A/N: If you notice any errors, please know that I plan on going back and re-editing everything once I am done writing! Thank you for all the Reviews and love!

Onto the tenth chapter!

Draco was pacing the dark wooden floor of the Room of Requirement with anxiety. Stroking his jaw uneasily, he stopped his marching to stare at the Vanishing Cabinet before him. His eyebrows rose as if he had an epiphany before he shook his head dismissively and returned to the pacing.

Hermione, perched on a blue, torn armchair, watched Draco curiously. Covered in Harry's invisibility cloak, she was taking mental notes on his demeanor.

About a week had passed since their awkward patrol together and their Runes study sessions were filled with studious translating or stiff conversations about trivial things like House rivalry, the upcoming Quidditch match, and Charms assignments. In short, Hermione had taken a short break from her prying to let him think.

The week was over, though, and she needed more information. So, around three in the afternoon, while Harry and Ginny were diligently training Ron for his position as a Chaser, Hermione decided to go to the Room of Hidden Things to try and read his journal.

The only problem, Hermione thought, was getting the journal from him without him noticing.

He stopped his pacing again, opened the cabinet, and placed an apple inside of it. Mumbling some sort of incantation, he dragged his wand up and down, staring nervously at the tall wardrobe.

When he opened the door again a moment later, the apple was gone. He furrowed his eyebrows, sighed, and slammed the door closed with evident dejection.

He stepped over to the couch and collapsed lazily onto the sofa, laying on his back. He placed his hands on his face and pulled them back, stressed. Rolling over, Draco grabbed his journal from his bag and reached into his pocket, retrieving Hermione's pen.

Hermione felt her hopes raise a bit at seeing this, meaning that he had accepted and kept her gift.

He scribbled something lazily in the journal before releasing a pained hiss. He dropped the book and grabbed his left sleeve, pulling it up to reveal the ugly dark mark, the dark black ink starkly contrasting his pale forearm.

Hermione exhaled slightly, drawing her knees quietly to her chest. There really was no other way to describe it. It was ugly. It was wrong. It was out of place.

Draco's face, screwed up in anguish, uncurled itself to pull his sleeve back into place and take a deep breath.

He stood up, pulled the sleeve back down and grabbed his bookbag, rushing out of the room, off to do something.

In his pained rush, Draco had forgotten to grab his journal and Hermione knew he was gone when she heard the door slam. Muffled voices from outside, two low and spoken only in short grunts and the other in a clipped tone signaled to Hermione that Crabbe and Goyle had shown up outside the door.

When the voices faded and a few minutes had passed, she stood up shakily to grab the journal.

Sitting on the couch and flipping it open to a recent page, she read:

10/14/96

Fixed Cabinet doors. Haven't tried sending anything through.

Below this was a very detailed and accurate drawing of his view from the couch across from the Vanishing Cabinet. She assumed that while working on the room he had taken a break to sketch, probably out of a mix of boredom and procrastination.

She wondered how he had learned how to draw before remembering Draco telling her that he had been tutored in the fine arts as a child. She wondered what else he could do…

10/15/96

Granger woke me up for patrols yesterday. 2 hours of pointless wandering. Theo has apparently lowered his standards and is now shagging bloody Gryffindors. Disgusting.

Granger questioned my beliefs and now I am questioning them as well. I don't know what to think. I can't just go against my mother and father without being completely cut off. I'd be the next Sirius Black. Not to mention the fact that the Dark Lord would probably kill me (and mum). Besides, if I don't even know what I believe, how am I supposed to pick a side?

Do I really care about Muggleborns? When we're lying in the dirt, dying, does it really matter if we're muggle-born, half-blood or pureblood? What does blood status count for when someone is at the mercy of another's wand, looking death in the eye?

But I suppose that my father has some points as well. I can't just leave everything I've ever stood for, everything I believe and everything I've ever known behind me because Granger said I was wrong. I could be great, I could prove my father right. Make him proud.

Fuck all that. All of it. Fuck Granger. Fuck my father. Fuck, Fuck, FUCK.

Now would be a great time for Potter to get his shit together and kill the fucking tosser.

Hermione read this twice before setting the journal in her lap, still beneath the Invisibility Cloak. He had been considering leaving his side then? But later in the entry, he declared that he couldn't pick a side. He definitely was starting to see the absurdity in his and his family's opinions.

A loud bang from the entrance of the room made Hermione jump and pull the invisibility cloak closer. She could hear irate muttering and saw Draco trudging toward her.

The journal. He had obviously come back to retrieve his journal, which was currently sitting in Hermione's lap. While he was still a fair bit of distance away from her, she silently placed the book on the floor where he had left it and held her breath.

She hoped that Draco would be too entrenched in his own tormenting thoughts to notice the slight indent made in the couch by Hermione's invisible weight.

Stomping over, he knelt down, barely an arms width from Hermione, and seized the journal. He stood up, glanced at where Hermione was sitting and left.

When he had gone once more, Hermione let out a breath she didn't know she was holding and stood up, her legs trembling and her heart unsteadily beating in her chest.

That was too close.

"Slughorn's holding a Christmas party," Hermione informed Harry and Ron later that day in Herbology.

Harry shook his head dismissively, which Hermione took note of and said, "But there's no way you'll be able to wriggle out of this one, Harry, because he's asked me to check your schedule and plan it on a night he knows that you'll be available."

Harry groaned dramatically.

Ron looked at Hermione with contempt, "And this is just for Slughorn's favorites, is it?"

"Yes," Hermione nodded, "Just for the Slug Club."

Ron sneered and looked quite a bit like Draco, which Hermione found rather unnerving, "The Slug Club?"

Hermione had forgotten that Ron hadn't heard that until now in this timeline. She winced, "Well, I didn't choose the name."

Ron continued, "Well, you can have fun getting off with McLaggen, Gryffindor Quidditch star, at the party. He can be Slug King and you can be Slug Queen and-"

Hermione interrupted, remembering this exact conversation from when they originally had it, "We can bring guests. I was going to ask you, but if you think it's so stupid, then I'll find someone else and go with McLaggen like you wanted me to."

Harry was staring at the table, obviously feeling awkward. Ron mumbled something about not thinking it was stupid, but Hermione crossed her arms and ignored him. He had his chance (twice now, really) to shut up and control his temper but he blew it.

"The Chamber of Secrets was created by Salazar Slytherin after…" Draco was translating later that week, on Friday, leaning back in his chair with his legs propped up on the table. He continued on like this while Hermione scribed his words down messily.

"Granger," he stopped, peering at the steadily growing pile of parchment, "I can't read that shit."

Hermione rolled her eyes, "Stop being so pretentious. Just because it's not perfect cursive handwriting doesn't mean it's illegible."

He looked back down, "You sure about that?"

Hermione bristled after realizing that her ink smeared, destroying the last line she wrote. "Okay, it's kind of bad."

"Kind of? That's absolutely fucking offensive."

"Fine, then you write," Hermione turned her nose up.

Draco rolled his eyes, and sat up, leaning across the table to grab the parchment from her with a derisive smirk. Reaching into his bag, he pulled out a quill and mumbled, "Scribos sonos."

Hermione looked at him with perplexion, unfamiliar with the spell. On top of that, Draco wasn't using the pen anymore, Hermione noted.

Draco raised an eyebrow and tilted his head encouragingly as if to say, "Carry on."

Hermione opened her mouth, about to say something before closing it. She grabbed the Runes and straightened her back, preparing to translate.

"After 950 years of searching, most agree that the Chamber of Secrets is a tale made by crazed supporters of Slytherin," Hermione said, her speech slowing in a confused tone until she stopped, noticing the quill scribbling on its own. "A Quick Quotes Quill?"

Draco shook his head and grabbed his journal as well as the pen Hermione had given him from his bag. Leaning back, he started to sketch something. Hermione shook her head, a small smile on her face, and continued translating.

An hour or so later, Hermione stopped translating, feeling done with the prospect of Runes.

"I'm done," she announced. Draco glanced up and pulled his wand out of his pocket, muttering the counterspell. He looked down at the parchment and nodded at the transcription.

"That is not fair," Hermione announced.

"And why's that?" Draco smirked.

"Because-because," she sputtered, "you were in such a huff about my handwriting yet you won't even write! How was that any different than me just doing it myself?"

"Because," Draco explained as though it were obvious, "you didn't have to write. I mean, what difference does it make if I write it or I get my quill to do it on its own."

"Fine," Hermione reluctantly agreed.

She noticed Draco's journal laying open and stared with awe. He had sketched, in pen, his view of Hermione translating the runes. He had captured the room behind her perfectly; it really looked accurate.

"Was that what you were doing?" Hermione asked, her mouth hanging slightly ajar.

Draco glanced down at the drawing, blushed and closed it, "No."

Hermione didn't fall for that and reached across the table. He saw this coming and yanked the journal back and into his lap. Hermione huffed and stopped leaning forward, backing herself into her seat.

She didn't mention it as she cleaned her things up and the bell rang. Draco, once again, didn't bother cleaning up as he was likely going to stay in there anyways.

But as she left, she couldn't help it.

"It looked good," she said, leaving Draco alone in the room with his drawing and a curious expression.

The next day, Hermione, wearing her Muggle clothes, tugged her coat closer to her body. Sitting in the stands, along with Lavender Brown, Dean Thomas (who Ginny was dating) and a few first years, Hermione watched as the Gryffindor Quidditch Team practiced.

Honestly, she didn't care much about the Gryffindor Team, but Harry and Ron wanted her to come and watch a practice, so here she was. It seemed like Harry had something to ask her from the way he asked her, and Hermione had no idea what he could need.

Ron was throwing a Quaffle toward McLaggen with plenty of excess force, likely because of his obvious animosity toward the Keeper who got the position instead of him.

A few meters away from Hermione, Lavender cheered for Ron, who she obviously harbored a crush on.

The scrimmage continued on until Harry blew a whistle, waved his arm and called everyone down to the field. Ron was glaring slightly at McLaggen and Ginny waved flirtatiously toward Dean, who smiled back.

Harry saw this and seethed minutely at Dean before addressing the team. He yelled something enthusiastically before everyone on the team cheered and disbanded. Hermione stood up from her seat and ran to join them on the pitch.

McLaggen stepped in front of her before she could get to Harry and Ron. Hermione peered around him, not really in the mood to talk to him, but Cormac leaned in front of her direction of sight to get her attention.

"Granger," he smiled, "isn't it?"

"Cormac, Hermione crossed her arms, "I think you know who I am. We have Potions together."

"Right, right, right," Cormac exhaled, "So, will you be going to the Christmas party, then?"

Hermione shrugged, "Probably. I haven't given it much thought. I really should go talk to Ha-"

"Would you want to go with me, then?" he tried to smolder at her, and Hermione felt her disgust grow. Looking at Ron, though, who was glaring at McLaggen, she turned to him with a smile.

"Sure, Cormac. I'll talk to you later about it, okay?"

McLaggen nodded and said his goodbyes before retiring to the locker room.

"Great practice, Harry, Ron," Hermione grinned at the two boys.

Ron narrowed his eyes with a glare toward McLaggen and asked, "What did McLaggen want?"

"Not much," Hermione smiled. "How is chasing, Ron?"

Ron was still suspicious of Cormac but said, "Different. Ginny's been helping me a bit, and I think I'm getting better. Wouldn't you say, Harry?"

Harry reassured him and Ron waved at the two as he ran toward the changing rooms to get dressed.

"So..." Hermione said, turning toward Harry. She was waiting for him to explain why he asked her to watch Quidditch.

Harry realized what she was hinting at and said, "You and Malfoy seem to be pretty chummy, then?"

Hermione was unsure what he was referring to.

"What?"

Harry crossed his arms, "I saw you talking with him on the Quidditch Pitch a week ago. And you keep going off and disappearing to Godric knows where- and don't say the library. I checked."

Hermione pursed her lips, "Harry, you know that I still am working on Ancient Runes with him, right?"

Harry froze and looked apologetically toward her, "I… I know. Er, but why the Quidditch Pitch?"

Hermione laughed, "Bloody Hell, Harry! Do you think Draco voluntarily comes to our meetings? I have to force him."

"Draco?" Harry cringed. "I know that you said that you were calling him by his first name because you think last names are childish but it's still weird."

Hermione furrowed her brows with indignation. "I'm sorry that you think it's weird but I'm not going to start acting like a first year because you don't like Draco's name. Is that all you needed?"

Harry sighed and shook his head, "Yeah. Yeah, I guess so."

"Well," Hermione began to walk away, feeling slightly angry with Harry's irksome callowness, "good then. I'll see you later."

"Granger," Draco said, now completely slumped sideways in his chair, his legs dangling over the arm of the seat and his head resting against the other arm staring at the ceiling. He was throwing an apple in the air over and over as Hermione pored over her homework.

"What do you need now?" Hermione set her Arithmancy homework down to glare at him.

Although they originally were working on Runes, Hermione and Draco quickly became disinterested and agreed to finish it some other time. This resulted in Hermione studiously completing her homework and Draco enchanting a paper airplane to hit Hermione every now and then.

That quickly stopped, however, when Hermione shot the steleus hex at him, making him sneeze repeatedly.

Now, thirty minutes later, Hermione had finished two homework assignments and Draco had tossed and caught his apple hundreds of times without fail.

"I'm bored," he declared, catching the apple one last time before setting it on the table.

"What," Hermione sighed, looking down at her homework, do you propose that I do about that, Draco?"

"I don't know," he groaned dramatically. He lazily rolled himself into a sitting position and leaned forward so his head lay atop his arms, which were resting on the table between them. "You're going to Slughorn's party with McLaggen, huh?"

Hermione sputtered slightly, "I-no, who-How did you find that out?"

Draco smirked, "I had my suspicions when I saw you talking to that git on the Quidditch Pitch last weekend and you got all hot and bothered. Then I heard him talking about the party and the, and I quote, 'secret babe' he was bringing to the Slug Club party. It didn't take a genius to figure out, just you to confirm.

A secret babe? I never want to hear Malfoy say that again.

"Well," Hermione blushed fiercely, "I don't see why that's your business."

"Hm," he pretended to contemplate something before drawling, "Cormac would be interested in learning that you tried to send a confundus at him during tryouts, don't you think?"

Hermione glared, "You wouldn't dare."

"Fine, Granger," he stood up and walked over to the window, "Then why are you going with the wanker?"

Hermione rolled her eyes but replied, "Ronald."

"Ronald?" Draco muttered to himself, confused, "Oh, yes, the Weasel. Did he make you mad?"

"Not as mad as you're making me right now."

"I think-" Draco was interrupted by the bell.

"Guess I'll never know what you think, hm?" Hermione mocked him as she neatly stowed her assignments in her bag. "I'll see you next Friday."

Draco flipped her off, and Hermione sneered at him as she left the mini-library, surprised at the lack of insults.

"That is beside the point!" Hermione shouted as she paced the room, her arms passionately flailing about.

"No, it's fucking not," Draco's voice was much more controlled, but the deep tone and malicious glare in his eyes told Hermione he was feeling just as worked up as she was.

Hermione laughed at his response, before responding, slightly quieter, "I just don't see why you care so much about what they think! I mean, it's obvious that you're doubting your values-and don't try to deny that, so why should you care what your mum and dad think?"

Friday's meeting was going much worse than Monday's playful tete-a-tete.

Draco stood up now as well, losing his temper, "You don't know shit about my fucking values! Granger, you'll never have to deal with this! What the fuck would you know about breaking away from your entire family?"

He was being more open during this fight. Peculiar.

She took a deep breath, "Who said you need to break away from your family?-"

"You implied it-"

"Listen! I might not know about being disowned, but I sure as hell know about being outcast by a group. Like the Wizarding World. I didn't know anything about magic when I got my letter, and you know what the first thing I hear about in Diagon Alley is? Someone complaining about 'mudbloods' tarnishing the Wizarding world," Hermione felt angry tears burning the back of her eyes as she snapped at him.

"How is that my fault?" he growled.

"Okay, skip to second year, then," Hermione's face was red and her fists were clenched with anger, "No one asked your opinion, you filthy little mudblood."

Draco shook his head, "I was fucking twelve."

"Yeah?" Hermione swiped at her eyes, putting as much force behind her words as she could manage, "And now you're sixteen. What's your excuse?"

Draco yelled back, "I haven't called you that since-"

Hermione stepped closer to him, jabbing an angry finger into his chest, "Is that because you don't believe it or because you don't want to get fucking slapped anymore?"

Draco raised an eyebrow at her curse word.

"I-" Draco gestured angrily, "I don't know what to believe! And you sure as hell aren't helping!"

Hermione shouted, "It's not my fault that you have the moral compass of a garbage bin! If you still don't know what to believe, after all the information I gave you, then I'm sorry, Draco, but you're a lost cause!"

Hermione exhaled shakily and collapsed into an armchair, rubbing her eyes with her thumb and forefinger.

She heard Draco's footsteps move toward the window. When she ceased her rubbing, she glanced up at him. He was staring outside with a stony expression. She shook her head and placed her head back in her hand.

"I'm sorry."

Hermione shot her head up after hearing this. Despite being mumbled so faintly that it could have been the wind and despite him staring off coldly into the grounds of Hogwarts rather than directing his attention toward Hermione, Draco said it. He apologized.

"For what?" Hermione's voice was slightly raspy from the yelling and came out in a whisper.

"Making your life miserable. Being an intolerable twelve year old. All-all of it."

Hermione felt tears come to her eyes for a second time and she angrily brushed them away.

"Fine."

Draco turned around to look at the girl he had tormented, but by the time he looked back, she was already gone.

10/26/96

I did it. I apologized. Fuck, that's weird to think about.

Something was written here, but crossed out.

Granger might not realize it, but by me apologizing, I've kind of made a statement about my family.

I don't want to be another Lucius Malfoy. He's in Azkaban and he's making his son do his dirty work. That's not it. Not who I'm going to be.

So, even though I'm not going to be best friends with Potty or go get a fucking Phoenix tattooed on my back, or even switch sides, I'm going to try and limit what I say. If I could, I'd leave the war behind and go live in our French estate.

C'est la vie.

Still, I can't just abandon my mission. I'm going to go through with it, even if I'm realizing that the Dark Lord might just be another Hitler using muggleborns as scapegoats. If nothing else, it's for my mum, who would be undoubtedly tortured and killed if I fail.

Merlin, why me?

Hermione closed the journal, which she had taken from Draco after following him into the Room of Hidden Things, with a sad sigh.

She moved her gaze to Draco, lying asleep on the sofa across from the Vanishing Cabinet. She followed him eagerly and watched with sadness as he angrily stomped into the room, slammed the door open and saw no apple before breaking down and sobbing.

He had fallen asleep after halting his sobs to throw a book toward a mirror a way down the hallway of junk, creating a shattered, broken ocean of shards.

She frowned at the sleeping boy before her as she tucked the journal back into his bookbag. He was certainly under a lot of stress, as Hermione could tell by his constant emotional mood swings. Today was certainly evidence of this.

She never really expected to hear him apologize, yet here she was. It hadn't been the gloriously tormented apology she had always dreamed of him making, but he said those words, and, as Hermione could tell by the journal, he meant them.