A/N: Aren't you all impressed, two whole updates in a fairly quick succession! And I would have had this one done sooner, except I didn't have computer access for the weekend, as I was in Bancroft (That's cottage country in Canada for all the Americans and Brits out there). And it's the longest chapter so far. Booyah!

Thanks again to all the reviewers out there who enjoy this story! And please if you read the story, PLEASE review. Even if you hate it! I live for your comments! (and they make me write about a million times faster) One note, since someone asked in a review, unless otherwise specified, all of the poetry was written by yours truly.

One more thing. For anyone who has been waiting for updates to any of my other stories, I am unfortunately going to have them on hiatus for a while longer, as I don't want to start working on all three again, then not finish any of them. However, I WILL finish them eventually!

So, that about all I have to say, so enjoy the chapter, and once again, R&R!

City of Pastel Dreams

Even Harry and Ron noticed that something was wrong with Hermione at breakfast the next day. She looked even paler then what had become normal, and the bags under her eyes were showing through a sloppy makeup application. She looked like a very nervous reanimated skeleton. She knew she looked horrible, she just was too busy trying to come up with a way to get her book back before someone got there hands on it and posted pages of it over the school. With that on her mind, she real couldn't be bothered to give two flying fucks about what she looked like or how much her appearance made Ron and Harry worry.

Halfway though breakfast, and slightly rumpled looking Snape walked into the dining hall. To a casual observer, Snape would have looked perfectly normal or maybe perhaps slightly tired. On the other hand, Hermione was something much more then a casual observer, so she caught the scratches on his face, and the dead "I've-yet-to-really-sleep-in-the-last-couple-of-days" look in his eye that matched the one in her own. She turned away quickly, just in case whoever found her book was paying attention and chose this moment to call attention to her fixation.

Nevertheless, no matter where she looked, her thoughts remained on the onyx haired man sitting calmly in his seat at the staff table, eating a piece of toast… Just taking a little bite, and then enjoying it thoroughly before letting the tip of his tongue dart out teasingly to remove the tiny droplet of butter that had appeared on his lip, then tauntingly continuing to eat as if he wasn't tormenting her with his every action. She shook her head fiercely to try and rid herself of the mental image. The Great Hall wasn't the time or place for that. At least not during breakfast. But really, who needed this long to eat! It was becoming torture to be in the same room as him.

Finally the meal came to a close, and the trio split up to find their separate classes. The day seemed to drag on forever, and although Hermione tried to repeat her "Accio" charm frequently over the course of the day, there was no sign of book, no matter where she was in the school when she cast the charm. She finally gave up the search around dinner and, being the rational girl she was, came to the unfortunate decision that someone had found the book, and was now keeping it somewhere indoors, and locked away. This worried her greatly, because she knew that seventh year Slytherins and their dates occasionally used the astronomy tower as a make-out spot, and she sincerely hope it wasn't one of them who found it. After all, they weren't the most mature people in the entire world.

After trying to summon the book once more after dinner, she returned to the common room with Ron and Harry. However, after about fifteen minutes of painfully awkward silence and concerned stares, Hermione made her excuses, and her escape to bed. She climbed in the large four poster bed, and closed the curtains behind her. She cast a "Lumos" charm, figuring that she would read her new charm book for a while before falling asleep, however when the light fell on her pillow, she was greeted with a surprise that made her day. The book was there, resting lightly, as though it had been placed there by one of the ghosts.

She pounced on it, praying fitfully that nothing had been damaged. She flipped through the pages, half expecting cruel and childish graffiti to be scrawled all over them, but everything seemed fine. She exhaled a sigh of relief and it felt like she had been holding it in all day. She dropped the book onto her bed and realized that she suddenly felt exhausted. It occurred to her that she hadn't slept the night before, and in retrospect, that seemed like a very long time to be awake for.

She was about to extinguish her wand, when suddenly, she noticed something peculiar about her book. When she had dropped it, it had fell open to the last page which, due to the fact she had only written in the first half, should have blank. However, there was in fact writing there, and although it was small and neat like hers, it was defiantly not her penmanship. She drew her wand in closer and attempted to read it. Although one would have expected a smart girl like Hermione to notice it instantly, it took reading the first three lines for her to realize that it was poetry, and fairly good poetry at that.

City of Pastel Dreams

There were never any questions,

That he couldn't answer with his lies

She begged without knowing it

He left everything to the emotionless archangel

that led him through the painful parts

and she was blinded by sight

But, he can see though her,

paperdoll with faded strings.

She knows He can control the weather,

He wonders why it always rains.

She cut off all her hair to try to make him feel at home.

He made the choice to starve her.

He was the ultimate example of inconvenience

the hardest step he refused to take.

They're never here, but they'll never leave this.

they're too busy dying in the blinding interrogation

and watching each other bleed,

While dreaming of a city they never could conceive.

The poem left her puzzled. She didn't recognize the writing, but it must been put there by whoever had found her book. When she found the book in her bed, Hermione's first thought was that someone in her house had to have found the book, because how else could anyone return it to her bed without the password. If that was the case, however, someone in her house was hiding a poetic talent that she never would have expected.

As she extinguished her wand, she made a solid vow to herself that she would seek out whoever wrote that poem. She would need to, for her own safety. Although most of her references to her "obsession" were subtle, she knew that it was fairly easy to deduce whom she was talking about. She would have to make sure that whoever had read the book would keep her secret, or take precautions so that they would have to.

TBC