Hey guys! First off, totally wanna apologize for not updating as frequently as I'd like too! I've been working my little butt off because we're going on vacation on the 14th, so trying to save up for that! Thanks for the awesome reviews, keep em comin! And as always, my love. (:

Chapter 15:

Hermione went to class the next day as if nothing had ever happened. After a good night's sleep, and some relentless praying, she came to the conclusion that her feelings for Draco were irrelevant and could be shut down, just as she had shut down her feelings about missing Harry and Ron. Draco was just her roommate, and she intended for him to be just that. Her mind was now focused on her studies, something that she had let slide, which was most unlike her, and helping out her friends. She also found herself intrigued with Zac now that she knew about his parentage and the sacrifice his father had made. There was no doubt that he was most definitely on her side.

Hermione found herself staring at the back of Zac's head in Charms that afternoon with Flitwick, her chin in her hand, and her hazel eyes memorizing how the blonde layers of hair fell over the back of his head. Neville and Ginny sat to her right, but they hadn't noticed her intense staring. Luna, on the other hand, had.

"I quite like the way his hair falls, almost like waves," she whispered to Hermione. Taken aback, Hermione blinked a few times and turned to look at Luna, unsure of what to say. "Don't worry, Hermione. You don't have to say a word."

Hermione rolled her eyes back around to Zac's head, absently listening to Flitwick carry on about how to create magical barriers, only to be startled by Zac slowly turning his head around and meeting her eyes. Clearing her throat quickly, she looked away only to see Luna giggle softly.

"He's quite handsome."

"I know, Luna," Hermione muttered, Dean's comment about not leading men on playing back in her head.

As the rest of the hour rolled along, Hermione met Zac's eyes at least eight times, each time looking away quickly, clearing her throat, and seeing Luna watch them intensely. Her patience seemed to be growing, however, and by the time that class was dismissed, Zac caught up to her in the hallway to the north corridor.

"Hey," he greeted her with a smile.

"Hello," Hermione smiled back, not having to force herself for once.

"Flitwick's lectures are so boring, I could see why you were staring at the back of my head," Zac laughed, and Hermione sighed in embarrassment. "I'm kidding. Where are you off too?"

"The Great Hall. I was hoping we could begin setting up decorations. The ball is tomorrow," Hermione said as they rounded the corner and almost toppled into a group of first-years. Zac steadied a young girl, who thanked him, then skipped away.

"Sure," Zac agreed. He allowed her to lead him into the Great Hall, and looked around, hands crossed over his chest. "Blimey, it's so drab in here!"

Hermione looked around to the almost-gothic architecture, wondering how she was going to manage to make something so impressive into something Christmas-like. Sitting down at the table closest to her, she pulled out her wand and began to absently fiddle with it, causing magical snow to fall from the sky overhead. Zac looked up in confusion before offering her a smile.

"You're right, it hasn't snowed this year," he said and continued to look up at the sky. "I wonder why that is."

"It's not hard to guess," Hermione sighed and leaned back against the table. "I've always loved snow. We should make it fall constantly, even during the dancing."

"So a Winter Wonderland?" Zac winked at her.

Hermione blushed. "Sure. And maybe some drapes?"

"We could take the torches out," Zac flicked his wand and made the line of torches disappear. "Nah, we need some form of light."

"Well, we could have light emitting from ice," Hermione said and stood up. With a flick of her wand, the tables lining the Great Hall disappeared. She began to mold ice sculptures little by little while Zac tinted the many windows along the walls and behind the Professor's table with ice.

"That looks wonderful, Hermione," Zac exclaimed, staring at her sculptures against the walls. "That really brings out the feeling of a wonderland!"

"Thank you! What about a fountain?" Hermione asked, meeting Zac's blue eyes sheepishly.

"A fountain would be beautiful," Zac said softly as Hermione charmed the Professor's table into a fountain emitting water and soft rays of light. Combined with the snowflakes, it gave almost a hypnotizing look. The light coming down from the magical sky above them had turned the atmosphere grey, just as it was outside, yet something was more relaxing and real about this shade.

"There," Hermione said. "We just need some trees now."

"I'll handle that," Zac said and disappeared out the door. A few minutes later he came back, levitating about twenty-five trees behind him. When Hermione raised an eyebrow, Zac replied, "Gotta use your resources, sweetheart."

Hermione's cheeks burned as Zac lined the trees up and charmed them to have frost on their needles. They took turns decorating the trees, and by the time they were done, they swore never to decorate another tree again. But, the two Heads stepped back and admired their handiwork, never being so proud. Hermione smiled as the snow fell onto the ground, disappearing and then falling again in a never ending cycle. A part of her wished that Draco could see this, but quickly shut down that wish, scolding herself. Before she knew it, Zac had snaked an arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer to him. Hermione didn't try to ignore it or push him away. It felt amazingly good.

Draco noticed that Hermione was later than normal getting back. He had heard her leave in the morning after her normal routine of showering, singing, and cooking. Truly, he was cursing himself over and over for the outburst, but it wasn't like he could control them. Now, sitting at the edge of his bed, both hands gripping the wood so hard that his knuckles were turning white, he began to contemplate his life decisions up until this point.

One… He had been born into a Pure-blood family, one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight with a predictable pairing of his father, Lucius (a wealthy Malfoy, high up in social classes, and one of the wealthiest wizarding families in Britain), and his mother, Narcissa (a Black, well known for their power and wealth.) Their marriage had been expected of them, and unlike most arranged marriages, they actually loved one another. Therefore, he came into existence, being raised from his birth about how Muggle-borns were inferior, and Half-bloods weren't as bad, but were still products of had decisions. He had always known comfort through his family, and he had known nothing less than what they educated him on. When it came time for him to attend Hogwarts, he had already made friends with Crabbe, Goyle, Zabini, Pansy, and Bullstrode, because their parents would come over for galas that the children were expected to be angels at. Of course, that never happened. One too many times, Draco had gotten a good whack because of his treacherous ways. But other than normal adolescent misbehavior, he was a very obedient child. Draco followed the normal Malfoy tradition was sorted into Slytherin, taking pride in arrogance and horrid wrongdoings. Some of them he looked back on with distaste, others he looked back on with pride. He had been, and still was, one of Hogwarts' most well-known students. However, that was for all the wrong reasons.

Two… His family wasn't the most well-liked in the country. His parents were one of Voldemort's biggest supporters during the First Wizarding War, and even though they claimed they were under the Imperius Curse the entire time, it was a fraud to prevent them from going to Azkaban. Even now, when they were aligned with The Dark Lord, they still found people to take the fall for them and their cronic misbehavior. Draco knew that it was all an act to keep their reputation and their sanity, but it disgusted him that they would pledge their allegiance to such evil. That they would subject him to such evil. But, he supposed that that was the way they were raised, just as they raised him. And then there was his Aunt Bellatrix… If he hated one person in this world more than Harry Potter, it was her. She was psychotic. From an early age, he knew that there was something insanely wrong with her, and the way she followed Voldemort around like a puppy, doing his bidding, no matter how sinister it was. Of course Draco had heard about the torture of Frank and Alice Longbottom, and it had disturbed him greatly. He had made a point never to throw an insult involving the incident towards Neville, actually feeling sympathy for him. Bellatrix was in Azkaban for most of Draco's life, and he never how terrible she was until two years ago when she escaped along with all of Voldemort's proudly proclaimed followers. Something about her made his gut turn, knowing that she was capable of doing more than just killing her family. You should be honored, Draco! Draco was the least bit honored by anything Voldemort asked of him. Unbeknownst to many of his fellow students, Draco was above Voldemort and his crimes. He had repented long before he had come back… Yet, he was forced to carry out his bidding and that was something that not a lot of people understood.

Third… Potter. When he had first met the immortal orphan, he had a decent amount of respect for him. After all, his family especially knew what had happened the night his parents were murdered. Potter showed signs of decency, and when the Sorting Hat placed him in Gryffindor, Draco was merely unsurprised. He would follow in the footsteps of his parents, just like Draco had too. And for years, he was forced to see Harry, Ron, and Hermione take the glory of everything that happened, good or bad. Yes, he was his rival, and yes he didn't like him one bit. But, the more Draco pondered it, the more he realized that Dumbledore had forced Harry into this game of cat and mouse, much like Voldemort had forced Draco into it. It made Draco question who were the good guys here really, and if anyone could be trusted. Hermione wasn't so bad; he had already had his revelations about her. But, Weasley could not be helped. There was indeed a rivalry between Draco and Harry, and everyone knew it. For the longest time, Draco had thought to outwit him, outdo him in everything and anything he could… But, after last year, and that bloody curse that left his chest battered and torn, he had come to realize that there were more important things in his life than outshining Potter. A part of him wished that Harry understood what he was going through, and maybe, if he was ever let out of his prison, he could discuss the details and actuality with him. It was common sense that Potter didn't deserve any of what he was going through – he shouldn't be out there hunting Horcruxes, just as Draco shouldn't have been locked up in Hogwarts with everyone believing he was dead.

Fourth… No one knew how much it messed up Draco's mind being asked to kill Dumbledore. Of course, it should have been an "honor." A privilege. Of what? Murdering the Headmaster of Hogwarts and one of the greatest wizards of all time in cold blood? Draco hardly considered that a privilege, but he knew the consequences of what would happen if he did not. Voldemort would kill his parents, and then him next, without so much as a care in the world, because that's the kind of beast he was. Draco spent so much of his time last year preparing ways to kill Dumbledore without confrontation. Snape even helped him, though he had suspected for a long time that Snape was a double-agent. He remembered his trips to Knockturn Alley, his visits home, and the constant harassing of his father and Aunt down his neck. When it finally came time and he let the Death Eaters in, he wasn't sure what he was thinking, or if he was even thinking clearly. Draco's plan never made it past killing the Headmaster; he had no idea how the events would play out afterwards, or if he would survive the ordeal either way. He didn't know how things would change, or if he had just been openly responsible for Voldemort's rise to power. All he cared about was saving his family, and that was misunderstood by many. The task of killing Dumbledore had shredded his psyche into a million different pieces, taking what was left of his sanity and surrendering it the night that he had seen Snape commit the murder. He hated himself for it, for even letting it get that far. But, he didn't dare admit it.

Fifth… His current situation. Inside, he had always been partial to Hermione, but living with her, kissing her, longing for her, and being thrown into this stupid arrangement was more than what he had bargained for. In some ways, it was worse than his task to kill Dumbledore. This arrangement was tearing at his emotions, some that he didn't even know he had. And what was worse was that she felt the same way about him. It wasn't a force to be reckoned with, whatever they were both feeling. His mother once told him that love was something that was unexplainable. You want to protect the other person, no matter what means were necessary. You had to have that person, be around them; you felt their empathy. You knew what they were going to say before they did. Draco knew that was mostly the definition of what his feelings entailed for Hermione, along with some anger and remorse. But, he knew that everything was fine inside this sanctuary. They could kiss and fight and do it all again as many times as they wanted until the time came when the Ministry would inevitably fall, and their short time together would be over. Their relationship wouldn't be accepted outside of this room, and that was something that Draco had come to realize a long time ago. He also realized that his longings for her were true and just, and that tonight, he would proclaim his feelings for her, no matter if she wanted to hear them or not. It needed to be said, before she was gone, and he was shipped off somewhere where he may never see her again. He couldn't live with himself with her not knowing that he did care about her…

By the time he was ready to burst out of his room and kiss her again, she still hadn't walked through the door. Draco began to pace, and his heart began to beat in a rapid thunderous manner. His stomach had dropped to the floor at the thought of something had happening to her, and him being trapped in this dorm not knowing. It was eating him alive, and he didn't know how much time had passed until he heard the door squeak. He peaked out of his bedroom door to see her sneak into the Common Area, and immediately knew that she had been up to something. The smell of oceans was upon her, and it masked her orchids and coconuts that he had grown to love. Mentally preparing himself, Draco pushed open his door gently, and walked over to where she sat in her chair, dropping himself down on the couch beside her.

They sat in silence for quite some time, neither one of them knowing what to say until Hermione got the courage.

"Why did you feel the need to come out?"

"Why do you smell like you shagged a coral reef?" Draco spat before instantly regretting he had responded to her. Hermione's cheeks flushed a deep red before she turned away from him to look out the window. Draco rolled his eyes. "I'm sorry."

Hermione turned to look at him with astonished hazel eyes, wide with amazement. He sighed and locked her eyes. "That's most unlike you…"

"Yeah, always the tone of surprise," Draco muttered, finding that very statement to be true about him these days.

Hermione's promise she made to herself about ignoring him was becoming increasingly nonexistent, as he continued to amaze her. "Do you think we should discuss our… kiss?"

Draco clenched his jaw. "No, there's nothing to discuss."

"But –"

"It was a kiss, Granger, nothing more," Draco told her flatly. "Have you found out anything on Ollivander or the Elder Wand?"

Hermione sighed at him changing the subject. "Snape and McGonagall seem to think that it's not a possibility."

"Bollocks!"

"That's what I said," Hermione continued. "So I met with some others from The Order and they think it could happen."

"So are they moving on this? If Voldemort gets that wand –"

"Dumbledore has the wand, Draco," Hermione stated clearly, knowing that it would rile him up. Draco only looked at her, studying her face, her seriousness. He didn't feel guilt, just a clear feeling that that alone would make the wand harder for Voldemort to get.

"He was buried with it?"

"I'm assuming so, and if he wasn't, it's in a spot where he knew Voldemort would never look…" Hermione explained.

"He's powerful," Draco shook his head. "If he wants that wand, he will get it and he will stop at nothing. You have to understand that."

"I do," Hermione nodded. "I just hate him… I hate everything about him. He's ruined so many lives, yours, mine, Harry's, Dumbledore's…"

Draco stayed silent for a moment, debating on what to say to her. When it came to him, and his moment of triumph, he decided on something simple. "You know I didn't want to do it, right?"

Hermione's eyes narrowed slightly at his calmness. "I assumed so. You were forced."

"As punishment for my father," Draco laid himself down on the couch, head closest to Hermione, resting against the arm. It felt strange to talk to her about it, but somehow relieving.

"For not retrieving the prophecy?" Hermione asked.

"Yes," Draco replied tautly. "I don't think that Voldemort thought I was going to survive, and it would be on my father's conscience forever."

"That's horrible," Hermione whispered, intrigued by his venting. She leaned on the arm, resting her chin on her arm. "I'm sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry for, Granger. What's done is done," Draco replied. He hesitated momentarily. "I know that you, Potter, and Weasley saw Mum and I last year at Borgin and Burkes." Hermione didn't respond to him. "You knew the whole time, didn't you?"

"Harry did," Hermione said weakly, afraid of another outburst. "Ron and I thought he was mad, but he was right and we were wrong."

"Of course Potter knew, he's had it out for me since day one," Draco muttered, mostly to himself. "No one else was supposed to get hurt."

"I believe that."

"Granger, I'm serious," Draco said over his shoulder. "Do you know how many hours I was on top of the clock tower planning a murder?"

"I'm sure too many to count…"

"Damn right, and Snape didn't help matters. I was left to do things on my own with my Aunt and Voldemort breathing down my back like some sort of servant," Draco told her. His voice was becoming louder now, more furious.

"I'm sorry, Draco."

"I told you, Granger, there's nothing to be sorry about," Draco snapped, crossing his arms over his chest.

"You feel guilty."

Draco hesitated, then parted his lips. "Guilty isn't the right word, Granger."

"You feel… used?"

"Just stop," he drawled and closed his eyes. "I've been used before, and this was nothing like it."

"By Pansy?" Hermione wondered if she had gone too far that time and braced herself for an inevitable backlash. She was surprised to see Draco's chest maintain normal breathing.

"Pansy and I were… Yes, she used me," he spat. "Went on to fuck Zabini, and now she's locked up in Azkaban?"

"I don't know what McGonagall did," Hermione said softly. "I'm sorry about her, Draco."

"She means nothing to me anymore. Maybe she never did," Draco reasoned and put his hands behind his head.

"I just thought it would make things tenser between us…" Hermione whispered.

"No," Draco shook his head slightly. "You still annoy the piss out of me with your stupid questions and remarks. That's enough to make things tenser."

Hermione smiled to herself as she laid her head against her arm. The pair were quiet with one another until they both drifted off into sleep, as the clock was nearing two in the morning by the time that their conversation had ceased. Hermione felt guilty about her thoughts of pushing him away, realizing that he truly was misled, and that her mission was almost accomplished: he was changing. She was seeing a side of Draco that she had never seen before, the raw uncut version of him that was more human than she could ever give him credit for. She wondered if this was the side that Pansy saw, that she fell in love with. Hermione felt a twinge in her gut as she remembered Pansy's face, staring up at her blankly, just moments after she had tried to kill Hermione. That girl had loved Draco, known him better than Hermione ever could, yet had no idea that Hermione felt the same towards him. Vaguely, she wondered if Pansy had seen his shirt, and smelled spearmint and that had reminded her of the man she thought was long dead. It was ironic, really, that their feelings were mutual for the man laying on the couch beside her.

Draco felt better after opening up to Hermione, even though he didn't tell her the way he truly felt. A voice in the back of his head told him that that moment would never come, as he wasn't the type to proclaim feelings like a lovesick Ravenclaw left and right. If he was, he would have still been stuck on Pansy and maybe even head-over-heels for Hermione. But, he knew that she had to know he didn't want to kill Dumbledore. She had to know that he wasn't completely evil. No longer was he associating himself with that kind of evil, with that horrible creature that had torn lives apart left and right. No, he would not stoop to that level, and Merlin forbid that anyone – including Hermione – refer to him as one of the Death Eaters. Draco made a conscious decision that night that if he were ever to see his father again, he would punch him in his pointy upturned nose, and then scream at him for every ounce of pain he had caused, directly or indirectly. It was such a horrible burden to live with, and Draco decided he did not want to be a part of it.