Disclaimer- I do not own Harry Potter© or any of the concepts derived from the book series. The book series is the soul property of J.K. Rowling.

To Keep it Simple

Previous Chapter

As she turned to glance at Ron one more time, she saw the look of joy on his face. What had she done by agreeing to this plan with Draco? Then again, it was his hand that was alleviating her shattered nerves. By gaining one companion, she had to lose another. In order to prevent herself from shedding pointless tears, she squeezed Draco's hand. He barely showed any signs of pain, if she was strong enough to cause any, and instead, continued laughing with the other members of the table.

When Hermione finally relieved all the stress on Draco's hand, she realized that his fingers were probably lacking the circulation of blood and in severe pain from all her rage. However, to her surprise, she felt a noticeable but faint reassuring squeeze. She turned to Draco, but he was busy putting on a show—to the world.

Chapter 4- War of the Houses

Hermione sighed as she watched Harry and Ron play another predictable game of Wizard's Chess. The only attribute missing from the conversation they usually had was—Ron. The previous evening, her dream had been disturbing and had left her awake, confused and awaiting the rise of the sun.

She and Draco had been sitting in the same compartment on the Hogwarts Express. However, nobody else could be found on any of the other coaches, leaving Hermione in a frightful state. She had sat down and had started a conversation with Draco about Ron and Harry—but surprisingly, Draco did not take the opportunity to insult her pair of friends. He had just begun to say something, which Hermione couldn't quite recall, when the train's lights dimmed and flickered out. They were approaching a tunnel and as the train sped into the darkness, Draco had grabbed her hand in a solacing manner. His touch had felt real—but when Hermione jerked out of her slumber, blankets strewn on the floor and pillows placed in a muddle about her, she knew that it had all been in her head.

"So Harry, when is the first Quidditch game?" Hermione asked, trying to strike up a conversation.

"In a few weeks," he replied with a smile. At least he was still trying to remain her friend.

"That should be exciting," she said, wondering why she couldn't speak to the two as well as she could before. A slightly depressing veil covered her thoughts. She missed the witty comments Ron used to spasmodically say and the variety of awkward expressions that he could pull off.

"Professor McGonagall said that there should only be a few more sessions left if the Gryffindor and Slytherin first years continue to improve as they have," Hermione said with a forced grin. For a few seconds, Ron turned to look at her with what she hoped was belief, but he quickly turned away before she could further interpret. Harry slapped his hands on his knees as he once again lost.

"That's good, Hermione—no more pretending!" he said with bottled up excitement.

"Pretending—that's a bloody good one, Harry," Ron muttered beneath his breath. Both shocked companions turned to look at him.

"What makes you believe that I haven't been pretending, Ron?" Hermione inquired, eyes slowly turning to a squint.

"Well," he started, summarizing his list in his head, "You two take every chance possible to snog each other and he's always watching you with his beady little eyes—and he ignores his Slytherin friends when ever you're around.."

"Ron!" Hermione nearly shrieked. "That is absolutely the most unbelievable—first off, he does not have beady eyes—and the only thing all of that proves is that he might not be pretending—which I highly doubt—the main point is that I am pretending."

Something stabbed Hermione directly in the chest as she let out the last three words. She knew the feeling quite well—the feeling she got whenever Draco and her were at the edge of finding out the truth about one another—but he would pull away. Even though a faint light of hope glimmered in Ron and Harry's eyes at her words, she could not find any more of a benefit from her uttered words.

"I am just pretending," she said in a voice barely audible. It sounded as if she had just woken—the scratchy and cracking which accompanied the tone of a child before they broke into tears laced into her statement. She was far from crying though—merely at the brink of disbelief.

"Well, now that we've got that all settled," Harry said lightly. "Do you want to come with us to Quidditch practice, Hermione?"

"Of course."

Hermione nervously wrung her robe's corner—a habit that had become familiar to her now. She watched as the members of the Slytherin Quidditch team made their way onto the field. Harry swung off of his broom like an acrobat as he floated to the ground, much like the rest of the Gryffindor team did.

"What are you doing here, ferret boy?" Ron yelled as he jumped from the bleachers. Hermione stood up and gracefully walked down the steps, trying to delay the time it would take to reach the quarreling teams. Several Gryffindor first years had followed the trio to watch a Quidditch practice in action and at the moment they seemed intently focused on Draco and Ron.

"Calm down, Ron," she hissed from between her teeth as she tossed her hair in the direction of the audience. Draco turned to her, then caught sight of the first years as well.

"I'm sure we can come up with a reasonable decision, Weasel," Draco replied, his voice growing softer as the first years took the initiative to get closer to the fight.

"We have this time slot booked for Gryffindor practice," Harry said as politely as possible, taking notice of the youth that had somehow surrounded them. "Maybe your team made a mistake—"

"I am more then positive that this time slot is booked for Slytherin practice," Draco interrupted.

"Obviously, you are deaf because who ever told you—must have said that your practice time was after ours," Ron smugly stated.

"Weasel.. why don't we.." Draco started, glancing at Hermione, then at the first-years, "Work.. something out. I am sure that we can find a solution."

"Yes, Ron," Harry answered, placing a hand on the red head's shoulder, "We can figure something out."

Hermione coughed loudly, her eyes shifting towards the first years. Ron was still slow to catch on and instead, seemed completely ignorant of the amount of tense nerves floating about. He grabbed Draco by the collar, much to Hermione's dismay, and pulled him close.

"This is our practice time, git," Ron sneered loudly. Hermione slapped her hand on her forehead, hearing the first years whisper anxiously to one another. Draco's nostrils flared as he did his best to keep a fight under wraps. Hermione admired his self-control and the amount of effort he put into remaining a role model—while Ron seemed intent on destroying the fragile work of which the two prefects had so earnestly created.

"I'm sure that this is the way you fight for leftovers at your house, Weasel, but here—we use words," Draco replied with a snarl. Hermione inwardly groaned as she predicted Ron's next action. As the rage boiled over, Ron threw Draco to the ground and lunged for an attack. The crowd quickly glanced back and forth, then seeing the two opposing houses break into battle, began to exchange punches and kicks as well. Hermione knew that her presence could do nothing to stop the war, so she quickly ushered the first years off the field with her. They seemed ready and prepared to fight along their Gryffindor comrades' sides. Hermione thought over the entire dilemma in her head.

There was no possible way that Draco would initiate a battle on purpose—especially since he had regarded Ron with such a calm, but forced, expression. Harry and the rest of his Gryffindor team could also not be wrong since—they rarely were and had no reason to interfere with the Slytherin practice time. Not only that, but Professor McGonagall had arrived to personally tell them of—Hermione struggled to hold in a scream. This had been a test of the houses' endurance and they had failed horrifically, with no thanks to the fiery red head who she had worked so hard to gain back—as a friend. She warned the first years to stay put, then ran quickly back onto the field.

The first battle she caught sight of was Ron and Draco as they tumbled about on the ground, hitting each other ferociously. She did not want to use her wand in fear of letting the first years think that only force could be used to handle this type of situation.

"Stop it!" she screamed at the two, her voice piercing the scuffle. For the briefest moment, Draco stopped his punching and turned to look at her. All Hermione needed was a few seconds and when she was given the opportunity, she slid in between Ron and Draco. Ron, however, was still eagerly moving to keep the fight going and did not notice Hermione's insertion into their battle. Her back faced him so it took even longer for Ron to filter her as a pacifist and not an opponent. Unable to stop the momentum of his hand, he moved with the uncontrollable force. His fist connected with the side of her head.

Hermione's eyes widened as the blow knocked her several steps to the side. It was a rather awkward moment—she felt like she was floating and had no control of her limbs. Her eyes fell to the ground and suddenly her world was spinning and she was tumbling along with the flow. She managed to see the blurry figure of Ron as he rushed towards her, yelling his apologies. Her brow furrowed as she tried to focus on the figures before her. Never had she felt so frustrated at not being able to control herself. Before she was swept away into the darkness, Draco's solacing hand caught hers.

Ron watched in utter horror as Draco shoved him away, grabbing the falling Hermione. He hoisted her light body into his arms, glaring menacingly at the Weasley. He seemed to warn with his eyes.. stay away. The fight immediately broke apart at the sight of their only neutral member being carried away by a Slytherin. First years moved to follow the pair, shooting glances behind them.

Harry turned towards Ron—who had fallen to his knees. The members of the fight looked squeamish now, unsure of what havoc they had just created. Many of them blamed it on Ron, shoving him rudely in the shoulder as they passed him to return to the castle. Finally, the only students left were a very battered Harry and a depressed Ron—the two friends who should have been the first to head back. Even though Harry's faith in Ron had petered out, he was still bonded to the boy through the thin sliver of friendship left.

"It's all my fault, Harry," Ron said, looking at his hands as if he could finds answers in the blood and dirty covered palms.

For once in his life, Harry did not have an answer.

Hermione awoke to a pounding head ache which heightened with the amount of lighting shed in her direction. Someone turned the swivel head lamp in a different direction. As she blinked to try and get herself to focus, a rather pudgy hand forced chocolate into her mouth. She choked a bit as she digested the sweet product, then closed her eyes. When her senses finally came rushing back to her, she met the ceiling with her cold stare.

"Granger," a soft voice called from her bedside. She turned to look at the source, barely surprised to see Draco. His fingers were laced about one of hers, his outstretched thumbs holding up his chin. His elbows were propped on her mattress. Finding reassurance, she closed her eyes again to fall into slumber.

"Bloody hell, you just went to sleep—wake up," he said, a hint of sarcasm linked with his voice.

"Mr. Malfoy! Watch your mouth or I'll wash it out with soap—let the poor girl sleep," a frazzled Madame Pomfrey screamed from halfway across the room. Hermione opened her eyes in time to see Draco roll his. She used her free hand to push herself into a sitting position.

"How do you do it, Malfoy?" she asked weakly.

"Do what?"

"Survive Ron," she answered with a smile.

Draco didn't smile or laugh. Hermione then noticed the scars and cuts across his face and some of the swelling on his knuckles—she remembered the entire reasoning behind the fight.

"You know, Professor McGonagall was behind all of this," Hermione said. Draco nodded as he let go of her hand to steeple his fingers in thought.

"Yes.. I should have known—after all, she's not even the head of our house and she came to personally tell us about our practice time slot."

The witch sighed and let the numbing affects of the chocolate take over. She knew the pain was there but she could no longer feel it—she could only sense the swelling that seemed to be taking over her mind. Her thoughts ran back to her dream. She needed to find out what it meant—but the problem at hand was more important. Sigmund Freud would have to wait.

"She wanted to test how well Gryffindor and Slytherin would do under pressure. To tell you the truth—I think.. Dumbledore told her to tell both houses—after all, what better way to make sure that the bond that's being formed is genuine?"

"And they learned that it's not," Draco numbly replied. It was these short periods of time that Hermione actually saw the Draco that could have been—if not for his upbringing or the shield that protected him from promise and all other assurances in life. Hermione admittedly hated Ron at the moment. His short temper and lack of common sense had possibly ruined two prefects and the almost existent relationship between two houses. As soon as she got her hands around his neck—she chose to not think of it. Her chance to become anything, to her, had flown out the window. She'd been left empty-handed and absolutely worn out after weeks of preserving and nurturing a growing relationship.

"We failed as prefects," Hermione bluntly said, expression blank.

"I wouldn't speak so soon, Miss Granger."

Hermione walked to the library by herself after dinner. She had managed to escape the crowd of first years and Draco to find relief in the one place that she had always found it.

Professor McGonagall had been watching her recovery the entire time from the shadows.

"Poppy, could you give us a moment?" she asked politely, folding her hands in her lap. The nurse smiled and quickly walked out, closing the door loudly behind her. Draco glanced up at the professor, showing no surprise—as always.

"Miss Granger, you are not the problem, but the solution. If you do recall, I believe Mr. Weasley was the one who took the initiative—to break the tension. Mr. Malfoy, we admire your self control—however, as well as you did—you could have done without the intimidating comments. Dumbledore and I believe that there still is a chance for the houses to reform this broken relationship. We hope that one of you will talk with Mr. Weasley—if he does not learn to control his temper, we will be forced to have him change houses.."

Hermione nodded her head. She secretly scolded herself for having even thought of letting Ron not know just to have him leave Gryffindor. It was the held in rage that continued to taunt her.

"Our next session will be this evening. First, you two should explain the reasoning behind the fight on the Quidditch field. I am sure that news has already spread to other first years—and it is essential to eliminate the problem before it progresses. I leave you two to discuss tonight. Once again- you did not fail as a prefect, Miss Granger, nor you, Mr. Malfoy. So long as Dumbledore and I believe that the children have learned something about cooperation in all of this, you will continue to remain prefects."

With that said, the elderly witch swept out of the room. Hermione blinked, half in disbelief and half in confusion. It was as if she had been rejuvenated, but dealt a dangerous hand at the same time.

"So I imagine you'll take to Weasley?" Draco said with an inquiring raised brow. Hermione nodded.

As she walked in, a very flustered Madame Pince waved to her, trying to juggle a new stack of books at the same time. Hermione headed directly for the back of the room to focus on her school work. As she set her bag down, she remembered the dream she'd had the previous evening.

She thumbed through the pages of Sigmund Freud's An Interpretation of Dreams.

Tunnels.. here they are.. she thought to herself as her index finger slid across the page. Tunnels can represent an invitation by the conscience.. can represent exploration of new places..

Hermione froze as she read the next interpretation. Of course, it was very possible—but she felt extremely awkward reading it. Maybe this was what she wanted—but she had never been so dangerously risk-taking. She regarded the words, but each time she read it over again, they held a different meaning. Without thinking, she grabbed her bag and left the library. Madame Pince watched the frantic witch disappear down the corridor.

The final interpretation at the bottom of the page was tempting. As she dashed down the hallways to return to Gryffindor Tower before the Slytherin first years arrived, she heard the words run non-stop through her head.

The most popular interpretation—where as a train or car and or other vehicle enters the tunnel can represent sexual intercourse or the conscious need for physical and or sexual attention.