I'm sorry it's taken so long. Read my author's note at the end if you're interested-

if not, please enjoy the chappie!

She was beside him, suddenly, as McGonagoll closed the door in their faces.

Harry, slack in Draco's arms, reached out impulsively to the girl, who was not to heed any attention to the two boys but to stare, with dismal tears in her eyes, at McGonagoll's closed door.

She was disentangled from her humiliation as she felt Harry's cold and bloody hand upon her elbow, slack in his grip, and she looked at him quickly, watching with indiscernible disposition as Harry's scabbed lips tried to form the words he needed for redemption, her being unaware of the boy's instigative cries about her just moments before he was punished for them.

Unaware of the rage building inside Draco, stacking higher and higher as Potter raised his pitiful head, his eyelids drooping, a shiner sporting, flinching in pain as he whispered her name.

"I'm sorry," he faked.

And Draco's sneer, ripping his eyes to Hermione's, was prepared to intensify. He was prepared to drop the boy to the ground and smash his Italian leather sole into the boy's face.

For he was about to receive the forgiveness she would not give to Draco.

Because Potter had the knowledgeable audacity to fake what the girl needed to hear, because he had no respect for her.

Because Draco had honest dignity.

He wanted to drop him off the tower, he wanted to rip Potter's heart out and show her his true colors.

He wanted to forget them both and leave them to their sobbing friendship.

But all he could do was watch her. Her eyes widened, taking him in-glanced-in horror, is that horror-to the boy's hand upon her arm-to finally display the meaning of her moment with the curling sneer of her lip, delicately pink and utterly harsh.

Potter fell limp.

He wanted to throw his arm around her; he wanted to give her a kiss on the cheek and a pat on the head-

But no. He was certain she despised him as much as she did Potter.

Hermione Granger did not ever care for the lesser of two evils.

But she walked by his side, just the same.

"You don't need to accompany me, Granger." Wincing, not daring to see if she heard it as cruelly as it had sounded, Malfoy quickly added, "I did not mean to interrupt your convenience with McGonagoll."

Hermione sighed, looking ahead as they walked slowly to the hospital wing. To Malfoy, he hoped it was meant to be heard as companionable, as if she were to speak, at last.

"If you are to inquire of my business with the housemaster, you may often find in your questionable existence that it often surprisingly tactful to speak bluntly. McGonagoll refused my resignation."

Harry, wonderfully unconscious after his rejection, flinched as Malfoy nearly stumbled, callously readjusting his hold.

"Surprisingly enough, I was not yet curious enough to wonder of the nature of your conference."

"Well," Hermione quipped just as lightly, "now there is no need for any more questions of me."

"On the contrary, I'm sure you are quite aware of just how many questions have arisen in-"

Hermione swung before him, glaring into his cool demeanor as the unnoticed Harry was held at Draco's side, so as not to get between them.

"And just how many are there?"

He dipped his face close to hers, her eyes ready to fill. "One," he whispered.

Dumb, he watched as she broke, minutely perceptible, under his gaze.

And so as not to be forced to watch her eyes flood, he kept his body close to hers, neck bent, and stared below them. By leaning into her, he was trespassing the single crack of a line that separated their two identical tiles.

As if she was unaware of where his true gaze burned to, his intent and interest, Hermione's arms swung around her stomach.

"This ridiculous position should not require the respected responsibility I've held it to be. I waste my time escorting-" Malfoy smirked, "and patrolling when there's work to be done," she huffed, then stiffened, and she recalled who she was speaking to. She glanced up, a feigned innocent squint, as if looking to discern the sun, her venom evaporated but treacherously lingering in the air. "I mean, Draco, they let you be Head Boy."

And although it was meant as an insult to infuriate him and end their communication, she was finally conversing, not talking but speaking with him. And however cruel her words more, to him that was only a sign of just how honest she was letting herself be.

And so he dissected it seriously. "And you would never respect a position I would naturally deserve."

Now it was Hermione looking at the tiles their feet rooted from, rather far apart, Malfoy bending to keep close to her, his size 11 Italian leather soles easily ten times as expensive as her scuffed Mary Janes, her melting venom dripping onto them.

She was silent, and Malfoy's hand finally reached up to edge her neck, her chin, her cheek, resting his palm below her ear as she turned to look at him, her tears dried on their own.

He held her gaze and thought of Harry, instantly knowing what Harry had lacked.

"I'm sorry," he spoke into her.

Honesty.

He dipped his mouth to hers as her eyes closed, her hands at his neck as they lingered through one of the first kisses that was not committed with blinding, numbing, meaningless passion.

"I do hope it is more bearable, Hermione, if we could at least get along."

Still keeping inside their own world as Hermione sobbed a cry, he pulled her in for a hug in which it was indiscernible if either of the two participants needed the affectionate contact. Only that, by holding this something, it was easier to believe that they were not forming a relationship-but confirming the existence of something badly abused and denied.

It was an agreement to define this relationship.

And perhaps, they both thought, they knew in which direction to start.

It's kinda short.

So I'm pretty much stranded in Commerce City, Colorado, until Mercury is out of retrograde.

I've been doing nothing but reading and, when I run out of books, which is chronically, I try to write. Out of all the dozen books I've read in the past week I reccomend King Dork, Enthusiasm, Pucker, and Saint Iggy.

I'm at the library in CC, which is where my senile grandmother lives. I've been playing scrabble twice a night the entire time I've been here, so at least I'm keeping my brain alive.

I'm sorry it takes me so long to type things up.

Next chappie we'll get a bit into how Harry feels, and I'm currently writing a bit Pansy/Ron for this chapter as well.

Wouldn't want to lose any faithful readers by going on about Harry.

So I'm interested in a few things that have been brough to mind, that, if you want to review-and no this isn't so you will-you can tell me. If not, just keep them in mind for the next few chapters, for I'm going to keep Draco and Hermione at peace for two or three, so I'll have to introduce some other sort of development, ja?

- Do you really hate Harry? I know we can pretty much all explain his behavior, so what do you think his fate will be?

- What do you think of the Ron/Pansy idea? I've tried to introduce her as not so menacing, but is that too out of character? What do you think of Draco's feelings for Pansy?

- And finally, something that doesn't have a thing to do with the story,

WHAT'S GOING TO HAPPEN TO DRACO IN THE DEATHLY HALLLOWS??

Sorry, but I think he's going to die. (I'm actually coming up with a poetic-irony deathlist that Jk Rowling will fulfill.

At one point I wanted to finish this story before the seventh book came out.

But now?

I'm keeping it alive, because I know I won't be the only one that needs some comforting denial.

Sorry I'm blabbing, I miss you all!