Once again, this story is dedicated to shadowofadoubt72, who reviews all my chapters wonderfully and gives me the inspiration and spirit to keep on going.

To my beta and great pal artificially flavoured: Yo girl! Thanks for reading my work!

To:hurlingbaybe06, thank you so much for your encouragement and praise! This is for you, too!

It was strange; Drusilla simply couldn't bring herself to be totally interested in playing Wizard's Chess with Ron a while after Harry saw her back to her common room and headed straight for his Quidditch practice. So when his bishop dragged her bishop off the board and proceeded to maul it in an especially barbaric way, she simply sat back and sighed, a glazed look in her eyes.

Ron raised his eyebrows at her in surprise, clearly puzzled by her odd behavior. Normally, she'd complain about his insane chess pieces or something, but now, she was strangely silent. "Are you all right?"

No answer.

"Dru?" he tried again, leaning over in his chair and raised his voice a little. "Are you ill?"

This time, she jumped, startled, and her eyes began to focus on him. "What?"

He frowned at her. Something was definitely up. "I said, are you ill? You're behaving so oddly this evening."

"Oh." She looked a little awkward. "I'm just tired, I guess." She flashed him a weak smile, feeling that it would most probably crack on her face. "It's been a long day. How's Ginny, anyway?"

"Oh, she's allowed to come back from the Hospital Wing this evening," Ron said, successfully distracted from his original thoughts. "Thanks to Madam Pomfrey." An idea seemed to hit him, and he leaned over a little again, his eyes gleaming a little. "I want to ask you something."

Drusilla sat back and eyed him warily. Whenever Ron got these looks, it was something to worry about. "What is it?"

It came out in a decided rush. "Do you like Harry?"

She blinked. What kind of a question was that? "Of course! He's my best friend."

He looked faintly exasperated and helpless at the same time. Where was Hermione? "No! Not that way!"

"What way?"

"Not the friends way." He was turning as red as his hair, and Drusilla was more confused than ever. Whatever did he mean? "I meant, do you fancy him?"

"Of course not!" she had to laugh. This was getting stranger and stranger every minute. "He's my best friend, for Merlin's sake, Ron."

"Oh." He leaned back, looking strangely disappointed.

"You're a nutter, you know." she said, not really noticing his sudden expression. Not when her thoughts were full of a certain Slytherin.

***

"Drakie, oh honey, are you all right?" came an all-too-annoying coo from behind him, and as expected, cool hands reached up from behind him to gently squeeze his shoulders. "You look angry."

Draco tried not to bristle at the annoying nickname she had taken to giving him. And he didn't even want to think about how she had managed to sneak into his room without being caught. "Pansy," he said coolly, not bothering to look at her. What was the use? "What the hell are you doing?"

"Oh, Drakie," her silky voice assuming an air of a hurt puppy. "I just wanted to see if you were all right, you know. You don't have to be so mean to me." She leaned in and he caught a faint whiff of the beef stew she'd had for dinner earlier before he felt her moist lips on his neck, making her true purpose known. He caught her by the wrist and pulled her down to him, his emotions threatening to overwhelm him.

She would just have to do tonight.

You mean nothing to me, filthy House Elf, he thought as he crushed his lips against Pansy's, his anger and frustration seething within him. Her face rose within his thoughts and refused to leave, making him even more furious. She was now with that bloody Potter, he'd seen that in the corridors, and there was no mistaking that speccy git's almost radiant expression.

Not to mention she had worn his scarf, too.

Potty's bloody scarf around her bloody neck.

With a growl of anger, he ripped off Pansy's sweater and her skirt, showing off her perfect body. Perfect breasts; perfect legs, perfect…

No, not perfect. Not like Drusilla.

Even her skin wasn't as soft. They seemed as rough as sandpaper. No, no one could compare to Drusilla now. He wanted her, her, and no one else.

Drusilla…

Overcome with a wave of disgust at himself and at the present situation, he picked up Pansy's clothes and tossed them at her. "Get out of my room, bitch. I'm not in the mood tonight."

***

Drusilla tried desperately not to make a sound as she made her way down the now-empty corridor. It was late now, and she was hungry, having had nothing to eat for dinner.

She looked around warily for any signs of Filch and his damned cat, crossing her fingers and hoping that the dreadful twosome were off somewhere else in the castle catching other students who were out of their beds. Of course, it really did not help that Filch's office was now located near the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff dormitories, and it seemed like Filch really had a vendetta against them in particular.

Especially since she heard that Harry read the Kwikspell letter that revealed that Filch was a Squib a few years ago. In retaliation, the man seemed more determined to catch him, to get him back or something.

Maybe I should use the Kwikspell thing too, she thought dryly. That might stop me from being so hopeless in my classes and keep myself from losing points in Snape's Potions.

Thinking about Potions class set off a wave of faint depression, bringing back the unpleasant experiences this morning, when Draco had been strangely nice and reaching new levels of viciousness where she was concerned, and he seemed to think that she and Harry had something going on. It was either that or he was just trying to irritate him, too.

Inwardly, she marveled at Draco's smoothness, the calm and almost oily way he always managed to get under Harry's skin and annoy him to no end. Unlike his first few years in Hogwarts, Draco had almost found a new way to really aggravate everybody under the sun.

She clenched her fists. Of all people, why him? Why did she have to like him? It had gotten steadily worse; it took lots of effort to actually not stare at him in class, and as Fate would have it, she had always ended up somewhere in his immediate vicinity.

It was annoying.

She tucked her hands in her robes, remembering the expression on Draco's face earlier that evening. For a split second, his normally cold and impassive demeanor flashed anger and a strange sort of feeling that she couldn't put into words.

It was as if she'd hurt him on some kind of level.

And then he resumed his normal expression, of cold marble and ice. He looked through her as if she wasn't there even as they passed each other, leaving Drusilla with a bitter feeling in her heart, no matter how many times she told herself that he was a sodding asshole who did not deserve anything from her.

No, no…he isn't, was her next, immediate thought. He was not an asshole. She could see him for who he really was, a boy, a boy who had lived in brute force all his life, a boy who had received no love at all from his family, only fear, hate, and anger.

In many ways, he was so much worse off than Harry. She could see him, see the fleeting traces of humanity he still had within him, the hidden compassion, the remnants of trust that his father had failed to utterly destroy. She felt his passion, his joy, his pain, with the keenness of a brand to her skin. It seemed like his cold, arrogant, unyielding exterior fell away whenever his eyes met hers

She could see him.

And she loved him.

And he's afraid of that, she thought in quiet realization. Because no one has ever loved him unconditionally before. That's why he behaved the way he did. He was scared.

Her mind flicked back to the scene in Potions this morning when he had stepped in to prevent her from getting into trouble. She saw the disturbed looks the rest of the Slytherins gave him when he spoke in her defense, she saw the momentary flicker of his hooded gray eyes.

And she knew that whatever he said to her a little later was not what he wanted to say at all. He had his pride, the Malfoy pride, after all, and she supposed that she couldn't exactly blame him.

His circumstances molded him that way.

Breathing a soft sigh, she closed her eyes for a moment, willing herself to alleviate the pain. Understanding was one thing; being hurt was another thing entirely.

Too deep in her own thoughts, she did not realize that she had taken a few steps towards the way into the dungeons—the Slytherin dormitories—until the cold, lazy drawl of Draco Malfoy sounded just behind her.

"What are you doing here, Fontaine?"

She whirled around, startled out of her wits, only to see his face settling in a scowl, his hands crossed casually over his chest. "Well?"

Speak of the devil, she thought, suddenly tongue-tied. Was he telepathic or what? Swallowing the lump that had suddenly lodged itself in her throat, she said, "I'm going to the kitchens."

"Nice try, House Elf. Have you gotten so stupid that you've actually lost your way?" he sneered, carefully mastering his own surprise upon seeing her.

The remark should've hurt, but it didn't, even as she looked straight into his frosty eyes, the color of a gray dawn in the middle of winter.

They stood like this for a moment, with Draco momentarily disarmed. He couldn't help but notice how beautiful she looked in the dim candlelight that danced over her smooth features. She looked so different from the time he'd studied her in the Hospital Wing, and she looked more luminous than ever. Her eyes were the deepest, softest brown, like melted chocolate that spoke volumes and seemed to see right through him. Was this the nature of her kind?

Grabbing on to his last vestiges of cold indifference and the walls he had already recognized as his own, he glared back at her, willing her to leave before he gave in to his weakness.

Before he gave in to his intense feelings for her.

When had it all started? When had the thin line of pure hate been crossed, into the boundaries of love? When did he begin to love her? Was it when all his hate and his anger had been drained away, leaving the dregs of true feelings that he had left?

He spoke before he realized he'd done so. "I shouldn't have come out here."

"Why?" her query was soft, almost like a caress.

He stared hard at her, searching her eyes for the answer as to why these feelings were suddenly upon him. "What are you doing to me, Drusilla?" he had come out here because he couldn't stand to sleep in the room where he'd almost had sex with Pansy. It made him feel…filthy.

It wasn't like this before, he knew. He didn't care how many he bedded, as long as he was happy. And he'd never thrown Pansy out on her skinny ass before. So what was so different now?

The answer came to him almost immediately: Drusilla.

She stepped closer to him, until he could smell the pleasant scent of springtime roses on her, her footsteps faltering slightly. "The same thing you are doing to me, Draco."

She used his first name. Again.

There was a soft, gentle smile on her face as she took his face in her hands, sensing his inner turmoil. He simply stared at her, not moving a muscle. He wanted to trust, he wanted to love…but could he? It went against everything he'd been brought up to believe, and yet something in him was screaming for it, was yearning for it.

Torn, he simply watched her even as her smooth, slender fingers—so unlike Pansy's—gently traced his eyebrows, her eyes lighting a little in wonder. Draco felt himself sink even further. He grabbed her slim hands in his, giving in to the fierce longing within him at last.

Merlin, he loved her so…

His eyes not leaving hers, he brought her palm to his lips, enjoying the feel of her satin skin against his own. She was here, no matter what he'd said to her, the vicious remarks, the cruel insults…she was here.

But…there was something else. His eyes flashed at the thought, and he squeezed her hand. "What about Potter, Fontaine? Thinking of two-timing?"

She frowned. "Harry?" then her expression lightened as she realized what he was talking about. "He's my best friend. That's all there really is to it." She paused at his disbelieving look. "It's really not what you think, you know. Earlier in the corridors, all I had wanted to do was to hurt you."

Her eyes were so honest; it was hard even for him to not believe her.

She rested her other hand on the one that had been squeezing hers, and he noticed that he was gripping it until it was white. But she never flinched. "You can be yourself around me, Draco. You don't have to be afraid, you don't have to pretend, because I see you for who you are." She remembered the time she'd insulted him in Diagon Alley.

He felt vulnerable now, and it was both a strangely pleasant and unpleasant feeling. Swallowing, he spoke his heart. He needed an answer. "Why aren't you walking away from me?"

"I don't need a reason to stay."

"Love is a weakness that could get us killed."

"Your weaknesses are your greatest strengths." She matched him word for word, and he hated that she was right. "I love you."

He felt momentarily stunned at those three supposedly little words. Countless girls had used it so many times on him that it had no meaning anymore, but to hear her say them, to hear those seemingly meaningless words spill out of her mouth…

"What?" For once, his voice had lost its cool touch, and he allowed himself to hope. She looked into his startled silver eyes, now looking more vulnerable than she'd ever seen him, eyes that now held none of its dark secrets or hidden memories. Her heart warmed at his evident trust.

He trusted her enough to let go.

She repeated herself, her voice losing none of its conviction. "I love you, Draco Malfoy."

Draco lowered his head to hers, and their lips met. This time, it was gentle and filled with longing, emotions that were kept deeply hidden until now. He explored her mouth thoroughly, desperately seeking to taste her once more. It had been too long since he'd last kissed those wonderful lips of hers, too long…

She leaned into him, and he absently felt her fingers running through his hair, sending little tendrils spilling down from their normally gelled position. His hand, the one that had rested on the small of her back, pushed her closer to him even as his other hand stroked her side, her neck, then her cheek.

He felt it then, when she responded to him with fervor. Something that he did not believe that he could ever experience. He felt…love. A warm, gentle feeling that spread through him, and he made a small sound in his throat at the wonderful sensations.

Was it supposed to be like this, then? This thought belonged to the both of them as they gave themselves to the moment, kissing and caressing in front of the Slytherin dormitory, not caring anymore as to who saw them. All that mattered were each other.

All that mattered was love, burning brightly in the darkness, within the two people who were as different as night and day.

But reality was not to be outdone by the sweet realization of love and passion. Within the shadows of the dormitory, a lone figure watched.

And seethed.

***

"Good morning, guys!" Drusilla chirped with a wide grin, joining them at the table. They were halfway through their breakfast, and Harry was still bleary eyed after the especially rigorous practice Wood had put them through last night. He could barely keep awake, and kept nodding off. Ron was yawning, and Hermione was poring over her books. All in all, it was a less than energetic team that greeted her this lovely morning.

"Morning," Ron yawned and stretched, nearly knocking Harry's glasses off. "Thank God it's Saturday. At least I don't have to deal with Potions lessons for two days."

"Morning, Dru." Hermione peered at her curiously. "You're strangely chipper today. What were you doing last night?"

"What?" Drusilla raised an eyebrow.

The bushy haired girl smiled faintly and tapped her quill thoughtfully against her book. "I saw you go out at eleven thirty, and it was close to three when you returned. What were you doing?"

Goodness, had she been making out with Draco for four straight hours? It all seemed so…fast, though, come to think of it. But then she couldn't exactly say that, could she? They had vowed to keep their current relationship a secret, because they both knew that there was so much to lose if word got out that they were involved. "I was in the kitchens eating," she replied, hoping that they did not see through her lie. "I didn't eat anything for dinner yesterday, you know."

Hermione looked knowing. "Oh. Okay."

Drusilla squirmed under her gaze. Did she see the particularly steamy kiss she and Draco both shared in front of the Fat Lady portrait when he walked her back to her dorm? But it couldn't be possible, could it? She was an elf, after all, and would most certainly hear her if she was anywhere nearby.

Harry looked confused at the sudden amount of questioning Hermione had heaped on her, but chose to say nothing as he spooned through his cornflakes. Well, at least Drusilla was back to her old self now, not dreaming or staring into space like what she'd done since the beginning of the school term.

That was good, wasn't it?

But why did he feel as though he should be disappointed?

***