Hermione waited ten minutes, for Draco's pride, and then marched straight to the Library. She found Ron pouring convincingly over a book and planted her hands on the edge of the table opposite him. "Would you care to explain what you did to Draco Malfoy?"

"Nothing he hasn't had coming since birth."

"Nothing he didn't let you, you mean." Ron didn't look up. "How could you? Don't you have 'any' honor left?"

Ron gaped at her. "Honor! That git lured me into a locked classroom and--"

"To apologize to you, you idiot."

"How did you know that?"

"I listen at keyholes," she retorted.

"Hermione." Draco's voice carried over her shoulder. "I can fight my own battles." 'And tell my own lies'

She whirled. "Then why isn't he rolling on the floor bleeding on everything?"

"Because," Draco took two steps forward and kissed her firmly on the mouth, "I enjoy pain."

"Oh!" Hermione backhanded him reflexively. Draco's head snapped back and he rocked slightly on his feet.

Draco stepped back, smiling slightly and covering the mark of her hand with his. "See."

"Malfoy, you perverted--" Ron leapt up, knocking his chair over. But he stayed behind the table.

"Shut up, Ron," Hermione snapped. Ron's ears went very red. He left. She addressed herself to Draco: "Why did you do that?"

"I told you, I enjoy--"

Hermione couldn't bear hearing him say it again. "I heard you. Now, why did you k-kiss me."

Draco smirked defiantly. And sneezed. Loudly. Twice. Three-four times. When he undoubled, eyes streaming, Hermione offered him her clean handkerchief. Draco accepted, blew his nose. "Thank you."

"Are you sick, Malfoy?" He half glared at her. "Comes of spending mornings on rainy Quidditch Pitches, I expect," Hermione offered sagely.

"Possibly," Draco allowed.

"Now why-"

He held up a hand. "Right now, Neville Longbottom is reading an anonymous letter detailing a theoretical cure for his parents. Is the slate clean?"

"I said verbally." 'And sincerely. A cure for the Cruciatus Curse?'

Draco nodded, his mouth set in a hard line. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"The pain." His mouth softened slightly. "And the kiss."

"The pleasure was all mine." Hermione suddenly remembered that they stood in the center of the Library. "Come and sit down."

She led the way to a corner table, pulled out a chair, and dropped into it. "Sit." Draco sat, opposite her. "How do you feel? I mean, did the spell work?"

"Very well, thank you." He was well aware that 'Asclepio' was a seventh- year healing spell widely used by fully-trained mediwizards.

"I've only been practicing a few weeks. Don't tell Madam Pomfrey." Draco inclined his head. "Why did you kiss me?"

"Forget it ever happened. A momentary lapse in judgment on my part shouldn't ruin the 'wonderful' friendship between us."

"That 'momentary lapse in judgment' is going to be all over Hogwarts by tomorrow morning, dragging my name down with yours."

"I am truly sorry." Draco laid his right hand on the table and slid it over in front of her. "It's yours for the asking. Say the word."

"No." Hermione crossed her arms, flatly refusing.

"I haven't many people left to apologize to." His hand stayed on the table, despite all of Draco's instincts.

Hermione sighed. "I know."

"I'm sure you can come up with something equally humiliating for me to perform." Draco lifted the hand and rested his chin on it, the picture of attentive interest.

"But you 'enjoy' pain, so-"

"No, Hermione." The feral quality of his voice caught her off guard. Draco seized her hand. "I don't enjoy pain. I 'love' it. Because the people I love most cause me the most pain. My father," he kissed it savagely, "with his infinite wealth and power has no room in his heart for the boy who spent years living for a single kind word from his lips. My mother," another kiss, "who loves her cats more than her son. My House Head," a third time, "who tolerates me only to curry favor with my father and Voldemort. And you," Draco raised his eyes to Hermione's startled ones and drew her hand to his lips a last time, infinitely tender, "who have never said a kind word to me in the four and a half years I have known 'you.' The shards of my heart are yours. Do with them what you will." He set her hand down gently, caressing it finally before dropping his arms to his sides.

"Draco, I- can't fix your life. Or change the past. But I believe I could. . . love you."

"Will you come to the Yule Ball with me, then?"

Hermione covered her surprise. "I was wondering when you'd ask."