A/N: Just a warning, there is a brief mention of self-harm in this chapter - nothing too in depth. I don't want to upset anyone.. :( Also thank you so much to everyone who has left a review so far! I can't express how happy they made me to read, I really didn't expect this stupid little fic to go anywhere. Thank you so much, and I hope you enjoy :)

By the time Hermione is moving with the tide of Gryffindor students towards the dungeons late Tuesday morning, she hasn't seen Draco Malfoy once. She hadn't seen him during their lesson of Defence Against the Dark Arts on Monday morning, and he hadn't shown up to double Potions that afternoon, either. The only thing running through Hermione's head is the cold sadness in his eyes as he had talked about his mother. She had tried to get him out of her mind, but couldn't stop her eyes from rolling when she heard Harry and Ron blindly accusing him of every miniscule thing over breakfast. Ron had obviously noticed, and had asked her (quite rudely, through a mouthful of toast) if she was "showing where her real loyalty lies", to which Hermione had called him a petulant child who wouldn't know the true meaning of loyalty if it hit him in the face. Lavender Brown had protectively curled her arm around her boyfriend, practically hissing at Hermione in a warning.

It comes as no surprise to Hermione, then, when she enters the Potions classroom to see Lavender in the seat next to Ron, glaring at her as she stands in the doorway. Hermione looks wearily to her other best friend, who was sat with Neville, as he just shrugs at her awkwardly. All of the other Gryffindors have partners at their desks, so Hermione drops her things at an empty desk in the back, turning a positive spin onto the unused chair next to her; she has more room for extra ingredients, and her books don't need to be so cramped. At the front of the classroom, Professor Slughorn clears his throat and begins the lesson. Hermione's quill flies across the page as she takes down every word that comes out of his mouth, her small, scrawled shorthand filling the parchment. She'll rewrite it neater in the library, later on, but right now she needs to get all of the information down as fast as possible.

While she is copying Slughorn's writing from the blackboard (on the many uses of Flobberworm mucus), the door at the back of the classroom slams open, and she hears the sound of smart dress shoes clacking against the stone floor. "Mister Malfoy! How nice of you to join us!" Professor Slughorn is not annoyed; there is a smile on his face as he regards the blond boy, who is now stood between the aisles of desks. He seems genuinely happy that Malfoy showed up, which makes Hermione frown. It was almost as though he didn't expect him to show up – like there was something wrong with Malfoy. "Why don't you take a seat at the back with Miss Granger, I'm sure she'll catch you up on everything you've missed so far." Harry twists round in his seat to glare at Malfoy as he drops his bag to the floor, and Hermione shoots him a look that says don't say a word. He shakes his head before turning back to the front.

Malfoy slides onto the stool beside her, and she finally looks at him. He's pale – paler than usual, with dark circles under his eyes as though he hadn't slept at all. His cheeks and nose are bright red, and his grey eyes are glistening, as though he's been crying. His skin is covered in a light sheen of sweat as he stares straight forward at the board, mouth set in a hard, straight line. His normally well-kept hair is a mess, as though he'd been running his fingers through it and pulling, pulling, over and over again.

He looks horrible.

His right leg is shaking as he rests it on the bar that connects the legs of the stool, fingers curled into claws on his thighs as his bitten nails dig into his skin through his trousers. She gently touches his arm, and he flinches, turning towards her and looking through her. "Are you…" He shakes his head softly, and she understands. Not here. She carefully shifts the books out from the space in front of him, and when the table is clear he deflates, arms crossed on top of the table with his head cradled in between them. His chest rises and falls steadily, before increasing in pace, and Hermione realises that the boy is crying. She sits next to him awkwardly, fingers playing with the hem of her skirt as she watches the inaudible sobs rack his body; she doesn't know whether she should reach out, or say something, and so she waits until he lifts his head from the desk, sniffing, harshly wiping his cheeks with the heel of his hand.

The rest of the class is engrossed in their own little worlds, their own conversations. They don't notice the exchange happening at the back of the room.

"So, what have I missed?" His voice is measured, his eyes not looking at her. She can hear the croak in his throat from the crying. He nudges her arm slightly, and she slowly pushes her parchment in between them. His eyes skim the scribblings, and a slight crease appears on his forehead as he tries to decipher the shorthand. "What does…" He points to a section, and she explains to him in a low whisper, watching as he copies down what she's saying. Her eyes stray to his hand, still covered in ink stains, and she notes the red lines running from the back of it and down his wrist. There's quite a few of them, some shorter than others, some fresher. It's almost as if he has been scratching continuously, but his nails were too short to make such marks. She knows what kind of lines they really are, and what goes through someone's mind to make them do it.

"Malfoy…" She breaks off from explaining the work, and he glances at her from the corner of his eye. He puts his quill down and flexes his fingers, taking a break from the writing. With his hand now next to her left, she is once again hit with how large his hand is compared to hers. She lightly lifts his hand, tracing her thumb over the red lines before flipping his hand over, palm side up. His hand is soft, without calluses – the boy has never worked a day in his life, of course he wouldn't have rough hands. She rubs her fingers across small white scars that litter his palm; this obviously wasn't his first time sparring with his tormented mind. He watches her silently as she feels that urge to entwine her fingers with his, palm to palm, her head resting on his shoulder.

She drops his hand quickly.

She struggles to form a question that can express her concern, but not set off his short fuse. All she is able to come up with is a single word. "Why?"

He lets out a faint laugh, hair falling in front of his eyes as he stares at the table. With a flick of his head, he looks at her fully for the first time since he arrived. His eyes are sad, but the corners of his mouth are upturned, and when he sees that she's not laughing with him his mouth droops. "You're being serious?"

She frowns. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"I don't know. No one's ever really cared before, and for it to be you of all people…" He puffs his cheeks out before exhaling. "I guess I'm just afraid," he hesitates before adding, "of the future." He rubs the back of his palm softly.

"That doesn't mean you should harm yourself, Malfoy."

"We aren't friends, Granger. Remember? You're under no obligation to be nice to me."

"I may not be under any obligation, but I do care, Malfoy. Even about you."

He laughs again, and Hermione's mind goes haywire. Her brain is telling her to grab his face and kiss him, for as long as possible before they need to break for air. Instead, she tells that voice inside her to shut up, for once, just shut up – she looks into his grey eyes with what she hopes is a look of kindness and caring. "You should talk to people when you feel like this, Malfoy."

"Who am I supposed to talk to? You said it yourself, Crabbe and Goyle aren't the best listeners. And it's not like any one of them would understand what I'm going through right now anyway."

"Of course they will! If you never tell them then how will they help you? You can't suffer in silence. I'm sure they're just as afraid of the future as you are." The voice in the back of his mind starts whispering to him, if only she knew the truth about what you are, and he winces.

"Yeah, cause they're all terribly worried about their exams aren't they," he scoffs, running his hand through his hair. "Listen, Granger, I can look after myself. I don't need pity."

"Well, if you ever do feel like talking to someone…" She begins chewing on her lip. "I'm more than happy to listen."

He smiles slightly, and his eyes seem a tiny bit brighter than they were before, glancing back towards the front to see Slughorn erasing the notes on the board and drawing a new diagram, which he begins copying down on his paper. Hermione follows his lead, sketching the diagram onto her parchment, her cheek resting on her left hand. She can feel the warmth in her face and hopes he didn't notice her cheeks begin to colour.

They pass the rest of the lesson in complete silence, him occasionally dropping his quill to flex his fingers as they began to cramp, her swapping her parchment pieces as they became filled up. It is in lessons like Potions, when they have so much writing, that she misses the joys of Muggle notebooks.

Students begin filing out of the classroom, chattering and bickering amongst themselves, a calm chaos making its way towards the Great Hall for lunch. Ron walks past Hermione without so much as a passing glance. Lavender is clinging onto his elbow like always (Hermione wonders if Ron has claw marks in his arm from the death grip she has him in); she's cooing at him, playing with his bright shock of hair as they walk in step out of the classroom. When she passes, she gives Hermione a glare that boils her blood. It takes everything in her to not pull her wand out and hex the stupid girl. Harry follows them closely, stopping just before he leaves. He opens his mouth as if he's going to say something, before giving Malfoy a sideways look and shaking his head. He mouths "later" before catching up with Ron.

Hermione sighs to herself as she carefully rolls the six rolls of parchment she'd managed to fill in the lesson, numbering them on the back and slotting them into her bag. She purposefully takes her time, so she doesn't get caught in the crush and is free to wander alone. The room is silent apart from her packing her things away, and it makes her relax, to know there's no one else in the room; for once, no one is expecting anything of her. The inkwell gets sealed fully, turned upside down to make sure it won't leak, before it goes into the bag as well. Her quills go neatly in the front pocket. She slings the strap of the bag over her shoulder, before buckling it up (three notches on either side) and finally turning to leave the classroom a good five minutes after the lessons end. Someone steps out of the shadows and Hermione jumps, her heart stopping (well, it actually sped up, but that's not the saying).

Draco Malfoy smirks to himself as she clutches her chest.

"You git!" She hisses at him, waiting for her heart rate to slow. "You couldn't have just stood there like a normal person?"

"No, Granger. To have stood there like a 'normal person' would have meant Potty would have seen me loitering around, waiting for you."

"And is that such a bad thing?" She goes to push the door open with her shoulder, but Malfoy reaches over her head and opens it for her.

"To be seen with you?" He thinks for a minute as he closes the door behind them before falling into step with her. "It depends on who's seeing."

"So not Harry, not Ron," she counts them down on her fingers. "I'm assuming not any of your Slytherin 'friends'." She places air quotes around the word, making Malfoy laugh as he spins to face her, walking backwards down the corridor.

"Hey! Some of them are my friends."

"So who does that leave? Random Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff students and the professors?" He considers it for a moment, grinning.

"I suppose so," she shakes her head at him and he laughs again. "Come on, you can't say that you want Potty and the Weasel to see us together."

"No! Of course not! But sneaking around makes it seem as though we're doing something we shouldn't be…"

He wiggles his eyebrows at her. "I knew you had a dirty mind, Granger!" Her cheeks begin to blaze red and her eyes widen as she realises the second implication of her statement.

"I didn't mean it like that!" She swats for him, and he sidesteps out of the way. "As much as you go on about us not being even acquaintances, you really do act like we are."

"Well, Granger, you're the only person who's asked what's wrong." Not that you'd tell her. "And you can't talk; who's the one who always starts the conversations?"

"I just think it's nice to talk to people!" She doesn't mention that she wants to look into his eyes forever, that she wants to tangle her fingers in his hair, that she wants to be able to be with him, damn everyone else. She doesn't mention that the one thing she wants to do right now in this moment is reach out and grab his hand, and never let go. "Besides, I don't think Ronald is going to be talking to me any time soon."

He rolls his eyes. "Ah, yes. I saw how Weaselby was reacting with the blonde twit hanging off him."

Hermione bites her lip to keep from laughing. "He's mad at me because I called him a child this morning, though to be fair he was being quite childish, and not at all how a prefect should act." They emerge from the dungeons into the Entrance Hall, and Malfoy begins to head towards the Great Hall before he notices Hermione's hesitation. She's absently picking at the skin around her nails as she stares at the giant doors ahead of them. She can't bear the thought of going in there to suffer the glares and silence from her friends for the better part of an hour. But she doesn't know if she'd be able to last until dinner – her stomach was already beginning to gurgle at her now.

He glances towards the doors, then back to the bushy haired girl. He can see her debating whether or not to go in. "Wait here." Before she can say anything back, he slips through the large doors. Before the doors shut, she sees him making his way towards the Slytherin table, and hears the horrible shrill squeal of Pansy Parkinson as she jumps up to meet him.

Malfoy wraps one arm around Pansy, mentally rolling his eyes as she grasps onto him like he's a life ring and she's drowning. "Hi, Pans," he murmurs to her, before kissing her lightly on the cheek. He doesn't know why, but doing that felt like he was doing something wrong, something alien, though it was something that he did nearly every day. In fact he normally did more than kiss her on the cheek, but somehow this felt… forced. Like he was doing it because he knew it's what people wanted to see from him, not because he got enjoyment from it. He slides past Crabbe and Goyle, nodding at Blaise across the table. Theodore wiggles his brows at Malfoy and Pansy, to which Malfoy mouths: "Fuck off, Theo," which receives a hearty laugh from the other boy. He spies the fruit bowl in the middle of the table and untangles himself from Pansy, snatching a green apple and tossing it in the air before slipping it into his pocket. He turns to leave but hesitates, then grabs a red apple, placing that into his pocket as well.

As he starts back towards the doors, Pansy grabs onto his arm with a pout on her face. "But Draco," he can tell she's trying to make her voice sweet and honey-laced, but it just feels grating. It's nothing like the light, yet sometimes bossy, voice of the girl stood in the Hall. "You've only just arrived and I haven't seen you all day, and you were sat with that stupid Mudblood all of Potions…" Malfoy coughs slightly, shocked at the rage that had started to build in his stomach, and he has to fight himself to not shout at her that she's not stupid and she's not dirty, but he knows exactly how that would pan out.

"I know, Pans," he tries to be how he normally is with her – passive but caring – but it just feels fake on his tongue. "But I really need to study for this test. I'll see you at dinner, promise." With a final kiss on her cheek (making him feel slightly unclean) he quickly escapes the hall.

He didn't think she would be waiting, but there she is, in the Entrance Hall, leaning against a stone pillar with her nose in a book (who could expect anything less from Hermione Granger). He pulls the red apple from his pocket and polishes it against his robe before he steps in front of her and places his fingertips on the top of her book, slightly pushing it downwards and away from her face. Her head snaps up suddenly, and he smirks at her as he holds the apple out to her. She stares at it for a moment, before reaching out and taking it, smiling up at him. "Thank you." She daintily bites into it as he pulls his own (green) apple out of his pocket, placing it in his mouth and taking a huge chunk out of it. He leans down and grabs her bag, apple still in his mouth, starting off down the corridor towards the Charms classroom. "Hey!" She goes for the strap and he swings it out of the way, holding it out of her reach.

"Uh-uh," he slings the strap over his shoulder. "You were too slow; I'm carrying it."

"How was I too slow? I didn't even know we were leaving!"

"Well you should've used that big brain of yours and assumed it." He pokes her gently in the forehead and she laughs, taking another bite from the apple. He can't help but look at her lips as she takes a tiny piece off the apple.

"That's not fair," she grumbles around the apple, before swallowing. "You're not even in Charms now." She points out, triumphant at having found a flaw in his plan.

"I know," He twists the stem off the apple, crunching down on the last part, the stem being the only indication that Malfoy had had an apple in the first place. "I just thought you'd appreciate having someone to walk with, seeing as Potty is too much of a coward to go against his boyfriend and speak to you, and the other one is too much of a brat to do anything but ignore you – which means he knows that he's in the wrong, of course."

"Oh. Well, thank you, Malfoy. That's very… kind of you." She is holding the core of her own apple awkwardly in her hand.

"Here," he holds his hand out, and she gives him the core, watching as he eats it. "Apples are my favourites," he grins down at her, and she can't help but smile back up at him. "But, the green ones are superior, obviously." Hermione gapes at him in mock-offence. "Green beats every colour, every day of the week, Granger." He shrugs, still grinning. "Sorry you can't handle the truth."

"Mister Malfoy, you know for a fact that's not true!" They reach the Charms classroom with another 15 minutes to spare, and Malfoy drops Hermione's bag on the floor by her feet.

"Name one colour better than green."

"Well… blue!"

"Blue is boring. It's an eyesore. Try again."

She thinks for a moment, chewing her lip. "Pink."

He looks down at her inquisitively. "I didn't take you for the type of girl to like the colour pink, Granger."

"I'll have you know, Malfoy, at home my room is painted bright pink."

He laughs, and Hermione finds herself laughing with him. "I honestly thought you'd have a more subtle room… like beige." She slaps him on the arm and he looks at her in shocked awe as he rubs the area. "One – ow. Two – fine, noted, Hermione Granger hates the colour beige." He leans against the wall and runs a hand through his hair so he can look at her clearly. "And to answer the original question: no, pink is in no way better than green. Next."

"Red."

He scoffs. "There is absolutely no universe in which red looks better than green. No offence, Granger, but I think out of the two of us I look one thousand times better."

That's a lie. The only colour better than green in this moment is red, and that is because it is the colour he associates with her. Her red cheeks when she blushes at the slightest of things. Her red lips when she chews on them for so long. The red of her robes and her tie. When he looks at her he sees red, and for once in his life that isn't a bad thing. For once it doesn't mean he's angry. Now, in his mind, red symbolises calm, and kindness. It represents books and rain and just being.

He could see himself beginning to enjoy the colour red.

They stand there and talk some more, laughing with each other and learning that perhaps the other isn't so bad after all. When there's only five minutes to the lesson, he begins to hear chatter down the corridor, and he feels his heart sink. "I have a free period after Divination." He doesn't know how he's going to get to the other side of the building to get there on time, but he doesn't care. "I'll probably be in the library if you'd want to…" He pauses, considering how to end the sentence. "If you want to just exist together for a while."

She laughs, a beautiful lilting noise that makes Malfoys stomach flip. "I think it would be great to 'just exist' for a while."

He smiles at her, and she smiles back, and he has to restrain himself from leaning down and kissing her – not like he kisses Pansy, a proper, tender, loving kiss. The sort of kiss you read about in fairy stories.

But this wasn't a fairy story.

This was Draco Malfoy.

And he couldn't be seen kissing Hermione Granger. He knew what the price would be if the wrong people found out.

He turns to leave, adding over his shoulder: "See you in a bit, Granger."

"I'll see you later, Draco." She calls after him as the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw students make their way around the corner. Those who heard eye her weirdly, but don't say anything. Harry, Ron, and Lavender are the last Gryffindors to turn the corner.

Malfoy saunters in a happy daze through the corridors. He contemplates not showing up to Divination at all, but he doesn't want to seem suspicious, and so arrives exactly nine minutes late. It's only when he's sat with Pansy's head resting on his shoulder, and her fingers entwined with his, he realises that Hermione Granger had used his first name.

And he quite liked it.