Hi everybodyyyyyyy. Wow, it took me a while to get back in the mood of writing again (and on a really harsh cliffhanger too- my bad). I hope you guys like it! Reviews and such are, of course, ALWAYS appreciated. By the way, it took so long because i wrote it, but then rewrote it. So this is the third version of this chapter haha. Leave in the reviews what you'd like to see happen, and I'll see if I can fit any of it in. I don't know exactly where this is going to go, so it's pretty flexible at this point :)

I love you all! Each and every one of you, genuinely :]


Fights

"I am-"

"Hey!" Hermione and Draco broke apart, startled. Harry stood a few feet away, looking stern. "Is there a problem here?" Hermione recognized him at once, and was not pleased.

"I think I've got it," Draco said coolly, pulling Hermione back into him. "Thanks, though." Sarcasm dripped from his words. Hermione felt the smallest bit of guilt over the look on Harry's face, especially as Draco waved Harry away like an annoying fly in his ear.

Then fist connected with face.

"Harry!" Hermione screamed as Draco flew from her arms. She had no time to help him up, though- Draco sprung to his feet and tackled Harry to the ground. The music blared through the magical speakers, masking Hermione's pleas for peace. Hundreds of eyes found their way to the fight in the center of the dance floor. Shouts of egging-on, toward one boy or the other, eventually became loud enough to alert members of staff.

Hermione, shaking, pulled out her wand. "P-protego!" An invisible barrier expanded between the quarreling pair, forcing them apart, costumes ripped and masks thrown aside. Hermione gasped as she looked down on the pair.

"Malfoy! Potter!" McGonagall shrieked. She pointed out the door. "NOW!" Draco and Harry looked at each other with disgust, unsurprised that they wound up fighting each other. Harry's mind couldn't help but flip through the series of images it had taken of Draco and Hermione earlier: his arm around her waist; his hand in hers; the way they looked at each other, flirting with their eyes. Harry wiped the blood from under his nose, and got to his feet to follow.

Hermione was staring at Draco. "You?" she whispered; the music had stopped. Draco stared back. "You make it sound like a bad thing," he replied, smiling slightly. Though his mouth was bloody and a cut on his cheek was dripping onto his robes, he still looked light hearted and overall unphased. Hermione's mask was still on her face. She tugged on the ribbon and pulled the mask away; several people gasped around her, but she didn't notice. Draco looked at her, but did not look angry as she had expected. He shrugged, said, "I thought so," and followed McGonagall out the door.

"Hermione," Harry started, walking towards her. She threw her mask at him and it hit him in his already broken nose. He swore loudly and backed up a few paces. Cradling his steadily bleeding nose, she whispered viciously in his ear so only he could hear. "I'm not yours to protect. I will never be. Stop trying, or it'll be me you're fighting next time."

Draco's first thought walking out of the Hall was that his jaw hurt. And that he might have a black eye. And that he was limping. Only after taking a mental count of all his possible injuries did his mind drift back to Hermione's face after she took off the mask. He had known. Somehow, he had known. Maybe it was the way she smiled, or the way she smelled. She smelled like perfume tonight, but once it began to wear off, her real scent filled the air. She smelled like fresh air- like the seaside without the harsh salt smell. Or the fish.

He smiled to himself. She smells good, he thought. Different then her though, there's no comparison. Nanette smelled like flowers and earth. Like the ones in her garden. Roses. Always roses.

"Frankly, Mister Malfoy, I am not surprised." The sound of Professor McGonagall's harsh voice startled him. "You and Mister Potter have always had a history. But to attack him in the middle of a school dance, one that was served as a treat to all you students, is just unacceptable!"

"I didn't attack him, Professor! He hit me first!" McGonagall looked at him knowingly.

"You have cried werewolf many times, my boy. After all these years, you cannot possibly expect me to believe that Potter has hit you first every single time in the past seven years?"

"Harry hit him first, Professor!"

Hermione burst through the door, her hair falling from its intricate updo. "I saw it; it was right in front of me." Harry stumbled into the room after her and approached the desk.

"Is this true, Potter?" McGonagall snapped impatiently.

"Id whah too?" McGonagall raised her wand and fixed Harry's nose with wave.

"Did you or did you not, Mister Potter, attack Mister Malfoy in the middle of the dance floor?" Harry wondered for a brief moment what would happen if he tried to lie his way out of trouble. The look on Hermione's face answered. He sighed.

"Yeah, I did. I'm sorry, Professor."

"Don't apologize to me, Mr. Potter. I'm not the one spitting blood onto my nice clean floor." She shot Draco a warning look as sat up guiltily; he was about to lean over his chair to spit again.

"I don't need his apologies, Professor," Draco said, standing up. He winced slightly- Harry had punched him in the ribs several times.

"Good, you're not getting any," Harry spat.

"You will both receive one night's detention for your actions this evening. I don't care who hit whom first Mr. Malfoy! Please return to your common rooms; you will not be allowed back into the ball this evening."

Hermione, Draco, and Harry all turned to leave. "Hermione, I'm sorry," Harry pleaded. Hermione turned, but said nothing. Her look of disappointment was worse than any punishment McGonagall could give them. Even worse was having to watch her turn her back on him, put Draco's arm around her shoulder, and walk away.

"Do you…er, do you need anything?" Hermione asked timidly as she and Draco stepped into their bedroom. Draco shook his head and let himself collapse on his bed, feeling the injuries begin to heal themselves all over his body. He tugged his shirt over his head, wincing from his sore ribs. Hermione glanced over at him and felt herself blush.

"You're covered in blood, you know," she said, taking out the pins in her hair. Draco wiped at his face; it was sticky and stiff with dried blood. Hermione wet a washcloth and handed it to him. He rubbed it against his skin, shuddering immediately from the rough pain. Hermione laughed.

"Well, how else do you get it off?" Draco snapped.

"I'll do it," Hermione said softly. She held out her hand, laughter in her eyes, and took the cloth. She ran the cool fabric skillfully around the cuts and bruises lining his face. Draco closed his eyes, enjoying the way she cleaned his wounds and absentmindedly stroked his hair. She stayed on the bed, taking in his features, even after the blood had gone. The gash on his cheekbone was easily the worst of his facial wounds. It made her sad, him in pain. She just barely grazed the cut with the tip of her finger, he inhaled sharply.

"This is my fault," she whispered, pulling her hand away. Draco looked up at her.

"As far as I remember, you didn't ask Potter to deck me in the face." His tone was light, but his face was very serious.

"I don't know why he got so jealous. We weren't doing anything…."

"Obviously, he fancies you."

Hermione's eyes widened. She hadn't thought of that. Harry had been placed in the 'friend' category- the 'brother' category- so long ago, the thought hadn't even crossed her mind. Her face's flushed with embarrassment. Draco saw and mistook her surprise for happiness.

"So, that's just grand, now you can go be all brave and Gryffindor-y together," he said angrily, turning away from her on his bed.

"I-I don't…. He's not who…" she could not bring herself to say it out loud. It shamed and scared her to admit it.

"He's not what, Granger?" Draco's back still faced her, his voice dripped with strained annoyance.

"I like you," she said. Draco looked at her, unsure if he heard right.

"I'm sorry?"

"You heard me," she said quietly. She glared at whatever fell into her line of sight. So long as she didn't look at him, she could ignore whatever stupid comment he was about to say as though it didn't happen and didn't hurt her. She felt Draco change his position on the bed, but still refused to look at him. He had sat up against the headboard.

'I like you'. I… What? No. Do I? I can't, I can't, I promised her forever, and I couldn't deliver. I'm writing her off so easily. She deserves so much better then me. I'm failing her. The one person in my life that means anything, and I'm kissing another girl two months later. Fuck you, Draco. His thoughts raced. He didn't know what to think. He just knew the deep burning in the pit of his stomach made him feel like the scum of the earth. He took Hermione's hand in his, then leaned forward and kissed her neck very softly.

"I can't. I'm sorry. I can't." He lay back down, refusing to look at her.

"You can. You're just afraid. You're just ashamed that it's me, a Muggle-born Gryffindor- everything you've ever hated." She finally tore her eyes from the wall, locking them angrily on Draco's face. "Look at me, Draco." He didn't move. "Look at me." Reluctantly, he shifted to gaze to her eyes. Her face softened. There was no sound for a solid minute.

"What was her name?" A shock wave flowed through Draco's body from his head to his toes; his muscles tensed and his grip tightened on his pillow.

Keeping his voice as level as he could, he looked away. "I don't know who you mean."

"That was her ring, wasn't it? It was too small to be for a man. She was your 'Secret Passion'?"

"Shut up."

"What happened to her? Did she leave you? Did you leave her?"

"Shut up, Granger."

"Is she why you can't- "

"SHUT UP! YOU DON'T KNOW ANYTHING!" he screamed. Hermione recoiled.

"I- I'm sorry… I just wanted to know…"

"She died, alright?!" He had gotten up now; Hermione was overwhelmed by the tall man leaning over her, yelling viciously in her face. "She died. Is that what you want to hear? Does that make you happy? She's dead. She's never coming back. She's dead."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't give me that bullshit. You wanted to know, and now you do. You didn't know her- you're not allowed to be sorry."