------------------------------------------------------------FRIENDS--------------------------------------------------------------

Hermione raced up the staircase the boys' dormitories. She threw open the door, and she stared at the bespectacled boy who had a clouded expression upon his face. "Harry," she said, a tone of warning colouring her panting voice. "Don't even go down that road."

Harry looked up from the framed photograph that he had been staring at. He smiled giddily, and replied, "What road, Hermione?"

Hermione glanced over at Ron who was trying to get down from his bed without falling down. Hermione, briefly distracted by this, asked him, "Ronald, why don't you place a stool next to your bed? It will make it much easier to get down."

Ron paused from trying to get off his bed to shoot her a heated look. "I'm...perfectly...fine," he muttered, resuming the act of getting off the bed.

Harry laughed, which brought Hermione back to the reason why she had come. She walked over to Ron, and before he could say anything, she placed two hands under his armpits and carried him off the bed.

"Let go of me!" he yelled, squirming.

"Stop squirming, Ronald," Hermione scolded, placing him on the floor. Ronald brushed his clothes, staring at Hermione angrily.

"That was completely unnecessary, Hermione," he complained.

Hermione rolled her eyes, and sat on his bed. She faced Harry, who had gone back to looking at the photograph. "Harry, give me that," she ordered sternly, motioning towards the picture.

"No," Harry sighed, a smile gracing his features. He leaned his head on one hand, gazing at the photograph with admiration.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "I said, give me that!" She waved her wand and yelled in her mind, Accio photograph!

The photograph zoomed out of Harry's hand faster than the speed of light, and Harry winced. The photograph landed in Hermione's outstretched hand, and when she looked down at it, she closed her eyes and counted to ten. When she opened them, she found Harry examining his hand with a frown, and Ron jumping up and down trying to get a better look at the picture in Hermione's hand.

"You cut me, Hermione," Harry accused, showing her his palm. A thin line of blood was visible.

Hermione shook her head, and walked over to him. "The pains of love," she muttered sarcastically.

"What's that?" Harry asked, not hearing her. He held out his hand to her, and she murmured a few words sliding her wand above the wound. Within seconds, the wound disappeared.

Ron had followed her to Harry's bed and was now trying to climb onto it. "Why are these things so bloody high off the floor?" he grumbled.

"Well, Grumpy—"Harry said cheerily, earning a growl from Ron, who was pulling the sheets down in order to get up, "—it has taken you roughly seven years at this school to realize that the legs on the bed are too long. You should've noticed it before, and then perhaps they could have done something about it."

Ron tugged at another sheet, lifting his leg up trying to get onto the bed. "It sucks being this short. Now I know how you feel Harry," he said to the side of the bed.

Harry sighed. "There's nothing you can say that will anger me, Ron. I'm a happy man," he said, smiling.

Hermione glared at him. "This is not good, Harry! I'm not going to allow it!"

"Allow what?" came Ron's voice from the floor. He had given up and was now just sitting, leaning against the leg of the bed.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake," Hermione said, and bent down to pick him up. She plopped him on the bed, next to Harry. She sat down on the other side of Harry.

"Allow what?" Ron repeated.

"This," Hermione said ominously, handing him the photograph. Harry didn't make a move to grab it. He just stared it while it was being passed over him to Ron.

Once it was in Ron's hands, however... "ROMILDA VANE?!" Ron screeched, his voice breaking.

Hermione nodded solemnly.

Harry sighed.

"Are you out of your bloody mind, Harry?!" Ron yelled, his voice still high. "This is Romilda Vane!"

"I know," Harry said with a goofy expression on his face.

Ron was shaking his head furiously – Hermione was afraid it was going to fall off. "No. No. No. Harry, this is bloody insane!" Ron turned to look at Hermione. "The bloke's barking mad."

Hermione shook her head. "No, Ronald. He's not mad. He's under a spell." The words were for Harry's benefit, but he didn't seem to have heard them. He had taken the photograph from Ron's midget hands, and was now staring at it again.

"Harry, you're under a spell," Hermione said, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Harry turned to look at her, and copied her action by placing his hand on her shoulder. "Hermione," he said slowly, as if he was talking to a five year old, "I'm not going to fall for that again."

Hermione shook her head, knowing exactly what he thought she was thinking. "Harry, Romilda hasn't given you a love potion or anything this time. It's more –"

"You also see it, don't you?" Harry asked.

Hermione blinked. "See what, Harry?"

"That this is the start of love, Hermione," he said, heaving another deep sigh. He was now stroking the edges of the photograph.

Ron had a disgusted look on his face. "Are you sure there isn't a love potion involved?" he asked Hermione, disgust loaded into his voice.

Hermione nodded. Ron opened his mouth to ask something else, but Hermione said, "No, Ronald, not even the Imperius."

Ron's shoulders slumped. "This cannot be happening," he murmured. He stood up on the bed – so that he could now look into Harry's and Hermione's eyes without looking up – and started shaking Harry's shoulders. "What. Is. Wrong. With. You?!"

Before Ron had undergone the transformation, he was pretty strong. So even though he was dwarf-sized now, he still maintained some of his strength. His vicious shakings of Harry's shoulders seemed to alert Harry. Harry's glasses shook and threatened to fall off. Harry shook Ron's hands off. "Stop it!" he cried out, adjusting his glasses.

"You stop it!" Ron said, trying to look menacing despite his dwarfness.

"Both of you stop it!" Hermione said, getting up and facing them. "Harry, you're not under a spell but we're all sort of enchanted. It's rather complicated to explain. But please get it through your head that you're not destined to be with Romilda! It's all part of a cruel design of fate that this is happening—"

"You're right. This is fate," Harry said, staring up at her.

Hermione felt incredibly frustrated. She didn't know what else to do. So she did the only thing she could think of.

She slapped him.

"OW!" Harry yelled, holding his hand against his face. "What was that for?"

"To bring you back to your senses!" Hermione said with her hands on her waist. She felt absolutely awful for slapping one of her best friends, but it had to be done.

"Now why didn't I think of that?" Ron asked himself.

Hermione ignored him. "Harry, please. This is not you talking."

Harry grinned. "Then who is talking, Hermione?" he asked cheekily.

"Would you like me to slap you again?" she asked sweetly. She really didn't want to. But what she said shut him up completely. She sighed. "I think I'm going to have to explain it to you. There's no other way," she said resignedly. She looked over to Ron who was curled up on Harry's pillow, falling off to sleep. "This is for you to, Ronald," she said, waking him up with a Tickling Charm.

Ron got up suddenly, bent over, laughing hysterically. "St-stop!" he yelled in between giggles. Hermione laughed, and released the spell. She sobered up when she realized the task at hand. She conjured a chair and sat across them.

"Okay," she said, looking at their focused faces. "This is the story." The joys of double meaning.

They opened their mouths at all the wrong parts, and interrupted when Hermione was getting to all the good parts. She felt incredibly annoyed. So this is why Malfoy had gotten so irritated with her that night! She tried ignoring all their questions, but being boys, they became quite insistent.

After about thirty minutes, her story was finally done, with many interjections on the boys' parts. Yet they sat with gobsmacked expressions upon their faces. "It explains so much," Harry murmured.

"I know, mate," Ron said, staring at his dwarf-sized body. He looked up at Hermione. "Do you think we'll be able to reverse it all?"

Hermione licked her lips, and rubbed her palms on her jeans. "Malfoy and I are working on something—"

"Hold on," Ron interrupted. "Malfoy and you?"

Hermione glared at him. "Yes, Malfoy and I. He was the one who discovered what was happening, you know."

Harry and Ron exchanged a look with each other. Hermione, noticing, asked, "What?"

Ron grinned. "Well, he's not as stupid as we thought he was, is all. Quite clever, really."

Hermione frowned. "He's not that clever. I also contributed to the theory."

Harry's lips twitched. "Oh, yeah? How so?"

"Well, not so much the theory¸ per se. I reckoned that we should come up with a solution—" Hermione stopped herself short. She realized how stupid she had just made herself sound. So what if her two best friends thought Malfoy was clever? They still thought she was the cleverest in their year.

Which she was.

"Anyway," she said, clearing her throat, when she noticed another grin being shared by Ron and Harry, "Harry, I think you should try to stay away from Romilda."

Harry sighed again, but this time it was one of acceptance not happiness. He stared at the photograph for a moment, and then throwing it up in the air, he pointed his wand at it, and muttered something under his breath. The picture began to slowly tear itself into shreds as it fell to the floor. Hermione stared.

"How did you do that?" Hermione asked him inquisitively.

"Do what?" Harry asked.

"Cause that photograph to tear itself up?" Hermione asked, still shocked.

Harry fidgeted with his wand. "Er, I made the spell up."

Hermione's eyebrows shot up. "You what?"

Harry shrugged. "Yeah, I like playing around with...words, and...yeah, so I make up spells spare time."

Ron rolled his eyes. "You should've seen him when he first discovered this spell. Everything in this room was in shreds. Had to buy new stuff. Regular old Snape, he is," he said, but not unkindly.

Harry smiled a small smile.

"What do you mean you had to buy 'new stuff'? Couldn't you put a Repair Charm on it?" Hermione asked, her eyebrows furrowing.

Ron laughed. "That's the beauty of the spell! You can't undo it. So old reparo doesn't work." He clapped Harry on the shoulder.

"But that's... not many spells are non-reparable," Hermione stated. She was extremely impressed. "This is amazing, Harry! Well done!"

Ron rolled his eyes. "He made up a spell, Hermione, not defeated an evil person."

"Yes, but he's done that, too," Hermione said, smiling.

Harry cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Can we get back to the subject please? Romilda?"

Ron closed his eyes. "Just tell her to shove off if she comes near you, mate," he said.

Hermione threw Ron an impatient look. "They're going to be around each other a lot, Ronald. The things that happened in the fairytale cannot be prevented," she said, repeating Malfoy's words.

"I'm going to marry her?" Harry yelped, standing up.

"I don't think it would be that extreme. It seems to affect the adults more severely than the teenagers, but we'll see. Point is," she said, before Harry could say anything else, "you will be around her more than anything. You won't be able to help it...so, just be cautious," she said, placing a hand on his shoulder.

He leaned into her side. "I'm going to die, Hermione," he said, his voice muffled.

Hermione sighed. "Not in this version of the story. The King dies in other versions, but not in this one. The only person dying in this...is me," she tried to end off on a happy note.

"WHAT?" they both exclaimed. Harry leaned back to look at her, and Ron cracked both small eyes open.

Hermione smiled. "The end of the story, remember? Snow White is killed by the poisoned apple. In fact, it's the step-mother who poisons her. So, I wonder what Romilda is going to do to me," she said, curiosity colouring her voice.

"Shut it, Hermione, this isn't funny," Ron said seriously.

"I know. Besides, Malfoy and I are going to come up with something," she said. Hopefully, she added to herself.

"You better," Ron threatened.

Hermione laughed, and she turned to go. She remembered something, and turned back to face them. "Harry, how did your Auror test go?"

Harry smiled. "Great, actually. I might actually stand a chance."

Ron rolled his eyes. "You're freaking Harry Potter. They'd be stupid not to take you in," Ron said, slapping Harry on the shoulder.

"That's really good, Harrt," Hermione intoned, smiling warmly at him. "Another thing," she said.

"What?"

"What about Ginny?" she asked, reverting to their former topic.

"Well, I don't know what career path she plans on taking. I think she's probably going to explore Magical Sport, or something," Hary said, staring at a spot on the ceiling.

"No, I meant...what about Ginny and you?"

Harry brought his head down to look at her. "How do you mean?" Harry looked puzzled.

Hermione paused. "Well, aren't you two...Haven't you started feeling anything for her again?"

Harry buried his head in his hands. "I don't know, Hermione. It's so very complicated."

"How can you not know whether you like her or not?" Ron asked, a frown pulling his mouth down. "Isn't it obvious?"

Harry straightened and looked at Ron. "When you get to where I am, you'll understand," he said maturely.

"Which is where? Getting off with the queen from hell that's going to poison our best friend?" Ron said gruffly.

"As opposed to the possibility of remaining the size of a dwarf for your whole life?" Hermione countered, defending Harry. She could understand the truth in Harry's words about his life being complicated. She couldn't empathize but she could sympathize.

"Oh, that's just low," Ron said irritably, crossing his arms over his chest.

It was the day after her arrival, and Hermione felt so at home in the castle. She threw all of her energy into finding a solution. She was determined to not let her mother's death be in ill parting on her father's part. Her mother's death could not lead to such a tragic twirl of events. It just couldn't.

And the possibility of ending up with Malfoy someday seemed pretty unrealistic. They were so opposite in personalities! Like fire and ice. She was the fire, of course.

After their episode of magical transference in his room at her house the previous night, things were quite...awkward between them. Well, she didn't know about Malfoy but she certainly felt awkward. Hermione wasn't too sure why, but, despite his soothing scent, she had felt really uncomfortable with being in his presence ever since the previous day.

She reached the portrait to the Head Common Room. "Fides quod fidelitas," she said, and the portrait door swung open. She stepped inside, and got the shock of her life. The sight of Malfoy tuning a guitar was unusual and set her heart racing. She was that shocked.

"Wh-what are you doing?" she asked, walking cautiously towards him. he was sitting on one of the couches, with his feet propped up on the centre table. Bloody hell, he had long legs.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" he asked softly, not looking up.

She sat down on the couch across him. "Well, I didn't know that you knew how to play it," she said, her voice filled with awe.

He half-smiled. "I haven't played for a long time. It's been too long since I last played, actually."

Hermione stared at his fingers fidgeting with the knobs on the guitar. "When was the last time you played it?"

"I've never played this before," he said, holding up the guitar. "I bought it this morning from Hogsmeade."

"When was the last time you played?" she repeated.

He looked up at her, and seemed to deliberate about something. Finally deciding, he said, "The day before my parents were arrested."

Hermioen tried to control the emotion on her face. She didn't want to show her shock. This was the first time he had brought up his parents in casual conversation. She didn't know exactly how to respond without sounding too full of pity.

"But why did you have to buy a new guitar?" she asked, genuinely curious.

"You ask a lot of questions, you know that?" His silver eyes burned into hers.

She crossed her arms. "And you don't answer many questions, you know that?" she shot back.

"Touché," he said, dipping his head. He fiddled with the knob, and then plucked the strings testing it.

Hermione could sense that he didn't want to answer any of her questions, which she was perfectly fine with. She could live with that.

"Can I touch it?" she asked tentatively. He could say no.

He looked up again. "The guitar?" he clarified.

She nodded.

"Why?" Draco asked, holding out his guitar to her. The guitar cost a fortune, but he didn't think that she was capable of breaking it.

"I've always wanted one," Granger breathed, her brown eyes sparkling as she took the guitar.

"Really?" Draco asked, leaning back into the couch. He watched her eagerly run her hands over the surface of the guitar.

She nodded.

"Then why didn't you get one?"

Her fingers paused on one of the strings. "Because I went for piano lessons instead."

Draco nodded. "Ah," he said simply.

After a while, she said, "I can't imagine you ever going for music classes."

Draco felt his eyes widen. "My parents sent me to almost every class imaginable when I was a child," he said quietly. Longing for his parents gripped his body but he forced it away.

"Really?" she asked. It was her turn to be surprised.

"Yes, but I only ended up dropping most of them," he muttered, looking down at his hands.

"Just to do with music, or other classes too?" she asked, leaning back into the sofa, the guitar on her lap.

Draco stared at the guitar. "Mainly music and dancing, actually."

Granger nodded.

"Ballet?" she asked.

He looked up at her, and nodded slowly.

"Seriously?" she asked. Draco clenched his teeth. She didn't have to make her amusement so obvious.

"Yes."

"Tap?"

"Yes."

"Modern?"

"Yes."

"Latin-American?"

Draco closed his eyes. "Yes."

"Piano?"

"Yes."

"Violin?"

"Yes."

"Wow," she whispered.

"I know," he said. He cracked an eye open. "Are you done with examining it?" he asked, pointing at the guitar.

"Oh, yes! Thank you," she replied, handing it over to him. He took it back, and retuned it. "So which ones did you drop?"

"Everything except guitar and singing lessons and Latin-American dancing," he replied. "Granger, are you done with your little interview now? I'd like to have a bit of me-time."

"You always have 'me-time'," Granger said sharply.

Draco looked up. "Are you complaining?" he couldn't help asking, not noticing the small grin that lifted up the corners of his mouth.

"No," she said, rolling her eyes. "Like I pointed out earlier, this is a common room, not a bedroom. So I'm not leaving."

Draco shook his head. "I wasn't asking you to leave. I was asking you to be quiet."

She gasped. "How dare you tell me what not to do!"

He sighed. "Granger, seriously, shut it."

She shut her mouth with a snap, and glared at him.

He ignored her, and began strumming gently. It felt different, like seeing the world through a different shade of sunglasses. At first, it didn't feel right, or in place. So he picked up the tune, and let his mind go. From past experience, he learnt that his music is best when he let his mind go. He looked over at Granger for a second. She was lying on the couch, with her head tilted in his direction. Her hands were tucked underneath her head.

She looked so peaceful.

And then he began to see. The music always had that affect on him. Whenever he played, he would be able to see and think clearly. And now he was seeing. He didn't want to stare too long, but he couldn't help it. He didn't care if he was making her uncomfortable. He was just thinking, and coming up with more theories.

Wasn't he supposed to be letting go of everything that was pulling him down under the surface? His lifejacket was the fairytale.

He continued to stare at her, and she back. The girl had changed him, that was for sure. She had brought back a part of the old Draco. She had started to melt his exterior, whether it was intentional or not, she had done it. She seemed to know how he operated, how he thought, and by now he could easily predict what emotions she would go through if he had to say something.

He would never want to be with her romantically. That would be absolutely bizarre. But, she was one of the few people who actually tolerated him, and for that he was really grateful. She actually took time to scold him when she felt like, to jerk him into place. Whether it was what she did with everybody or not, he still appreciated it.

She had taken many sad things away from him, letting him focus on things that mattered.

His piece ended, on a bittersweet note. He stood up and walked over to her. This time he didn't hold his breath. He forced himself to let go of that awkwardness. He would be strong. He would try to be compassionate.

But for now, he'd focus on strength. He placed a hand on her shoulder, and she jerked in surprise. She stared up at him. "Malfoy, what --?"

"Thank you," he said quietly.

Her eyebrows furrowed. "For what?"

He knelt down beside her, and she propped her head up on her hand to look at him clearly.

He stared out the window. "Just, for everything. It's really hit me now, when you've been helping me out for, what, a couple of months..." he trailed off, thinking of what to say next. He was terrible at discussing emotions.

Her voice came from his right, "Malfoy, I haven't helped you with anything."

He rolled his head around to look at her. He stared into her brown orbs. "Granger, you really have. And coming from me, that's a lot to admit. I don't want to be too specific, but just know that you have helped."

Draco thought that that was all the emotion he could cope with. He squeezed her shoulder gently, emphasizing his gratitude, and stood up.

"You're welcome, Malfoy," she said softly.

He nodded once at her, but he tried to make the movement not too abrupt or cold. She smiled hesitantly, and sat up. She held out her hand and asked, "Friends?"

Draco looked down at her offer of friendship. He took a step forwards, this was what he needed. This was what he wanted. He held out his hand and shook hers. "Yeah," he said simply. She knew what he meant. She smiled and he let go. Slowly.

"You're not playing anymore?" was her question

Draco looked down at the guitar on the couch. He picked it up and began sliding it into its case. "No...Why, was the music any good?" he asked.

She shrugged, trying to look casual, probably. "Yes, it was alright."

He levelled a look with her.

She sighed. "Fine. It was really good."

Draco smiled. "Now that wasn't so hard," he said, zipping the case shut.

She rolled her eyes.

He started to walk towards his bedroom. But then a thought stopped him. shouldn't he say goodnight or something? Wasn't that what friends did? He nodded to himself. "Goodnight," he called over his shoulder as he walked passed her.

"'Night," came the reply.

Draco opened his door, and closed it behind him. he placed his guitar case on his table, and collapsed on his bed. He stared at the ceiling. It had felt really easy talking to Granger like that. Was talking to everybody like that? Draco had never connected with anybody on a spiritual or intellectual level, except with his parents.

That's what Granger reminded him of. The time he used to spend with his parents. He ached for that kind of connection again. He really did. And McGonagall's letter was right: Draco and Granger really should have a connection, given the fact that he's supposed to bring her to life with a kiss.

-------------------------------------------------------to be continued---------------------------------------------------------

A/N: Just thought I'd add another chapter for you guys! Sooner than you were expecting, I know. But you're not complaining, right?

Love you all! Xx. I'm gonna go sleep now