Author's notes: Okay, this chapter is pretty short, but I thought it really needed to be separated! The third chapter might take a little longer, 'cause I'm probably gunna do a bit of art to go with each chapter ^.^ (me like drawing very much!)

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Chapter two

Hermione went back to the Gryffindor Common room with Ron, where they talked a little with Lee Jordan for a while; before Harry came back from Quidditch practise, all sodden and muddy. Harry looked exhausted. Hermione guessed it might just have been because he had stayed up so late the previous night, trying to finish all of his fifth year homework at the last minute. Harry, on the other hand, appeared to want to stay up and joke with his fellow Gryffindors; Hermione decided to go to bed. She bided Ron and Harry goodnight, and made her way up to the girl's dormitories.

Later that night, Hermione woke up with her feet feeling extremely cold. She rubbed her eyes and peered down the bed to investigate; the end of her blankets had rolled off the side of the bed. Grumbling, she sat up and rearranged her blankets. She lay down again and Malfoy's face flickered in her mind.

"Why do I keep on thinking about Malfoy?? It's annoying!!" she thought to herself.

"Oh come on, it's not like you haven't noticed!" replied a small voice in her head.

"Ha! Noticed what exactly??" Malfoy's face appeared again; but this time his eyes were more noticeable than ever: they looked big and almost innocent, the silver in his eyes shining brighter.

"Okay yes, I suppose he can look quite handsome if you forget how such a nasty person he is!!" she snapped back at the voice, feeling her face burning up. "Look shut up! I-I don't fancy Malfoy!" she closed her eyes tightly and forbade herself to discuss about Malfoy any further.

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Malfoy lay awake in his four poster. He had been thinking over something, running through it again and again in his head. He was thinking about Hermione.

"Yes okay, she can look quite pretty... but I most definitely do still hate her!" he thought to himself. But no matter how many times he told himself this, he still felt disappointed about something; something he couldn't yet grasp...