yawn It's way too late to be writing. I probably won't post it until morning anyway, but I want to get it done tonight while I still have my ideas. Started writing this chapter half way through my Early Medieval Ages class which gave me some interesting ideas for the story in later chapters. Anyway, thank you soooooo much for your reviews. Sorry for any incoherent thoughts in this chapter but I'm way too tired to bother rereading. I've got the Malfoy parallel chapter to this nearly done too so it should be up by tomorrow. Things are finally moving along so I hope you guys enjoy! Oh! And send me any recommendations you might have/ ideas. I make this stuff as I go along so any cool suggestions are always welcome.

Faux Dreams

"He did what!" exclaimed Ginny, only to be shushed by a sharp glance from Madam Pince who distinctly did not appreciate the loud interruption to her usually silent library. Hermione refused to look upat the spirited girl as she simply nodded I confirmation. "Oh dear Merlin... this is HUGE!" continued the now hyperactive red head who seemed to be unable to keep herself from fidgeting with excitement, earning her yet another frown from the ever strict librarian.

"I know..." whispered Hermione, staring at the book before her. "I just don't know what to make of it. Moreover, I'm not sure if he was serious". She looked up at her friend, her eyes pleading with something unknown. "I couldn't look at him Ginny. What if he was lying? I don't want to face that".

"Why?" inquired the youngest Weasley, not sure what to make of her friend's revelation. "I mean, so what if he was lying? He'll go back to being the dog turd he is and you can just carry on with your life. Back to normal, no questions asked. Might be for the best, for that matter..."

"No, it wouldn't" snapped the now teary eyed girl, pushing her hair away from her face in an attempt to compose herself. "It distinctly wouldn't. However much he might be able to return to our usual diss feasts and snappy routines, I cannot. Because I know him, Ginny. I know he's not what he seems. And with this knowledge, I cannot make myself hate him again. Does that make sense?". She looked up at her friend, pleading for some reassurance that she wasn't completely out of her sockets.

"You're too kind 'Mione" replied the red head, feeling both sorry and proud of her friend. "Too kind for your own good. Let's just hope the jerk was serious otherwise I might need to give him a piece of my mind in your name". She extended her open hand to her friend who, closing the large tome before her, took it. "Now, no more crying. If he was right about anything is that he sure as hell doesn't deserve your tears".

"Thank you Ginny" managed the muggle born girl, wiping the few loose tears in her eyes with the back of her hand. She then stood up, picking up her bags. "I guess there's no delaying it... I'm stuck seeing the prick in class later today and even sooner if he stops by the room before then. Might as well deal with it now while I've got the will to do so". Gracing her friend with a weak smile, she turned towards her room, hoping to get some writing done before class and praying to whomever heard that a certain Slytherin boy would not be there.

But whatever might be said about Hermione Granger, luck has never been in her favor. Her years at Hogwarts had been filled with many misadventures: troll attacks, basilic attacks, werewolf attacks, and more Death Eater related attacks than anyone should be forced to deal. And so, as luck would have it, she sauntered into the head boy/head girl common room to find the very boy that had been plaguing her thoughts: Draco Malfoy.

'At least he's sleeping', she consoled herself, taking a seat in the lounge chair besides the sofa where he rested. 'Too bad he just won't stay that way... it makes him look so... not himself'. Not that he had particularly been himself this morning, but still. It was vaguely reassuring to look at him without his scowl and pretenses. Picking up her notebook from amongst her things, she wrote:

What is it about sleep that helps us see ourselves? What power does it wield to break down the masks we fight to create and uphold? From where does it draw the strength to breach the deepest walls of our constructed selves and make us face our most intimate thoughts, fears, and dreams? I only wish I could do the same.

Closing her journal, she picked up the fuzzy blanket she herself had used the night before and lightly tossed it over the blond boy. He subconsciously hugged it close to himself, a childlike gesture that almost send her into giggles. Smiling at her actions, she turned to her room, not noticing the piercing blue eyes from the not-so-sleeping Slytherin boy that followed her all the way there.