I used to know the name of every person I kissed

Now I've made this bed and can't fall asleep in it

- "Millstone" from Brand New's "The Devil and God Are Raging Inside Me"

So I got a review from Brie H.- thanks so much!- but like everyone else she was a little confused. So I'm sorry I never write things very clearly, but I have problems writings things too bluntly, or repetitively.

Harry went to Draco to say that Hermione was better off without Draco. Harry does, in fact, care about Hermione. He hasn't a clue that Hermione and Draco aren't having an affair. He's hurt and jealous.

But don't think I'm trying very hard to defend him. You will see, in this chapter and the one after next, that my rage has been taken out on him.

Repercussions will be a corollary. Do not fear.

Please review. I'm serious, for all of you that don't post many fanfictions- or those that don't read author's notes, of which I am occasionally guilty-

Please Review.

Onward to Drama.

He couldn't bring himself to do it.

Of all the things she could have said to me…

Entering the common room, Draco wondered if she would still be heading to her dormitory. Although he doubted it, he strode to his room, slamming the door behind him, like a despondent teenager, with no parents to hear his angst.

Not knowing what else he could do, Draco grabbed his broom from under his bed.

He was not crying.

Preparing to kick out through the window, Draco figured he would head out over the Forbidden Forest, for he had no where else-

"Draco."

She spoke from his bed-how could he not have seen her? and he immediately reprimanded himself for thinking his room would be a safe place.

Draco let out his breath, losing his composure, leaning against the glass, looking back to her.

"How did you get in here?"

Pansy pulled down the hood of her cloak and Draco realized she had been crying too.

Ignoring his question, Pansy stood to her fullest height and spread her arms wide-

She was welcoming him.

And as Draco could think of nothing better to do than break, he rushed towards her, gathered her into his arms, couldn't tell who was holding who, couldn't tell this girl she was saving him.

Pansy tightened her arms around Draco.

She knew.

-

She had stumbled, crying, to the Gryffindor common room, abandoning her puddle of tears next to the Hospital Wing.

If I stay here all night… no one will be able to find me, if I don't go to them. No one knows me; no one could find me except him.

And Hermione did not want to be found by him, she thought she had been better off running to old comforts.

She wanted to be rescued from him, but too great was her need to know who she had been just a day before.

He was the only one who knew, she was aware.

And yet when he rejected her, when she let him hear the only thing she could remember, and he had left…

Hermione knocked on the door of Harry Potter, stumbled into his arms, and cried.

Harry said not a word, holding her in an embrace she missed; she missed him she sorely did.

She said this to him, cried out her whispered woe, and Harry stiffened, delivered a kiss to her head, and carried her to his bed.

He lay her down and Hermione just wanted to cry into his pillow, he didn't even have to stay awake if he would just let her cry, defeated.

But he put his arm around her waist, whispering words she couldn't hear, that he couldn't have meant when he wouldn't listen to her try to explain Draco, she tried to explain what he did, that he kissed her and held her and she knew he had loved her, she knew it and then…

But Harry was shushing her, when she just wanted to cry he was telling her to stop.

So he sighed and closed his curtains, placing a silencing charm on their bed.

But even though the other boys couldn't be woken by her anguish, Harry still shushed her, still told her it was going to be okay, even though it wasn't and it most certainly hadn't been okay.

Raising her still crying face to Harry for the first time Harry held his finger to her lips and smiled, he just smiled and Hermione was so shocked that she stopped blubbering, astonished to the point where Harry spoke.

"I knew you'd come back to me."

It was a misunderstanding; this wasn't what she wanted-

But he kissed her anyways, silencing her before she could begin to cry again, and he rearranged them, allowed Hermione to lie against the pillow, speechless and without tears, while Harry continued to kiss her deeply, pushing them into his bed.

And he kissed her, clumsily, fondled her edgy hips, running his rough thumb over them over and over again until his hand was reaching lower, deeper, and she was broken from her trance, grabbed his wrist before he could reach her, and Harry didn't look at her, only kissed her again, held her distraction while he whispered "Okay, okay" while smothering her hopeless mouth.

Grabbing his wand from his nightstand Harry whispered a spell-and their clothing was gone, a squeal rising from Hermione's covered mouth as she felt Harry, all of Harry, against her.

And as Hermione began to protest, twisting her mouth away from his- "Harry stop wait, stop-" So Harry whispered a contraceptive spell and kissed Hermione down her neck, planted kisses on her cold breasts, tried to bite her nipples, and placed his hand on the side of her thigh, pushing her legs apart slowly, slowly.

And when Harry sat up, inbetween her, she could feel his member against her stomach, and he looked down at all her glory, everything she had kept to herself, waiting for the right man, the right time, when she herself was ready.

"Hermione," he looked at her full body, the way she squirmed under his grip, and he knew she was ready for him, because she looked up at him with eyes he had not seen, they were broken because of him and Harry would make it right. "Hermione, I'm here. Hermione," he leaned down, pressed his body against her until he was directly above her. "Hermione I love you, I'll help you."

And Hermione looked up at Harry, astonished, trying to come to her senses, trying to say no, when she was reminded of Lavender's first time…

"Well, it wasn't like I could say no, you know? He was all steamed up and he thought I was ready." Lavender had shivered, the tone of their girls' night suddenly cold. "At least I got it out of the way, you know what I mean?"

And just like that Hermione had pushed Harry aside, sudden vigor and strength in her behavior.

Harry, astonished, had nearly fallen off the bed and looked up at her with astonishment.

Hermione was standing, arms crossed, foot tapping, nude without shame, and she looked down at Harry.

"Give me my clothes."

And when Harry wordlessly whisked his wand, her clothing landing on the bed with a barely audible whoomph, Hermione gathered her clothes and left the room, unable to spend another moment in his presence, not even to cover herself.

In the common room, she moved quickly, only throwing on her t shirt and her panties, so that she could move quickly away from Harry.

"Hermione wait!"

She did not.

But she was at the portrait hole and his hand had grabbed her wrist and she didn't know if she wanted to slap him or not.

"Hermione I thought we were-"

When in doubt…

But his stinging cheek did not retard him, and only his temper allowed him to grab the girl before she could leave.

Slamming her against the wall, Harry grabbed her chin, roughly, forcing her to look into his hot, fuming eyes while Hermione tried not to let her fear betray the fire she wanted to burn from her own, tried not to allow the tears that would drown her passionate anger, that would allow her to give in, again.

"I thought you loved me, you love him don't you!"

Hermione slapped him, again, frantically aware of her tears.

"Don't you!"

Hermione cried and Harry stood there, not letting his anger diminish.

And when Hermione raised her arm again, miserably, not even to slap him, but to try to hopelessly reach him, Harry grabbed her wrist and slammed it, slammed her into the wall.

And in a deadly whisper he began to speak to her as Hermione's tears reached hysteria, her face anguished as she heard him speak to her like he never had before.

"I told your whore to stay away from you, that you're mine and- what the bloody fuck, Hermione? That asshole has only been tormenting you! You're just a game to him, a challenge! You think he wants you after he fucks you? Do you?"

Hermione cried, faced the ceiling, wouldn't look at him-

"Have you fucked him already? And you won't let me love you, when I've cared for you all this time! When he breaks you you always come to me! I told him you're better off without him. Maybe we're all better off without you."

And Harry, drunk and angry, walked away from the girl who refused to crumple on the floor, the girl who had to drag her broken pride through the hole to her dormitory to confront him.

She didn't believe her best friend. And she was sure, even in her state, that he was the cause of Draco's actions.

She had to know.

-

She was quiet, entering her room. She didn't want him to expect her.

She crept to the mirror, trying not to cry harder at the sight of how miserable she appeared.

She dried her face, blew her nose, and dressed herself in her most comforting pajamas, prepared for rejection.

Creeping to her door, Hermione's hand rested on the knob, knowing that through the common room she could reach his door.

A door she had never entered.

Pulling her hand from the doorknob, retreating from it as if it had scalded her, scolded her, Hermione turned to her library door.

She did not know why this had come to her, why she was so aware of having never entered through the most obvious entrance.

Holding her head in her hands, Hermione did nothing to slow or advance the memory rushing to her head.

Facing the library door, she could not remember how this would help her advance, but something guided her, pushed at her feet, until she was on the other side of the expansive room, in front of a door she knew, somehow she just knew, was his.

-

Draco slept facing the window, every night, always.

He never woke up in any other position, no matter how dead pissed he had gotten himself.

If he was sleeping with a girl she would be pliable, malleable he smirked, enough to move her while she was sleeping.

And yet he had his back to the window, the arms of his old lover wrapped around his waist, so tiny and frail, and he could not bring himself to move her.

He wanted to, he wanted to hold her, but he needed to watch out the window, he needed to be looking at some kind of future to comfort him before he slept-

She knocked very, very softly.

And as Draco extricated himself from Pansy she rearranged herself in her sleep, wiping at her nose as she turned to face the other side of the bed, he was suddenly sure that if he had moved Pansy and let himself take comfort in sleep, he would never have awoken to hear her, to answer her.

And as he opened the door and she all but tumbled into his arms, silent, broken, he was sure she would not have had the courage to enter without his permission.

But as Hermione caught a glimpse of Pansy lying in his bed, Draco's shirt around her otherwise nude shoulders, an action so intimate Hermione could feel a memory tugging at her, heartbreaking, and she turned to the library again, sure this was a bad idea until Draco caught and brought her back to him. He held her, spooned her, as Hermione looked into the darkness she almost collided with to escape him.

Turning her around to face him, smiling fondly at the homely pajamas she wore, Draco bent slightly to plant a kiss upon her forehead.

Taking her small hand within his, Draco brought her over to just before his bed, where he dropped onto his knees softly, Hermione doing the same, watching as he pulled a box from under his bed, watched as he pulled a bowl from within, added a thought to it, and allowed them to enter the Penseive together, still clutching her hand.

Draco was at the lake, alone. It was dark and he appeared transfixed by the reflection of the crest moon in the lake, perfect, seemingly more perfect than the original, for the lake's surface was not disturbed.

"You know," she said from behind him and he did not look, "the origin of the word lunatic was meant to be delivered to those mesmerized by the radiance of the moon's light."

But Malfoy did not address her as she sat beside him, allowing their thighs to touch, so comfortable she was. "All we're seeing is the light given to the other half of the world. We should be jealous but the moon tries to compensate."

Hermione quirked her head and it was impossible to tell if she was watching to moon or its reflection in the lake. She was unsure how to follow his point. "So we're in shadow and the moon is just a reflection. How depressing."

Draco quirked his mouth, slightly. "Not much freedom there, have we, to be different."

Hermione seemed just as absorbed as Draco had been, perhaps more so, her eyes now steadily trained on the lake's image of the sky. "Draco," she began, "Draco have you ever been to a fun-house?"

Draco almost smiled. His mother…

"How everyone's reflections laugh when they see themselves so distorted, so different?"

Malfoy adjusted his knees, letting his head fall onto them and look at the girl sitting beside him. And as he spoke, her gaze was drawn to his attention, surprised at how well he had followed her point.

"Maybe they're finally happy." He said, looking at her with no joke in his voice.

But Hermione smiled at him, allowed herself to imitate his position, the two of their heads resting on their knees, gazing at each other from only inches away.

"So who defines you?" She asked him, nearly conversationally.

"Experiences define me. They change me," he nearly recited, a mantra to him, "and they are not as fickle as people, not as difficult as relationships."

When Hermione looked to Malfoy's forearm, covered by the sleeve of his robe, she did not even notice her tactlessness, but Draco did. Sitting up slightly, only slightly so as not to ruin the symmetrical grace in which they were positioned, Draco pulled up the sleeve of his robe.

His forearm was bare. "My father would've wanted to control me. Let me be his shadow, his reflection, but I started critiquing my creator and I no longer felt that I needed to earn his pride. The pride of a man who was obedient, a shadow to Voldemort, how can I reflect that? I achieve… for myself. My own pride is what makes me worthy of having dignity, if you can consider than a vicious cycle. Whether or not my father could approve…"

Draco did not need to finish, but instead watched as Hermione's hand reached out to his cheek, when his eyes closed as he let her graze his cheek, the rough stubble his younger self would've taken pride in.

When her hand retreated, she was glad to see his eyes, now very calm, rest pleasantly upon hers, where she could regard the radiance in which they could be seen in the moonlight.

"Draco, do you ever feel like you're getting too old?"

And with that, Hermione had leaned forward to kiss him, he knew, Hermione knew, watching herself- and it would have been perfect, she would've wished for her own Penseive so she could have visited the moment time and time again- but alas, she could not remember this, she could not remember what she was going to say after they had kissed-

For it was this very instant that had been the catalyst.

As Hermione had leaned forward, and both enemies had fallen to their knees to hold each other, Hermione let out a scream, had held her head in her hands as Draco started to panic, as he was rushing her to the entrance hall, as she fell onto the ground, trying to push her head into the tile-

Abruptly, Draco ended the memory, his hand tugging at hers, before it began to affect him, and huddled on the floor of his room he held her, only partially aware that Pansy had left, had left a note on her pillow that he would find later, so much later, that read I know what she means to you. I don't know how I can let go, but I will if you'll let her know you like I never could... and he carried her into his bed and just held her beside him as she cried into his shoulder, cried into his pillows, his hair, and he said not a word, only wrapped his arms around her and let her feel what he wished she hadn't lost.

That he had to remember it alone, like it was a dream, a fantasy, that shouldn't have happened, worse, held no significance.

And when he reached for his wand she was reminded so harshly and abruptly of what Harry had attempted just an hour before that she stiffened, afraid- but Draco only conjured a glass of water, which he placed on the nightstand beside her, not forcing her nor rushing her despair.

And as she remembered the comparative behavior of her best friend she didn't know what to tell him, for surely he would feel the need to hurt him.

But there was one thing she could not ignore. Shifting her head into his shoulder and quieting her sobs, if only momentarily distracted by her question, she whispered into his neck a question she might regret.

"What did he say to you?"

The pattern his forefinger had been tracing on her back abruptly ended, and Draco said not a word to her.

Sitting up, looking directly at him with more strength than she could handle, Hermione could not hold herself back.

"Neither of you have the right to tell me what's good for me, who is good for me. After tonight, I find it impossible to believe that I can be better off without knowing who you are. That I'm better off not knowing the significance of the past two weeks with you as my… as my…"

But even as she tried to define them, even as she tried to get across a point that had already been made, she was silenced by the sight of Draco leaning in to her in a circumstance that was very, very different to her previously devastating ones.

His lips met hers, his hands reached for her neck as her own slid past his chest, resting behind his broad shoulders, and neither had to make any move, any permission or suggestion, for their mouths widened at the same moment, neither knowing which was guiding, and their tongues met, twirling around each other passionately, pulling at each other's bodies, and as Hermione could feel the warmth of his arms, his chest, his legs, she felt her lips slide upon his lower lip, where she sunk her right canines into his unsuspecting flesh.

Gasping and huffing, Draco allowed for one last passionate match of their mouths before he slowly closed his mouth, eyes still closed, and he let his arms slide lower until they were holding her stomach against his own, where she could feel his rapid breath, his rapid heartbeat.

They would be going no further that night, Hermione smiled, and she felt that from that moment on, she would be able to trust him to call the shots, to know her well enough to end their permissions.

Wrapping his arms tighter around her, Draco enjoyed kissing her forehead, her nose, her chin, finally kissing her quick and full on the mouth, covering their bodies with his comforter, intimately asking her, silently, to spend the night in his arms.

And Draco still didn't utter a word, didn't label what they meant to each other, focused on enjoying the singular experiences that would assure him that, whoever she is, whatever they were doing, it was the right thing.