A/N: Don't own Harry Potter.

Special Notes:

Yellowrosesinateacup: Yeah, he is being an ass. Bad Draco. Maybe Mione will punish him…;) haha.

Rilicious: Thank you so much!

Cherbi161: Yum, cheesecake. My favorite, how did you know?

Draco'sBlackRose: Nice pen name! Thanks for the review!

Antanaqui: Thank you. You'll find out soon!

Lilycarverjb: He is a meanie. It's okay to say! Lol.

CoolChick0506: Don't worry about it for a while. Here's a chapter for you!

He was sitting on the wet grass, a place she'd seen a lot in the past week. She hadn't dared to speak to him since their research night. Even in tutoring, she remained silent to his taunts, doing only what she must. She watched, intrigued, as rain fell on his head, plastering his white-blonde hair to his scalp. The storms had started up again a few nights ago and every time she went out to enjoy the weather, he'd been in the same spot.

Hermione continued down the corridor, tugging her green sleeves down her arms. The courtyard was deserted. The entire student body seemed to have retreated from the downpour, taking safe haven in the warm armchairs and fires of the common rooms. She seated herself on a fixture of stone and gripped her camera tightly. She could still see the tip of Malfoy's head from her position. She was completely thrown by him. Her entirety of education had been marred by the selfish, one-dimensional character who had taunted she and her friends since she was eleven years old. But, somehow, she had seen a few glimpses of a real person beneath his cold exterior. She'd let down her guard, tried to be a good person and help him, and he'd just pushed her down. She leaned back into the stone, looking up into the gray sky, sighing. Maybe that's what happens when you open up your heart. She could feel rain splattering against her cheeks, giving the semblance of tears. She hated Malfoy. Hated him. She hated his cocky nature, she hated his stupid sneers, she hated that cocky grin. She hated that she could be so damn nice to him and he could be such an ass to her. She lifted her camera, snapping a few pictures of the sky. She always found it to look different. Sometimes it looked mysterious, taunting, or playful. Right now it just looked sad.

Draco lifted the bottle of Fire Whiskey to his lips and took a long gulp. The liquid burned the back of his tongue on the way down. It was raining again, and this made him happy. Although happy was a state of mind when came to Draco Malfoy. He'd been in an awful mood all weekend. All week Granger had thrown him those pouty, wounded-dog expressions during tutoring and Layla had been absolutely maddening, following him around all day and whimpering for attention. What was wrong with the women in his life? At least Pansy had given up her pointless quest for him. Draco took another swig of Whiskey, frowning. How many bottles had he had? Two? Three? He took the last gulp of liquid and tossed the glass bottle next to his feet. The sky above him was starting to swirl with color.

"Malfoy? What the hell are you doing?" He looked over to the girl next to him, her hands on her hips.

"Granger," he slurred, waving at her. "I'm just enjoying the rain."

"Are you drinking?"

"You know what," Draco pulled his knees to his chest, smiling, "I think I am." He kicked a discarded bottle of whiskey and it rolled across the grass. Hermione sat down next to him.

"You're drunk!" Hermione scanned the area around them, counting four bottles in the grass.

"That I am. I have a quest..ion, Granger."

"What?" Hermione sighed.

"Why are you such a tightass, Hermit? Herman? Her-my-oh-knee?" Hermione felt a jolt shoot through her chest. That was the first time she'd ever heard her first name uttered from Malfoy's lips.

"I'm..not…" she stuttered, angered by his comment.

"I think you are," Draco wiped his lips. "You need to be loosened up. Always books. And teachers." He laughed.

"You're just drunk. Let me help you up to your common room or you're going to drown in your own vomit, or something." Hermione wrinkled her nose, disgusted.

"'Haha, very funny, mud blood."

"You're insufferable, you know that?" Draco nodded vigorously and gave her a thumbs up.

"I am! I really, really, really am." Hermione squatted behind him and tried to pull him up, but he didn't budge.

"Come on. Help me."

"I don't wanna!" Hermione slumped to the ground next to him. She couldn't just leave him piss drunk in the middle of the Hogwarts grounds. She'd just have to wait until he sobered up enough to get himself to the castle. "Your hair is big." Draco patted Hermione's head, grinning from ear to ear. "But I like it." They were nose to nose now, his eyes wide and dilated.

"Malfoy, stop talking before your embarrass yourself." Draco didn't speak. He stared at her like a deer in headlights for a few seconds before her leaned forward and firmly pressed a slightly sloppy kiss against her lips. Hermione's eyes widened and she pulled back. "Too late." She wiped her lips as Draco leaned his head against her sweater-clad shoulder. He let out a soft snore. It was then that she saw the crumpled parchment sticking out of the pocket of Draco's jeans. She, feeling slightly nosy, tugged as the parchment and smoothed it out. She could see the remains of a broken green and black seal on the edges of the parchment. She took a deep breath and began to read:

Son,

The celebration of your brother Tynan will be on October 31st at six pm. I expect to see you there.

-Father

Hermione set the letter down, frowning. They needed to find out what the story was with the child…and soon. Perhaps this Halloween celebration would be the perfect opportunity to inspect the child.

Draco blinked his eyes open, slowly. He had a maddening headache and his throat felt thick with saliva. He turned his head, the bones in his neck crackling slightly. He was outside. In the grass. It was dusk, the sunset almost completely sunken into the sky. A girl was next to him, laying on her back in the grass. Her green sweater almost blended in with the field. It was Granger.

"What?" It was the only word Draco's tongue would form.

"You're up." Hermione sat up, a bottle of water in her hand. She tossed it to him. "Here." Draco caught the bottle, opened it, and chugged almost half of it in only a few seconds.

"Why am I out here?"

"I found you getting drunk out here."

"Well, then. Why are you here?" Hermione shrugged, tucking her hair behind her ears.

"I couldn't just leave you out here alone." Draco was baffled. Why did she even care? He'd been awful to her. He'd of expected her to leave him to choke on his own tongue. But she didn't.

"Thanks." Draco put his weight on his palms and leaned back.

"I..saw your note."

"You went through my things?"

"Yes?" Draco sighed and rolled his eyes comically.

"You're something else, Granger."

"Why were you drinking, Malfoy?" Hermione focused her eyes on him. He was taken aback by their intensity, the way her brown eyes seemed sparked by a fire as she looked clearly into his face. Her forehead in a deep crease, her lips pressed together gently. She looked honestly concerned.

"I was mad."

"At who?" Draco rolled his shoulders back.

"My dad. My mum. You."

"You were mad at me?"

"When am I not?"

"Good point."

"I don't even want to go to this stupid thing. But I have to."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Are you?"

"Yes."

"You're okay, Granger."

"Even though I'm a whore?" Hermione narrowed her eyes at him angrily.

"Erm…I'm sorry about that. I'm an asshole."

"You are. But you're an okay asshole, I suppose."

They didn't say much after that. They commented on the colors of the sky, tossed insults back and forth, but for the most part, silence exceeded their conversation. They both liked silence. And in that…the moment was perfect.

"The Weird Sisters were always a crappy band, Granger. They're even worse now." Draco used his quill to scratch the band's name off of the parchment in front of the pair, who were sitting in the library Wednesday night after tutoring.

"You've thrown out every idea I've given you. I'm dried up." Hermione slumped forward into the table.

"If I'm forced to plan this with you, I'm going to at least make sure it's entertaining. The last few year's celebrations couldn't even trump a good wank." Draco wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and Hermione coughed.

"You're disgusting, Malfoy."

"What about The Squibs?"

"We won't get them with this short of notice. We need them in two weeks." Hermione frowned. Finding musical entertainment was proving to be more difficult than she'd anticipated.

"I don't even know why I'm trying," Draco rubbed his temples, "I'm not even going to be here."

"We'll figure this whole thing out before then. You won't have to go." Hermione pressed her hand against Draco's, making a lovely contrast. The pink of her skin overlapping the pale of his. Hermione realized where her hand was and yanked it away.

"Granger, can I tell you something?" Hermione looked up and nodded.

"What is it?"

"I think my Father is done with me. I think he wants me gone."

"You think he's going to disown you?" Draco shook his head furiously.

"No, I think he's going to kill me." He watched as the color drained out of Hermione's face.

"Would he do that? Why?" Hermione felt her heart being strangled by it's own beating. She couldn't understand why the idea of Malfoy dying pained her so. But it did. It killed her.

"We've never gotten on well. He's an ass. And, well, I'm an ass," Hermione let out a pained chuckle. "Anyway, it's not a good combination. We've never agreed on anything. And now, he has this son who can have a fresh start with. Mold to his liking."

"But that doesn't mean he'd kill you, does it?" Draco nodded solemnly.

"You think he wants loose ends like that. You think you know my father, but you don't. He'd kill his own family if it's profited him."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"I don't know."

"Are you trying to gain my sympathy?" Hermione jutted out her lower lip, trying to stand strong.

"No."

"Because you won't get it. You've treated me like dirt since I was eleven. If you think that a few weeks of you being semi-civil to me is going to-"

"I never asked for your forgiveness. I don't want it."

"You don't feel bad for hating Harry, Ron, and I for no reason all these years?"

"I don't believe in regrets, Granger," Draco narrowed his eyes as her, "Maybe I was wrong in hating you. I sure as hell don't like you, Granger, but I don't hate you. But I will always hate Potter and Weasley."

"You don't hate me?"

"You're all right for a mudblood."

"Well I don't hate you either. You're okay for a pompous and self-righteous Slytherin, I suppose."

"Eh…thanks?"

"You're…welcome."

They stand completely still, breath sucked into their lungs, waiting. Her brown eyes tremble in the concentration of his blue shockwave--looking at her with a mixture of dislike and understanding--looking directly at her, but also seeing right through her. His face is set, stone-hard, as thoughts seemed to rush right behind the veil of his eyes. She attempts to read his thoughts. Her knees shake, she feels sick to her stomach, she doesn't understand what he's doing. She blinks. He doesn't. What happens isn't a series of motions. It's one fluid act, like snow blanketing a field in the midst of spring--uninvited, unexpected, everything that's not ordinary or secure in it's own complacence. Neither one of them moves first. He doesn't grip her with need-filled want, she doesn't lunge into his arms. They just connect. Reaching for one another in their own loneliness. Two bodies crushing forward, hands fumbling, foreheads touching, lips meeting…all at once. Neither she nor he dislikes the feeling they get when kissing the other. Both are terrified at the ultimate act of adultery they are committing. They defy their flesh prisons, betraying everything they stand for, every judgment so firmly placed within their beings. They kiss. And when they stop, there are no words. No insults. No reassurances. No declaration of feelings. Because, in an honesty only seen in children, neither knows what they feel. Confusion. And a certain dependency. Their hands float apart, she biting her lip, he breathing deeply. A stunning distinction between what's real and isn't. And with no hero, she turns on one heel. With unadorned comprehension, he lets down all his towers. All his safely guarded judgments that protect him for the scornful world.

He watches her go. A slow-motion candor. An awakening in a green sweater. Her form fades into black, her pinkish glow melting into the darkness of night. For a few seconds, his eyes open. See what he's never seen. See what he's refused to see. And then she's gone. His lips are stinging. His clutches his bag. And as the dawn light begins to filter into the abandoned library, he closes his eyes again, replaces the blinders. And then he's gone.

And so it is, just like you said it should be. We'll both forget the breeze, most of the time. And so it is, a colder water, the blower's daughter, the pupil in dead eyes, I can't take my eyes off of you.

- "Blowers Daughter" - Damien Rice

A/n: Tynan means "Dark Child". That's relevant. Please Review!