really sorry, and all the sappy things that boys said after they had just screwed up a relationship.

Draco stared at the letter. He could tell, even when he tried hard not to, that Weasley was quite sincere when he said that he was sorry for what he had done. He could already image Hermione smiling at the idea of getting back together with the freak, could image him holding her with his slimy hands and touching her, and could imagine her reverting back to her doll-like stage, always touched, but never touching. He glanced at her, examining her huddled body cramped in the chair. And the idea of the red headed boy taking hold of her again…this part is obvious, and since there is no way to really allude to it without sounding incredibly ridiculous, it'll have to be spoken straight out: Draco was upset with the idea of Hermione becoming out of his reach again. He was agitated that filthy, poor hands would take his possession. Whatever Draco wanted, he kept, even if he didn't want it anymore. Hermione was something he wanted. And Draco seethed at the idea of galleonless Weasley stealing her away from him.

"Are you going to forgive him and go back to his side?" Draco asked coldly. Anger ate at him, slowly consuming him. He couldn't understand why the idea of Hermione returning to Weasley was so infuriating. Maybe he was jealous of the idea of her being by the freak's side again. Draco shook his head: no…that couldn't be it…could it?

"I don't know," was her quiet reply a few moments later.

"It's a simple question: either you go back to him or you don't," and stay with me, Draco was about to add. The blond, now completely shocked and afraid of his betraying thoughts, quickly got up from the couch and walked towards his room. Throwing on his Quidditch practice clothes, he grabbed his broom and walked towards the exit.

He had to get out. He had to escape her presence before he completely lost control of himself. It suddenly became clear to him: he was treating her almost like he treated Blaise and Pansy: friendly like. And he couldn't understand why. True, the two of them were bound by an invisible truce, but did it mean that he was supposed to treat her so…nicely? And then the mortifying idea flooded his head: he liked treating her nicely.

He had to leave. Now.

"Where are you going? Why are you so mad?" she asked, following him, incredibly flustered with his attitude.

"None of your damn business," Draco snapped. Get to the door, get to the door…he chanted in his head.

"Draco, talked to me," she said, grabbing onto his arm. He looked back at her, and wished he hadn't. Her brown eyes glowed by the firelight's blaze, and confusion swarmed underneath the reflected fire. "What did I say?"

The Slytherin swallowed, trying to pull his eyes away from her brown ones, but found the process harder than the thought. Her hand burned through his clothes, her slim figure never appeared more seducing to the touch. He wanted to catch her off guard and kiss her, just to see her reaction, just to see her confusion increase, just to feel her lips against his, just to finally have a real idea of what they felt like instead of the thought of what they should feel like. He watched as her red lips moved, repeating the question. His heart pounded in his head.

He had to get away before he lost control.

Yanking his arm roughly out of her grasp, he marched towards the door and slammed it shut. He needed to feel the winter air against his face, needed the weight of gravity pulling at his feet, needed the exhilaration of diving. And maybe, with the power of the icy wind and the heart stopping dives combined, his heart would cease pounding so ferociously inside of his chest. But as he mounted his broom and took off into the gray sky, he could only see her skin warmed by the fire and her lips beckoning to be touched.

And then his mind was swarmed with the little witch who was still standing dumbfounded in the Head's Common Room.

:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

A/N: I rewrote this chapter about three times, which was why it's taken a little while to get up here. Plus, homework's not lightening up either. TT I'm about ready to drop dead and die. But before I let you go and surf the rest of the fanfics out there, I want to thank you ever so much for choosing to take time out of your search and reading mine.

Special shoutouts to:

Ninacrazyfanficker801:blushes: Aww…you're too kind. I'm happy that you like what I write and I'm really pleased that you like this story as well. Your review was awesome to read because I don't get long ones like those very often, and it's always a pleasure to read people who analyze the story. Thank you!

SuperSammie325: Thanks for finding my story now! And I'm glad you'll stick through this thing to the end! I do hate losing people, but then again, that happens to me because I forget what the title is! Whoops. Either way, I'm quite glad that you like it so much.

Ignorencecreekstruth: I know its frustrating…I tend to frustrate a lot of people with my writing, in the sense that it never goes the way they think it's going to go. What'd did you think of Ron's reaction? Was it what you expected?

Sakuraangel90: Yeah:sigh: I've finally excepted that I'm naturally mean in my writing. Hahaha.

Dantesguide: Your review made me laugh :pictures you dancing in your chair and receiving odd glares: Hopefully, you didn't have to do it again and receive another series of odd glares from your editor this time.

KuroiTenshi – Dark Angel: I'm not sure how long this story is going to be. I suppose it's when I just can't stand writing it any longer No, but really, I think it'll end in the early 20s, at least, that's my goal. It's my first long chapter story so I can't really say.

Monday Mornings: I really do love honest reviews like yours. And I'm glad you won't stop reading. The problem with me is that I go through random mood swings and what I feel like tends to effect what I write. But I hope that this chapter somehow redeemed my last…:bites lip: maybe not…I hope you'll stick with this story anyways.

Bips: You read the whole thing again? Wow! You have no idea how smashing that makes me feel to hear that this is a thing you could read twice! Thank you!

And also to: Tris riddle, perfectcircle, IheartDraco&Hermione, redjegger, Firefox Sunset – Formerly CinderBrat, poopywnsyou, FeLiCiTy RoXx, Princess Squishy, seaweedqueen, good ride cowboy, rina, dracosbabigirl, CareBearErin, misty, cellosrock753, Pidwidgeon188, Lucifer's Garden, orliNkeria, Ellie, Jay Jay, Serenity Komoshiro, prettigurl7,