Authors Note: I got kind of fed up with this story for a while, but I figured it deserved another chance. I've been real busy lately what with finals and all, and I'm going away, so I figured I'd post a bit more while I still can. Thanks to the people who reviewed. I own nothing, while JK Rowling owns everything good and Harry Potter related.

Chapter Six

Draco stood in his doorway and watched her leave. He stayed there until he could no longer hear her footsteps echoing down the long stone corridor. Then he shut the door, locked it, and began to ward it heavily because the last thing he needed right then was for someone to barge in. Most of all his father. It would be just like Lucius to show up without warning and come charging into Hogwarts. In fact, he would probably apparate right into Draco's room….

He gave himself a mighty mental kick. He had read Hogwarts, A History from cover to cover and he couldn't even remember a stupid thing like the anti-apparating charm. Hermione made him feel so stupid. Or maybe that was just from the added stress of her inevitable murder by his father. Lucius would never raise a hand against Draco, but he had no such scruples regarding non family members. The owl had definitely had the scrying spell, Draco could tell by the eerie human look in its eyes. Lucius did that sometimes when he felt like controlling his son's life. He would have called it fatherly concern, but Draco knew why he really did it. Because after all, what is life without people to manipulate? So he would see the episode with the owl and Hermione, and immediately try to find out who had spent the night in his son's bed. And when he found out that she was a mudblood…. As much as her wasn't terribly happy with Hermione, he couldn't exactly let her die, could he? And Lucius would almost definitely kill her, especially if his Death Eater cronies were around to see the owl. What he needed most was time to think.

Draco flopped onto his bed to do so, before realizing that not a half-hour before, Hermione had been next to him. He tried to ignore it, but he couldn't because he kept seeing the faint indentation of her head on the pillow. He closed his eyes and pretended that she was still there, and when that failed, he threw himself off the bed altogether.

He wasn't sure how he felt about her at the moment. Part of him had wanted to hurt her terribly for what she had said about his father. Because she, like the rest of the school, put him into one of two categories. Either he's a prat because he wants to be, or he's a prat because his father beats him, they thought. She was jumping to the obvious conclusion that anyone in her situation would have made. Who would guess it wasn't Lucius's hand that held the whip? Well they were all wrong, although he would never admit it. But the other part of him wanted so much to keep her out of his father's clutches, even if it meant telling his father bits and pieces of the truth. And Lucius would not like the truth at all.

Ok, Draco decided, this whole thinking thing isn't working. Either I worry about my life, or I worry about hers. And because everyone else was in Hogsmead, there was not much else to do. He decided he would take a shower, so he walked into the bathroom. He glanced at himself in the mirror, and found what he saw there profoundly disturbing. Something was definitely wrong.

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Hermione walked as calmly as she could out of the Slytherin common room. She walked as calmly as she could through the dungeons to the entrance hall. She calmly walked up the stairs, down another maze of hallways to the Gryffindor common room. She gave the Pink Lady the password, which quite unfortunately was "love conquers all," and climbed through the portrait hole. Then she stopped dead. Sitting in the chair in front of the fire, with his back to her, was someone with the distinct red hair of a Weasley brother. And she had a pretty good idea which one it had to be.

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Draco stood there in front of the mirror in shock. Everything about his appearance was the same: his hair, his body, his face, the color of his eyes. But his eyes were strangely changed, and as he looked into the mirror he felt as if he could see his soul through his eyes. People said that in books a lot. In fact, he hated it when people said that in books. But it was only supposed to happen when you were looking into the eyes of the person you loved. It definitely was not supposed to happen to your mirror image.

He started shaking again. His father would be really pissed that he had shown so many signs of weakness in one day. Draco had no idea what was going on. His eyes had a new depth. He had seen it a million times in other people, on almost everyone else, but never in himself. It troubled him greatly.

Draco stripped off his clothes and turned the shower on. The water down here was always incredibly cold, but he didn't even notice anymore. He stood in the shower, letting it wash over him, and played back the events of the last few days in his head. He thought about waking up with her staring into his eyes, and pulling her down next to him. He owed her an explanation, and would give one to her eventually. She couldn't help saying what she had, she hadn't known the truth. He had ruined everything.

Draco sighed heavily and leaned back against the cool stones of the shower. He was beginning to dislike the weakling romantic he was becoming. Silently, he slid down to the floor and sat there as he let the water take away the last of his bitter mask.