The day had not been good.

It started out okay; I got up, washed, dressed, growled at Crabbe and Goyle for being idiots, and left the Slytherin common room unscathed.

I took a while longer than usual walking to the Great Hall for breakfast. I was half hoping to run into someone... again. I was thinking this unconsciously, I'm sure, because I know perfectly well I hate Hermione.

I mean that Granger Mudblood.

When I didn't see her, or anyone, for that matter, in the corridors, I was almost disappointed. Why? I'm not sure.

The thing is, I've been taught to hate people like Hermi - um, Granger. "Filthy, stinking, good-for-nothing wizards," as my father would say, and had been saying since I was very young.

So why couldn't I bring myself to hate her anymore?

It wasn't that I liked her or anything, I told myself, just hated her less.

Maybe I'm ill.

~

Halfway through the day, I was showing no signs of sickness and I still didn't hate Hermione Granger. In fact, I didn't dislike her at all. And I felt bad when I snapped at Hagrid during Care of Magical Creatures. Why? Because he's close to Hermione. Granger! I mean Granger.

So I left that class feeling upset.

Transfiguration, my other morning class that day, was like any other. But H - Granger isn't in that class.

The next time I saw her was at lunch. She was walking with Potter and Weasley, talking and laughing. I felt a hot surge of anger and jealousy as I watched them. They seated themselves at the Gryffindor table, Hermione between them. As I watched, Ron whispered something to Hermione and she blushed and giggled.

I suddenly lost my appetite.

No Potions today, so the next time I would see her would be at dinner.

Surprising myself, I was anxiously awaiting supper that night. Well, I must be hungry, I thought. That's why. No other reason.

Even inside my head, I knew it was a bloody stupid excuse.

I wanted to see her.

~

As I lay in bed that night, I remembered my earlier argument with myself. Over Hermione. Over a stupid Mud - um, Muggle-born.

I don't know why, but the term "Mudblood" has become somewhat offensive to me.

Why couldn't I hate her? Actually, I did: I hated her for looking at me with her brown eyes filled with tears, for making me fell compelled to apologize to her.

Feel compelled? I angrily told myself. I did it of my own accord! Nothing compelled me! And that's what bothered me most of all!

No, the thing that bothered me most of all was that it was getting harder and harder to ridicule her, and to make myself see her as my father wants me to.

My father.

A little voice in the back of my head tells me my father has no say in this.

I know that, I know that, and I like that I should be able to have my own opinion of Hermione.

God, I hope I'm not falling in love.

~

Midnight came and went, and still I couldn't sleep. I decided I could use a nighttime stroll. It didn't occur to me that was, well, not allowed.

I walked out of the Slytherin common room into the corridors, wandering the halls, watching the paintings. Most of them were asleep, but there were a few who lingered, chatting with each other or eating.

I was so absorbed in the artwork, I didn't hear another set of footsteps coming down the hall towards me.

By the time I noticed them, I was afraid it was too late to hide myself. I strained my ear and knew the footsteps were close, but I couldn't see anybody. Confused, I stood rooted to the spot, not bothering to conceal myself. Finally, I took a tentative step forward - and stepped on something slippery.

I lost my footing and fell backwards, dragging something with me. When I sat up, I saw a long, silvery, liquidish looking cloak draped over me, and Hermione Granger standing, looking horrified, above me.

My heart leapt.

"Malfoy!" She hissed. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing," I said, not as maliciously as I would have liked. "Couldn't give me a hand, could you?"

She looked startled, but extended her hand. I took it and pulled myself up, holding the cloak.

"What is this thing?" I asked.

"It-it's an Invisibility Cloak," she replied, hesitant and uncertain.

"Potter's?" I asked.

She bit her lip, then nodded.

I realized then she was trembling.

"Hey - you don't have to be afraid of me, you know," I told her without looking up.

"I'm not afraid of you," she said in a very unconvincing tone.

Finally, I looked at her. "What are you doing out here in the middle of the night?"

"Walking," she said, more bravely this time. "Just walking. Can I have Harry's cloak back, now?"

"In a minute," I said, hoping to protract her stay.

"Give it here!" She commanded firmly.

"Fine, fine," I said softly, handing it to her reluctantly.

"Er - thanks," she whispered, her expression softening.

I was still holding onto the Invisibility Cloak, and so was she.

"Um...Malfoy," she said suddenly. "The - the cloak..."

"What? Oh, sorry," I apologized to her for the second time in a little over a week.

She looked at me with a sort of penetrating stare. Then she spoke.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" She blurted out.

Taken aback, I fixed her with a Malfoy Look. I hadn't realized how civil I was being.

"I'm tired," I snapped.

Her face fell. She turned and started to walk away.

"Hey - wait," I called, without realizing it. When she turned, she looked as surprised as I was.

"What?" She asked, walking back towards me.

I just looked at her. Something had come over me, and I wasn't entirely sure I liked it, but I wanted her to stay.

"Walk with me," I said suddenly.

"What?" She replied, louder this time.

"Walk. With. Me."

What was I saying? I was supposed to be at war with this girl! And yet...

"Um," she stuttered, looking around. "Al-Alright, I suppose."

"Throw the cloak over us so no one sees."

She was looking at me, puzzled. I didn't blame her. I was puzzled myself.

She hesitated, then threw the cloak over our shoulders. We stood close together and made our way down the corridor.

We didn't say anything for a very long time. She was leading. We walked through tapestries and up staircases, through solid walls and past snoring portraits. Finally, she stopped at a picture of a very fat lady in a very hideous pink dress.

"Um - this is the Gryffindor Tower," she whispered.

"Oh, right," I said.

There was an awkward silence.

"Hey - can I take this?" I asked, motioning to the cloak. "I'll probably need it to get back to Slytherin House. I can give it back to you tomorrow."

As hard as she was working to conceal her confusion and puzzlement over my sudden change in attitude, it wasn't working.

"I guess you can," she replied. "Just make sure you give it back."

"I will," I said.

She didn't take it off. We were facing each other, our noses and inch apart.

It happened very suddenly. In a rush of adrenaline, I leaned forward quickly and kissed her. She didn't push me away, but when we broke apart she looked as though she'd been Stunned.

"I - I -" was all she could stammer.

"I'm sorry," I muttered. "I - have to go -"

But she shouted, "Wait!" and I turned, and couldn't take it, and I pulled her close and kissed her again. She held me back, her arms around me, and we stood there, the Invisibility Cloak forgotten at our feet.

My father will not be happy.