DRACO'S POV:
I could kill Weasley for making her cry. I knew it was all his fault. Him and that Lavender.
Wait… Why did I care? She was a stupid mudblood. What happened to her was no concern of mine.
'But you want it to be, don't you?' came that stupid little voice in my head that had convinced me to even start being nice to her in the first place.
I put my head down on the long table and hoped, for the sake of my sanity (and the migraine that was building up) that Pansy would stop talking. As my luck would have it, she didn't.
I decided I would ignore her; my attention has never been that great, so it wasn't hard.
I couldn't think about food anymore.
The sight of her face, wet from tears and her eyes red and puffy from the idiotic girl who Weasel had chosen over her was burned into the back of my eyelids and tortured me.
How could he be so blind? First, knowing that it would kill his best friend. Anyone could see how she looked at him.
It made me mad to think that, but I would never admit to it.
And second, picking Lavender over Granger was the dumbest choice he would make in his entire miserable life. I also would never admit that.
Granger had a certain shine about her. A kind of shimmer that moved with her when she walked or ran or even just sat and studied. That shimmer resounded in her voice and was even more pronounced when you looked in her eyes.
But I would never admit any of it. Least of all to Granger herself.
But my life was a crazy place… Who knew what could happen?
HERMIONE'S POV:
I walked slowly out of the Great Hall after finishing my food long before everyone else.
Ron and Lavender's sickeningly sweet conversation had taken its toll on me. My head sagged and my thoughts were practically morbid.
I heard footsteps behind me, but I ignored them, probably just another fast eater like me.
"Granger!" I heard the most infuriating voice come from behind me.
I turned slowly, blank-faced.
He stopped a few feet away, looking at me sympathetically.
"Look, I'm sorry about Weas-… Ron. I can tell how much you care about him."
Was I really that transparent?
He paused for a moment. "Hey," he said, making me look up.
He cocked a brow and looked at me worriedly. Why was he worried? He hated me.
"Are you alright?"
I supposed he was just trying to be nice and make me believe the story he was feeding me about wanting to be friends and nodded, turning away.
I began walking slowly again, but Malfoy didn't seem to get the hint. I wanted to be alone.
He put his hand on my shoulder to slow me.
My reflex was to spin around abruptly, nearly knocking him to the ground and growl "Don't touch me." through my teeth as I stared at him with a glare that, according to his expression, scared the hell out of him.
I turned back, starting up the stairs. But before I got far, I heard his footsteps again.
Why was he so stubborn?
I turned around, adding an exasperated sigh for effect. "What do you want, Draco?" I asked, folding my arms across my chest.
He looked stunned for a second and then his eyes darted around the room before settling on a crack in the floor.
"Nothing, I suppose. I just wanted to be sure you were alright." He sounded melancholy.
Was Draco Malfoy actually sulking? And because of me? I couldn't believe it. Maybe he actually was trying to be friends.
The Draco I knew (well, used to know) would have snapped right back with some ignorant quip about my heritage.
"Well, I'm fine. So… Bye." I said, turning around.
"Okay. Bye." he said, turning around with a slight slump to his shoulders.
I felt the sudden urge to say something comforting to him, but I didn't know what to say, so I just went back to my room.
DRACO'S POV:
I walked back into the Great Hall, ignoring the curious glances of Crabbe and Goyle. I sat and stared at my food, the identity of the substance escaping my notice.
After dinner, I walked slowly to the Slytherin common room. I sat on a chair, thinking, my emotions teetering precariously on the edge of insanity.
No one bothered me, assuming that I was in a bad mood due to the mask of intense concentration I wore. It was a good thing, too; I was sorting through some very confusing things.
Did I maybe like Granger more than I thought? No. I couldn't. I'm a Slytherin. She's a… ugh… Gryffindor.
But I still couldn't stand under that hateful glare of hers without shifting uncomfortably. I could deal with every scowl, every sneer thrown my way. But not hers.
I couldn't live with her hating me as much as everyone else. It made me queasy to think about.
But that's why I was doing this wasn't it? Searching for a sense of relief. I would start with the one person that bothered me the most and work my way up.
I didn't want to be the guy everyone hated. Even if it made my own house hate me.
Getting bored with just sitting, I decided to take a walk up to the Astronomy Tower.
HERMIONE'S POV:
I laid on my bed, staring blurry-eyed at the bed next to me.
I couldn't believe Ron could even be with her. Sometimes it seemed like he didn't even like her. But then, sometimes I didn't like him. Like now.
Somehow Draco crept into my mind. I started thinking about how much I disliked him and how much I wished he would go somewhere else, somewhere I wouldn't have to deal with him.
Then, I started thinking about other things about him.
Like his white-blond hair, his eyes like chips of gray slate, his tall, slender form.
I began drifting off to the sight of him smiling, a sight rarely seen when it is in true happiness that he smiles, at me like I had just given him the greatest gift he could ever have hoped for.
I fell asleep thinking maybe that gift was acceptance.
I woke in the middle of the night, sleeping girls all around me. I sat up and, acting on impulse, grabbed the tin box in the bottom of my wardrobe and pulled the folded bird out, unfolding it and trying to erase the creases with my bedspread.
I read and re-read the letter over and over in my head, searching for any sign of falseness in his claim. But I found none.
He seemed honest, which confused me.
What would Draco Malfoy possibly gain from becoming friends with a "mudblood"?
My head started hurting after thinking too much so soon after waking up, so I stood and tiptoed quietly out of the door and walked down into the common room.
The fire was going and a very familiar figure was sitting on the couch, outlined by the light of the fire.
"Ron? What are you doing up?" I asked, holding my arms closer to myself and rubbing them. The room was freezing, my breath visible in the air separating us, eerily resembling the awkwardness since Lavender had come along made tangible.
"Do you hate me, Hermione?" Ron asked, not looking up from the fire or even moving.
I walked over to the couch and sat beside him, holding my knees to my chest, before answering. "No, Ron. Of course I don't hate you. Why would I hate you?" I asked, hoping he wouldn't say what I thought he might, but knowing that it was the only logical reason I would.
"Lavender. You cried when I kissed her, you completely ignore us when she's around, you seem to hate her." he said, then he looked up. "You seem to hate me, too." His sad blue eyes, ringed by bruise-like shadows, bored into mine in a way that made me want to cry.
Not even realizing what I was doing until it happened, I wrapped my arms around his neck and hugged him close. His arms slowly wound around my waist and we sat like that for a few minutes.
I felt a tear in my eye and willed it to dry up.
I pulled back, Ron smiling at me.
"So you really don't hate me?" he asked, as though it were a question.
"No." I said, smiling back.
"Good. You're my best friend Hermione, I don't know what I'd do if I didn't have you." he said, then seemed to realize for the first time what he had just said. His eyes widened and he scrambled to amend what he had said. "I-I mean to help me w-with homework and th-things like that!"
I laughed at his verbal awkwardness and nodded, staring into the flames flickering in the fireplace.
The reds and yellows danced in a never-ending circle, chasing each other childishly, never running out of energy, never faltering in their tracks. Their lights threw shadows across the walls and Ron's tired features.
"Ron, you should probably go to sleep, you look like you haven't slept in weeks." I said, patting his shoulder and pushing him off the couch.
"Alright." he said, not needing to be told twice. "Night, 'Mione." he said, rubbing his eyes and seeming to be sleep walking.
Which would explain what he did next.
As he shambled clumsily around to the back of the couch, he stopped and turned around, crouching down and putting his lips to my cheek softly. His lips were soft and warm and the kiss lasted for a while.
When I suspected he had fallen asleep like that, he pulled away and whispered, "Night night." then walked back upstairs.
When he was gone, I replayed the whole conversation, including the kiss on my cheek, over and over in my mind.