Disclaimer: I own no part of the Harry Potter franchise; all characters and ideas belong to J.K. Rowling.


Hermione was convinced she'd finally gotten the point across to Draco. The world could finally start spinning again- if it would spin at all. If it hadn't lost all momentum in those tedious weeks of lies and rumors and sacrifice. Hermione wasn't sure if anything would ever be the same, but she wanted to try. She had to try.

In many ways, she was in as much denial as Draco was; a fact she realized quite painfully as her heart gave great wrenches within her chest as she ran away from him that night. The truth of her words hurt her as much as they did him, but she was convinced she at least had the fortitude to survive. Besides, she at least Harry to return to- wonderful, kind Harry. As she raced through the halls and up the stairs she fancied she could see his face before her, his shock of wild black hair…and then he was there.

He met her at the door of the common room- he'd just been returning from his detention- and took in her disheveled, shivering, tear streaked form with one long look. Then he wrapped her close to him and his arms were all she knew for the next several minutes. There were words, she knew, but she wasn't sure what they were. All she could think was that he was holding her, after everything. After all the stupid things she'd done, after her confessions and lies, after Draco…and he was holding her. Quietly, calmly, as if it was only natural. It made her cry harder.

Finally, after the initial onslaught had subsided, he held her away from him and brushed her hair from the sticky mess on her face. "Let's go inside," he smiled. She nodded. There was an air of finality about the entire experience and she followed him into the common room without question.

"Harry, what-," she heard Neville and Harry converse quietly for a few minutes. Then, at that late hour and in the relative solitude of the common room, she and Harry sat down on a sofa- side by side. They didn't exchange any words. Harry stared into the fire, brooding. Hermione sat beside him, leaning back into the cushions, letting her body finally relax. At some length, Harry spoke. His voice was clear, questioning, nonjudgmental.

"Tell me," he requested softly. His eyes never moved from the fire. She smiled and felt the tension drain from her shoulders. And, bravely shouldering her burden, she told him.


Draco knew something had changed between the two of them the moment he saw them the very next day. Hermione entered the Transfiguration classroom with Potter there at her side, holding her book sack for her. He was solicitous of her- pulling out her chair for her, handing her the bag, making sure she was settled. Then, before his disbelieving eyes, the other boy leaned over and gave Hermione a small peck on her cheek. He watched as her eyes lit up, a smile broke across her face- an answering smile upon Potter's visage. Then the Boy Whom Malfoy Hated turned around and went to a different seat.

Draco felt his jaw hanging open and closed it in defeat. He'd never seen such a gentlemanly performance from Potter before; it shocked him. It made him want to crawl back into his bed and continue the crying binge he'd started on the night before. When he'd finally stopped crying he'd fallen into a strange silence that had frightened his friends. It had frightened them so much that when Crabbe had asked about it last night, Goyle had not beaten him about the ears. Pomfrey had told them not to worry, that he'd probably just picked up a chill from lying outside in the cold for so long. She'd reluctantly pressed more potions upon him at Pansy's screeching demand, then shooed them all from the infirmary. His determined silence and blank stare had only stopped when Pansy finally began crying as well, wailing in that loud and annoying voice of hers.

"What did she do to you, Draco? Tell me so I can hex her eyes out! I could kill her for hurting you!"

Draco hadn't the heart to tell Pansy that Hermione had stomped all over him in a purely verbal manner. After all, he didn't even have a heart just then. No, his was somewhere in the Gryffindor dormitory, being roasted and devoured by one bushy haired know-it-all, he was certain.

Now, as he watched her under the auspices of that same silence, he felt the empty space in his chest begin to ache once more. He wondered how long it would hurt. Perhaps he would die first. That seemed to be Hermione's opinion of all their futures. Death. It seemed appropriate, somehow…considering his heritage. A strangled laugh escaped his lips. The head of bushy brown hair turned slightly, as if acknowledging his presence. He looked down to his book, cracked it open and ignored her the rest of the period. He didn't notice the sad glance she cast upon him. He didn't notice the helplessness that lingered in her eyes for days afterwards, either. He had better things to do. Like stare at her while she wasn't looking.


They continued on in that manner for three more weeks and the tension between them grew to an almost unbearable level. Both refused to acknowledge the shared atmosphere, afraid of looking one another in the eyes. Afraid of being near one another. Afraid of…well, it was no use thinking about it. The Christmas break was almost upon them before Pansy's manic scheming brought them together once again. The pug faced Slytherin had been planning for days, ever since her rescue of Draco.

She'd known, instinctively, that the tears Draco had so obviously shed the night she found him had been over her. Over that shameful mudblood. She must've entrapped him with her witchly, dirty ways. The thought made her so angry she almost marred her already imperfect face by bursting a blood vessel. Granger had to pay. To pay for destroying her beloved Draco's heart. For destroying her own hopes. Pansy wasn't entirely sure how Granger had done it- gotten Draco to care about her, but she knew she had to fix the situation. And Pansy knew she was just the person to destroy Hermione Granger in return.


It was the Friday before they left when she finally confronted the mudblood witch. She'd been playing little pranks on the girl all week, dumping water on her- or ink, potions, sludge. Anything she could reasonably get her hands on. She'd been calling her names, stealing her books…and now the moment she'd been waiting for was upon her. Her mouth was dry with anticipation, but she went forward anyhow. Draco. Think of Draco. If she'd been able to step back and look at her thoughts more objectively, she would've realized how much she sounded like a Victorian housewife. But then it didn't matter because she'd called out to her, the other woman and they were suddenly face to face, surrounded by a hallway of wary students.

"Mudblood!"

Hermione turned around slowly, her head tilted to one side, as if she couldn't believe someone besides Draco had called her that. She eyed the frightened Slytherin standing in front of her and rolled her eyes. Gods, she was getting sick of Pansy's childish games. They were more of an annoyance than anything else. She'd wondered several times if she shouldn't speak to Draco about the pesk, but had decided that facing him would be worse than anything Pansy could dream up.

"What do you want, Parkinson?" Hermione asked in a weary voice.

Pansy stepped forward, chin jutting out defiantly. "I want to challenge you to a duel!"

A gasp rippled around the watching students and Hermione shrugged Harry's hand off her.

"Can't."

"Why not? Scared, you filthy, boyfriend stealing witch?"

Another roll of her eyes.

"It's against school policy, you dumb cow." Another collective gasp.

"Shut up! I know you still have some kind of hold on him! Once I've…defeated you, he'll see how wrong he's been." Pansy stood back a little, suddenly very aware that although she was taller than the witch in front of her, Hermione Granger didn't receive praise from every single professor for nothing. She beat back the feeling of foolishness that threatened to sweep her away and stood taller.

Hermione shook her head, as if Pansy was being more than foolish. As if she had to set her straight, gently. She tried to do exactly that.

"You're making a fool out of yourself and him, Parkinson," she said quietly. Dangerously.

The other girl stamped her foot uselessly. "Prove it. Meet me tonight- the Room of Requirement." Then, her entourage of other useless girls following closely behind her, she turned and swept away.

Hermione stared after her, mouth agape. She turned to Harry. "The- the nerve of that bitch!"

"Will you go?" Harry's eyes were concerned.

"Of course not," Hermione frowned at him. "I forfeit the entire ridiculous business. She can have the prat, for all I care."

Harry grinned in relief. "Well, you have to admit she's got guts."

Neville walked up, looking after the retreating Slytherins as well. "That wasn't guts, Harry. It was a lack of brain activity. Hermione could pulverize her."

Hermione shook her head again. "Please, no more. Look, I need to go take care of something…I'll see you guys at dinner, okay?" She hurried off down the hallway, accompanied by the jeers of lingering Slytherins. If Death hadn't occupied her thoughts for a few weeks, it was back in full force. And calling for blood. I'll fucking kill him, I swear. That prick. Getting his girlfriend to do his dirty work for him! The implication that I- and now I could get in trouble for even being challenged to an unauthorized duel! I'll fucking kill him…I really will, this time. Hermione had decided she'd born the final death throes of his insults for long enough.


She found him in the library, his hands wrapped about his head, hiding his face. As if he were avoiding someone. She said as much.

"Avoiding me, Draco?"

At the sound of her voice, his shiny blond head looked up in surprise.

"Hermione?" he croaked in disbelief before she dragged him to his feet. "What's this…about?" he asked, uncertain of what to do when faced by such anger after so many weeks of silence. He would've been happy to see her, if it weren't for the fact that she had her wand pointed under his chin.

"You know very well! Your girlfriend is causing me grief on your poor, injured heart's behalf, you idiot!" she shrieked. When Madame Pince tossed her a nasty glare, she began to drag Draco from the library. He didn't protest.

She marched them both along the corridors, muttering the whole time about Pansy and her hare brained pranks and challenges- her name calling, her ill behavior. Her ugly face. And now Hermione seemed to think that Pansy's behavior was his fault? Like he'd set her on Hermione like some kind of bizarre watchdog? Draco felt his own anger beginning to grow. First, she dragged him away from his perfectly fine and quiet study session and hiding place, then she proceeded to insult his friends and his intelligence. After so many weeks of total disregard, it was too much to stand. As they passed the doorway of an abandoned room, he jerked his arm back and shoved her inside roughly.

"This will do fine- get in," he commanded. He knew how she hated being ordered about. Well, he thought, this meeting is her damned choice this time! At least now both of us are in completely miserable moods- an even playing field. The faintest of smirks crossed his face.


The minute the door was shut and they were alone, Hermione started in on him in earnest.

"This is all your fault, Malfoy!" she screeched, turning on him. "If you're going to wander about like some lovesick puppy than at least have the courtesy to not do it around your girlfriend! Haven't I had enough trouble already without Pansy barking about my heels?"

"My fault?" he snorted, "I don't even like the blasted girl anymore; you think I'd ask her for help? Besides, I'm not the one who refuses to be with the man she loves because of some stupid prejudice!"

"I'm not the one who compartmentalizes all his feelings because he can't handle the truth!" Hermione spat. Draco stumbled backwards from her as if she'd struck him. His face grew pink with anger.

"How dare you! How dare you insinuate that I can't see what's wrong with our relationship?" Draco decided he didn't really want to hear anymore, but he was drawn to the words she was spouting, fascinated. This little mudblood, his mudblood, was concerned not just for herself, but for him as well. Not only that, the fact that she'd thought all this through meant she'd considered the idea of a future with him. It would have been almost…touching, if they hadn't been so intent on murdering one another just then.

Hermione scoffed. "We have no relationship, Malfoy," she snarled.

"You think this is what I want? For my family to know that I'm in love with a mudblood? To be so degraded? I've already ruined my reputation just by having this conversation with you at all!" He could feel anger coursing through his veins and worked the inside of his cheek, trying to calm down. Trying to be rational. Unfortunately, nothing about the situation was rational, or practical, or even a good idea. She was right, of course, he had jumped into the affair without connecting it to the rest of his life. He had been thinking only of himself, as always.

"Oh, like that little speech is going to make me love you- be with you!" Hermione yelled, suddenly so furious that she couldn't see straight. She lunged at Draco and had him by his robe front before he was even aware of her. "You try to make love to a girl one minute and the next you're insulting me and my entire family!" Her grip tightened and he brought his hands up to hers, trying desperately to get away from her. He wasn't sure what he would do if he didn't and finally decided he couldn't possibly be held responsible for his own actions.

She was yelling at him again, "What did you think I would do when you told me how you felt, huh? How did you think I would take it? You suddenly decided after all this time, after all these years of telling me you hate me and how filthy I am, that you want to kiss me? That you think I'm attractive and intelligent and worth your time? And then-," she got up right into his face, her cheeks bright red, her eyes flashing, "then you have the gall, after seducing me, to first offer me a place with Voldemort and when that doesn't work, to tell me that I'm not good enough and you're dishonoring your family name?" She paused, her breathing ragged. The tension that had been building between them for weeks had broken and the anger she still felt over his unwanted intrusion into her life was raging freely once more. The anger she felt from still being powerlessly, hopelessly in love with a potential mass murderer. It was too much to be born silently.

He eyed her, partly frightened and, as much as he hated to admit it, partly turned on. "I ought to kill you, you bastard," she said, preparing to pull out her wand. As horrible a mistake as all this had been- you don't really feel that way- and as much as they needed to stop yelling and screaming to avoid detection, Draco did the only thing he knew how to shut her up.

His mouth felt like it was on fire the minute his lips touched hers. At first he was afraid she might try to kill him anyway, or at least try to escape, but she surprised him, as always. He felt her melt into the kiss and she opened her mouth to his almost immediately. Her tongue was so, so fiercely possessive that he barely knew how to respond; but moments later he plunged his own tongue into her mouth and groaned into her mouth; hauling her up against him in a bone crushing embrace. He held her to him with one arm and let his other hand travel into her robe, slipping it from one shoulder. At the motion, Hermione moved into his touch a little more. Draco felt her give a little sigh as he finally tore his mouth from hers, leaving two very red, very swollen lips in his wake.

He kissed his way down her jaw to her neck, sucking only lightly, careful of her dignity, her feelings- she'd never want to be seen in public with such marks upon her body. He wondered if she'd ever be happy, glad, to have a boy mark her as his own in such a manner. Unfortunately, those thoughts only reminded him that she was with Potter now, and he felt himself lose some semblance of control. Off came the robe from the other shoulder and he ran his free hand up under her school sweater: feeling the smooth skin of her stomach, feeling the erratic motion of her chest as she tried desperately to keep breathing. He stopped suddenly, his head in the crook of her neck, his lips against her skin, her hands on his face- in his hair. She was practically begging him to touch her. And yet he remained still, his head a flurry of uninvited thoughts.

She was right. About everything. And here he was, seducing her again, not thinking about the consequences, not worrying about how all this would affect either of them. He kissed her neck again, more thoughtfully, his tongue sliding across her skin terribly slow and deliberate. She moaned: a small, quiet sound of pleasure that made the skin of her throat vibrate against his mouth. He felt the rest of his control sliding, falling into the abyss where his sanity had obviously been disposed of weeks earlier. His fingers began working to unclasp her bra beneath her sweater and he felt her tremble beneath his touch. His mouth traveled up to her ear and whispered words of comfort and encouragement. The sweater came off. The bra followed it. She clung to him, as if afraid to let him see her.

It was partly the truth, anyway. She was afraid. Hermione had never let a boy do much besides some heavy petting before. It was uncanny for her that now, her oldest enemy was the very person she was allowing to see her this way. It frightened her, in spite of the fact that she'd been wishing for just such a moment since Ginny had first planted the image in her mind weeks before. Have some fun. Some revenge. Instead, now that she was embracing the opportunity to be with him, her undeniable passion for his touch frightened her. She wasn't sure she had what it took to say good bye to someone in such a way- she'd never expected the moment to be now, in an empty classroom on a dusty desk. Now that she thought about it, she wasn't sure she had what it took to be with anyone in such a manner. Still, here she was- aching for him deep in her belly, her naked torso encircled by his arms.

She snaked her arms about his neck and felt the cool air of the deserted classroom prickle her skin. Draco's robe was soft and wooly against her exposed breasts and she tucked her head into his shoulder, not wanting to see his face, refusing to look at him. What are you doing? Stop it. Stop it! a voice in her head yelled at her. She shook her head against his neck and he looked up, lifting his mouth from her skin, breaking contact. He felt his heart pounding with more determination than was necessary and tried to look at her. She stayed where she was; she was shaking now.

"Do you need me to stop?" Draco whispered against her hair.

She shook her head again.

"Are you afraid?"

She nodded this time and he felt his heart contract painfully. She was afraid of him; he'd gone too far; he'd completely bungled the job of confessing his feelings. Well, he had done that, but there was no help for it now. It was old news, in fact, and now was a time for decisive action. He shifted his posture and ran one hand over her bare back, rubbing it gently, hoping the gesture was soothing. She shivered again and he berated himself. She was cold. Cold and afraid. Merlin, Draco, how much of an idiot are you? You can't do anything right! Well, he couldn't reach her clothes on the floor without putting her down, and the arms wrapped tightly about his neck seemed an indication that he shouldn't even think of removing her. Instead, he carefully moved one arm, then the other, shrugging his own robe off. His fingers went to the clasp at his neck and brushed her breasts as he removed the robe. She whimpered and suddenly brought her head about, bringing her lips to his once more.

Hermione decided she'd rather be kissing him than have him look at her, so she initiated another heated tangle of tongues and lips. His hands came about and draped his robe over her shoulders. So that's what he'd been doing. She snuggled into the kiss and felt him wrap his arms about her once more. Her mind couldn't shut up, though. What do you think you're doing? Malfoy still thinks you're some stupid mudblood! He'll never recognize you're just as good as he is; he won't change his ways! Her mind whirled under the onslaught of his lips. But he does love you, he told you so himself, she replied. Her heart continued to lurch into her chest, ignoring her reasoning. Stop…stop! What does it matter if he loves you? It'll be too late for you in another minute, you stupid, stupid, stupid, girl! It'll be too late for Harry…oh, Merlin. What was she doing?

Draco felt Hermione begin to shake again and this time forced her arms from about his neck, pulling her away. He looked her dead in the face.

"You can't do this," he murmured, then amended his statement. "We can't do this."

Hermione forced herself to meet his gaze, but wrapped his robe about her a little more closely. She'd hoped to have this conversation afterwards, but obviously he was feeling some kind of onset of morals. She sighed. "We shouldn't do this," she corrected patiently.

He looked at her closely. "Do you still love me?"

"Oh for Merlin's sake! What has that got to do with it?"

His gaze didn't waver. "It has everything to do with it," he said quietly.

Hermione chewed on her lower lip and looked to him again. "I pity you."

Draco's eyes darkened and he frowned. "Not quite the answer I was looking for."

"What do you want me to say, Draco? That I love you and I'll never leave you? We're from two different worlds, literally! This isn't some Pretty in Pink wrong side of the tracks romance," she sighed, shaking her head. "This is real and dangerous and if we're not careful both of us could get killed. I can't let myself love you- be with you- because you'll just break my heart." The words were so desperately familiar she had to choke back crazed laughter. She wondered if they'd ever break free of the dance they'd begun. It seemed no matter what she said or what he did they kept circling each other like pathetic moths to the inevitable flame.

Draco felt his heart give another wrench in his chest and he suddenly wanted to cry. Damn it, he cried over no one! Certainly not her, ever again- he'd promised himself that three weeks ago. Never again. He took her by the shoulders and shook her. "Do you think I want to break it? Do you think I just figured I'd make you fall in love with me for a lark so we could both get hurt?"

"It's a question of ethics, Draco. I can't be with someone who believes I'm trash at the core of me, no matter what you think of my looks or my abilities. You'll never change. You'll never change for me," Hermione pointed out and he opened his mouth as if to protest, but she laid a finger on his lips. "And I wouldn't want you to. If you change and become a better man, Draco Malfoy, it should be because of you; because you deserve more; because you're smarter than how you've been raised."

He felt the tears well up in his eyes then, ready to spill over at any moment. He tried desperately to push them back inside, make them go away, but they remained, hovering on the edge of his vision. Hermione's face grew dim and he blinked. Oh, gods. He couldn't cry now, not in front of her. Draco hastily thrust her from him and started for the door; he'd turned from her just in time. The tears were falling fast now and there was nothing he could do to stop them.

Hermione stood back and watched him started to leave. No! Well for fuck's sake, girl, if you're going to give him up at least apologize…or something. Do something! Her mind shrieked at her and she moved forward, running after him. She caught his arm just before he reached the door. He stopped, but didn't turn. Were his shoulders shaking?

"Malfoy?" No response. "Draco?" His head moved imperceptibly. She wrapped her arms about his shoulders and hugged herself to him. "I'm sorry, Draco," she murmured. She felt his body shake a little more. Oh, gods, he must be furious with her. She probably shouldn't be so close to him if he was this angry. Instead of running, though, she tightened her grip.

"I wish I could love you," she continued. "In many ways, you're the kind of guy every girl dreams about. But we just…we can't risk it. And until the war is behind us, we can never, ever be together. Why can't you understand? Why did you have to pick me? Why me?" Hermione paused, searching for the right words. "I don't want to be the bad guy here- I don't want to have to be the one to remind you how different we are, how dangerous our lives are. I never asked for this to happen! I wish, for once, that I didn't have to be the responsible one and could just let myself love you…I feel so, so…oh, gods, Draco! Why did it have to be me?" she finished quietly, the words tumbling out of her in a frustrated whisper.

He remained silent for several seconds. When he spoke, his voice sounded thick and unnatural. "I don't know…I don't know," he moaned, and then his voice cracked and a huge sob wracked his body. He was going to lose her. Not because he was the wrong person or even because she couldn't forgive him for all his past misdemeanors. No, he was going to lose her because of blood. Because of how he'd been raised to think and feel. It wasn't something he could help! They were going to spend the rest of their lives believing that the other one was wrong and it was too much- too much. His shoulders buckled under the weight of her hug and the strain of holding back his tears.

He slumped against the door and Hermione tugged on his arm, slowly turning him around. If he was going to be angry with her, she wanted to at least see his face. He turned towards her and leaned his back against the doorframe, tears still streaming down his face. She stared at him, startled by the sight of the great Draco Malfoy crying and felt tears spring to her own eyes. Obviously she was going to have to be the strong one in this relationship. Non-relationship, you mean. She shook her head, wiping at her own eyes and reached her hands up to his face. He tried to jump back from her touch and only succeeded in banging his head against the door. His face contorted in pain.

"Ow!" he yelped, and curled away from the door, sliding into one of the empty seats. Hermione sat next to him and gave a little laugh as he buried his face in his hands. He brought his head up and glared at her.

"So now you think it's funny to laugh at the little pureblood who didn't get his way?" he snarled.

She laughed again and took one of his hands firmly in hers, caressing it gently. He didn't try to tug it away. "No, but I do wish you'd let me take care of you."

"To make up for the fact that you'll never be with me?"

"Something like that, yes," she said, smiling sadly. "The truth is, I'd already made up my mind the last time I saw you…but you didn't really want to listen much."

"No," he said thoughtfully, wiping his face a bit, "I suppose I never do."

"Not really," she replied, laughing again. "Besides, I couldn't bring myself to say it, then. I never wanted this…for it to be you, of all people."

They sat in silence for a few moments and Draco eventually started caressing her hand in return. "Whatever it is I'm feeling right now, you know it won't end just because you've turned me down, right?"

"I know that's what you believe right now," she said slowly. "But eventually we'll both move on."

He looked up at her again, suddenly alert. "You do still care for me, then."

"I never denied it," she said, looking away. She hugged his robe around herself tightly and he felt tears prick his eyes again. She had been prepared to spend the night with him, not just because she felt guilty; not just because she wanted revenge- one last moment of glory; but because she cared for him too. He wiped at his eyes again. No, he thought. This is not the way to do things. You're both intended for other people- his mind railed against the words as they came. You can't be with her now; you want more from her than a one night stand…his heart dropped in his chest. But this is all I get, he argued with the voice in his head. This is all I get…but it was no use; it was too late and he cared about her too much. He knew what he was going to do.

Draco stood up and offered Hermione his hand. "Come here," he said softly. She looked up at him questioningly, her eyes a dark, seductive brown. She placed her hand in his and he pulled her to him, holding her so, so tightly, not wanting to let go. She reached her arms up around his back and held him, feeling the tension in his body, the unwillingness to let himself cry again. He tucked her head under his chin and spoke again.

"I wish you hadn't been a muggleborn," he said aloud, his voice sounding oddly in his ears. "And I wish I could be the man you need me to be."

She shook her head against him and looked up. "And I wish we were just two normal teenagers, sometimes. But, Draco-," she stopped as he looked down at her, shaking his head.

"I know we aren't and maybe we never will be. That doesn't change how I feel for you," he said fiercely, hugging her even closer. "I don't care what you have to say about time healing all wounds. It's a lot of nonsense," he suddenly choked out, just before bringing his mouth down to hers. One last time.

Hermione thought she might die of suffocation, but if she did, it was an awfully nice way to go. When he finally pulled away, he kissed her three more times, lightly, chastely. Then he put her from him, kissed her forehead with all the self control he had left, and turned to leave.

Hermione felt her body screaming at her for letting him leave, but she knew, somehow, that there was no helping it. That it was better this way. There was so much else she needed to turn her attention to, so many other people that needed her help, but for some reason she suddenly didn't care about any of them. She, practical, insufferable, know-it-all witch Hermione Granger, was falling apart inside.

"Draco!" she gasped, starting after him. "So that's it? After all this, this…torture, that's it? You're just going to leave without any fucking resolution? What do we do? What do we say when we see each other in the halls? At class? Don't you- don't you owe me more than that?" She was blinking furiously: she would not be the one left behind, weeping like a broken hearted teenager. Like the broken hearted teenager she was.

He turned to look at her, his face expressionless. She searched his eyes. They were the same steely grey she was so familiar with and she felt her heart leap into her throat. He had made up his mind.

As Hermione's eyes dashed across his face, he felt strangely calm. It has to be this way. She told you so herself. He forced himself to think clearly when all he really wanted was to keep up the charade, the façade, and yell at her: tell her he didn't owe her anything, she owed him. No, that wasn't it. This was what he owed himself. No more wild outpourings of emotion. No more out of control arguments that ended in lovers meeting. This is it, he thought.He smiled at her, his sadness and confusion matching her own, he was sure. She smiled in return and then he spoke.

"Keep the robe, Granger. It looks good on you."

Hermione looked down at herself, startled. When she looked back up, Draco Malfoy was gone and she was alone in the empty classroom with nothing left to do but gather her clothes and leave. Instead, she snatched up her clothing, struggling into it desperately, before turning and running out the door after him, looking down at the robe in her hands with a scornful glance. How dare he? How dare he? Leaving her behind when she was the one who had been against this from the beginning- leaving her behind when it was her who had offered herself to him- leaving her!


She saw his retreating form striding confidently down the hall and she shouted his name. His stride instantly became less than confident. Faltered, in fact.

"Malfoy! Don't think you can just walk away from me!"

"I thought that's what I was doing, Granger," he said patiently, stopping, not turning around to face her. He couldn't face her. She scared the shit out of him when she was angry like this. Besides, he didn't exactly want to look at her again, so soon after finally making up his idiotic, foolish mind. It had taken entirely too much willpower to walk away the first time.

She caught up to him and stood just a few feet behind him, aching to, well, do something. She had no idea what she would do, but it would be great and romantic and everything he needed to find his way. Hermione laughed at herself then, realizing how ridiculous she was being. She struggled to keep the tears back and took another step forward, then another. One. Two. She could almost reach out and touch him.

Draco could feel her getting closer and he finally spun about. "Don't touch me!" he shouted at her, not caring if the whole school heard him. He couldn't stand it if she touched him again…not again.

She drew back, hesitant. "Why?" she whispered. "Why can't I-," she started forward again and he suddenly couldn't stop himself.

Draco's hand landed square across her jaw before he even knew what he was doing and then, like that time so many nights ago, she got her wish and felt her body spin around to hit the floor with a thud. She pulled herself up a bit, bent over, her small hands cradling her cheek, working her jaw slowly, her mouth open in a small o as tears stung her eyes. Hermione found that she couldn't talk, she was so stunned.

He stepped back, afraid of what he'd done. He couldn't comfort her now. He could never comfort her, because unless she could love him she would never trust him. Draco found himself laughing bitterly as he looked down at her. She looked up at him with accusing eyes and he smirked.

"Granger," he drawled, "it's for your own good. If you can't be with me because I won't change for you, and you don't want me to change for you, then don't come running after me. Don't pretend like you want what's best for me and then try to force things by insisting we can 'find a way!'"

She straightened up and slowly stood, looking him square in the face. He could see a bruise forming already, but refused to let himself feel badly about it. If she was going to stand there and say things like they could never be together until the war was over, then he would live up to his heritage. It was what he believed, after all. It's not, the voice tried to say, but he drowned it out with a wave of angry laughter.

So that was it. So that was how he felt. He didn't want pity, or her help, or her romantic notions. He wanted something she could not give him and since he couldn't have it, he wanted no part of her. She eyed him steadily, her senses returning to her- her impracticable patience resuming its place upon her face; her eyes glaring at him with superiority she obviously didn't feel. Of course this was foolish; of course she shouldn't be with him now or ever; of course she loved Harry. Of course Harry loved her.

Whatever internal struggle she had gone through only minutes before with Draco, naked in his arms, was replaced with sensible intelligence. It was as if a steel door came down over her heart and he felt locked out suddenly; unable to ever access her feelings again. Unable to ever know her the way he almost had…moments ago…he was so unaware of himself, so focused on her in those defining seconds that he never even felt his own heart shatter.

She flung the robe she had been carrying at his feet. The robe she had worn, which he had just given her.

"I told you, you can have it," he drawled. He wasn't even surprised at the lack of emotion in his voice. It was as if he'd never held her close to him, or inhaled her scent, or loved her. But that was what Malfoys were best at, right? Compartmentalizing? She had said so- that meant it must be true. The bitch knew fucking everything, didn't she?

"No, thanks," she replied stiffly. Her eyes, though unreadable to him now, still held the threat of tears- whether from anger or sorrow, he did not know. Her voice trembled with a distraught, uncertain dignity. "I don't want it."

He stared down at the pile and then slowly bent down and picked it up. The minute his fingers touched the fabric, it was as if a lock had been released. He struggled a moment against the onslaught of anger and betrayal before looking up at her again. Merlin, that was a mistake, meeting her eyes one last time. She'd been saving her final words for his face and they bit deeply into him. He was sure they'd leave a lasting mark, if he let them.

"I don't want any reminders," she qualified, as casually as he'd just sounded seconds before, but the final word held venom.

She was always so good at that- at saying everything with just one word.

I don't want any reminders of you.

Then, satisfied her arrow had found its mark, she turned on her heel and stalked back down the hallway: her footsteps unfaltering, her head held high. He was almost happy to see her walk away so confidently. It meant that maybe he wasn't the one making a horrible mistake in letting her go. It meant he wasn't making a horrible mistake.

He looked down at his hand, the robe balled tightly in his fist; the only thing left of a relationship he could never, ever have. With one backward glance he turned around and walked in the opposite direction.

So, he smirked to himself.

That was it.


Author's Note: Have hope and don't crucify me. The title of the sequel is Forgotten Things and the first couple of chapters are now up.