Everyone was seated along the Gryffindor table for dinner. It was what Ron Weasley considered to be the perfect way to end the day. Except he couldn't enjoy a minute of it because Lavender Brown was suffocating him.

The girl was clinging to him even now, I mean, really, couldn't a man eat in peace?

If he was being honest he was getting sick of her. The attention was nice but it was beginning to be all too much for him. What had he been thinking?

Right… he had been furious with Hermione for snogging Krum and was pretty certain that they were secretly together. Try as she may, to deny it, he didn't believe that a bloke would give a girl a bracelet like that unless there was something more than friendship going on.

And she keeps playing with the cursed thing like she's attached to it or something. At least he was making some headway with her, thought Ron as he stuffed his face with a forkful of mince pie. She had smiled back at him the other day, and then yesterday she'd returned his hello, which meant she'd moved on from completely ignoring him to acknowledging his presence.

Lavender fawning over him all the time certainly wasn't helping things move along quickly though. He wanted to look to Harry for help but his best friend was too busy dwelling on Malfoy's every move. It was exhausting.

"He wasn't in class today either. What do you think he's up to?" asked Harry looking over at the Slytherin table for the eleventh time.

Ron pursed his lips. It was a little weird that he wasn't in class but was it really that important?

"You don't think he might've left, do you, like Eloise Midgen?" asked Gin.

Harry was shaking his head. "Not a chance," he scoffed.

"Maybe he's sick," voiced Ron. "I mean, he missed the Quidditch game because he was ill so…"

At that point, Lavender piped up.

"She would know," she said, her eyes on Hermione. "She was at the hospital wing yesterday."

Hermione's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "How did you know?"

"Cho told Padma, who told Parvati, who told me, that you were excused from Arithmancy to go see Madam Pomfrey."

Everyone turned their heads to look at Hermione, including Ron. He didn't know she wasn't feeling well and very much wanted to ask her if she was alright, but was aware of Lavender's watchful gaze so said nothing.

Gin did it for him.

"Oh no, are you okay now?"

"Did you see Malfoy," asked Harry abruptly. "Was he there?"

Ron cringed at the eager tone in Harry's voice. He figured that it couldn't be healthy to be thinking about the Ferret as much as his best friend was. His obsession had gotten worse after he'd eavesdropped on Malfoy's conversation with Snape.

"I…" Hermione was hesitant and Ron couldn't blame her, he wouldn't want to feed this particular fire either.

"I'm not sure, maybe... I wasn't there for long, I had a bad tummy is all."

"Surely you saw," Harry insisted.

"I did notice there was another patient but I couldn't see who it was," she said playing with her food. "There was a curtain around the bed."

Harry's forehead creased in thought and he was on the verge of saying more but then mercifully dessert appeared and Ron steered the conversation away from Malfoy by commenting on the generous spread on the table.

There was only so much of the Ferret he could stomach, especially when there was all this food around.

He was even more relieved when Lav moved to sit down at the other end with Parvati when she arrived late.

At last, he could enjoy dessert in tranquil bliss.

Then Gin left too but he was too busy stuffing his face with treacle tart to hear where she was off to.

As soon as they'd both left, Harry rounded on Hermione again.

"You should've looked to see if it was him," he whispered reproachfully. "You know he's doing something on his orders!"

Hermione looked stricken. Ron frowned, his mouth still half full.

"That curtain is there for someone's privacy mate," he said in her defense. "Besides, she was sick. Can't expect her to be spying on Malfoy while she's ill, can you?"

Hermione gave him a small smile of gratitude and Ron knew it was the closest thing he'd get to a thank you. It was too soon for anything else.

He smiled back.

Progress.

Harry rolled his eyes and it was clear that he was agitated with them both.

"Or maybe," his friend, said thinking out loud. "Maybe he's faking it."

Ron forked another mouthful and sighed. Harry was definitely losing it. There was no denying that something was up, but Malfoy pretending to be sick for over a day. Ron doubted even he could get away with that. And why would he? To skip class and be stuck in bed all day long?

Sounds boring if you ask me, he thought.

He looked back up in between mouthfuls to see that Hermione was staring at her plate, her food untouched. She was fidgeting with the bracelet again.

Ron looked down at his half-eaten tart with a scowl. What the hell did she see in Krum anyway, the grouchy git... can't believe she snogged him. Pft, penpals my arse! He'd be an international Quidditch player too someday—that'd show her.

Harry started to get up.

Hermione who seemed to have snapped out of a trance asked nervously, "Where you going?"

"Seeing as neither of you two are listening to me, I'm leaving," said Harry rather crossly.

"Wait," she said getting up quickly. "Where to?"

Ron pursed his lips. Hermione clearly didn't want Harry to leave her alone with him.

"To the Tower, where else?" he shrugged.

"Oh," she said softly, settling back in her seat. "Right."

Ron peeked at her from the corner of his eye and watched Harry go. He couldn't understand why one moment she had seemed eager to go with Harry and then the next had decided to stay.

Either way, it was an opportunity. It was the first time they were sitting alone together since… well, since Lavender.

"So," he said clearing his throat. "How was Christmas?"

Hermione blinked and looked away. "Good."

"Do anything interesting?"

Her fingers brushed the bracelet again and she wouldn't look at him. "Not really…"

"Krum give you something nice for Christmas?"

Their eyes locked. The question had sounded bitter and he knew he shouldn't have baited her like that.

"I told you," she said with a hint of irritation. "We're just friends."

Ron opened his mouth and closed it. He was itching to say something but he didn't want to push her away again.

"Did Harry tell you about Scrimgeour?" he asked quickly trying to distract her.

The question took Hermione by surprise.

"Yeah..." she said slowly, picking up her fork. "The nerve of him, right?"

Ron nodded in agreement. He was just about to make a rude remark about the Minister of Magic when Lavender appeared with a gaggle of girls, including the Patil twins and proceeded to wrap herself around him. He could swear that the woman had some kind of radar.

Hermione pursed her lips and excused herself from the table.

He sat there for the next ten minutes listening to them prattle on about how Michael Corner was dating some Fifth year in Hufflepuff, about new hair smoothing potions and other things he didn't care to hear.

But when he heard Cormac's name his ears immediately perked up.

"What?" Ron spluttered.

"His uncle, apparently he's some big ministry—"

"No, no, what were you saying about Greengrass?" he asked Padma Patil.

"I said," she huffed with irritation, "Daphne's right pissed at Cormac for snogging Hermione and then asking her to his uncle's New Years Party a few days later."

Ron clenched his fists, the stem of the fork digging into his palm.

He was so livid he could barely speak.

Cormac McLaggen? That… that big-bloody-buffoon!

He rose abruptly, his dessert unfinished.

"I have to go," he said without looking at anyone in particular. He vaguely heard Lavender whine, 'Won-won' behind him but proceeded to walk out the doors.

Because Ron was seeing red.

Kill McLaggen, then her… or kill her, then McLaggen. And just where the bloody hell does Krum fit into all this! Or maybe it had been McLaggen who'd given her the bracelet.

Halfway to the Tower, his anger had begun to deflate.

This was all his fault.

She had said she was going to take him to Slughorn's party. He could've been the one she snogged that night, not stupid Cormac.

Frowning at the portrait of the Fat Lady he mumbled the password and the doors swung open.

He walked in and immediately saw Hermione curled up in the armchair, her eyes fixed on the dancing flames of the roaring fire.

It dawned on Ron that if he really thought about it, Krum and McLaggen weren't the gits.

He was.

As the bathroom filled with steam from her hot shower Hermione began to relax. She wanted to head to bed early tonight. She was mentally exhausted from catching up on the Arithmancy work she'd missed the day before and emotionally drained trying to reconcile her feelings for Draco Malfoy that she could've slept right then and there against the tiles. Harry certainly hadn't helped her state at all with his incessant questions and outlandish theories on why Draco wasn't in class.

Stepping out of the shower, she dried herself off. The bruises on her thighs were turning into a shade of dark purple and she wondered how long they'd be there for.

Looking at them, she told herself—as if she needed to be reminded—that a Death Eater had done that to her.

She changed quickly, covering the only trace of him left on her.

As she entered the girl's dormitory, she found Ginny already tucked in bed. She was surprised to find her there. She thought she was going to go sneak off and see Dean.

"Ginny," said Hermione. "Is everything okay?

"Yeah…"

Hermione sighed. "What's wrong?" she asked sitting on the edge of her bed.

Ginny sat up but was reluctant to answer. It was only the two of them, as it was still relatively early and everyone was in the common room.

Hermione cast a silencing charm and for added measure, she stood up and went to close the door.

"It's Dean," she admitted once it clicked shut. "We had a huge row."

"What happened?" Hermione prodded.

"Nothing really," she groaned. "He was just getting on my nerves and then he said something and then I said something back and you know how these things just snowball sometimes."

Hermione was nodding, her mind drawn back to the empty classroom, her copy of A Picture of Dorian Gray thrown onto a desk.

"Yeah…" she whispered. Except she was fairly certain Ginny's fight didn't end the same way.

"It's just frustrating! I thought Dean was great but now I'm starting to see that he isn't the person I thought he was… I mean… I was so excited and crazy about him in the beginning but now... don't get me wrong, he's really sweet but… there are so many ways a person can be disappointed."

Hermione swallowed.

What Ginny said scared her. It rang true though, didn't it? You can't trust feelings, they blind you. And if she knew one thing, Draco Malfoy always found a way to disappoint her. Why now, after five years of a consistent track record, should he be any different?

If Hermione held her tongue and said nothing, and someone got hurt… she would never forgive herself.

And someone had already been hurt, hadn't they?

"Sorry for ranting," said Ginny, taking Hermione's silence the wrong way.

Hermione gave her a tight hug. "Don't be. I'm sorry to hear you two fought. I'm sure you'll make up soon."

Ginny gave her a tight squeeze back.

Letting go she let out a small chuckle.

"What?" asked Hermione.

"At least Dean, unlike Cormac, is a wickedly good kisser," she chortled.

Hermione groaned. She instantly regretted having told her how awful her date had behaved at Slughorn's party.

"You are the worst friend Ginny Weasley!" she said smacking her on the arm.

Ginny laughed as she begged Hermione to tell her everything again, down to the last detail. So she spent the next few minutes recounting everything that he had done and said, how he had bragged endlessly and how he'd grabbed her and kissed her under the mistletoe.

Honestly, she thought, blushing, what was with everyone thinking they had a right to grope her?

Then Parvati walked in and they quietened down.

Climbing into bed, her thoughts went back to Draco.

She made a decision. She knew what she had to do.

Draco had woken earlier that morning to find himself in the hospital bed alone. The last thing he could remember was deciding that he didn't want to die with the Dark Mark on his arm.

He winced as the painful memory came back to him and he imagined it was as excruciating as being hit with a Cruciatus Curse.

His eyes were still heavy but he managed to sit up a little.

Then his pulse jumped.

The Mark. He yanked his arm from under the sheets and saw that his forearm was bare.

His brow furrowed. He couldn't have been successful in removing it...

Fuck! Someone else had covered it up for him.

His head fell back against the pillow when he remembered that Blaise and Pansy had been waiting for him to join them for breakfast. He groaned rubbing his face wondering what the hell had happened and how he'd gotten to the Hospital Wing.

Just then Madam Pomfrey pulled open the curtain and stepped in.

"Ah!" she said good-naturedly. "Good morning!"

Draco winced as she let more light in.

"Oh don't worry dear," she said closing the curtains again. "Just a bit of sensitivity to the light."

He was feeling extremely tired again.

"How long have I been here?" he croaked.

"Two days Mister Malfoy."

He'd been here two days?

Brilliant.

"Drink this," said Pomfrey handing him a vial of something that looked unpleasant. She noticed that he was looking at it rather distastefully and pointed out that it was either that or the fever. Draco drank it obediently. Looking at the tray by his bed he realized he was being given four different potions. He scowled as he drank the other three.

After a few minutes, he was being pulled under into a deep state of dreamless sleep.

He stirred awake again some hours later, wincing as he turned onto his back.

His bones felt heavy.

A voice startled him.

"Well, well, well," came the voice of Severus Snape. "Well done Draco."

He turned his head to find the professor seated in a chair.

"You've outdone yourself… really."

Draco's head was spinning. "Leave me alone," he groaned, trying to sit up.

It made the spinning worse.

He laid back down.

"Pathetic," Snape sneered. "You're like a toddler. You can't even hold yourself up."

"What the hell do you want?" demanded Draco, his voice gruff.

Snape was quiet and he thought for a second that the wizard would just leave him to suffer in peace.

"I'd like to know what you hoped to accomplish by trying to remove it."

Draco muttered a curse. Of course, he'd found out.

"It was a test," he lied, too tired to think of anything better. "I just wanted to see."

Snape stood up slowly and approached his bedside.

"You are playing a very dangerous game Draco."

"What are you going to do Professor?" He spat challengingly. "Tell on me—and to who—Dumbledore or him?"

Before Draco could blink Snape was trying to enter his mind.

He squeezed his eyes shut, and dove into the water, checking that all the doors were locked. He saw one open at the far end of the corridor where the water had entered and flooded the room. He began swimming to it. Snape was on his heels.

He swam through the open door and slammed it closed, so hard, that the force of it shutting propelled Snape back and out of his mind.

Draco's eyes flew open.

"Good," said Snape still hovering over him. "At least your Occlumency is still strong."

Then without another word, he left.

Draco laid there.

Snape couldn't be more wrong about his Occlumency still being strong. That door shouldn't have been open. The room shouldn't exist.

Once again Draco felt his eyelids droop and couldn't fight the lure of his dreams.

His eyes fluttered open slowly. There was barely any light and he figured it was probably late at night.

A soft voice spoke.

"Draco?"

He let his eyes adjust.

Hermione was sitting in the same chair Snape had been sitting in. As he tilted his head to look at her, he felt the remains of a dream tug at his memory but it was foggy and he only had a sense that she'd been here before, as real as her presence was now.

He swallowed.

What was she doing here?

Then he remembered, wondering how on earth he could ever forget, what he'd done to her.

She was there for revenge, of course.

He'd been wrong to think Hermione Granger would not want to punish him herself. She never did allow Potter or Weasley to defend her.

Or maybe… maybe she realized he was of more use to her alive than dead. He was worth a fortune, after all, maybe she was here to blackmail him. Except that's something he would think to do and she was nothing like him.

She was an angel.

She wouldn't see it as an opportunity to exploit galleons from him. If she didn't want him, he imagined that she didn't want anything belonging to him either.

Draco eyed her wearily. "What are you—" he coughed. His throat was terribly dry.

She stood, offering him the goblet by his bedside. He took a full swig of it. Pumpkin juice.

Hermione exhaled as if she'd been holding her breath. "How are you feeling?" she asked.

He glanced away, unable to meet her eyes. He didn't understand the game they were playing. "Fine," he clipped.

There was an indeterminable moment of awkward silence.

"Draco," she whispered. "We have to talk about what happened."

He froze, the cup halfway to his lips. He gulped the rest of it down wishing it was firewhiskey or something stronger, maybe another one of Pomfrey's pain numbing potions because Draco couldn't find the courage, let alone find the vocabulary appropriate for that conversation. He put the goblet back.

There was a sad undertone to her voice when she asked, "What were you thinking?"

"I wasn't thinking," he replied honestly. "I was feeling." The answer sounded strange on his tongue. And he knew it didn't excuse his behavior.

She gave him a confused look.

Maybe he should've come up with a good lie but he couldn't imagine a scenario that would give him any sort of vindication. She'd said no and his reaction had been to restrain her to the wall.

"You can't try it again," she said evenly, sitting at the edge of his bed. "You know that right?"

He nodded once. "Yes."

And he felt like drowning when he said it because he hadn't gotten as far as ever thinking about whether he'd get to touch her again. Just the idea of never being able to hold her, kiss her, taste her, feel her… it was crushing him and he could barely draw breath thinking about how close he'd gotten to having her and how far away she seemed now.

She wouldn't even look him in the eye either.

Overcome by a crushing wave of regret, he whispered, "I'm sorry."

And it was probably the first time since it had happened that he truly was sorry, but only for all the selfish reasons he'd never care to admit. He couldn't help but think that if he had played his cards right… if he had any cards to play at all, maybe he'd have been able to have her all the time, over and over and over again.

Her eyes lifted and met his. His fingers reached to brush hers without thought. But then she was tearing herself away from him, standing up, as if the distance between them was necessary. He immediately regretted the instinctive way he'd reacted because she seemed to be bracing herself to say something.

Her fists clenched tight on either side, she said, "I need to know Draco..." And she was looking at him dead in the eyes. "What have you been hiding from me?"

Draco stopped breathing.

"Tell me the truth," she said sharply.

Hermione wrapped her arms around herself as soon as the words were out of her mouth.

Her eyes bore into his, waiting.

There was something very wrong.

The room he'd just locked mere hours ago. The key was turning in its lock and the door was opening again. He had an almost uncontrollable urge to speak, to tell her everything, yet he didn't want to.

Despite himself, he took a deep breath and began, his voice trembling, almost panting from the physical exertion of having to confess. "Our first potions class with Professor Slughorn, I remember walking in and the entire room was filled with the scent of gardenias—"

He clamped his mouth shut again, his jaw aching with the effort but he couldn't stop himself. "—they grow everywhere in the gardens at the Manor... my mother adds them to all the floral arrangements around the house. I've been smelling them my whole life, so I thought… the Amortentia… but I didn't know, didn't understand, till the day I was showing you how to cast the Avis charm... it was in your hair. You were covered in it. You turned and smiled at me, almost like you knew, and I've never hated you more than I did at that moment because that's when I realized that I'd—"

Draco clenched his teeth, biting down on his tongue so hard he thought it would bleed, and he prayed it wouldn't come out but it did. It came out in a frantic rush as if the words were falling from his mouth rather than being spoken.

"–that I'd spent the last three years falling in love with you."

He gasped for breath, his head bowed and his hands braced against his thighs. Draco hadn't realized he'd stood up, pulled toward her by the full force of his admission. He felt sick to his stomach. He'd never felt anything like it. Like he'd been retching, but throwing up words, no, not words… the truth.

He raised his head, his jaw dropping open in disbelief.

The pumpkin juice.

Hermione's eyes were wide and glistening, a trembling hand over her mouth.

Draco was backing away from her.

"I didn't..." she choked. "That's not what I was asking."

The back of his legs hit the edge of the bed.

"Veritaserum," he whispered.

She'd drugged him, tricked him into telling her he loved her. And he still didn't believe it, was still waiting for her to say she hadn't, and how dare he, because this was Hermione. His Gryffindor. She had dimples when she smiled, ink stains all over her fingers… he had once noticed a small feather stuck in her hair and it had stayed there the whole day before falling out.

And there was no Occlumency, there was nothing, there was just him and all the doors were suddenly wide open and the moat surrounding them was draining out and he swallowed and there were tears in his eyes and they ran hot and angry down his face. And his heart was breaking.

She reached out to touch him but he batted her hand away as if she were trying to strike him.

"Please," she begged, trying to reach for him again. "I just wanted the truth… I'm sorry."

"You have the truth," he said in a deadly whisper. "Now get out."

"Draco—"

"Get. Out."

Hermione stared at him mutely and in the next breath, as if a dam had broken, she began to weep.

She grabbed a cloak off the chair and ran out.