Chapter 21:

"Here we are," said Draco, glancing at her from the corner of his eye.

Hermione looked at the sight before her. There, in what seemed like the middle of absolutely nowhere, stood an old, rickety, broken-down house. There was a small, dirty dented fence, and the small lawn it surrounded couldn't seem more dead if there had been a century's long drought.

Hermione noticed that it seemed that the villagers had used this…yard if you will…as a dumpster. Toys, wooden planks, carriage wheels, you name it. She couldn't help but wonder why Draco had brought her there.

"Come on, let's go inside," said Draco, and pushed open the squeaking gate.

"Inside? As in, in there?"

"You don't want to?" he asked.

"Is it allowed?"

He grinned. "Of course," he said, and Hermione couldn't help but smile herself. Who knew that Draco Malfoy had a contagious smile?

He turned and walked down the path of what Hermione guessed was once a beautiful stoned path. Now, however, some stones were missing, and others were cracked. The door to the house was just as squeaky, but Draco didn't seem to mind.

"Are we still in Hogsmeade?" asked Hermione.

"Barely," said Draco. "But yeah, you could say that we are."

Inside the house was not much better than outside. Dust and darkness overwhelmed their entrance, and from what she could see, it looked as if no one had lived there for a good amount of time.

"I take it it's abandoned?" asked Hermione.

"Your intelligence amazes me," said Draco amusingly. "Lumos."

"Lumos," repeated Hermione, lighting up her own wand.

"Follow me," said Draco, leading her up some old, wooden stairs that squeaked louder than the gate and the door combined.

"Where are you taking me?" asked Hermione.

"Nowhere special. Just my room," he finished.

"Excuse me?" she demanded, stopping halfway up the stairs to look at Draco.

He smiled. "Could you relax? Really, I'm not going to try anything foolish."

"You so much as suggesting it is foolish."

"Who said I was suggesting anything? I just said I was taking you nowhere special."

"And this unspecial place just so happens to be your room, correct?"

He smiled for the millionth time.

"Well you're insane if you think I'm about to accompany you there."

"In that case," said Draco. "I'll just call it something else."

"Hardly suitable," said Hermione, walking up the rest of the stairs to meet him.

"How's about you just trust me, for once."

She looked at him skeptically, and he sighed. "Hermione, I probably wouldn't even attempt to do this on any other night."

She understood him. Tonight, undoubtedly, was different from every other night. Whatever happened tonight, would never happen any other night. She was sure of it. He was sure of it. It held a sort of air that made you do things you thought you'd never do. Like have a good time with your enemy.

Draco didn't know if he would turn back to the git he was when the vacation was over, or if it would happen as soon as tomorrow. And, for some damned reason, he wanted to show her this one thing. He knew he'd never do it when he returned to being, well, himself.

"Okay," she heard him say, and he let out a breath he didn't know he was holding in.

He moved past her and began walking down a dark hall. The house did not seem magical to Hermione at all, which evidently incited a curiosity as to how he had come upon this house.

He pushed open the door to a room and walked in. Hermione followed, and upon entering, couldn't help the small smile that crept onto her face.

"This is your room, Draco Malfoy?"

Indeed there was a small bed, one fit for a ten year old though not for its size, but for its bed coverings: a matching quilt and pillowcase with small cars plastered all over them.

There was a plain desk at a dark corner of the room, lacking both a chair and a book. But, what had amazed Hermione the most was the great window opposite of her. It was so wide and long, it could have been a door.

"No it's not my real room," he said. "That one's much more…rich."

Hermione laughed. "I would assume as much."

"But I've spent so many of my summers here, I call it my room."

"You spend your summers here? Why do I find that hard to believe?"

Draco gave her a playful look and walked to the window, which looked over the entrance of the house. "It was Blaise who spotted it first."

"Oh?"

"Yep. Of course, he figured some miserable and harmless old lady lived here, and thought we shouldn't pass up the opportunity to harass her."

Hermione gave him another look, in which he received and just as easily shrugged it off.

"Did you two ever harass the old lady?"

He let out a laugh at the memory. "No," he said. "Too scared."

She raised her eyebrow at this. "Scared? Malfoy and Zabini? I can hardly fathom such a possibility."

"Give us credit we were little."

"How little?"

"I'd say about eight or nine."

"Wow you two've known each other that long?"

Draco furrowed his eyebrows. "Blaise and I've known each other for as long as I could remember."

Hermione tilted her head at Draco a little, but he turned to look back out the window. "We were always bad."

"Now that I believe," she laughed.

Draco smiled at her, and decided to sit on the floor. He patted the spot next to him, and a few seconds later Hermione was sitting there.

"So what, you two never came in here?"

"No we did—well I did."

"How very brave of you," she mocked. He shoved her playfully. "Hardly," he said.

"Why, what happened?"

"Well we were bored, and both of our parents had gone somewhere. I don't really remember where, or how it was that we got out of supervision, but we did. We came to Hogsmeade, Zonko's of course, and did something stupid. I think we were stealing from Zonko's. Either way, we were being chased, and by God we were running for our dear lives."

"And you guys came here?" guessed Hermione. Draco shook his head.

"No. Somewhere in the rush of Hogsmeade we lost each other, and he ended up hiding in the Shrieking Shack. I came here."

"Did they find you?"

"No. But the stupid villagers said they saw me running in this direction, so they eventually ended up looking for me in here."

"Didn't any of you think that someone could possibly inhabit this place?"

Draco gave her a look that clearly stated the thought had never crossed his mind. Who would want to live in this place? "No, I guess not."

"Someone obviously did," stated Hermione, pointedly looking at the furniture around the room. "How long had it been before they came in here?"

Draco looked at her, and couldn't help but notice how beautiful she looked under the light emanating through the window. Her hair looked really nice.

"Hours," he said. "I guess I was lucky it was already abandoned by then."

"Were you sure of it before you barged in?"

Draco opened his mouth in what looked like would have been an affirmative answer, but closed it as he considered her question. "No I guess I wasn't. But I mean," he reasoned, "everything was as much of a junkyard then as it is today. Even then there was no sign of life other than old furniture. I was actually disgusted, to be honest. Everything was so dusty and dirty. But, I did need somewhere to hide, so I really couldn't be picky.

"So why is it that you liked this room? Quite obviously you didn't like anything else."

He smiled. "I liked the fact that everything was so small."

"Small?"

"I'm used to huge and expensive things. Things that could satisfy both child and adult. But here," he said, looking around. "It looked as if it were meant for me. Everything was my size in this room. The bed could only fit a boy my size, the desk wasn't big enough for any sort of adult, and the chair that was once there would break if anyone bigger than me was to sit on it."

"I take it you sat on that chair as you got older?" asked Hermione.

"Clever witch."

He got up and extended his hand out to Hermione. She took it without hesitation, and was quickly on her feet. Draco turned around and walked to a closet Hermione hadn't noticed before, and opened it.

"Come here," he said. She complied.

The closet was nothing out of the ordinary, from what she could see. It was fairly small, and reminded her of her own closet at home.

"This amazed me the most. I thought that this closet was definitely made just for me."

"I take it you hid here when you saw them coming?" tested Hermione.

"Sort of, but not really," said Draco, an odd look on his face. He then walked into the closet a bit, bending over, and lifting what Hermione could only call a secret door.

"Go in," he said. "I think you'll like what you see."

Hermione gave him one last glance before carefully sitting on the floor next to the opening and getting a firm stand on the latter. She descended the, in Hermione's opinion remarkably long way down and Draco soon followed suit.

Hermione heard the door flop shut somewhere above and heard Draco rustle around. Soon, the whole room was full of a yellow glow of light, and Hermione's breath immediately hitched in her throat.

"Oh my…"

"I knew you'd like it."

Anyone who attended Hogwarts would know she'd like it. Underneath the closet was a much greater room, but it wasn't just any room. No, it was a library.

Hermione turned to Draco. The yellow glow really complimented his everything. His facial features, his fair skin, his blonde hair…

"Hermione Granger, I do believe you're staring," he mocked.

Hermione turned a light shade of pink. "You wish," she muttered, and quickly looked for another topic.

"So you hid down here while they searched up there?" asked Hermione.

"Your intelligence once again amazes me."

Hermione gave him a scrutinizing look. "And here I thought it was Zabini who had the smart mouth."

There was comfortable silence as Hermione began to take a look at the variety of books. One Hundred Years of Solitude, Jane Eyre, The Outsiders, the list was endless. These people had definitely been muggles, and Hermione couldn't help but feel a twinge of sadness at realizing that she'd never know their story, or why they seemed to have left without any of their belongings.

Hermione turned to Draco, who had been looking at her the whole time. "Did they ever find you?"

"No," said Draco, and a somber look overtook his features. "That's why I brought you here."

Hermione's eyebrows furrowed. "What do you mean?

He looked away from her for a moment, not sure of what he was going to say. "Hermione, I've been thinking, you know, about our situation."

Hermione's heart wrenched. Why? Why was he thinking about their…situation. It was so unnecessary, especially tonight! Wasn't this the night where they forgot about absolutely everything and realized they were meant for each other?

Hermione swallowed. Was that what she expected out of tonight? She certainly didn't know that she expected that, and that would most definitely not fit…seeing as she didn't expect much from anybody else other than herself. She couldn't quite place it, but something in his tone had made it seem as if he wanted to cut off all relations with her. It sounded like a break-up, and the agony it brought came with an even greater feeling of uneasiness.

We aren't even together, Hermione scolded herself.

"And?" she managed to ask. Something told Hermione that this had crossed his mind before. He approached her slowly, never really losing eye contact with her, and stopped shortly before her. He wasn't too close, but he was definitely at hand's reach.

"And it's a dangerous one," said Draco.

"Dangerous?" questioned Hermione, though she knew exactly what he was saying.

"Hermione, it's a bit obvious that—well—" why was this so hard to say? Even on this night, it was a problem saying this.

"Well what?"

"That there'll be problems should anyone find out," he said. He would most definitely not tell her that he had stronger feelings for her than he'd had for any other girl to date. Sure the night was special, but not even the night could change him that much.

"I know that," said Hermione in a low tone. "Our relationship, whichever that may be, will not exactly be welcomed."

"You could say that again," he whispered, not looking at her. "Not to mention my house will not hesitate at beheading me for treachery."

She gave him a small smile. She obviously thought he was kidding. How naïve.

"So you think we're risking death if we so much as become friends."

"This isn't funny," he said calmly, looking at her intently. "I'm actually serious."

"Draco—" she began, but he cut her off with something he never, not even in his wildest, non-sensical dreams thought he'd ever say. "I don't want something to happen to you." It had slipped out and upon hearing himself, grew somewhat disgusted.

I sound…noble….

"What do you mean?"

Draco decided not to answer her. It was bad enough what he had already said, and now she wanted him to elaborate? Were girls ever satisfied?

"You think I'm in danger?" whispered Hermione, as if someone was capable of eavesdropping on their conversation.

The sentence in itself brought Draco back to his unwanted worries. When had he started worrying for a girl? When had he so much as cared for one? Why was he asking himself these questions? Was he already turning back into his horrid self?! But one look at her changed everything. She, with her big brown eyes, curiously peering at him in subtle anxiety, made his heart lurch painfully at his ribcage. He figured he should answer her. Well, he would, if only she stopped distracting him with those big brown eyes! If only she would just look away for one second…

No, he wouldn't be able to say anything to her. She was not looking away. And regardless, he had already answered the question, right? Of course he thought she was in some sort of trouble, he didn't even know why she asked. Everyone thought she was in trouble. She hung out with Potter, didn't she?

Focus, Draco, Focus!

"What, do you think I'm going to die or something?!"

Well that did the trick. A sudden dread came along with that statement, and it was hard to answer her. Instead, he pushed a lock of hair behind her ear, though not how one would expect a Romeo to. His eyes were not full of love and desire, but of apprehension and loss.

"Hermione," he said in a low voice. "Should you ever find yourself in danger, in any sort of threat…just…come here."

"Here?" asked Hermione. "But—"

"Promise me," he said, or better yet demanded.

"Draco, I don't—"

"Hermione I'm serious. Promise me this, and I promise you'll be safe."

Hermione looked at him, a bit afraid of what he was asking her. It was one thing to talk about battle, and it was one thing to prepare for it.

Hermione's eyes widened. Battle.

"Draco, are you're talking about…about…the Death Eaters?" she breathed. "Is there something you know about that I don't? That Dumbledore doesn't?"

"I wasn't exactly talking about that," he said, though he had noticeably stiffened. "And as if there's anything to know."

"What do you mean?"

"These people just decide to do things, and it usually results in something stupid," he said bitterly.

Hermione would have become suspicious at this point. The way he had said it, it had seemed as if he were disappointed in the outcome of recent events. But she knew better. She was there the night he found out his mother died. But regardless, Hermione was not a girl to make a promise and break it. She knew about their idea of revenge, she knew about the letters Harry had been receiving. There's no way she'd ever let Harry fight alone. She'd never do that to him. Ever.

"Draco, there's no way I can make you this promise. Harry's—"

"I'm not asking you to abandon him," he said stiffly. "Just don't be stupid," Draco looked at the closest bookshelf, "like that night at the Quidditch Gold cup."

He couldn't lie and say that he had cared about her well being at the time, but at this very moment the memory struck a nerve.

"Draco I was fine that night. Everything turned out just fine."

"You almost died that night, you do know that, right?" He wasn't going to make a big deal out of it. He wasn't going to yell at her and ruin the night. He was just going to simply remind her of what could have happened to her, if she had not been rescued.

Hermione looked at him furtively. Something about him worrying about her, even if it was stiff and suppressed, made the butterflies in her stomach flutter ever so lightly.

"What were you doing there, anyway?" she asked, on a much lighter mood.

Draco gave her a half smirk, half smile. "Community service."

Hermione gave him a look. "Community service in the middle of a Death Eater attack during the Gold Cup? How likely."

He rolled his eyes and smiled. "I was an intern at St. Mungo's over the summer." He seemed really uncomfortable about this. "I'm studying to be a healer."

Hermione's jaw dropped and eyes widened. "What?!"

He grinned. "What do you mean, what?"

Hermione couldn't help it. "You do know that healers are absolutely unselfish and caring beings who help others out of illness, right?"

"Oh I see where this is going."

"No! It's just that, well, I've always pictured you in the Ministry or in some sort of big business. Never, and I mean never, did I have a clue that you were interested in being a healer."

"Well you're sort of right," said Draco. "I'm sort of looking to create a chain of hospitals and supervise them all."

Hermione was still amazed. "That's still healer-related," she reasoned. (And somewhere in the back of her head it registered that Terry also wanted to be a healer.)

"So you were at an internship?" she asked excitedly.

"Yep. I had a week's vacation and you bet I was going to use it for the Gold cup." He shrugged as he knew Hermione had pieced the rest of the puzzle. "I was there, they summoned me to help, and that was that."

"And you helped me recover," she said, looking at him closely with a ghost of a smile.

"Yeah, well, I had to." He silenced a bit, before adding, "so you promise?"

Hermione looked at Draco, who looked at her right back. She smiled at the fact that he was so changed at that very moment, even from the Draco who had asked her on a date. Five months ago, this very person who was now desperate to protect her would've killed her himself were he guaranteed no consequences.

"Okay," she whispered. "I promise."

He gave her a small smile. "You better."

"Who's it from?" asked Ron, trying to look over Harry's shoulder.

"Parvati."

"Patil?" asked Ron, ceasing his attempt to look over Harry's shoulder and standing rooted to his spot. "What's she doing owling you?"

"I never knew she couldn't."

"I never knew she'd want to."

Harry sat down at Ron's desk and took out a new piece of parchment from his book bag under it. Ron sat down on his bed and looked at Harry oddly.

"What business have you got with her?"

"Absolutely none," he responded. "We're just, you know, talking. As friends."

Ron snorted. "And Hermione and I are going to get married in a week."

Harry would have said something just as witty right back at Ron, but at the mention of Hermione his thoughts trailed elsewhere. "Speaking of which, don't you think it's odd she hasn't owled us yet?"

Ron seemed to consider this. "It's only been three days since we've left. She's probably been studying for NEWTS. You know how she is."

"No, she would have definitely owled us by now. Do you think something happened to her?"

"What like a nervous breakdown due to her study habits?"

"Ron, you're not funny."

Ron rolled his eyes, looking terribly bored. "Dumbledore would have told us by now, Harry."

"Still," he said, turning back to the empty parchment in front of him. "It's a bit odd."

Ron leaned against his headboard and made a face. "Oh Lord, Harry."

"What?"

"I swear sometimes you two really do act like a couple."

"Because I'm wondering why she hasn't owled us yet?"

"No, because you're fretting."

"I am not fretting, Ron."

"Nothing could happen to her in Hogwarts. No one's even there besides the professors."

"That's a lie," said Ginny, entering Ron's room without warning.

"Get out," he said simply.

"If you didn't want any visitors I suggest you close your door," said Ginny, turning to leave.

"Wait," said Harry. "Who else stayed at Hogwarts for the holidays?"

"I think about two or three others stayed. I'm not really sure, but I know Malfoy was definitely one of them." She gave them a pointed look. "So if you think there's nothing threatening at Hogwarts this vacation, think again."

Ron looked at Harry. "Write to Hermione. Now."

But Harry was prevented from writing to either Hermione or Parvati as Mrs. Weasley shouted that lunch was ready from the kitchen.

Ginny looked at Harry. "Looks like you'll have to do it later, mate. You know how my mum gets when her food is eaten cold."

Harry looked at Ron warily. There was a time when he had worried about Malfoy, but looking back he realized that it had been a waste of energy. Hermione would never do something so stupid. Still, he could have done something to her, just for the kick he'd get out of it.

"I'll write to her after we eat," he told Ron, who had serious look on his face. "I don't fancy your mother getting angry with us."

He relented. "Yeah. I suppose you're right. Hermione being tortured by Malfoy's not nearly as scary as my screaming mother."

Sad thing was, he was serious.

The day was a perfect light gray; no dark clouds, no sun. The castle was sprinkled with a perfect coat of undisturbed white snow. It was peaceful, Hogwarts. Quiet, content, and free of screaming children. And all this was true, until two figures burst from the castle, a certain blonde in front of a certain brunette, running onto the fields. So much for the undisturbed snow.

"This isn't funny!" shouted Hermione, hands on knees and panting. She was never really the athletic type.

"Oh contraire," shouted Draco quite easily, something that really hit Hermione's nerve. "I find this to be absolutely amusing."

"Draco, give me my wand!"

He laughed. "No."

"Come on, this isn't fair. I'm not half as fit as you are. You play quidditch for crying out loud!"

He laughed again, and though that generally caused her heart to skip a beat, it was now impossible to create that effect. Her heart was pounding one thousand times quicker than it should be, it couldn't possibly be bothered to skip anything.

Draco began to walk towards her, tired of shouting, and a ghost of a smile across his face. "Come on, Hermione, it can't be that bad. We only ran from the Great Hall to here."

Hermione stood up straight, and let her hands lie on her hips instead. "You say that like the Great Hall was just one corridor away."

He grinned. "It was two."

"Shut up," she said frustrated. "And wipe that smile off your face. It's not right to take pleasure in the weaknesses of others."

"Can you blame me? It's not often someone finds a weakness in the all-around perfect Hermione Granger."

Hermione pursed her lips and huffed. Well, thank you for rubbing it in, Draco Malfoy. Of course, no need to be delicate about the situation. Men.

"Can I get my wand now?" she asked, looking right at his brilliant eyes.

"If you can reach it," he said somewhat smugly. He raised her wand above his head, and watched with amusement as significantly shorter Hermione Granger jumped to reach it.

"Malfoy," she said darkly. "This is both ridiculous and humiliating. (Jump) Could you please act your age and (jump) hand me my (jump) blasted (jump) wand!"

He laughed at her, and even dared to lower it a little bit, only to raise it when she reached for it. What a tease.

"Draco Malfoy, how old are you?!" she asked incredulously.

"I don't think it's my age that's giving you problems. I think it's your height."

"Or yours," she said, before she shoved him as hard as she could.

He took a step back and laughed, because she had really, really tried. "Is that the best you've got?"

Hermione decided not to take the bait. She was not five, and unlike the boy in front of her, wasn't going to act like it. She was seventeen, for heaven's sake! She was a dignified young woman who most definitely was not going to succumb to immature ways.

"You sodding, good-for-nothing git! Give me back my wand!"

Well.

"I don't think so," he said decisively. "In fact, I believe I'll be keeping this till further notice."

"And since when do you have the power to give further notice?"

"Since you're an absolutely terrible runner and you can't catch me," he said, abruptly turning around to run.

"Draco!" she yelled after him.

He looked back over his shoulder, "If you want it, come and get it!"

"Oh you are so not amusing," she murmured to herself, picking up her soaked robes and running after him.

"Harry do you want a third serving?"

"No Mrs. Weasley, really I'm fine."

"Oh come on, dear don't be shy. There's plenty to go around."

Harry looked wearily as Ron's mother piled yet another full serving onto his plate. Some cynical and evil part of him wanted to throw the plate against the wall and ask her if she understood what 'no' meant. Really, he knew he looked as satiated as he felt, but one look at her and one whiff of the food was all he needed to push away the unnecessary cruelty from his mind and dig in.

"Harry there's been something I've been meaning to talk to you about," said Mr. Weasley, sending a furtive glance at Ron.

Oi, thought Harry. He was pretty sure he knew where this was going.

"Yeah?" asked Harry. "About what?"

"Just minor things, minor things. I'll talk to you about it after dinner, if you have time."

"Sure," said Harry, and glared at Ron as secretly as possible.

Harry was almost done with his third helping when Molly Weasley dared to offer him yet another one. He declined as politely as possible, and she was about to put some food on his plate regardless were it not because of Ginny, who pointed out that Harry looked so full he could explode. Not exactly the best feeling, Harry noted, to be fed so much someone at the table had to call you fat to save you from another helping.

"Well I suppose he's had enough," relented Mrs. Weasley. She looked at Harry, and he was able to see a flash of worry pass through her face, before she quickly turned and walked away with her empty plate.

Harry looked around the Weasley table and noted that everyone was giving him odd looks. What the hell, had he not defeated Voldemort last year?

"If you don't mind me asking, why is everyone looking at me like that?"

"Like what?" asked Ginny, who at the moment was not looking at him at all.

"Nevermind," muttered Harry, and got up with his own empty plate and began to walk into the kitchen.

"Hold on there, Harry, I'd like to have that word with you now," said Mr. Weasley, getting up as well.

They set their plates inside the sink, and Mrs. Weasley found some fumbling excuse to get out.

I swear, if they tell me that Voldemort really didn't die I'll fulfill the prophecy by killing me myself.

"Harry," said Arthur dully. "Ron told me about the letters you've been receiving—"

"He did, did he?" snapped Harry. He hadn't meant to. Okay maybe a little, but still. What business did Ron have telling anyone, or what business did anyone have at addressing him about it?

"Yes," responded Arthur. "Harry I wanted you to know that—"

"It's nothing to worry about, Mr. Weasley. They're just letters, nothing more, nothing less."

"Harry they're letters from Death Eaters."

"As they have so kindly signed," said Harry. Again, he didn't mean to.

"Harry you have my full support in this, you know that. My whole family supports you—"

"So I'm guessing that's why everyone's been looking at me weirdly during lunch," stated Harry, and Arthur gave him a small smile.

"We worry about you, Harry. Please understand, don't get upset. We all know you could very well defend yourself, but none of us think it's fair that after everything you've still got to deal with these sort of things."

Harry looked at the scrubbing sponges, washing the plates all on their own. "I just want to know where they're coming from, and how."

"Worry not, Harry that's exactly what I've been looking into since Ron's told me,"

Arthur finished tiredly. "So far no real leads, but we'll get them Harry. For all we know they're just pranksters."

"Yeah," said Harry, looking at the man before him. "Right."

Arthur Weasley looked at Harry and furrowed his eyebrows. "Is there something else bothering you, Harry? You know you could always talk to any of us, we'd be more than happy to help."

Harry, for the first time during the whole conversation, eased down and nodded, indicating that everything was just fine. "I'm just going to go upstairs now. I've got to owl someone, and it's a bit urgent."

The middle-aged man gave him a small smile before also nodding, though his nod indicated that Harry was excused.

"Take it easy, Harry" he said.

"You too, Mr. Weasley."

Stupid Ron, thought Harry darkly, and as he exited into the dining room, glared at Ron. Guiltily the redhead looked away, shoving more food into his mouth. That was his way of avoiding things, concluded Harry, by shoving edible material into his mouth. God how Harry hoped he would choke on that blasted potato he was so keen on propelling down his throat.

Harry walked right back up the stairs and continued until he was once again seated before an empty piece of parchment and Parvati's letter in Ron's room.

He sighed. Hermione or Parvati. Parvati or Hermione. Why was life so determined in providing him with difficult situations? And why was it that Hermione hadn't written to him yet? Didn't she want to know if they had arrived alright? Didn't she care?

This particular train of thought sent Harry into a right temper, where he quickly took the stupid ink bottle and the stupid quill to write to his stupid friend who hadn't bothered to write him a stupid letter.

Dear Stupid, he would address. Have you forgotten how to owl or have you forgotten we exist? Seemed right. He should probably also call her a git…

"Harry?" came a voice from the threshold.

"What do you want, Ron?"

"Are you alright?"

"Why, does your family want to know?" he said bitterly, forgetting all about the letter and got up from the chair. He marched to his trunk and opened it, instantly rummaging for God knows what.

"Harry I was just looking for help."

"I could—very well—handle this myself!" said Harry, struggling to pull something out from the bottom.

"Oh please, Harry, we all need a bit of help. I know what those letters are doing to you, you can't fool me or Hermione."

"I thought you didn't want Hermione to know."

"I had mentioned to her that you'd been receiving letters, but to mention to her that they're getting this serious," he paused and widened his eyes to express the magnitude of the consequences. "I mean if you feel me telling my dad was out of line, she'd be the first to run off and tell Dumbledore himself."

The boy had a point.

"So did you write to her already?" asked Ron, finally entering his room and sitting on the edge of his bed.

That's right! thought Harry, forgetting about what he was trying to pull out (a towel to go shower so that he has an excuse to leave the room) and marched right back to Ron's desk and sat down.

"What are you doing?" asked Ron incredulously.

"Writing that letter, would you like to tell your father?"

Ron chose to ignore it, and laid down on his bed. "Ask her if Malfoy's done anything to her. Knowing the slimy git he's probably already sent her to the hospital wing."

"If I had known Malfoy was staying for the holidays," began Harry, angrily writing away. "I would have definitely made her come."

"You can't make Hermione do anything. She wouldn't've come."

"Then I would have stayed."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Just write 'dear Hermione, why haven't you written to us you sod, has Malfoy hexed you or have you had that nervous breakdown you've had coming to you since first year for being such a bookworm?' and then start on that other letter to Parvati. That one should be more like 'dear sex-puppet—"

"Ron don't be ridiculous, please. Parvati and I are just friends. She wrote to me for the homework yesterday and we've started a conversation since. Relax."

"You say that now because you're supposed to be dating Hermione, but once you two 'break up' we'll see what happens."

"Bugger off. And can we not bring my, and quote, relationship, into this?"

Ron sighed. "Just write the blasted letter, mate."

"She hasn't owled back," said Harry, looking through Ron's window for any sign of a bird. "Why hasn't she owled back? It's been four hours already."

"Do you want to know why she hasn't owled back, Harry? Because she's either buried in her books and can't be bothered to read anything else, or Malfoy's got her in a chamber, chains and all, whipping her for his sick humor."

Harry turned away from the window and to Ron, a disturbed look on his face. "Don't ever say that again."

"Don't worry. My bet's on the first one."

"Maybe she's just asleep."

"For three days now? Oh that one's much more likely," remarked Ron.

"Well what else could she be possibly doing that she can't even write. I mean, she's the one who always writes to us and we're the ones thattake forever in writing back."

"We don't write at all."

"Exactly!"

"Harry you're fretting again."

"I'm not fretting. You're sure that Terry Boot left for the holidays, right?"

"Positive. I saw him get into the carriage in front of ours. He was looking at you and Hermione funny."

"Honestly?"

"Yeah. So how long do you two plan on faking the relationship?"

"Did Boot talk to Hermione afterwards? You know, when we got into the carriage."

"I wouldn't know. I was in the carriage with you."

"Ron I'm serious."

"He got into the carriage, Harry. No, he didn't talk to her afterwards. Why do you care so much?"

"He supposedly likes her."

"Why the hell would he do that?"

Harry shot Ron a warning glare. "Don't start that again."

Ron raised his hands in surrender. "Alright, don't get your knickers in a knot. So tell me, why would him liking Hermione be a problem?"

"Are you kidding? You know how he is, the arrogant son of a bitch."

Ron made a face. "That's true. And as soon as a professor comes around he's all courtly and everything. Makes me want to have a good swing at him and remind him we're not in medieval times."

"Exactly!" agreed Harry. "And all he's going to do is get Hermione's hopes up and not ask her out at all."

Ron furrowed his eyebrows at him. "And if he does?"

"And if he does it'll all be a fake."

"You don't know that for sure, Harry. For all you know, he could be like that just with the blokes, but be completely and sickeningly romantic with the lasses."

"Do you honestly think that bloke's got honest intentions with Hermione?"

"Of course not," said Ron easily. "Everyone knows he tries too hard to be like Malfoy and Zabini when it comes to the ladies."

"Exactly. And the last thing I want to see is Hermione get hurt over an idiot like him."

Ron looked at him warily. "Don't you think she could take care of herself?"

"Sure but there's no harm in helping."

"Are you helping or just getting in the way?"

"I'm helping."

"I don't know," said Ron. "I mean, if there's any witch on this planet that can defend herself it's Hermione. She's not weak or fragile, Harry. You're way too overprotective. Just wait and see what happens. I mean," he laughed, "Terry Boot might very well be the only decent looking man to ever lay eyes on Hermione and actually like what he sees."

"That's not true," said Harry. "She's dated Krum, and—"

"You?" offered Ron, throwing his head back and laughing hysterically. Harry just looked at him blankly, a small scowl forming.

"Not funny, Ron. Not funny at all."

Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy were currently on the floor, facing the sky, and slowly getting soaked as the snow melted to their heat. They were tired beyond words, breathing heavily after their long struggle. Hermione Granger may suck at running, but she certainly was persistent. And it was against this persistence that Draco found his own endurance challenged.

It had surprised them both that the feeling of "that night" hadn't gone away with the next day. In fact, it was still present as they lay next to each other, arms and legs spread out as if they were about to create snow angels. Yes, Hermione had caught up, tackled him, and gotten her wand all the while laughing hysterically. Who could blame them? It was funny. A little girl attacking a full-grown young man, and actually achieving something! Given: she was only winning because he was laughing so hard, but still. It was hilarious.

Draco couldn't remember a time where he'd had so much fun. Innocent fun. He couldn't even remember ever running in the snow, or playing a chase game, or playing any childish game at all. He didn't want to stop. It was oh so entertaining, you see, to look at Hermione Granger and see her trying so hard to do something so simple. Catch him.

Draco then felt the most cold, stinging substance against his face. It took him a few moments to recognize that it was snow burning against his skin, and a few more to put together that Hermione had been the one to put it there.

So she didn't want to stop either.

Having cleared his face, he sat up to look at a beaming Hermione. She was definitely proud of herself, catching Draco Malfoy off guard. How great and rare was that?!

She got up and ran clear to the Quidditch pitch, Draco giving her a few second's start, gathering his own snow for when he caught up to her. In a matter of seconds he was hot on her heels.

He threw snow at her back, and then at her hair, and because it was so funny he did it again. Her hair wasn't in the same curls it had been when they were on their date, so it seemed to him that it would either swallow the snowball or the snowball would bounce right off.

Hermione Granger felt abused. That had to be the fifth snowball against her head. She only threw one at him! And she hadn't even thrown it, she simply placed snow on his face!

She ran under the quidditch stands. Not smart, she noted. No one can see what happens in here.

Like anyone was watching anyway. All the professors were loaded with grading the pre-holiday exams and preparing review for final exams when the holidays ended. Especially for OWL and NEWTS students.

Actually, she should be studying for her NEWTS…

Something warm hit her, and she hit something cold. It took her a second to realize Draco Malfoy had caught her. Damn.

Draco took a handful of snow from next to him, and shoved it down the back of Hermione's neck, the cold invading under her robes. Struggling, she turned around and was soon facing him, only to have another handful of snow set on her face.

She grabbed for snow around her, and put it on his face, neck, sleeves, everywhere. She couldn't really see. All she saw was more snow being piled on her face, stinging all of it's senses. So in conclusion, they looked like two crazy teenagers flinging pathetic handfuls of fluttering snowflakes at each other, and laughing hysterically.

Hermione took a break from getting even to clearing her face, wiping the snow all off.

When she did open her eyes, it was to see the blonde on top of her looking at her intently.

"What?" she asked self-consciously.

He took a moment, just looking at her as if she were the hardest puzzle he's ever come across. "You're pretty," he said.

"Is that a recent discovery you've made?" she laughed, judging of course by the look on his face.

He kept her eyes locked to hers. "I'm afraid not," he said in a low voice, moments later lowering his lips to hers.

Upon contact, Hermione's eyes fluttered shut. Her heart was racing again, suspiciously much faster than it had earlier. It was something to be kissed by Draco Malfoy. His lips were warm and skillful, and for the first time, gentle. He had never kissed her gently.

She raised her hands to his face, her head spinning in exhilaration as his tongue was allowed entry. With one hand on the ground next to her head to support his weight, Draco used his other hand to caress her hair, which was a lot softer than what it looked.

It was at that very moment, as his stomach fluttered with uncharacteristic butterflies, that he knew.

He wanted her. He wanted Hermione Granger.

And it had nothing to do with the bet.

A.N. So what do you think? Good enough? Quick enough? Please review it's really the only thing that motivates me to continue.

:-D

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