So, I haven't updated in a while (sorry guys!), I'm just finding it difficult to stick to one thing these days. I'll try to be more consistent, as now I'll have more time since its summer:) Hope you're enjoying everything so far and thank you for all your reviews! Much love.


"She did what!?" Ginny exclaimed as Hermione recounted the events of her Hogsmeade trip.

"You heard me," Hermione paced around her dormitory, "you should have seen Harry's face! What a nightmare."

"I can't believe her, I really thought she'd changed," the red-haired girl muttered.

Hermione realized that Ginny must have felt extremely disappointed in that moment, but somehow, she really didn't want the two girls getting together—it was clear that Pansy was not a good person. The Gryffindor internally kicked herself for throwing the butterbeer in the other girls' face, it was extremely uncharacteristic of Hermione Granger to lose her cool like that—but it had all just happened so fast.

"I guess people never really change," the older girl breathed, as she slowed her pacing and finally looked at her friend.

"I guess not," Ginny sighed, "did anything else happen?"

Hermione thought about telling Ginny about her random hallway rendezvous with Draco, but it felt too private to share. Ginny wouldn't understand how much it all meant to her—not like she even really knew what it meant herself—but she didn't want the memory of it being tarnished by anyone.

The Gryffindor had spent the entire afternoon and evening thinking about Draco Malfoy—she felt like she was back at square one. One apology, coupled with one kiss of her hand and she practically forgot about all the wrong things he'd ever done. Her own lack of self-respect was frustrating her to no end, as a voice at the back of her head was thrumming with disapproval. Malfoy didn't deserve her forgiveness—and yet…

His behaviour made no sense to her, how suddenly he'd just overcome his hatred for her and was now apologizing—it was like he'd flipped. It was quite concerning, but her own resurfacing feelings were concerning her even more.

"No," Hermione lied, "I just threw my drink at the wench and left."

"Good," Ginny said with a huff, "and what about Blaise?"

"What about him?"

Ginny chuckled, "that pretty much just told me everything I needed to know."

"Oh, come on Gin," Hermione whined.

"Don't 'come on Gin' me," the girl countered, "you're not interested."

"We can't possibly know that it's too soon…" Hermione unconvincingly protested, but she knew her friend was right. Blaise Zabini was kind, genuine, funny, well-mannered, and extremely easy on the eyes—the perfect gentleman. But there was something missing.

"Lie to me all you want, but there's no need to lie to yourself," Ginny scoffed.

"I'm not—"

"Enough, Mione—get real," Ginny interrupted, "we're not going to have a constructive conversation if you only provide me with bits and pieces of utter BULL."

Hermione felt Ginny's words like a bucket of water being dumped over her head. She had a point. She thought about her next words, and reluctantly decided on being honest.

"Fine. I'm not interested. There. You happy?"

"Very," Ginny grinned.

"Ugh! He's so lovely though, and has excellent taste," Hermione continued.

"I'm sure," the other girl nodded, smirking.

"So handsome, and smells so nice," the older Gryffindor added.

"Mhm, yes he does."

"He's just," Hermione finally said, "He's just not—"

"He's just not Malfoy," Ginny said with finality.

Hermione looked at her friend once more, noticing a knowing look plastered on her face.

"He's not," Hermione finally admitted, defeatedly.

It dawned on Hermione how much the boy still meant to her. Feelings don't just leave because you try to 'will it so'. Having feelings for someone isn't just something a person can turn on and off as they please—love songs, poems and books wouldn't exist if that were the case. No, love is much more complicated than that; it's messy, non-linear, and surprising. If the past is indicative of anything, it's that people can hurt you repeatedly, and you can still love them.

Draco Malfoy is the only boy who'd ever meant anything to her, from the moment she'd laid eyes on him.

"So why don't you try to water that garden?"

"What?" Hermione asked, confused at her friend's words.

"Why don't you try to start something with him?" Ginny explained.

Hermione nearly burst into laughter, "Uhm, what do you think I've been trying to do for the past six years?"

"You've been pining," Ginny countered, "maybe try something different."

"Why would I try anything when all he's ever shown is disgust and hatred for me?" the older girl snapped.

What was Ginny playing at? How could she say these things, knowing how many times Hermione had cried herself to sleep from all the taunting and countless rejections.

"Maybe I know something that you don't."

"Oh, and what might that be?"

Ginny smiled.

"What? Tell me or Merlin help me I—" Hermione snapped.

"He likes you."

Hermione sniggered, "excuse me?"

"Draco Malfoy likes you," Ginny smiled again.

"First, no he does not," Hermione said nervously, "second, how do you know?"

"I may have had a rather interesting conversation with him after you left this morning—"

"You WHAT?"

"He didn't explicitly say it…" Ginny continued, ignoring her friend's outburst, "but I know."

"Oh yes," Hermione scoffed, "Ginevra Weasley, the all-knowing Malfoy mind-reader coming to my aid and poisoning my mind with false hope! Thank you for just knowing!"

Ginny rolled her eyes, "for someone who has spent the better half of six years around guys, you sure as hell don't know anything about them," she smirked, "brightest witch of her age—my bloody arse!"

"You don't know what you're talking about," the older girl shrugged, "he didn't even say anything himself—you're just making outlandish assumptions."

Hermione was beyond annoyed at this point. How dare her own friend try to encourage her down a path that would only end in pain and sorrow. For years, Hermione had been the laughingstock of Slytherin house, as well as other houses (even her own), for being open about her feelings—now that she was trying to move on, everyone was trying to bring her back. Nothing made sense.

"He didn't have to say anything," Ginny breathed, "it was written all over his face when he watched you leave with Zabini."

"You can't be ser—"

"Then we spoke," the red head interrupted, "and he told me how much he wanted to make amends and earn your forgiveness."

"So what? That doesn't make him a modern-day Romeo!"

"I'm not even going to pretend to know who that is," the girl scoffed, "but have you ever heard him apologize to someone? Or express any feelings of remorse?" she added.

"No but I—"

"And why, pray tell, would he be confiding something like that to me of all people—the blood traitor—if he didn't want you to know about it?" the younger girl demanded.

"Because he knows he's been a right foul git to me? Or he's doing it for Zabini's sake?" Hermione answered back, but even she didn't believe her own words.

"Okay, can we stop pretending like we have rocks between our ears? He likes you! Do something about it, you bloody stubborn mule!" Ginny said, now exasperated.

Hermione wanted to tell Ginny she was not being stubborn, or purposely trying to be in denial. She wanted more than anything for Ginny's words to be true, for Draco to like her and for them to have a chance together. The Gryffindor had always wanted this, for more years than she'd wished to admit—but the wounds were still so fresh and deep. If this was another case of false hope, Hermione wouldn't be able to withstand it this time—she was trying to protect her heart.

"You don't know what it was like Gin," she breathed, "I never want to go through that again."

Ginny gave her a sad smile, "this isn't like before."

"How so?"

"The ball is in your court this time Ms. Granger."


"That fucking bitch!" Pansy bellowed, "you better stay the fuck away from her—both of you!"

Seated atop their beds within their dormitory, Blaise and Draco simply looked at each other and scowled, knowing how much grief they were about to give the girl ranting in front of them. For different, yet similar reasons they were both completely furious at Pansy—and after Blaise brought Draco up to speed on what had happened, he was seeing red. She'd crossed several lines today, and as much as they loved her, Pansy needed to learn her lesson.

"How a low-born swot can throw her drink at a member of the Sacred 28 and still live to see the sunset is beyond me! Fucking dirty mudblo—"

"You better not finish that sentence Pans," Draco warningly interrupted, "you started it and she ended it."

"Oh, like you were there to know!" she returned, glaring at her fake boyfriend.

"I didn't need to be there to know, I heard from multiple sources," Draco spat.

Pansy's expression became serpentine in a matter of seconds—Slytherin to the core.

"So, you spoke to her then," the nervousness in her eyes betrayed her, "what did she say?"

Draco's expression was stone cold then, as he contemplated his next words, he realized he was treading on dangerous waters.

"I think you know what she said," he said with an icy rage, as he stood, "but what vexes me most is that your lack of self-awareness is so fucking loud."

His words were like a slap to the face, as she visibly recoiled. Pansy could act strong and careless all she wanted, but at the end of the day Draco and Blaise were some of the most important people in her life, and she truly valued their opinions. Apparently, her actions today had struck a serious nerve for the Malfoy heir.

"Until you decide to grow up and apologize to Granger," the blond continued, "you can fuck right off."

Pansy paled then, seeming lost in thought while simultaneously grounded so deeply where she stood it would take Hagrid to move her. "Is that really how you feel?"

"Would I have said it had it not been?" Draco spat.

He could tell she was trying her hardest to look unbothered, but her poised expression faltered as her long-time friend and fake boyfriend began to leave his own dormitory.

"You should know," she let out with a shaky breath, "I was trying to do you a favor."

This time, Blaise was the one who said, "and what favour was that, Pans? Sabotaging my date with Granger?"

From pale to pink in an instant, Pansy's entire demeanour changed, and she actually looked remorseful for the first time during the entire conversation. She locked eyes with Draco, but his glare was unyielding, she pulled back once again.

"I won't lie to you Zabini, I don't think you and the mud—muggleborn belong together" she corrected herself upon being met with not one, but two glares this time, "and I honestly did try to sabotage your date because of how it had been affecting Draco."

"What the hell? How does it affect you if I take out—" but it hit him then, and Draco never wanted to use an unforgivable on a 'friend' so much in his entire life.

"So, you do like her," Blaise sighed, "and I'm a bloody idiot."

"No," Draco countered, "that's not true."

"What? That you like her or that I'm an idiot?"

Draco rolled his eyes, "both," he looked at Pansy then, and added, "you need to learn when to shut your mouth."

"And you need to learn when to stop lying—to yourself and to your friends!" she snapped.

"Last I checked, you're not my friend," and with that, he made his leave, deciding to go somewhere to be alone—he'd had enough honest conversations that day to last him a lifetime.

Draco didn't care that he'd not answered Blaise truthfully, because truth be told, the bloke should never have gone for someone so entangled in his own history, and after his kiss with Hermione it should have been evident enough that there was chemistry there. Sometimes it boggled him how Blaise had been placed in Slytherin, as his lack of cunning could be so obvious in certain moments. Then there was Pansy, who was too Slytherin for her own good. He'd forgive her someday, but what she did was completely unacceptable—he could take care of his own problems and didn't need her to interfere. Blasted women and their incessant need to stick their noses where they didn't belong.

As he reached the empty courtyard, Draco sat down at his friends' usual table and it reminded him of Granger, as she'd been called over and invited to the party. A simpler time, when he didn't know how amazing it was to kiss her—to know her taste and crave her smell. Now, he just wanted to be near her and snog her lights out. He felt like such an idiot for never having seen it before, he used to have her in the palm of his bloody hand. Now… now she was slipping away, and it was all his fault.

He was suddenly snapped out of his reverie, as an unfamiliar owl delivered normal looking mail to him, the paper landing directly onto his lap. Draco didn't recognize the script either, so he curiously opened the sealed envelope, and upon reading its contents, he quickly made a run for the fifth floor.

"Taking a bath in the prefects' bathroom.

Needed to relax.

Care to join?

-HG."

His heart was racing as he approached the door to the fifth-floor bathroom, and it wasn't from the quickest journey he'd ever made to it. While the handwriting didn't appear to look like Hermione's, Draco hadn't even had the time to truly process what was happening, all he knew was that he was in no position to deny Hermione Granger of his company. Company that would include being naked in a bathtub. He immediately hardened at the thought—he needed to stay calm.

Unable to contain his enthusiasm, Draco pulled out his wand, muttered the spell to unlock the door and slowly walked into the room.

There she was in all her glory, Hermione Granger, tantalizing in every way possible as she stood naked in the bathtub, soap suds barely covering anything and a flushed look to her face. All Draco could do was stare at the perfect curve of her breast, while silently cursing the water for covering everything else. His mouth watered as he slowly approached the girl.

She finally looked up at his direction, probably hearing the sound of his footsteps—or the loud thrumming coming from his heartbeat.

"Malfoy?" she jumped, as she grabbed some bubbles to hide herself, "what the hell are you doing in here?"

Shit. Shitshitshit. The letter had been a prank.

He was done for. Especially because he didn't know if he'd be able to leave if she asked him to.