Author's Note: Thanks to everyone for their kind reviews. This is my first fan-fiction and I'm excitedby all the positive feedback. I just wanted to thank everyone for reading and I hope you enjoy this chapter and the rest of the story!

Chapter VI

It wasn't until much later that night that Hermione had the chance to ponder what exactly had transpired between her and Malfoy in Arithmancy. She fell into a vast and velvety chair by the Common Room fire. Hermione was exhausted and she wished her soft bed upstairs and the promise of gentle dreams could swallow her whole instead of the chair she was stretched out in.

Comfortable and warm, but not to the point where thoughts melted and all senses seemed sluggish, Hermione tried to decide what was going to happen between her and Draco, but more importantly what she wanted to happen between her and Draco.

When they had first met, her impression had been that Malfoy was a spoiled and coddled wizard who thought he knew everything. Of course, Malfoy probably thought she was a subhuman spawn of Muggle filth that somehow became sentient and thought it knew everything. And despite Harry's immediate and fervent hate for Malfoy, Hermione never saw what Draco had done to deserve such pointlessly passionate hate. Sure, initially he appeared nothing more than the wizarding equivalent of a redneck, complete with unreasonable prejudice and probable inbreeding somewhere in his family tree; but when Hermione walked into her first Arithmancy lesson in third year to find Malfoy sitting up front she had seen another side to him. Apparently Draco did well in his classes because he was smart, not just because the majority of the staff was petrified of incurring the wrath of Lucius Malfoy. Apparently Draco was serious when he said his brain made Potter look like a Hufflepuff, he wasn't just being mean. Apparently he was a Slytherin because he was cunning, not just because his father was a notorious Death Eater. After all, Arithmancy was a rigorously challenging course.

In retrospect, that had been when Hermione first recognized Malfoy as a human being. That was when he became a tangible person, not just am incorporeal concept of evil to be addressed as Malfoy. That was when he became beautifully cold to her instead of just cold. Naturally, it helped that third year was when they began to mature, both physically and emotionally. But even without his stunning body gracefully growing into an even more perfect incarnation, Draco became attractive to her because he took on a more elegant manner. His insults were no longer simple snide jabs at her heritage. They took on more depth and complexity; became witty even. Malfoy's snobbery became Draco's mildly amused detachment. His previously exaggerated yawns of boredom developed into stifled signs of his disinterest in matters of which he remained aloof. In short, Malfoy grew up and became Draco, the modern and male manifestation of Helen of Troy. Even before the rest of Hogwarts became mesmerized by his swiftly obvious beauty, Hermione had unconsciously been intoxicating herself with it. It may have taken her until last year to admit "objectively" that Draco was superhumanly attractive, but it had taken her until now for her to admit that her observation hadn't been objective in the slightest.

And now for some concealed reason, Draco had found an interest in her. Interest was barely describing it. If their shared look earlier today revealed anything of Draco's affection for her, it would be foolish to dismiss it as a mere interest.

Without thinking, Hermione began to trace the scabs formed on her left forearm. Maybe Draco recognized in me a despair and isolation he is beginning to recognize in himself. Maybe Draco does need someone after all. Someone who is on an equal level with him, at least mentally; Crabbe and Goyle certainly don't meet that expectation.

Hermione sat staring into the fire a short while longer until Crookshanks leaped into her lap. As she began petting him, she heard a noise, like footsteps on the stair. Whipping around in her chair, she saw Harry halfway down the stairs into the Common Room.

"Hermione? What are you doing up still?"

"Nothing, I was just…just thinking."

Harry stepped fully into the room and in the light now, he thought he could see remains of gashes on Hermione's arm.

"Hermione, what are those?"

Hermione followed his inquisitive eyes and swiftly yanked her sleeve down over her arm.

"Nothing, Harry. Crookshanks just got a little cranky last night…"

"Crookshanks hasn't got claws sharp or wide enough for those marks, if they're half as bad as they looked."

"Why do you care, Harry? Why now?"

Harry mumbled something insubstantial and Hermione swept past him, up the stairs and to her dormitory to be alone and hopefully get some sleep.