The windows were darkened and the only light filtering into the dorm was from the full moon outside. It was deathly silent, except for the even measured breathing of sleeping Griffindors. This was when Hermione knew it was safe to slip away. She grabbed her dressing gown, threw it over her shoulders and slid her slippers on as she left the dorm.
Draco walked defiantly from the Slytherin common room while it was still host to a few of his housemates. Namely Fiona, who seemed very suspicious of Draco wandering the corridors in the middle of the night.

"I fancied a bath," said Draco, indicating the plush towel draped over his shoulder.

"That's lucky for the rest of us," sneered Fiona.

"Why?" asked Draco innocently, "It's not as though you were invited."

"Don't flatter yourself, Draco," she snapped.

"I thought I'd leave that up to you, love," he grinned, "you're so good at it."
Hermione had been peacefully soaking in a bath of mostly ice-white foam and tiny periwinkle bubbles, and she entertained the idea that this helped her work things out. She plunged underwater and swam the length of the bath and back, but still was at a complete loss as to why she's told Harry about Draco.

"I suppose that no number of laps in this bath will help me figure that out," she mused aloud.

"Hermione, I had no idea you were so beautiful when you talked to yourself. Although, I suppose being naked doesn't hurt either..."

"DRACO!" Hermione shouted.

"If you yell a little louder, maybe the whole school will hear you and come to investigate," Draco grinned. "Wouldn't that be interesting?"

Hermione, who was now floating with only her head above water, was just mildly outraged.

"Turn 'round, you," she said stiffly, treading water. "I'm getting out."

"I don't see the sense in that," said Draco. "It's a large bath; I think you'll be fine. I'll stay at this end."

"You must be kidding..."

"Why would I do that? Honestly, I just want to talk to you."

"You can talk to me while I sit over there," said Hermione, motioning to a duvet under the skylight.

"Do you not trust me?" asked Draco lightly, his back turned obligingly. He looked carefully at the wall while Hermione slipped from the bath and into her dressing gown.

"Of course I don't trust you," answered Hermione, sitting down lightly. "Why should I trust you? You've given me no reason to trust you. If you'd taken the blame for Blaise's accident, Draco..."

"Please don't start on this again," asked Draco quietly. Hermione, now sitting and leaning against the wall, looked at Draco seriously.

"I just don't understand it," she replied.

"It's really very complicated," sighed Draco. "I ... I love Blaise. I do..."

"I don't think you know what love is, Draco."

"How do you expect me to know what love is!?" raged Draco. Hermione pulled her legs up closer to her, and shrunk back against the wall. Usually when Draco was angry, he'd shout it out and then slump back exhausted. Hermione doubted he would lose his steam this time.

"I've never even experienced love!" he continued to shout. "How can you know love with a family like mine? 'Oh, how Narcissa loves her son!' say her friends! How she worries about him being at home with his father! They think we're inseparable, and so we are. Both are afraid to leave the other alone..." Draco had begun to slow his momentum, but Hermione was still afraid to interrupt him.

"Blaise's father... he hates her. He resents that she lived and her brother died. He resents that she's not an heir, not a son. And she doesn't hate him for it at all... she... she just keeps trying, harder and harder, and no one cares. Except me..." he paused for breathe, his chest heaving. "She saved me once."

"I didn't mean to salt the wound, Draco..."

"Salt the wound..." said Draco thoughtfully. "That's what people say, isn't it? 'I didn't mean to salt the wound.' Have you ever had salt in a wound? Have you ever even sustained a wound? I doubt it, not an injury proper, anyway."

Draco turned this back to her, his tight dark shirt shifting lightly with his movement. He peeled of the shirt, revealing silvery scars criss-crossed over his back. One in particular stood out so prominently that it was impossible for her to not notice. It reminded her of the scars across Harry's arms and chest, the ones she'd discovered one night while they'd been staying at The Burrow. She'd been shocked and upset, and furious when Harry finally told her they were from Dudley and his Uncle Vernon, his 'family'.

She looked, transfixed and horrified. She'd always thought Harry's curse scar, all of Harry's scars, were awful, but these... these were terrifying. How had Draco survived these injuries? She's always seen him as so inhumanly frail, but now realized that he was unbelievably strong. She glided from the duvet, and walked slowly toward him. She reached her hand out and barely brushed his shoulder with fingers. He flinched visibly, but quickly relaxed.

"This," Hermione said, shuddering, tracing the biggest scar with her index finger, "would certainly have severed your shoulder," her voice grew quiet, "... and killed you. What happened?"

"I'm not sure. I blacked out after the first blow, to be honest. It struck across my shoulder, and hit me at the base of my neck. I didn't remember anything until four days later. Blaise nursed me," he added, pausing, and finally turning back around. His eyes were lowered, studying his thin fingers. "I wasn't exactly sure what I'd done to deserve that one."

"Oh, Draco... no one could deserve that..." Hermione choked. Her eyes were bursting with tears, and she was sobbing audibly. "I don't know why you and Harry hate each other so... you've so much in common..."

"I'm sure. The poor abused boys, lets put them together and make them friends. I've tried that once, remember? On the train? Potter wasn't too keen on it. But wouldn't we have been a model to follow? The veritable heir to Voldemort's throne, and his destined destroyer. Yes... that would make a pretty picture." Draco's eyes were harsh again, and he spoke in a tone tinged with malice.

Hermione grabbed for his hand, and he gently pulled away, turning his face from her.

"I'm sorry," she said simply.

"For what?"

"All the times I've ever smacked you, insulted you. Perhaps I was angry, but I should have never hit you... I didn't mean to hurt you."

"Merely taps... you never hurt me," Draco answered nonchalantly. "I knew you meant no harm."

"Did you?" Hermione asked lightly, reaching again for his hand again. This time, he let her take it, and pressed his fingers between hers.

"Yes... of course I did. Passion, not anger. I think you never get angry, only passionate," he smiled, and reluctantly she smiled back. "I love your smile."

"You used to hate it, with my big teeth," said Hermione softly.

"I'm sorry I ever said that... But it's lovely now. And you hardly ever smile."

"You never smile. You grin, you sneer... you never smile unless you're alone."

Draco smiled again, and kissed her quickly, pulling her into his arms.

"Well... I'm not alone."