There had to be some sort of trick that men didn't know. Some button they could push to just make it all STOP. Or perhaps it was just all wishful thinking on his part—which it probably was, but that didn't stop him from asking the Heavens anyway.

And his pristine handkerchief was irreparably ruined.

Normally, being the center of attention wasn't so very bad. He liked it. He positively glowed. But really, this was a different situation altogether.

Another hacking wheeze drew his attention and made him groan inwardly.

"Granger?" He couldn't believe how—nice he was being to her. What the hell happened? They were having a somewhat pleasant conversation about how wrong she was and then he… erm, showed a little affection toward her, and then…

She decided to flood the entire train with her tears.

"Granger?" he repeated softly with a bit more urgency in his voice. Some of the Muggle women had an almost accusatory look on their faces. Evidently they thought he was the reason behind Granger's crying.

"No… body… under… sta… ands me," she hiccupped. "No… one does."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Right, Granger. Everyone thinks that you're this horrid monster out to kill people when they're not looking or worse swindle them blind. Right, that's the story of your life."

Hermione let out a strangled wail making even more people look in their direction.

Draco never felt this sort of humiliation before. Sure, he knew the looks of contempt people gave him behind his back, the whispered words of hate when they thought he couldn't hear. Seriously though, Muggles? Muggles looking at him like he was the spawn of Lucifer?

Surely, he was better looking than that.

"All right, Granger," he said, his voice stern and full of authority. "I'll count from one to three and then I'll expect to see you shut—quiet," he quickly amended.

"One…"

Sniff.

"Two…"

Sniff.

"Three!"

Nothing.

Nothing except for Granger looking at him. Staring at him. If looks could kill… Draco could only hope that he could be reincarnated as something pretty. Like a butterfly. Or maybe even a—

"What?" he asked sharply.

Her glare never wavered. "You're a mean-hearted bastard, did you know?"

"Bastard?" he repeated, the drawl back in his voice. "You know that isn't true, Granger."

"Mean-spirited arsehole!"

Draco nodded appreciatively. "Much better."

Indeed it was much better. He preferred angry words to tears. So hex him to Hades and back. He didn't know how to deal with crying girls. Sure, he could get them crying in a blink of an eye, but stopping? That was something alien to his system. Like say… poverty.

"Glad to see you're calm and… dry again," he said as he picked up his long discarded paper and began to open it.

"Malfoy?"

"Hmm…"

"Why are you reading a Muggle newspaper?"

Draco titled his head to the side and considered his companion for a moment. "Well, let's see. Before you came, I was bored and had absolutely nothing to do. Someone had left this here and I figured that it would give me something to laugh about later. You know like, 'Oh ha ha ha ha. Stupid Muggles and their so-called government. Can they be even more pathetic?'" That earned him another glare which he ignored as he moved on. "Then you came. And you provided much entertainment. However, now you are no longer entertaining so I revert to this newspaper."

She couldn't tell really. Rage? Fury? What was the difference? It was like the difference between irritation and annoyance. They were synonymous, weren't they? So why do you need so many words to just describe one feeling? Nevertheless, Hermione wanted nothing more than to… to kill and… torture and… make him cry and… fester… and rot and… be… very, very dirty.

Especially the dirty part.

She stood up abruptly and whispered without facing, "Goodbye, you infuriating prat. Thank for the nastiest meal ever witnessed by man. I will remember it fondly while looking back on the worst days of my life."

Draco gave a low chuckle. "Goodbye for now, Granger."

~~*~~

Hermione sighed as she closed the door to her compartment.

Stupid prat, she thought as she sat back down and gazed out of the window. Again. And now it's back to square one.

Maybe she should have stayed with Malfoy?

Hermione mentally smacked herself. That was Draco Malfoy. The criminal, Draco Malfoy. Mister Draco "I eat Mudbloods for breakfast" Malfoy. The bane of her existence.

The only person she could talk to at this point. Very unsettling.

She closed her eyes. She felt drained, emotionally and physically. She felt like an utter twat for having burst into tears but something inside of her just—snapped. And it caused this great waterfall of humiliation.

Even now she could feel them threatening to fall once again. When did things become so difficult? When did they become too hard or heavy to handle? Because now, it felt like the whole world was on her shoulders. When did that happen?

She shook her head morosely. But she couldn't help but recall what Malfoy said… What did he say again? Oh right…

What happens when you're wrong? What if you misjudge someone? Make someone out to be the 'bad guy' when in reality, he really isn't? You aren't 'the eyes of the people.'

Could it be even remotely possible that Draco Malfoy just might be as innocent as he was implying?

No, she didn't want to think about that anymore.

She lifted her legs up on the seat and leaned her head back against the window, her eyes slowly closing. Soon they will be in Paris and after that, she would board another train and journey for Nice.

And then, she'll be far, far away from Draco Malfoy.

Far, far away.

A/N: Thank you for all the reviews! You are all so lovely! ^__^ I'm just about to start Chapter Five and hope to get it to you right away. They finally reach Paris and Hermione finds herself in another "situation."