Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

AN: sorry that I haven't updated sooner. I've been busy, in addition to having writer's block. I hope this can satisfy you for now.

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I didn't mean for her to cry. She obviously felt a compassion for these creatures that I would never know. But she was attacking my very way of life. I had to defend myself. At least she finally got it through her head that it's not a good idea to free the house elves. Most of them ended up drinking themselves to death.

"Are you alright?" I asked Hermione. Her eyes shone with tears. I hated to admit it, but they did look beautiful. What was it about girls that made you feel like you had to make them stop crying, to comfort them? It must be a defense they are born with, or a weakness men are born with. Either way.

"I'm okay." Hermione dried her eyes. "I'm a little hungry though." I smiled at this.

"Bandy, would you bring us some dinner?" The elf perked up right away and rushed off in the direction of the kitchen.

Suddenly I remembered something. I don't know why I was reminded of that night Hermione had snuck into my room, but I was. She had already confessed her feelings for me. All I needed to do was tell her that I felt the same way, and I would fulfill my instructions from Voldemort. This was almost too easy. And then I remembered my rejection of her. I was a bit harsh. Maybe she would hold that against me. Maybe she had already made up her mind that she would not give in to my charms ever again. Well, the only way to find out was to tell her.

I reached over and brushed a tear off her cheek. I let my hand linger for a moment, then pulled it back hastily. I tried my hardest to blush. This was a calculated move. I had seen countless other men do exactly the same thing, and it always made the woman start consider romantic possibilities, even if it was just briefly.

Hermione looked confused for a moment, then mildly curious. She had stopped crying.

To break the silence, I asked, "Should we sit down at the table?"

"Sure," she replied. I walked over to a chair and pulled it out for her. She sat down, and I pushed her in. I sat down afterwards.

We sat in silence until Hermione spoke. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For lifting me out of ignorance."

"Oh. You're welcome. I'm sorry I made you cry." Hermione looked surprised by my apology. I'm not as heartless as you think, Granger.

"Don't worry about it." She gave me a weak smile, which I returned.

While we had been speaking, Bandy had set our places with our dinner and drink. We began to eat.

I decided to change the subject. "So. When do you think we'll receive our notifications for Head Boy and Head Girl?"

Hermione looked at me seriously. "Do you really think I'll get one?"

I smiled. "Of course. Who else would Dumbledore choose for Head Girl?"

She looked down at her lap. "I don't know."

"You're so modest, Granger. But you still haven't answered my question."

"I don't know. Usually the announcements come with our supplies list, and that doesn't come until after Harry's birthday. So probably a few more weeks." I grimaced at Potter's name, which Hermione noticed. "Harry's not so bad." She paused. "Tell me, Malfoy, did you hate Harry solely on the fact that he refused your friendship?"

I frowned. "I have my pride."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Sometimes I think you're only jealous of Harry."

My face showed the anger I felt. I was silent until I thought of a suitable response. Suitable meant not ripping her head off for mentioning such a thought. I decided to use this as an opportunity to declare my love for her. Ridiculous idea.

"Of course I'm jealous of Potter." I softened my features and began to act nervous. "He gets to spend most of his time with you." I stared at my food. When I chanced a look at her face, she looked mildly confused, yet sympathetic. I turned in my chair to face her, and infusing a note of desperation in my voice, I said, "All this time I've ridiculed you for being muggle-born, it was only because I was jealous that you did better than me in my studies. My coldness towards you was the way I tried to distance myself from you. I knew my family would never allow me to have a relationship with anyone that was muggle-born. But now they're gone, and I can tell you now that I care for you."

There. It had been done: a most theatrical performance. Now I just watched to see how she would respond.

She didn't say anything at first. Her face was unnaturally white, and she looked rather shocked. Slowly she began to gather her wits, and responded.

"Malfoy," she began. I looked at her anxiously. Her reply meant the difference between success and failure. "I'm sorry that I gave you the impression that I had feelings for you, but I don't."

So I had failed. Frustration began to well up behind my eyes.

"You've never approved of my friends, and they've never approved of you. I could never consider any man who doesn't respect my friends, nor has their respect. I don't even know you. For all I know you could be a Death Eater."

In one swift motion she reached for the sleeve of my left arm. I caught her hand before she could reveal the Mark on my arm.

A tear of frustration rolled down my cheek, and my voice trembled with anger at her gall. "That will be quite enough, Granger. If you are done eating, I will call a house elf to lead you to your room."

She nodded, so I summoned Bandy and gave her instructions quickly; then I stormed off to my own quarters.

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Voldemort had been staring at the parchment with the prophecy on it for an hour, analyzing it. His efforts were in vain, for he was having a hard time making it out.

The wizard's world will arm to fight
When two great enemies of old unite
Two enemies, and houses four,
Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Slytherin, and Gryffindor

Voldemort supposed that this meant that the students at Hogwarts were going to rally behind Potter and an enemy of his to fight him. Voldemort pondered over which enemy the prophecy could be speaking of. He couldn't even be sure that Potter was one of the two, but Voldemort was willing to risk that. He knew that Severus and Draco harbored an especially deep hate of Harry, so for the time being, he resolved to make plans for Severus and Draco to help Harry, although in ways that wouldn't compromise the Dark Lord's life.

The battle will be short and quick,

But won't be won by yew wand's flick.

Darkness will die its darkest death

As darkness draws its infant breath.

As far as Voldemort could tell, the first two lines didn't ensure that the Potter boy would win, nor that he would lose. It just meant Voldemort wasn't going to win by using his wand. The last two lines puzzled him. He couldn't make anything of it, except that maybe as he died, another force of darkness would begin to gain power.

Beware to those who seek light's victory:

The triumph is not the first in history.

Darkness harbored in goodness' womb

Allows the dark to evade the tomb.

The first two lines of the stanza boded well to Voldemort. It meant that the dark would eventually triumph, regardless of this next battle. The last two lines eluded him, as had the other two. Voldemort decided to study the last two lines of the last two stanzas.

Darkness will die its darkest death

As darkness draws its infant breath.

Darkness harbored in goodness' womb

Allows the dark to evade the tomb.

When grouped together, they seemed to relate to each other. They reminded him of a familiar idea, but he couldn't quite remember what. He decided to sleep on it, and once he had figured something out, he could make a plan.

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'Oh my God. That was…well, what was it? It was insane.' thought Hermione as she followed the house elf up a grand staircase to the bedrooms. 'He showed a fair amount of courage, though. Not everyone would take a risk in declaring their feelings to someone who was predisposed to reject them.'

Bandy and Hermione had reached the top of the staircase and gone down a richly decorated corridor, with lights that turned on as they walked in and turned off as soon as they passed through. Soon they reached the end, and Bandy opened the door to reveal a large room with soft, dark green carpet and lighter green walls that had silver designs. A large canopy bed stood in the center of the room with an armoire off to one side and a vanity on the other side. As she stepped into the room, she realized that the walls on either side of the door were filled with bookcases and innumerable books.

"I'm sorry, Miss, that Mr. Malfoy could only offer you the smallest room in the house. It was the only one ready to receive a guest."

Hermione looked at the room again. It was huge. "This is the smallest?"

Bandy looked apologetic. "Sorry, Miss."

"No, no, that's quite alright. If this is the smallest room, I'm not sure I would be comfortable in any of the larger rooms."

Bandy cheered up at this. "If Miss needs bed clothes, there should be some in the armoire. And if Miss should need anything else, ring the silver bell on the vanity over there, and someone will be up to help you. Good night, Miss."

"Good night, Bandy," said Hermione as Bandy disapparated.

With Bandy gone, Hermione flopped onto the bed.

"Merlin, Malfoy makes no sense." Hermione said to herself. "No sense at all." Hermione wondered over the fact that Malfoy could like someone like her. Malfoy had always seemed the kind of person to go after the pretty, pureblooded girls. Not that Hermione wasn't pretty, but there were others who certainly had more beauty than she. And then Hermione wasn't even a half-blood, yet he still liked her. Could that mean that he wasn't the person he showed to everyone at school? Could he be a decent person on the inside? 'Perhaps,' she thought, 'but if he insists on portraying himself as a bully and a jerk, then I won't even consider him.'

With that, she rose from the bed and searched through the armoire for a night dress, and put it on. It was a bit loose, but it would have to do. She climbed back into bed, and as the lights dimmed, obeying her thoughts, the last thought that went through her mind was, 'If he changes, which he probably won't, then I'll give him a chance. He is a bit handsome, after all.' Then she closed her eyes.

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Hermione's sleep was broken by the loud noise outside her door. It sounded as if someone had stumbled along in the dark and collapsed. A ghostly sort of wail was muffled by the door as it entered Hermione's room. At first, she thought it was a dream, but, rising in her bed, she saw lights flickering in the crack under the door. Perhaps a ghost, then? She had often read about haunted mansions.

She pushed the covers away from her and got out of bed. It was still dark, and she couldn't see anything. She started to look for the lights, but they turned on automatically, although dimly. She made her way towards the door and was about to open it, when she heard a scream. Hermione froze, then doubled back, found her wand as a precaution, and said, "Protego," to shield herself from whatever might be there.

She opened the door slowly, but when it was fully open, there was no one there, and the corridor was dark. She stepped into the hallway, and the lights turned on. She looked down towards the stairs at the end of the hall, and she saw someone's silvery cloak disappear from view. She decided to follow.

More terrifying screams of anguish resounded, now much louder, through the house. As she turned to go down the stairs, she caught a glimpse of long, pale hair before the figure turned into a doorway. Hermione was about to descend the stairs, but a voice called out her name.

"Hermione!"

Hermione turned around, searching for the person who had addressed her. It was Malfoy.

"Hermione," he repeated. "What are you doing here?"

"I heard a noise in the corridor, so I went to investigate, and I saw someone go down the stairs."

Malfoy's face turned pale. He remembered that sometimes his father had nightmares from being in Azkaban, and would sleepwalk through the halls, screaming. How was he to explain this?

"Are you sure you weren't dreaming, Hermione?" he asked.

Hermione looked cross. "Of course, Malfoy." Her expression changed from annoyance to a thoughtful frown. "Of course, I didn't get a good look at whoever it was. They were very pale, and they had a silvery cloak, though."

Draco cursed inwardly. His father had a silver night robe.

Hermione looked at him curiously. "No one else lives here with you, do they?"

Draco replied with as much nonchalance as he could. "No, of course not. Why?"

"Could it have been a ghost?"

Draco could have kissed her for coming to that conclusion. He furrowed his brow, pretended to think about it, and looking as if he had just realized something, he said, "Maybe it was my mother."

Hermione gasped. "I remember now. I saw it in the paper. You killed her." Hermione paused. "That explains the screaming."

A forlorn look passed over Draco's face. This time, he wasn't acting. "Don't remind me."

A pang of sympathy pierced Hermione's heart. He looked genuinely sorry. "I'm sorry," she said softly.

Draco looked down at the floor. His breathing became irregular, and his chest started to heave. He sobbed silently, still standing in the hallway. Hermione touched her hand to his shoulder as a comforting gesture, and Draco surprised Hermione by leaning into her, and wrapping his arms around her tightly.

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AN: There you go. Fluff, at last. I'm sorry that everyone's been so weepy in this chapter.