2:05

"That damn bird is really creeping me out. That's the third time it's shown up here."

"Fawkes is brilliant, Malfoy. You know, he saved Harry's life once."

"I already told you I dislike that bird. Why add more fuel to the fire?"

She graced him with a poisonous glare, but chose not to address the comment, saying instead, "anyway, I told you, he's supposed to check in on us. He's Dumbledore's chaperone. He's making sure you haven't murdered me yet to protect the future of wizardkind."

He glared right back at her, but when he spoke, it was to change the subject. "I'm bored as hell of cards. Look through Sinistra's stuff- see if she's got anything interesting lying around."

Hermione was scandalized. "I will do no such thing!"

"Fine." Draco unfolded himself and got to his feet with a lithe, fluid grace. "I'll do it myself."

He stalked over to Sinistra's desk and began rummaging through the drawers while Hermione looked on, speechless with indignation on her professor's behalf. A moment later he straightened up, holding a wooden box in his hands and shooting her a roguish grin and why, WHY did she find it so hard to keep hold of her righteous anger when he looked at her like that?

"Chess," he announced, with immense satisfaction. "Do you play?"

"A bit," she admitted, a reluctant smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. It would be nice to pass the time with a little game of chess. It had taken years, but she had learned well from Ron, and had even developed a strategy uniquely her own. She had a feeling that Draco would be a very worthy opponent. Except-

"There's not enough time, though, before we next have to chart."

Draco rolled his eyes at her obtuseness. "The game can be put on hold for that, Granger. I've seen chess games put on hold for days, weeks even. I've seen chess games played by owl post."

"Oh," she said, feeling foolish. "All right, then, Malfoy. Let's go."

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2:40

"Check mate."

"Damn it! Granger, you're good."

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3:10

"Check mate."

"Bloody HELL! I hate chess. I'm going back to cards."

"Two can play at cards, you know."

"In theory, perhaps."

"Fine then! Hmph."

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3:35

"Solitaire must be getting old. Are you sure you wouldn't like to try me at Exploding Snap?"

"Ruddy positive."

"Oh, Fine! I hope- I hope you choke on your damn playing cards!"

Draco looked up at her, one eyebrow raised and an infuriating smirk on his lips. "Is that the best you can do? You hope I choke on my playing cards? See, the thing about that is, I know better than to try to eat them." He shook his head. "You've been spending too much time with Longbottom, I think."

"Oh, get buggered, Malfoy."

His smirk now became a grin of sheer, wicked delight. "Tut tut, Granger, again with the language! Do you kiss your Muggle mummy with that mouth? And just for the record, I don't swing that way. But even if I did- you can be damn sure I'd be the one DOING the buggering!"

"Ugh. I knew there was good reason why I've never been able to stand you. It's because you're an insufferable git!"

"You can 'git' me all day long. Just don't 'poof' me again!"

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3:55

"That's it."

"What's it?"

"The last one's gone below the horizon. We're done."

"But- but it's not time. It's only four-o-clock."

"Well, I don't know what to tell you, Granger, but every last one of them is gone from the sky."

"Are you sure you did it right?"

"I've been doing it all night! Yes, I'm bloody well sure I did it right! We're done. Check the door. Maybe the spell's off."

She went, but already she had an inkling of what she would find. "No good," she said, once her expectations had been confirmed. "Sinistra said the door wouldn't open until dawn."

"But that's not for at least two more hours. And I'm tired, damn it! Why the hell should we have to stay here and awake if there's nothing left to track?"

"No one said we have to stay awake, Malfoy, as long as our work is done. Go to sleep, if your beauty rest is that important to you. I'm not stopping you."

Draco sent a rude gesture her way, though there was clearly no real animosity behind it. "You could do with some beauty rest yourself, Granger. Your eyes are all little and squinty and red."

"Wow, Malfoy. You really know how to make a girl feel special. What a tragedy to womankind that the archaic institution of arranged marriage has claimed you as a victim."

"I know," Draco agreed mournfully. "You must try to bear it as best you can. Be strong, Granger."

She snorted with mirth, then quieted suddenly as a new and shocking thought occurred to her. Good God, was Draco Malfoy flirting with her?

"Granger? You all right?" His eyes were intent, boring into her. "You went all quiet and spacey for a minute there. I think you're as tired as I am. Let's at least try to get some miserable excuse for sleep, shall we?" He pulled a black cloak from his bag, wrapped himself in it, and lay down where he was, his head pillowed on one arm.

Sighing, she pulled over her own bag and lay down herself, curled into a tight ball with the overflowing bag as a pillow. She had just closed her eyes when-

"Granger, what the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Trying to sleep, Malfoy, same as you! What's your problem now?"

"Honestly, brains and common sense don't always go hand in hand, do they? You're going to try to sleep directly under an open window, and without a cloak? For God's sake, will you cover yourself. You'll catch your death of cold."

"I don't have a cloak," she mumbled, and flopped over so that her back was to him. She heard him sit up.

"You don't have a cloak?" he echoed disbelievingly. "How can you not have brought your cloak to a night lesson in February?"

She sat up too then, and turned back around to glare at him. "Well, I never expected THIS!"

"I never expected this, either, Granger," he said, speaking slowly and clearly, as though to a not-overly-bright child, "but you don't catch me without a cloak, after dark, in February, regardless!"

She felt a hot, prickly sensation at the back of her eyes- she really must be tired, she thought, to feel herself close to dissolving into tears just because of Draco chiding her for not bringing a cloak to class! After all they had discussed and debated over the course of the night, this was what could reduce her to tears? The fact that he had a nice, warm cloak and she didn't?

She scrubbed the back of one hand hard across her eyes, then drew up her knees and laid her head on them. "Leave me alone, Malfoy," she said in a muffled voice. "I'm too tired to keep up with you right now- (God, had she just admitted that?)- please just go to sleep and let me be."

For a long time there was silence. Then she heard him sigh. What he said next made her wonder whether her ears were working correctly, or whether this wasn't some sort of auditory hallucination brought on by her exhausted state.

"Come on, Granger. You can share mine."

She raised her head a fraction of an inch and stared at him. "What did you say?"

"I said you can bloody well share mine. It's got a lot of fabric. It was a gift from my godfather and he seems to feel that all clothing should be voluminous, and cloaks especially so." He gave her a small, crooked grin. "I think he could share clothes with Hagrid, if it came to that."

She felt an answering smile tug at the corners of her mouth and that's what decided her; she crawled over to him, settling herself against the wall some two feet away. Draco made an irritated noise.

"This may be a large cloak, Granger, but it is still a cloak, not a ruddy king-size duvet. Will you come- closer!"

And so saying, he reached out, snaked an arm around her waist, and pulled her hard up against him. She gave an undignified squawk of surprise, which he ignored, busily tucking the cloak about himself, then tossing half the fabric over her so that she could do the same.

She hadn't expected falling asleep to be easy, even as tired as she was. She had thought that her proximity to Draco would make her uncomfortable and that it would keep her awake, rehashing and rehashing all that they had spoken of over the last several hours. But as it happened, sleep claimed her almost immediately, the exhausted state of her body winning out, for once, over her mind.

Leaning back against the wall, soaking up the warmth that Draco's body was putting off beside her, her breathing deepened, slowed. The first time her head dropped onto his shoulder, she caught herself, yanking it up again with a sharp intake of breath. Draco made no response, his head tipped back against the stone wall, his hair a rumpled silver halo, his breathing deep and regular, apparently asleep already.

The second time her head fell to his shoulder, she let it stay there. Her last waking thought was of how oddly pleasant this was; the feeling of comfort and security she got from the strong male presence beside her; the large, warm, solid body she was comfortably slumped against.

What a crying shame that it had to belong to her oldest enemy….

And yet, was that really still what she considered him to be? After all that had been said and done during the watches of this long, strange night, was it really…?

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Saturday, February 14th

0

They awoke slowly, groggy and sore from their scant hours of sleep on the floor, in a sitting position with their backs against a cold stone wall. In a circular room ringed about with large windows, atop the highest tower in the castle, pink dawn light was streaming over them. Hermione, unthinking, turned her face against Draco's shoulder to stifle a yawn, and was unable to suppress the sudden and powerful thought that-

He smells so good!

Then Draco was pulling the cloak off of them, bundling it into a ball and stuffing it into his bag, getting to his feet and offering her a hand up.

She accepted.

They stood there, looking at each other, for a very long time. Hermione became aware that she was breathing inexplicably hard. She felt she had to break the silence, which was spiraling out unbearably.

"I, er, I expect the door will be unlocked now," she finally said. "It's daylight, and we've been done for hours. They can't expect us to stay any longer than this." She sounded lame to her own ears and looked away, feeling awkward- but her eyes snapped back to Draco's when she heard him speak.

"You know what day this is, Granger?"

His eyes were as expressionless as ever- to a casual observer, at any rate- but on closer inspection, were they…darker, somehow? More the color of gunmetal than silver?

"I-" she stammered, feeling trapped and disoriented by his intense gaze, "it's- oh. Oh!" and her own eyes widened as realization struck.

And in that instant, as color flooded her cheeks in a deep, pretty blush, Draco grasped her face gently in both his hands and lowered his lips to hers.

For a heartbeat she stiffened, amazed, unsure what to do- this was her first "real" kiss and, needless to say, she had never imagined in her wildest dreams that such a landmark event as this would happen under these circumstances, with this particular partner. Then her body relaxed, melted into his as if it were the most natural thing in the world, allowing Draco to guide her through the experience.

When they separated a long moment later, she was more than just breathing hard; she was literally panting- and she realized that he was too. His hands slipped down around her waist and he pulled her firmly against him. She could feel his heart beating fast. He lowered his head toward hers again and she thought that he was about to reclaim her mouth- but he didn't. With their faces so close that their noses were nearly touching, he closed his eyes- those remarkable, pale eyes- as if steeling himself for what he was about to say.

"You know, Granger, I've been doing some thinking," he started, his voice uncharacteristically rough around the edges, not his normal cool drawl at all, "about my pursuit of happiness, and-"

That was as far as he got, because at that precise moment, disaster struck.

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It struck in the form of a virtual explosion at the door, which burst inward nearly off its hinges, spilling an already anxious and sleep-deprived Harry and Ron into the room, who took one look at the scene before them and promptly went berserk, never imagining that Hermione could possibly be a willing party to having Draco's arms around her, thinking they had to be witnessing some sort of prelude to rape.

"Get your bloody hands off her, you filthy Slytherin bastard!" Ron shouted, his face livid, nearly as red as his hair. Harry said nothing, but his face was grim and his green eyes flashed murderous intent.

That was not the worst of it, however; Harry and Ron could probably have been handled- they were capable of listening to reason and could likely have been calmed to a point where, though far from happy, violence would no longer have threatened. Indeed, as Hermione disengaged and stepped in front of Draco, holding her hands palm-out to halt her friends' charge, the two Gryffindors were already slowing, their expressions clouding with confusion.

So the situation might even then have been salvaged, except for what happened next; Crabbe and Goyle barged through the door, and they came in fast, and they came in swinging, and with them there was no reasoning.

The events that followed were a blur, but what it all came down to was this;

A five-way free-for-all, Draco having pushed Hermione out of the fray, fists flying more or less indiscriminately-

Harry and Goyle grappling as Crabbe dispatched Ron, momentarily, at least, with a punch that sent him sprawling-

Crabbe then moving to attack Harry from behind while he was occupied with Goyle and Draco was busily attempting to break the two of them apart-

Hermione, removed from the immediacy of the fight, noticing what neither Harry nor Draco had; a cold glint of metal in Crabbe's hand-

And throwing herself forward, drawing on six years' instinct of protecting the Boy Who Lived, who also happened to be one of her two best friends.

A stunned silence followed the impact of Crabbe's fist with Hermione's body; a silence during which no one at all, even Hermione herself, for a space of several heartbeats, seemed to register the fact that before making contact with the fabric of her uniform blouse, Crabbe's hand had driven a good five inches of sharpened steel (an ornate silver dagger that had been a birthday present from Draco) into the slight girl's flesh.

She staggered backward and Harry, in the process of turning to fully face Crabbe, caught her, steadying her from behind, but only for a moment- he was already moving around her to get to Crabbe, furious enough that the brutish boy had just "hit" his best- female- friend, unaware, as yet, of the damage that had actually been done.

As for Crabbe, he was staring stupidly at Hermione, as if unable to comprehend what he had just done to her, and he continued to gawk until Harry's fist made a solid impact on his jaw. He still made no attempt to defend himself, even as Ron picked himself up and rushed forward, snarling, to add his own rain of blows to Harry's.

This left Draco and Goyle standing slightly off to one side, Draco's hand still resting on Goyle's arm from his attempt, a moment ago, to pull him off of Harry-

And Hermione, alone now, still on her feet, staring blankly down at the blood that was rapidly blossoming out across the fabric of her blouse, spreading in all directions; a crimson stain which had at its center the silver hilt of a dagger protruding from her chest.

To her, it seemed as if she were suddenly standing in the eye of some strange storm; the sounds in the room now muted by a rush, as of wind, in her ears. Her breath escaped her in a little, exhaled "oh", and she seemed unable to draw in more.

She turned then, slowly, feeling as if she were swimming through air suddenly as thick as water, and her wide, shocked eyes came to rest on Draco. For an instant that seemed like an eternity they simply stared at one another- then Draco's eyes, caught by the bright splash of scarlet against her white blouse, lowered to her chest. When he raised them once more to her face, they were suffused with horror; the most expressive she had ever seen them.

She took a step toward him- and her legs gave out, spilling her forward into his arms.