White-Throated Sparrow

It was the last day of the first semester and Draco had yet to make any more advances against the Headmaster Dumbledore. And he was growing incredibly irritable. His irritability had nothing to do with his upcoming slaughter of the old coot, though. It was that Granger.

Her avoidance of him suddenly began to irritate the living fuck out of him. Wasn't she supposed to be a Gryffindor? What happened to all of that Gryffindor courage? It's not as if she could simply turn those things on and off.

All of his years in Hogwarts, he had been mocked for being placed in the Slytherin house – the house solid in self-preservation and cunning behaviour. He had been judged by three quarters of the school as soon as he was placed into the house by that sodding Sorting Hat and right now, he was being more courageous than a bloody Gryffindor. How bogus is that?

He threw the Percival Pratt book across the boathouse, hitting the bedroom door knob. He was just so irritated and he didn't even know why she took up so much of his time. He basically stalked her in the halls, turning every corner with his ears perked, on the lookout for the sloppy mess of brunette hair.

Granger's touch did something to him – he knew that. It assaulted him with electricity that pulsed from the tips of his fingers to his brain, disabling him. He wished he hadn't bitten his tongue that night when he shoved her away. He wished he could go back and scream at her for even interrupting his evening, for causing that onslaught of anxiety. Maybe if he had screamed at her and assaulted her verbally, he wouldn't feel as though she could see through him as if he were a glass house. If he had screamed at her, maybe he wouldn't feel as though he betrayed his entire family.

He felt like he had committed a crime, to be quite frank. He wanted to blame her, and consciously he did, but at the back of his mind, he knew in the moment he actually had meant to thank her. She gave him that stupid piece of ice, she soothed his fears, and she seemed like the first person to look him in the eye with only true concern. She was concerned for him – the guy who had wished for her untimely death on multiple occasions. He didn't mean to shove her in that moment; or maybe he did. He was unsure.

He just needed to get away from her intoxicating gaze in that moment. And now, he was trying all he could to gain it back. Despite her having all the power to see through him, he ached for her eyes to caress him with that look of concern again. The look of honesty.

Not many people were honest with Draco anymore. His father hid things from him, things that if he had just told Draco, maybe he wouldn't be in Azkaban at this very moment. His best friends hid their true emotions and concerns about Draco from him, and it made him feel like a fragile little bitch. He even knew Snape continuously held information from him – Snape had admitted it to him, telling him that somethings are just not meant to be told. He couldn't stand it.

And yet, there she was. In a sea of crows, she was a white-throated sparrow. A tiny bird that had been subjected to his plucking of her feathers on many occasions, yet she allowed him to hold her. She trusted him not to kill her after he had sent a terrifying spell directly at her, intent on hurting her. She cleaned up his mess and soothed him with her beautiful songs, trusting that he wouldn't crush her fragile body in his calloused, unworthy hands.

And he just didn't know how to react. He wanted to hate her. Really; it would all just be so much more simple if he allowed himself to hate her. But he couldn't. He couldn't call her a mudblood. He couldn't hurt her anymore than he had already been commanded to. He could only push her away and hope she got the message that he wasn't worth saving. Not after the mark that tainted his arm – not after what he had become.

He let out a long breath, his scorching glare wandering back to the book that laid on the floor. He let his body follow his train of thought and picked up the book, bothered that he allowed such a temper tantrum to overtake him. His thumb rested in between random page numbers and he read the poetic passage.

Pure blood domestic, guaranteed, soft-mannered, musical in purr,
The ribbon had declared the breed, gentility was in the fur.

Such feline culture in the gads, no anger ever arched her back -
What distance since those velvet pads departed from the leopard's track!

And when I mused how Time had thinned, the jungle strains within the cells,
How human hands had disciplined those prowling optic parallels;

I saw the generations pass along the reflex of a spring,
A bird had rustled in the grass, the tab had caught it on the wing;

Behind the leap so furtive-wild was such ignition in the gleam,
I thought an Abyssinian child had cried out in the whitethroat's scream.

After completing an end-of-term essay that wasn't due until they had gotten back from their holiday break, Hermione reached into her bag to retrieve an invitation she had received not long ago in class, handed to her directly from Slughorn. She eyed the classy design, wondering whether or not she even wanted to attend the event anymore.

Yes, she had agreed to McLaggen's proposal of attending the Slughorn Christmas Party together, but that was in retaliation against Ron's sudden interest in another girl. She was hurt and tired from a long day, and wanted to see Ron hurt, too. But now, she wasn't hurt. She was over it.

More than anything, she wanted to avoid Malfoy.

But he hadn't attended the last three dinners, possibly avoiding her, too, after the panicked incident in the classroom. The chances of him attending the party tonight were slim, yet she couldn't help but feel acids eating away at her stomach from nerves.

Hermione sighed, closing up the books she had been using and tucking them away into her bag with her essay. She didn't want to look at him after he physically shoved her away from him. He had done a lot of things in the past under the category of abuse, but physical assault was never a concern she had before. He had always stopped at some point.

She didn't know why it had bothered her so much. Maybe because she felt some sort of weird connection, looking into the bloodied boy's eyes and caring for him. She'd seen him bloodied too many times for her not to care about his safety. She was on high alert for him, waiting for another moment where she could heal his wounds and save him from whatever had it out for him, but she was avoiding his gazes. Turning away from his stares in the hall. Acting as though she hadn't noticed.

She felt this protectiveness over him that she associated with her natural empathy; her natural need as a Gryffindor to take action and help those who have fallen. She knew that if it were someone else, Theodore Nott or Pansy Parkinson, she would do the same for them, too. But she wondered if she would still be thinking about them constantly afterward like she had been with Draco.

She just had so many questions, willing themselves to spill out of her mouth and into Draco's ears. Why was he constantly putting himself in danger? What had happened to him to make him so nervous? What had happened to him for him to be half-naked and bloodied on the couch in the boathouse? Who had happened to him for him to show up at that Slughorn dinner looking as though nothing happened?

She wanted it all explained, but due to the strains they had in their history, she couldn't even ask.

She headed towards the Gryffindor tower after pulling her bag strap over her shoulder and leaving the library. It was the last day of school before the break, meaning celebrations would be occurring all over the school at each house. But she just wanted to dip herself into a hot bath and ease the aches in her back away.

She arrived at the common room not soon after leaving the library and made her way past the people, up the stairs and to an empty bathroom. She had heard that Slytherins get an on-suite bathroom to each bedroom, but Gryffindor girls never had that luxury, so she was pleased to see that the bathroom she had chosen was unoccupied. She locked the door behind her and let her book bag fall to the ground with a bang and leaned her back against the closed bathroom door, looking at herself in the mirror. She definitely needed a little soothing for tonight.

Her hair literally looked like an owl's nest. What was formerly curls not even three days before had turned into thick, frizzy folds. Her lips also had a slight chap to them from the winter cold and her constant nibbling of her lower pout. She sighed and stripped herself of her robes.

She went over to the bath and turned it on, slipping off her shoes and socks and tossing them over to where the rest of her clothes laid. She wasted no time and lowered herself into the bath, raptures of delight coursing through her body as the hot water touched her skin. She allowed herself to tense up before her body became used to the heat and another moan escaped her lips.

As she let the conditioner set in her hair, she looked at herself in the full length mirror positioned directly across from the bathtub. She noticed how much she had changed over the years. Her curls became less unruly, the freckles that were dusted on her nose faded due to sun exposure, and a now fading tan from summer could just barely be seen.

After finishing up, she wrapped a towel around herself and grabbed her bag, heading for her shared, but likely empty dormitory. A gasp was heard from the staircase and Hermione turned to see Seamus attempting to climb the slide.

"Hermione!" He yelled, reaching out for her hand and clearly unaware of her partial-nudity due to his drunken state, "I'm almost there! Quick – grab my hand!" She allowed a smirk to cross her features and laughed at the boy before she turned to her room. She heard a fading yell of 'no!' in the distance before closing her door to ready herself for the night.

Just as her now loose curls had been pinned back and she had finally felt presentable enough, a knock sounded at her door and Ginny came bounding into the room, a smile gracing her features.

"Hermione, you look absolutely stunning." She smiled breathlessly and took a seat on the bed, watching her. She must have sat much too close to Crookshanks as a disgruntled mewl was heard from the bed and she walked over to rest on the pillow.

"Thanks to you," Hermione replied, giving a bit of an awkward twirl in the dress Ginny had lent her. "And why are you so out of breath?"

"Dean and Seamus, the dim-witted duo." She laughed, "I really need to start getting ready with Dean. You know, Harry already left twenty minutes ago with Luna. You're late." A bundle of nerves settled in the pit of Hermione's stomach as she chewed at her bottom lip.

"I know. I'll get going." Hermione placed her wand that she used to dry herself off and prepare herself on her desk. Since the party was supposed to be a relaxing event of socializing and comfort-foods, guests had been asked to leave their wands at their dorms. Considering Ron's recent poisoning, she had speculated to herself that maybe he had become concerned for his own safety.

"Wait," Ginny said as she rushed into her small bag, pulling out a beautiful rose-gold necklace. She walked over to Hermione and placed it around her neck. "Now that's got to bring attention to your cleavage."

Hermione gaped at her younger friend and scoffed, "Like I want Cormac's eyes violating my body."

She gave herself a final look in the mirror. Honestly, she didn't even look like herself. The dress did something magical to her body that not even actual magic had accomplished before. She felt incredible.

Ginny said her good-byes and Hermione left hurriedly, not wanting to be any later than she already was.

As soon as Malfoy saw her walk into the room and lock eyes with him, the world around him shattered. His glass house shattered, and he stood there naked, just for her soothing eyes to clothe him once more. She could see right through him – he was sure of it.

It wasn't even the way she looked that caused his vulnerability; though, it definitely tore off his final piece of decency. He had never felt his heart pump so hard looking at anything ever. Her hair, usually wild, was pinned down and fell in loose ringlets. Her dress – Salazar, that dress – was classic, cinching in on her waist and drooping down in the front, allowing cleavage he hadn't even thought she had to be seen. He looked up to her face and felt his knuckles become white at his sides from the tight fists he was making. He was embarrassed most of all by his reaction to her face.

She hadn't done anything at all. No makeup gracing her features, just her. That was the best part. And the worst part.

It wasn't just the way she looked, though. It was the way she looked at him – her big, wondering eyes focusing in on his face. She had allowed herself, for the time being and for the first time in a while, to just look at him. And it made her insides turn. He was here and she didn't know how she felt. She had tried on multiple occasions to help him, even keeping secrets from her best friends for him, and all he could do was stare at her. Not even stare – glare! He glared at her, looking as though he hated her, with fire blazing in his eyes and all she wanted to do was turn around and march right out of the room that she just stepped into.

She felt an uncomfortable presence at her side and looked to see McLaggen's hand reaching out for her own. He grabbed it and brought it to his lips, pressing a torturous kiss on the back of her hand. She grimaced.

And so did Draco. He watched the event unfold and bit down on his inner cheeks hard enough to break the delicate skin and spill blood. She looked uncomfortable enough, but that did very little to soothe the seething jealousy within him.

Jealous? Yes, he supposed he was jealous. Though he couldn't admit much to himself about his feelings for Granger, because, well, he truly didn't know much about Granger to begin with, he did know what jealousy felt like. He had felt jealous of Potter multiple times on the Quidditch field, jealous of his friends for not being forced into accepting the Dark Mark, and he had even felt jealous of Granger for beating him in nearly every class. He knew what jealousy felt like, and right now, he was bathing in it's green swamp.

McLaggen had a smirk on his face and told her something that made her turn three shades pinker than the usual natural blush that covered her cheeks. And Draco? He wanted to slaughter him.

He could imagine it now, a sick fantasy of a mad man. Poor defenseless McLaggen, with nothing but his hideous smirk to try and save his dignity. But he would deserve it, Draco was sure. He had seen the way he looked at Granger at that first dinner, as though she were a pig he was readying for the butcher. He had made her feel uncomfortable then, and his unneeded presence was making her uncomfortable now.

"Draco," Blaise's voice snapped him out of his almost titillating vision of killing Cormac and he looked to his best friend, "What's going on?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, for one, your fists are almost turning blue." Draco quickly loosened his fists and brushed down his pants, unnerved that Blaise could have potentially read the situation at hand. Draco was being foolish.

"Just saw a sight I really didn't want to see." He replied truthfully and turned around, walking in the opposite direction of wherever that girl was.

"Listen, I understand that you hate her and all, but she shouldn't have that much of a hold on you." Blaise reasoned while following his friend, unknowing to what Draco really meant – that he didn't want to see McLaggen being friendly with her. But he was right. She really shouldn't have that much of an impact on him, but just her presence had slammed his whole world to a halt.

He sucked at the bit of blood still left in his mouth and looked back to see her retreating form heading to the curtained windows while McLaggen had busied himself to the beverage table. He felt something between a chuckle and a scoff bubbling from within him and quickly looked away to not confuse Blaise any further if he had been watching.

And while he did that, Hermione did all she could to get the bloody hell away from that pervert McLaggen. She was hiding behind the curtains, wondering what Malfoy was looking so damn angry about, when Harry popped his head in, scaring the life out of her.

"Godric, Harry!" She said as she grabbed his arm and pulled him in further, so Cormac wouldn't him and figure out where she was. As soon as he was concealed, she hit him on the arm and pulled her hand back to her chest as if she were trying to stabilize her ever-pounding heart, "Were you planning on killing me?"

"Hermione, if I didn't know better, I would have taken that as a dis." He looked at her bewildered, rubbing his abused arm, "Am I really that unattractive?"

Hermione scoffed and rolled her eyes, then turned her attention to look out for Cormac, "Did you see him?"

"Who?"

"McLaggen."

"No. Is that who you're hiding from?"

"Of course that's who I'm hiding from. He's disgusting, Harry." That comment brought on a chuckle from her best friend and she glowered at him.

"How is he disgusting?"

"He said I looked like a siren, Harry. A siren. Is he mad?"

"You know; some women would take that as a compliment."

"Do you know what Sirens do? They lure men into the waters so they can kill them. He's basically calling me a jezebel!" Harry laughed and nodded, looking through the somewhat thin curtains to the party.

"Yes, I can see how the translations can get mixed up." Hermione nodded her head, still wandering about the idiot in disbelief. She decided to let it go for the moment being and focus on her friend.

"So, why are you here?"

"To save you, of course. He's coming right now." Hermione needed no more warning as she slipped out from behind the curtain and practically ran to the other side of the room.

"Hey Hermione," she heard a voice right beside her ear and jumped in her skin for the second time that day. She looked up to see Blaise and his brilliant smile once again. She let out a sigh of relief.

That was, until she saw Draco not a foot away from him.

"Hi Blaise," she said uncomfortably and tried to tear her attention away from the blond headed boy. She looked at Blaise again and tried for normalcy, "Looking dapper as ever." It was only polite to compliment him on an occasion like today.

"You too, Hermione. You look wonderful." They carried conversation politely and at his side, Draco burned with jealousy once again. He wished it were that simple for him, too. Blaise could just say her name like nothing mattered, like blood could never be an issue. He laughed with her in spite of their house differences and made her smile radiantly with his kind words. He never was one to care for blood, though. He was always soft. He had always stayed silent when Theo or Draco made snide comments about filthy ancestry. He never cared.

And maybe, that's how it should be. Maybe Draco shouldn't care about Granger's blood.

But he did. And he always would.

But she didn't feel dirty when she looked at him the way she was doing right now. She didn't feel dirty when she placed that damned ice cube in his hand. She actually had cleaned him of his chaotic mental state for that time being.

Commotion was heard and Hermione snapped out of it, her attention being drawn elsewhere. Draco looked on, too, to see an ill-looking McLaggen being dragged out of the party by an upset, vomit-covered Snape. Harry walked toward Hermione, smiling ear to ear.

"What did you do to him?" Hermione gaped, clearly addressing her best friend. Huh. If Potter had done that what Hermione assumed he had done, Draco might find himself appreciating the awkward scarhead a little more.

"Oh no," He started, the grin still lively on his face, "He did that all to himself. Didn't really stomach the dragon balls all that well." His grin quickly faded when his eyes turned to Draco, confusion replacing the happy vibes he had been giving off. He nodded at the two Slytherins, "Blaise. Malfoy."

And that was her que to leave. Draco suddenly remembered why he wasn't too fond of Potter. She gave Blaise a farewell smile and, just before she turned to leave, she gave Draco a look and a tight smile. She nodded her head at him, and she left.

"What was that?" Blaise looked at Draco in disbelief, as though he had missed something rather large.

"What?"

"Hermione hates you. You hate her! You didn't even mock her and she nodded at you? She said goodbye!" His jaw went slack waiting for an answer from Draco. An answer that would never come, as Draco scanned his brain for something, anything that he could say that would be plausible enough for his friend's ears. All he could think of was:

"You're looking far too into it."

"She said goodbye, in a friendly manner, to Draco bloody Malfoy, and you're saying I'm looking too far into it?" Blaise's eyes tightened, examining his friend, "You hated her just ten minutes ago."

"Yeah, and I still do." Draco grumbled and grabbed his friend's arm, ducking away from an incoming Slughorn who was thankfully interrupted by Melinda Bobbin. That could have been close.

"Then why didn't you say anything?"

"Listen, despite popular belief, I don't always have to mock the stupid little-

"Boys!" Clearly, Melinda had very little to say to Slughorn. Though, Draco actually felt relief that he didn't have to continue his train of thought just to put a strain on Blaise's persistent questions. At least Slughorn was good for something, "How's the party coming along?" And Blaise – polite, innocent Blaise – courteously accepted Slughorn's questions, giving thoughtful answers to each.

But just because Blaise was being polite, didn't mean Draco had to take part in it.

He ducked out of the way of Slughorn's gaze, who seemed to only really care about Blaise anyways, and went to go grab a beverage.

With a small glass of tonic in hand, for alcoholic beverage consumption by minors was prohibited on Hogwarts' grounds, Draco looked on at the party as it carried through the night, occasionally watching his secret keeper. The party had already started late and Draco watched as the multitude of people slowly began to dissipate into fewer numbers. There were parties going on in every house and he knew students could only take so much of a cocktail party before they wanted to become intoxicated with their friends.

Sure, alcoholic consumption was prohibited, but it's not like that rule had stopped many in the past.

Blaise had asked if he wanted to come to the Slytherin common room to partake in the games but Draco shook his head, allowing his friend to go on without him. He wanted to watch his little bird some more.

Not many were left when Cormac decided to show his face again, looking for his lost date. Draco watched as she, once again, tucked away behind him out of the door and into the hall. Cormac was instantly bombarded with questions from a somewhat drunk Slughorn and dragged to the other side of the room to Cormac's pure displeasure and Draco's delight.

Suddenly, a realization dawned upon Draco. This was his last chance to talk to the stubborn girl who seemed to only run away from him. He needed to corner her. He needed to either berate her and belittle her, to re-establish his dominance, or he needed to apologize. Either way, he had to stop this silent treatment. All it did was give her more power to toy with his emotions.

He headed straight to the door to do just that – he needed to bark at her or something. He needed to tell her to leave him alone for good or suffer the consequences, whatever they may be. He couldn't allow himself to start feeling for the girl. He had a job to do that he was hardly any closer to accomplishing and he had even poisoned one of her friends in the process. If she got too close, who knows what could happen to her.

And that bugged him, too. Why does he all of a sudden care if she were to die in a hole right now?

But when he pulled open that door and saw her looking down the hall, the last thing he wanted to do was hurt her. She had removed her heeled shoes and carried them in one hand, deciding where to run, when she turned to look at him. No, he didn't want to hurt her; no matter if the warmth of her eyes was betrayed by the glare she was bestowing upon him.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" She sighed and turned, clearly deciding on a path she wanted to take. He felt his chest deflate and followed the girl, suddenly remembering that he had a job to do.

"So, you're just going to walk away from me again? Avoid me?" He snarled after her, anger rising within him. She scoffed.

"Me walking away from you?" She looked back at him from over her shoulder, shooting him a bitter look. It didn't suit her features. "As I remember it, you shoved me away before storming out of that classroom." He quickly caught up to her.

"Hey!" She was just about to turn a corner before he grabbed her wrist, pulling her back, "You had no fucking right to even be there in the first place - listening into my private conversations! If it were anyone else, I would've easily slaughtered them." She pulled her wrist from his grasp as if she had been burnt.

"And what are you? Following me around the halls like you're some stalker. What the hell is that?"

Fuck, did she know how to rile him up. But he didn't know what to say. He just clenched his fist and closed his eyes, willing himself to hold his temper. She only continued, though.

"And why didn't you just slaughter me, then, huh?" She pushed, walking closer to him as if she were challenging him. "I'm sure you've just about bloody daydreamed about killing me in my sleep, so what happened, Malfoy?"

He cautioned himself once more. He didn't want to hurt her, he reminded himself. He just needed her to back off.

"Just…" He started in a hiss, attempting to gain his self-control. His breathing had shallowed, and their proximity was close, contrasting against his thoughts of his need for her distance. "Stay away from me."

"Why?" She challenged, once more. He could feel her hot breath on his face. Never had any person spoken to a Malfoy man in such a way. He didn't know why he allowed it.

"Stay away from me, Granger." He warned a last time, opening his eyes to see her facing him, inches away from his own glare. His heart rate slowed. He felt like he was going to faint.

"Why, Draco?"

Time stopped. At the mention of his name, something snapped in him. And she was there to witness the very moment that he had snapped, too. Something flashed in his stormy grey eyes, and he looked down at her, an expression on his face as though he was about to curse her and hex her until she had no life left. Her hand grabbed at her dress, and her heart stopped when she realized she had left her wand at her dorm. Everyone had left their wands at their dorm.

If he was going to hurt her, he wasn't going to crucio her. No, he was going to beat her to death with his hands.

But he didn't hurt her.

She felt her body slam against the wall behind her, but he didn't hurt her. She felt his hot breath on her face, but he didn't hurt her. She heard the words, "you don't want to know" leave his mouth and caress her face, but he didn't hurt her.

She felt his lips capture her own, drinking away at her own sanity, pulling her in with the orange soda he was previously drinking still lingering on his mouth. Her body quickly tensed up against his, both of his hands on the sides of her face. Slowly, she felt her body ease into the kiss, being seduced by his clean yet musky scent.

She felt many things, but not once had she felt him hurting her.

No, she hurt him.

As soon as she felt his tongue on her lower lip, a shock ran through her body bringing her back to life, back to sanity, and her hand came flying at his face with a single, hard slap. That same hand covered her own mouth, horrified at what just happened. Her whole body shook, enraged and terrified by the crime he had just commit. And she allowed it.

For a brief moment, she felt herself lost in his tender touch. She felt herself craving the release of what seemed to be a decade of tension between the two. She felt memories of ice, and promises, and Draco's tears, and poetry, and wonder, and softness come crashing into her, and all she wanted to do was soothe the damaged boy's soul. All she wanted to do was kiss his face, over and over, willing for the pain to go away. She wanted to be the sliver of hope in his darkened vision.

But with memories of hope came the memories of pain. Years of his torment, years of his heartbreaking games, years of hating one another, truly. Years of his ignorance, his pushing her away this year when all she wanted to do was help him, all she wanted was to keep him safe, no matter how insane it may sound.

And now, this? She didn't know what to do or think. So, she didn't. She just waited.

And his reaction came rather quickly. As soon as she slapped him, his hands shot up to his face and something in his chest shattered.

Something. Whether or not he had a heart was rather irrelevant now, wasn't it? Whatever it was had just been lifted off into the sky by the little bird and dropped. And it didn't float to the ground, either.

No, it seemed as though the damage the white-throated sparrow had done was irreparable. He was broken.

He didn't know what to do.

So, he ran.

Again.

A/N: Just wanted to let readers know that the poems are, in fact, important parts of the fiction and play a significant role. They're all written by E.J. Pratt, a Canadian poet that is said to be the inspiration for Percival Pratt. Sometimes, alterations take place to better suit my novel, but just as a heads up, the portions that are written by him are, of course, his intellectual property, not mine. All copyrights for his poetry used belong to him. Review! We're so close to the end of the month and if the reviews reach fifty, I'll start updating twice a week! And we're more than half-way there!

NEXT CHAPTER PREVIEW:

He found himself back in that same, dark classroom, gripping his hair while terrifying images of tortured muggle-borns filled his vision. He could only think about Hermione.

If only she was there to heal him, once again, with her sweet songs of warmth and safety.

Love always, Elle – your author for this story.