A/N: See, guys? I updated quickly! Hope you like it :)

Draco left the Ball soon after to go to his common room. He couldn't just pretend that nothing had happened, pretend that his heart didn't ache when Krum took her hand in his. On top of that, Draco was frustrated—with the world, with fate, with logic, and with himself. How was it that the only girl in his sights was the one he couldn't have? He looked back on the kiss Hermione had told him to remember. How could he forget it? It was the one moment where he'd let go of his own restraints and allowed himself the thing he wanted most of all. It felt so powerful, and he wanted more.

But Hermione was right, if she had kissed him, he would have felt that they could find a way to get around everything, when he knew that it wouldn't work. They would only cause themselves more despair.

In his bed, Draco turned over, smothering his face into his pillow and letting out a growl of frustration. Why was it that he had to go and kiss her in the first place? He had faltered in his careful control of his emotions. In fact, they had controlled him, seeing as how until that moment, thoughts of kissing her hadn't crossed his mind. He could blame it all on that stupid dance he'd had with her—he'd gotten too close and wanted more. And then, seeing her crying, so vulnerable, he'd just given in. He wanted to say that the worst part was that he liked it, relished the feeling of her lips on his, the feel of her skin and her fingers in his hair, but it hadn't been. The worst part was that she kissed him back.

She had liked it, too, he could tell. Tell by the way she'd gotten closer, by the way she'd clung to him, and by her bloody sadness before they departed. She wanted this nearly as much as he did, and that just made things difficult. If she'd jumped away in disgust, slapped him again, or at least ran off, leaving him to wonder at her thoughts, then he'd just fill with anger and move on, keeping her as his enemy and nothing more. But no, now he had to wallow in despair about the relationship he couldn't have.

"Erm…Draco?" It was Crabbe, having returned early from the Ball for reasons Draco didn't care for.

"What?" Draco spat, with as much venom he could muster. He was satisfied when Crabbe took a step back.

"I-I was just-just wondering what you were doing. Pansy's angry because—"

"Shut up!" Draco said, knowing what was coming. "Why don't you run off to Goyle? Merlin knows he can't remember his way to the bloody dormitories without your assistance."

"Okay…if you insist…" Crabbe was backing towards the door now.

"I do insist, you blubbering idiot!" Draco yelled. "Leave. Me. Alone!"

Crabbe left then, slamming the door behind him, and Draco sunk back to his pillow.

Of course Hermione noticed when he'd left the room, but she still couldn't help looking around for him over Viktor's shoulders. Once Draco's presence was gone, Hermione was left with memories, and for some reason, only the bad ones cropped up.

In her mind's eye, Hermione saw Draco picking on first-years, making fun of Harry, and all the other vile things he tended to do. That was purely Draco—without any blood-line restriction there. Because, she realized, Malfoy was still the same Malfoy who she decided she didn't like purely because he was a bully.

Thinking back on the kiss, Hermione realized that her emotions had been running high. She had been caught up in the excitement, angry because of Ron's jealousy, and just plain surprised that Draco had talked to her. Of course she had acted the way she did.

Now, she would just avoid him at all costs, hoping that it would steer her mind away from any justifications of their relationship being possible, because it wasn't.

Even if the feeling of his lips against hers had been absolutely intoxicating.

And if his hair had been so soft to the touch.

"Stop it, stop it," she'd chided herself under her breath.

"Vot vas that?" Krum asked.

"Oh, nothing," Hermione said with a reassuring grin.

She was grateful for Ron and Harry's interruption when Viktor said goodnight to her, as she was fairly positive he'd wanted a kiss from her. At that moment she'd hardly cared that she felt another argument coming on between Ron and her, as long as she didn't have another kiss confusing her judgments. One was quite enough.

But the argument between her and Ron had been almost as confusing as a kiss. She really didn't know why she had to tell him to ask her before anyone else did. She just had the tiniest feeling that her emotions wouldn't have been such a wreck if Ron had simply asked her. Then he wouldn't have fought with her and she would have never run into Draco, and the kiss wouldn't have happened.

Still, she couldn't lie to herself and say it wasn't wonderful—it was. It was a perfect first kiss, even if she had shared it with the person she'd least expected to.

All the blood drained from Draco's face when he saw the eagle owl and the red letter it was holding the next morning at breakfast. As soon as the Howler dropped on the table, Draco stood up—the dishes rattling as he caught his knee on the table—and ran out the doors to, ironically, the same broom closet he'd shared with Hermione the night before.

He'd barely shut the door when it exploded, "DID YOU HONESTLY THINK WE WOULD NOT FIND THIS OUT! DANCING WITH A MUDBLOOD! HOW DARE YOU EVEN TOUCH ONE, DRACO, ESPECIALLY WITH WHAT IS GOING ON! THIS MATTER WILL BE ATTENDED TO THE SECOND YOU COME HOME! FOR NOW, KNOW THAT YOUR MOTHER AND I ARE COMPLETELY DISGUSTED AND IF ANOTHER INCIDENT OCCURS AGAIN, WE WILL PULL YOU OUT OF SCHOOL IN AN INSANT!"

Draco breathed again when the thing flared up. Pansy had probably just told her mother about his dance, and she had told his mother, who had told his father. No one had heard about the events in the broom cupboard.

Of course Lucius had told Draco about his ever-darkening Dark Mark, and that any affiliation with Mudbloods would be against everyone's interest. But Draco couldn't care less. He was at Hogwarts, and besides, Hermione and Draco had already decided to keep away from each other, so it wasn't like any incident could occur again, not if they both kept their promises.

Draco walked out of the broom cupboard, and headed back to his dormitory, lacking something better to do. As he was picking up his dress robes from the night before, something made a tinkling sound on the ground. Draco realized it was the pin he'd pulled out of Hermione's hair. He must have absently slipped it in his robe pocket later on the night before.

Draco stared at it. It was a simple pin really, diamond-encrusted and made of gold. He figured that it may have been expensive to Hermione, but would be nothing to his own mother. Draco turned it over and over in his hands, debating whether their promises excluded giving back an item. Eventually, Draco realized that he didn't really want to risk it, not when there was a chance he would be even more depressed than he already was. He pocketed the pin, and moved on to other things.

Hermione kept to her word throughout the rest of the school year, making sure to even keep Ron and Harry away from Draco so she wouldn't have to break up one of their fights. That being said, she barely listened when they mentioned Draco looking like he was using a walkie-talkie in her desperation to keep them away. But listen she did, and soon, the connection with Rita Skeeter hit.

It came when she glanced over at Malfoy. She really hated how much he was making fun of Harry, but she'd already accepted that he was a bully, no matter how amazing his kisses were. Hermione shook that thought from her mind and turned her thoughts to figuring out about Rita Skeeter's plans, when the memory of the walkie-talkie thing came to mind.

Draco, done with imitating Harry, had cast a longing (was it really longing or had she imagined it?) look at Hermione. That was when the memory of the kiss took over, and suddenly Hermione ran fingers through her hair, remembering the way it had fallen that night.

"Are you alright?" Ron's voice brought her out of her daze.

"Yes," Hermione breathed. She allowed herself to run her hand through her hair one more time before the theory ran through her head again. Rita Skeeter was an animagus—but what exactly could she be? It had to be small enough to hold in a hand. Hermione had to leave and research animagi.

Leaving a vague explanation for Ron and Harry to interpret, Hermione left, knowing full well she had an exam to do soon. She found the information soon enough, and headed back to exams and then the third task, where she was confident Harry would do well. He'd mastered all his spells really well, so she just sat back to enjoy the task…

Draco knew, in the back of his mind, what had happened when Karkaroff had run off. He knew that Voldemort had come back and Karkaroff was either leaving in fear or going to the Dark Lord. Draco suspected the former. This was probably why, when Potter came back with Diggory's body, Draco merely turned to where the Gryffindors sat, searching for that bushy hair.

He found it soon enough, but she wasn't looking at him, of course not. She didn't know what Karkaroff leaving signified. She didn't yet know that Diggory wasn't dead because of the Tournament. Draco knew that all she cared about was Harry Potter, and what had happened to him. This hurt Draco unreasonably, and he felt stupid, knowing there were other things he should care about at the moment. He looked away from Hermione and began to do so. Voldemort was back, and—if his father was an intelligent man—Lucius would have come at the Mark's burn. He would likely tell Draco everything he needed to know, so Draco moved on to Cedric's body. Did Voldemort kill him? Most likely. But why kill a pureblooded wizard? Draco didn't have an answer, and before he knew it he was being escorted by the prefects of Slytherin house, who were leading students back inside. Of course he didn't sleep that night and instead sent an owl to his father to confirm his suspicions.

The next morning, however, some of Draco's suspicions were confirmed. Dumbledore's speech about Voldemort's return and his plea for them to join together was barely heard by Draco. He let himself worry over the things his father would write, but it wasn't long before he began casting glances over at Hermione. Voldemort's return meant that she was in danger, and especially if Draco showed any amount of care for her.

Then, surprisingly, Hermione's eyes met Draco's. She jerked her head towards the entrance of the Great Hall, and Draco, knowing immediately what she was signaling for, nodded. When Dumbledore's speech had finished, Draco left, keeping his eyes on Hermione as much as he could. Seeing as how she hardly looked at him, Draco just followed her to wherever she was going.

Hermione led him to an empty classroom, promptly locking the door behind them. When she turned around, Draco saw the tears forming in her eyes. She quickly rubbed them away, and then said, "Well, I guess we both know what this means."

"Yeah, we do," Draco said. It wasn't much, but he wasn't really sure what else to say. He knew two things: that he hadn't been this close to Hermione for nearly a semester and that he had wanted to comfort her more than he knew was normal.

"Well, we've been doing well so far, keeping our promises," Hermione said.

"And yet we're breaking them right now," Draco couldn't help but point out. That's when he remembered the pin that he was still carrying in his pocket since the Yule Ball.

"Yes, but what about-about the other promise?" Hermione asked nervously. "Did you—"

"I keep my promises, Granger," Draco said before the memory overwhelmed him. He pulled out the pin. "And how could I forget when I've got this to remind me?"

"Is that…that's my hair-pin from-from that night?" Hermione whispered. "I've wondered—but does this mean that you've been carrying it around all this time?"

"No, Granger, I thought I'd carry it today, knowing full well I'd talk to you for the first time since that night," Draco spat bitterly. "Looks like Divination is paying off."

"There's no need to be that way," Hermione retorted. "I was just surprised that you…cared."

"Well, it doesn't bloody matter anymore does it?" Draco said angrily. "The Dark Lord's back, and any association I have with a Mudblood like you will just lead to problems for the both of us. You're in enough danger already just from being born—you don't need any more attention from him."

Hermione stepped forward. Draco tried to avoid her eyes, but when she touched his cheek, he had to look at her, if only to find out what she was doing.

"Draco, you care about me," she said. It was the surprise in her voice that provoked his next reaction.

"Of course I care about you, Granger!" he blurted out. When he realized what he said, Draco tried to cover up his mistake. "I mean, I'm worried about you. The Dark Lord—"

"Don't ruin it, Draco," Hermione interrupted. "I care about you, too."

And she moved even closer, planting a gentle kiss on his lips that didn't last nearly as long as it should have, in Draco's mind.

"Granger—" he wasn't sure what he'd been about to say, but it didn't really matter.

"I have to go," Hermione said. "Ron will be wondering where I am."

"Gr-Hermione, don't leave," Draco pleaded. "It doesn't have to be like this."

"You and I both know it does have to be like this," Hermione said without turning around.

Draco knew he should have said something—anything—to prove Hermione wrong, but he couldn't think of one word. So he let her go.