Author's Note: Listen, I am so sorry that this has taken me so long to write. I know that first line is practically on every single one of my chapters except chapter one, but this one is really really true! I'll admit, I could have found time during the school year to write. But I can honestly say that I couldn't humanly find time for chapter nine. Why? Because for the past month I've been on the road, driving cross country, with not even enough time to check email let alone write! And sadly, I lack a labtop…:sigh: maybe when I go into college I'll get one, but that's way into the future. Meanwhile, please accept my humblest apologies, and let me gravel at your feet, not only for waiting for me to update, but also for even reading my story in the first place. Without you guys, I would have never made it this far.

Shout outs to: dantesquide, xXwitchXx, withyinuyashagurl, thingsmakemehappy (hope you're still sane!), mysticalpurple, dracosbabigirl, firefairy91, Monday Mornings, fluffy buff, Dmwme09, GuardGirl07, Kace08, Angelic Dragon, FireGuardian, Luvyferina, babmidnight, LadySnake, Sk8eRgIrL1990, LivingImpared, penate, dotty, hotennispro88, RebelSheepSayMoo(Thank you SO much for you really long review! I love getting ones like yours!), Ellie, Pidwideon188, Kate-Raspberry, lady-sanctuary, carly…ok, if I miss anybody, I'm truly sorry. But as for now, kick back, relax and enjoy!

Cry Me Tears of Fire

Pensive Puddles

:-:-:-:-:-:

Draco had a hard time sleeping that night; in fact, he had just played with his fire and gazed into the darkness of his canopy bed. He couldn't stop thinking, couldn't stop imagining. His mind had twisted and turned, trying to think of a reason why he had agreed to pretend to be friends with Granger. He didn't understand why he had. He could swear that he'd feel this strange emotion envelop him whenever he thought of her or was in her presence, but he always shrugged it aside. That couldn't be a reason. He couldn't possibly be enjoying her presence, her voice, her mind. He just couldn't; it was ridiculous!

But why?

He ruffled his hair, scratching his scalp. And finally, when his clock glowed three thirty, Draco finally understood – or so he thought – why he had agreed to be her friend. He was truly fascinated by the girl called Granger. His mind recalled the amount of times he had watched her throughout the year, how many questions had cropped up and how many of them were still unanswered. Draco liked questions; he liked puzzles. But he hated curiosity ever since his father had taught him it was wrong. He learned the hard way; Draco always learned the hard way.

One day at the manor when he had nothing to do – there was only so much entertainment a manor could hold before it became plain and unexciting – he went to see what his father was doing in the basement. Draco had always found it peculiar that his father would look over his shoulder anxiously before slipping through the hidden door. He'd watch, fascinated, as his father placed complicated curses that made elegant displays of light, slipping through and around the enchanted door. What was down there that was so secretive? Why did he hex it? Draco watched it all from the shadows. It was such a mystery, arising many curious questions.

No one as young as he had been should ever see what he had seen. No one deserved to see a sight so violent, so gory, so horrific. He still shivered when he thought of it.

But the punishment inflicted on him after being discovered hiding in the closet sitting and shaking in his own piss was nearly as bad as seeing the graphic torture. He could still see that frail person, so weak from torture, thin from starvation, hair but a few thin, grimy strands, face hollow with eyes bulging unnaturally from their sockets, crazed by spells, hanging limply, desperately from the iron shackles around his wrists and ankles, and opening his mouth in silent pain, his screams and moans muffled by some charm that Lucius had placed on him. Maybe Lucius had even ripped out his vocal cords; he was sick man, "crushing the curiosity out of him," the older Malfoy had said as he had cursed his son with a light Crucio. It wasn't torture; it was punishment. He had been merciful, really he had been.

And he had tried to obey his father's simple command and crush his curiosity out of his being, and he had almost succeeded. The world had turned into a very boring world, but there were fewer questions. Suddenly, in walked Hermione Granger, a girl that would bring out the curiosity in the most apathetic, uncaring person. It was mind-boggling how smart and thoughtful she was, how feisty, stubborn and caring, how sympathetic, how strong and innocent, yet possessing the ability to control one of the darkest spells of Dark Magic. And it was amazing how she could smile and laugh and pretend that her life was fine when her parents were divorced and she had committed manslaughter.

It was inspiring, he supposed, because – frighteningly -- it reminded him of himself, except the smiling in public part. He didn't smile, unless there was a damn good reason to. He had this desire to kill her, eliminate his curiosity. But just a taste of the old feeling was so tempting that he couldn't lock it away again. Merlin, he was a lost soul. He wanted to kill her, but he wanted to keep her by his side so that he could study her. And pretending! The idea was so childish, and yet, somehow, practical. It was only going to be for winter vacation, mostly because there was no one else in the castle that captured his attention, no one but Granger. And when Blaise and Pansy returned, he'd drop her like she'd probably drop him when her "precious" boyfriend and Wonder-Boy Potter stepped back onto Hogwarts grounds. He could already imagine her lunging herself into his arms, throwing herself unashamedly around Weasley as if he was her breath in an airless world. The thought nauseated him.

Then again, the last day of school before winter vacation had been questionable, when she had deliberately avoided them. What was going on with them anyway? Was Weasley's pretty face breaking up the relationship? He wouldn't be surprised. After all, Granger wasn't the prettiest broom on display. She was packed in the backroom with the dust…but she was an interesting broom, one that hadn't been tested thoroughly and still had some bugs in it, but nonetheless exciting to try. No one ever wanted the old broom in the back; it was always the beautiful one rotating on display in the window.

While Draco thought of Granger and her status in the cruel hierarchy of the feminine world, he groggily sauntered towards the bathroom, looking forward to a nice hot shower. He opened his door and froze, seeing the thought in question dressed in Muggle clothing and hair up in a loose ponytail, and sitting curled on one of the large Common Room chairs. She turned a page of her book and kept reading. Keep reading, keep reading, he chanted in his mind. He tip toed towards the bathroom, hoping he could make it past her undetected.

"What do you want to do today?" she asked casually, her eyes turning to the other page to read the fine print gleaming up at her.

"I don't know," he said automatically and he inched his way towards the door. "Flying?"

"I don't fly," she stated immediately, then added, "But I'll watch you."

"Ok," he said, now safely in the bathroom with his head only sticking out. "I'll just take a quick shower then and we'll be on our way. I need to practice my Snitch snatching anyway."

"All right," she said and then called out as he closed the door, "Nice boxers!"

Draco glared at the reflection in the mirror whose face was turning a deep red. Why was Draco Malfoy flushing? Many girls had seen him dressed in his boxers; Pansy had seen him dressed in nothing! So why were her peering eyes so humiliating?

Because it was Hermione Granger's eyes.

And he could practically feel those brown eyes of hers glinting in amusement through the door.

:-:-:-:-:-:-:

Hermione turned another page in the large novel that rested on her lap. Giving her eyes a rest, she glanced upwards and watched a dark figure chase after a golden glint that zipped through the air. She held her breath as he dipped dangerously towards the ground, picking up speed as he descended. And suddenly, he stopped, making her wonder if he had ever been flying as high as he had been his fall has been so casual.

She exhaled in relief and she turned back to her text, but she found the words blurred together into a smeared mess. She fingered the page, thinking of him, how strange and exciting it was to pretend to be friends with him. And true, she felt a slight prick of guilt poke at her, but she swatted it away. This was the only way to get what she wanted, to expand her skill, and maybe if she did expand it, maybe she could use her Dark Magic for good, and help Harry bring down the Dark Lord…yes, everybody would remember her then, wouldn't they? Everybody would recall Hermione Granger, Dark Witch who brought down the Dark Lord and his minions with their own Dark Magic; Harry wouldn't overshadow her then.

It's not as selfish as it sounded. Was it that bad to want to share in some of the glory that should rightfully be hers? Who was the one who helped them more than once to get through the maze to the Philosopher's Stone? Who was the one who concocted the Polyjuice Potion to get information about the Chamber of Secrets in Second Year? Who was the one who helped Harry when he needed to get past the Hungarian Horntail back in Fourth Year? Ron was too busy moaning and groaning about his poverty. And who was the one who got rid of Umbridge in the Forbidden Forest?

Her. Always her. And everybody remembered Harry because he always fought the bad guy and won in the end, slightly scratched, but nothing serious – except the loss of Sirius that one time. He still hadn't forgiven himself for that, even after two years he still beat himself up for Sirius' death; she noticed that his eyes would turn glassy, threatening with hot tears whenever he looked at pictures of black dogs.

She wasn't belittling Harry. He was a good soul, and he deserved the glory that was bestowed on him. And he was always humble about it to the point that she sometimes wondered if it was all an act. But she always pushed that thought out of her mind. He had lost his parents when he was a baby. He had to live with his horrible relatives for what must have felt like centuries. Harry was always depended upon whenever the times got rough; it weighed a person down eventually. And the death of Sirius, Cedric, all hovering over him, she knew Cedric's death still troubled him.

But shouldn't she get a little of the glory that they'd reap when they brought down Voldermort? She knew she wouldn't get as much as she should receive. Ron would probably get more; after all, Harry loved him more than he loved her. Back in fourth year, when one of the tasks was to retrieve what the Champion loved most before the Merpeople killed them – stupid Harry, he could have easily one first place if he hadn't had waited! Always so noble…and hurtful. She was slightly…jealous that Harry would choose Ron over her. She would have probably felt incredibly offended if Krum hadn't been there to put her at the bottom of the lake, making her feel somewhat special, and she would admit that she had been jealous of Ron. After all, Ron had hated Harry for a quarter of the year, believing he had tried purposefully to get himself into the Triwizard Tournament; he didn't believe Harry. She did. She always believed him and she was always there to help him. The same couldn't be said about Ron.

What was so bloody special about the imbecile? He always whined about his poverty. He was always jealous of Harry, ever since meeting him on the train and watching Harry be practically bowed to. He was always jumpy. He always cheated…constantly: school, chores, games, girlfriends…

Her fist clenched tightly together and the pages of the book fluttered violent under her hands.

"What are you thinking about?" a voice asked, startling her. She gasped and looked up. Draco hovered next to her, his feet resting on the bleachers. He swerved over so that he was in front of her. And remarked darkly, "I asked you a question."

Ignoring his rudeness, she replied calmly, "Nothing."

"Something upset you a lot; the wind almost blew me into one of the bleachers," he said, shaking his head and smirking. "The wind's not stirring now."

Hermione smirked. Although slightly worried, she was pleased somewhat that she had caused such a great effect. "I need to be able to control my emotions better. Or else…who knows what'll happen."

Draco nodded. She looked at him, searching for his eyes and miraculous found them sooner than she had expected. "Will you help me?" she asked quietly and added quickly, "I don't want to be stuck in another incident like in the Common Room that one night."

"We'll see," he said quietly, avoiding her eyes. She tried to hide her smile. She was grateful to even get a reply. He looked down at the book in her hands; it looked really boring. The tiny print didn't look inviting, but he knew from experience that many books had secrets that only few could find, and even understand. He circled his broom around her again, making her pony tail swing slightly in the wind. He looked down at her, admiring how her jeans accented her legs, her thighs, and how her white thick-knitted turtleneck sweater gave her an innocent glow, almost cuddly. Her brown eyes stared up at him, and her cheeks and lips were a rosy red from the nippy air. A few short strands of hair that had fallen loose from the holder hung delicately around her face, pulling out her cheekbones. She looked very pretty and Draco hoped his blush could be excused by the cold wind. "Do you—" he began but his voice was dry and raspy. He cleared his throat – damn puberty. "Do you want to try flying? I know there're extra brooms somewhere."

She sat silent, pondering, her eyes inspecting her clean shoes. "I don't like flying. Heights, you know," she said quietly, shrugging and giving him a bashful grin.

He smirked. "Then you have no idea what you're missing."

He pulled away from her, flying directly vertically and then flipping over on his back before spiraling downward. Hermione watched his hand dig into his jacket and release a golden Snitch. Then he was after it, swirling and diving and following it around, not bothering to catch it. He wanted to practice swerving and diving more than catching it. It looked exhilarating. He seemed to be one with the wind, as if invisible wings were attracted to his back. He really was graceful in the air; why didn't he catch the Snitch before Harry? He seemed to be around the same level. Maybe because he was the captain and had to keep his eyes on his team at the same time, whereas Harry only had to keep his eyes on the Snitch; he had stepped down from the captain position and had let Ron take it instead. Damn Ron, always jealous, she wouldn't have been surprised if Ron had bullied him into it, made Harry feeling guilty about always getting everything while Ron was left bone dry. His selfishness disgusted her; she couldn't believe she hadn't seen it before.

Her eyes traveled back to Draco who soared majestically in the cold winter wind, as if it was his home, as if he truly belonged there. He looked so…beautiful.

Hermione shook her head, making the loose strands of hair that framed her face shake and tickle her skin. She brushed them away from her eyes and looked down at her book, her gloved fingers turning the page with slight difficulty. Hermione Granger did not fly. No way. The last time she even touched a broom was back in First Year. She didn't even know why they even bothered to have that class. She'd stick to airplanes, cars and buses where she'd be inside and protected…flying on a broom was just dangerous.

But exciting, she supposed…

"Then you have no idea what you're missing…"

What was she missing? Hermione always hated missing out on things. She knew she missed a lot of things. She missed the newest gossip in the girls bathroom. She missed the hilarious conversations in the Common Rooms. She missed the inside jokes. Sometimes, she didn't even feel like a Gryffindor house member when someone would say a word and they would all erupt in loud, uncontrollable laughter and share secret looks, driving her and the rest of the school population crazy. And she'd laugh along, pretending that she knew…but she really didn't. She once wished that she wasn't so interested in literature and facts and formulas. She wished that she could just be a normal girl who was just…normal. But what was normal anyway?

Not me, that's for sure, she thought glumly and sadly. A flash of gold and platinum hair caught her eye, and she looked at the flying Slytherin. She had to admit, that although the main reason why she had suggested that they pretend to be friends was so that she could eventually get him to teach her deeper Dark Magic, she did enjoy his company. He wasn't immature like Ron. He wasn't oblivious to her feelings. In fact, she was surprised at his reactions. He could detect the things inside of her that Ron was never able to.

Now, it's not because Ron was uncaring, or that he didn't love Hermione. In fact, he loved her a lot – that incident with Lavender, he'd die a thousand deaths if he could take that one moment back and oblivate it from history. But Ron didn't have people skills. He had a hard time to see what a person was feeling inside, and it was a gift he lacked, and one Draco possessed.

But as she watched Draco, she could see the same pleasure of flying in his face whenever he flew by her closely. It was a fast blur, but she could still see it, feel it. It was practically tangible. And she supposed it was the only thing that Draco and Ron shared in common; everything else was just about as opposite as the north and south poles. What was so wonderful, so spectacular about flying?

Maybe he'd teach her one day…

No! She'd never fly. Ron couldn't tell what people were feeling inside; she couldn't fly, and Draco…Draco couldn't trust.

Pushing all flying and ex-boyfriend thoughts out of her mind, Hermione focused on her book. A minute later, her large volume was resting lazily on her lap and her eyes were following Draco again. She was having fun. There were no arguments. No bitterness that no one could understand her. No frustration from hearing the same old question if they could copy her homework. No sound but her deep breath and his broom whizzing through the air. She liked being near him. It was a nice change. And she wondered if he was having fun too, if he liked pretending to be friends with her, if he thought it was a nice change, if he was enjoying her presence like she was enjoying his, even just a little. And somehow, that slight hope gave her a warm feeling in her chest and gut, so warm that she shivered in anxious pleasure.

:-:-:-:-:-:

Draco sat nervously in a chair opposite of her door. No…he wasn't nervous nervous…he was…who the hell cares what he was? He sure didn't want to know! Nervous or not, he was sitting in the chair, his elbow propped on the chair arm, his right ankle resting on his left knee that was shaking anxiously. He didn't even notice it until he looked down, which he soon tried to desist, but found the thought easier than actually fulfilling it. He made a motion to get up, but paused and then quickly retreated back into his "deciding" position, knee bouncing furiously.

"It's one little question!" he snapped at himself, stomping his crossed leg back on the ground and holding onto his knees with his hands. He didn't know why this was so hard, why it was so frustrating! If it were Blaise or Pansy, there would be no problem, no question, literally. He'd drag them with him anyway. But this wasn't Blaise or Pansy; this was Hermione.

But they were pretending, weren't they? And it was only for the break, wasn't it? So anything that they did during the break would never be alluded to ever again, everything would go back to normal, the bickering and the like, right? This weeklong truce would never extend further than winter break. Of course not. It was just a plan for her to enjoy her break without a nasty quarrel every day with him...Of course! Why didn't he see that? Now it made sense.

Then why was he finding himself attracted to her presence? Why was he finding himself drawn to her, always letting personal questions slip, always asking what was on her mind, always desiring to find out who she was, how her mind worked, how soft her skin was? It disgusted him, the amount of times he had sat across from her while teaching her how to play wizard chess (he wasn't that good, Blaise somehow always outmatched him, and Draco was enjoying teaching someone who was worse than him, which didn't last long for she soon was beating him) and had a powerful urge to just caress her face and take her by surprise, and watch those brown eyes widen, watch her red lips part, and simply lose himself in the ecstasy of her pure surprise, her pure self, her pure lips.

Well, maybe her pure lips weren't as pure as he would have dreamed them to be. After all, Weasley had defiled them. But her purity…his filth must easily wash off her; it had to, he needed it to. And again he found himself wondering why she let herself be treated so lowly by him, how she could let him do anything to her without any complaint. She should have been worshiped, not degraded by that disgusting, rabid beast labeled a wizard.

But Draco didn't like her. Not one bit. He merely was fascinated by her uniqueness, and thought that her uniqueness should be praised, for it was rare to find a girl like her amongst the sea of identical girls. It had been years since he had found anyone as interesting as her, someone that had fascinated him so much that he longed to ask question after question, and the desire -- although frowned upon at first -- was a desire that he enjoyed immensely. And sometimes, clichés truly do express the atmosphere that Draco was stuck in: he was a moth attracted to the flame that was Hermione. He hated that cliché…he wasn't a bug. He was a mighty dragon, a noble steed, a deadly hawk…it didn't matter what majestic creature he was! All Draco knew for sure that he was not a bug – although, that seemed to be the only thing he knew for sure. Oh! all this thinking hurt his head!

But here he was, sitting nervously in a common room chair. He swallowed and walked to the door, trying to muster up a justified explanation to his odd behavior. And as he knocked on the door, he realized that he didn't have one, and that was just another question that he wanted to ask her.

:-:-:-:-:-:

Hermione woke up from a pleasant dream of racing after Ron on the hottest broom in the Quidditch World (wonderfully supplied by Malfoy), and clonking him over and over and over again on the head with a Beater's bat till there was nothing left of the new face that had attracted all the females in the Hogwarts population. It had looked pretty meaty by the time she was done.

She still wore a smile on her face when she opened her bedroom door and looked up at a cool Draco. "Yes?" she asked casually, glancing at the clock ticking over the fireplace that read 9:30. "What is it?"

"I was wondering," he paused. She had no idea how frustrated he was that his tongue kept twisting unnaturally in his mouth as he tried to speak. However, no trace of uneasiness pulled at his face as he smoothly continued, "if you'd care to accompany me to Hogsmeade for some Christmas shopping? I'm sure you have to buy your friends and family something, right?"

She stared at him in amazement, nearly overwhelmed by his cologne that smelled so wonderful. She wanted to lean against his chest and breathe it in deeply forever, but she had her dignity…and sanity. "Um, sure," she said, nodding her head and clearing her throat that had mysteriously tightened. "When do you want to leave?"

"Whenever you're ready."

"Right…I'll be ready in…half an hour at most?" she asked more than said.

He raised an eyebrow and she was about to change the time until he cut her off and said, "Wow…you're fast. Pansy takes at least an hour."

"Well…not much to do. Shower, dress and go, you know?" she said, chuckling nervously. He smirked and turned to wait on the couch. She went over to the bathroom and locked the door behind her. It wasn't until she was in the shower, the water drowning out whatever sounds she would have made that she covered her mouth and giggled so girly that it would have made Parvati and Padma proud.

Meanwhile, Draco lounged on the couch, his chest considerably lighter. "And did I panic?" he asked no one in particular. "I think not!"

:-:-:-:-:-:-:

Hermione's gloved fingers trailed along the glass, as they looked through the fourth store together. Being Heads, they easily arranged a carriage to take them to the little village near the castle. It was a comfortable drive. They had exchanged pleasantries; Hermione mostly sharing fond memories of her past while Draco listened attentively. He enjoyed the one of Uncle Milton choking on the Christmas Ham, and in the scramble to help him in the living room where they had decided to eat, knocked over the Christmas tree into the blazing fireplace.

She looked over at Draco who was bartering with the seller in French. It was an expensive store, then again, Malfoy's always shopped in the best places. Hermione would never dream of coming into a shop like this with Ron or Harry. Especially Ron; he would make outrageous protests to the prices on everything.

"Her-Hermione!" Draco called. He had fumbled over her name and she smiled. It actually felt like they were friends when they called each other by their first names. It was different…it was fun.

"Yes, Draco?" she replied, watching in amusement as his eyes flashed with an emotion that she couldn't place; it happened every time she said his name. Maybe he was unused to his enemy talking to him so comfortably. Nonetheless, she'd say his name forever if the look in his eyes would return. It was mysteriously cute, causing his pale eyes to swirl somehow. She enjoyed catching him off guard; it was always a satisfying feeling.

"Could you try this on for me?" he said, holding up a fur coat. "I'm getting it for Pansy and you're about her height."

Hermione looked at the expensive coat and attentively tried it on, scared of even leaving her fingerprints in fear of damaging the fine cloth. She looked in the mirror and smiled at her reflection. The coat was long, reaching her ankle. The fabric was made out of dark green velvet. Along the rim of her hood and the cuffs, brown mink fur tickled her bare skin. She turned and watched the bottom part of the coat swirl royally, swinging side to side. She buttoned it up, admiring how slim and well-proportioned she looked in it. There must have been some sort of spell on it to flatter the person's appearance.

"What do you think? Will she like it?" Draco asked, watching Hermione model on the small podium. "Turn around again. Slowly."

She did as she was ordered, blushing as she caught his silver eyes and reluctantly undid the buttons while saying, "She'll love it."

Hermione touched the mink, testing the softness and she pulled back quickly as an angry French man scolded her in French. Draco calmed him down somehow with his cold eyes and the man appeared to apologize. Draco waved him off and muttered something that Hermione assumed was, "We'll take it." When had he taken French lessons anyway? She'd have to ask him later.

As she watched the coat be folded neatly into the box, the clerk lady cashed it up, while remarking, "Shurly your girlfriend vill vant to vear this coat immediately? It looked fabulous on 'er!"

"What?" Draco asked surprised, wondering quickly if Pansy was nearby, until he noticed the salesclerk eyes on Hermione. "Oh, no. This is for another person."

"Oh…forgive me," she said and hurriedly, but neatly folding the coat and wrapped the box in beautiful Christmas decorated paper. " 'ere you go."

"Merci," Draco said, taking the bag. Hermione nodded to the lady and smiled. She returned it and winked.

Afterwards, Hermione and Draco found themselves sitting comfortably in one of the Three Broom Sticks booths, a mug of eggnog in their mugs. Madam Rosemerta was getting more into the Holiday spirit having balls of holly sing Christmas carols, a branch of mistletoe under the doorway, and many other things that took time to look at carefully. The room was packed with Holiday spirit. Most of the customers were adults, very few students.

"So…what'd you get?" Hermione asked after taking a sip of her eggnog.

"Well, the coat for Pansy," Draco began. Hermione felt a pang of jealous shoot through her and she tried to hide her scowl. "A bottle of perfume for my mother, and a large keg of Whisky for Blaise – Merlin knows he loves the stuff."

"Draco! You know students aren't allowed to have alcohol on school grounds!" she hissed. Draco looked at her over the rim of his mug, his silver eyes flashing in amusement. "Rules are meant to be…bended, I think you of all people would know that considering you've been bending them since first year," he remarked with a pointed look.

"That's not bending; that's breaking!" she exclaimed. Draco laughed, and her cheeks turned a rosy shade as she added, "I was referring to Blaise."

He chortled into his eggnog. Hermione glared at him before returning to her own drink and talking a large gulp. "What about your father? What did you get him?" she asked, noticing that he hadn't mentioned him while he had named off his Christmas list.

Draco looked darkly into his mug, a look so dark and angry that she quickly looked away. His voice was equally as cold, but she knew it wasn't directed to her. "My father and I don't exchange presents. We only celebrate the holiday for mother; she's the one who keeps it going."

"Oh," was all that Hermione said. She knew that Draco didn't want to talk about it any longer.

Draco looked around the room, feeling lighter as he continued to admire the Christmas spirit filtering through the room. There had to have been some type of Happy Charm placed in the room for him to cheer up so quickly after thinking of his father. The chimney corner was blazing with a merry fire, little dolls were singing Christmas carols and dancing along the fireplace ledge, a Christmas tree shaped candle was lit in the middle of each table, and Madam Rosemerta went table to table, a crown of holly in her hair and little bells jingling around her wrists. Another series of little chimes caught his ear and he could hear her jingle towards them. "Merry Christmas! Can I get you both another mug of eggnog?" she asked happily, engulfed in the Christmas spirit. Draco found it rather appalling. They both shook their heads and she jingled off to harass another table with her eggnog.

Draco looked at Hermione. He wondered if he was supposed to say something. Usually Pansy just said whatever was on her mind; they usually were one-sided conversations. "So…" he began, scanning his brain for a nice question that could lead her to ramble and let him remain mute. "What did you get?"

"Oh! Well, nothing much," she replied, but her eyes were unable to hide her pleasure that he had asked her. " I got a new book on the Wizard world for Dad – he's been so fascinated about the magical world since I received my letter to Hogwarts. A few classical CDs for Mom – she used to be a musician, you know, and she told me once that she'd like to hear if the Wizard music was different from Muggle. A new pair of Quidditch gloves for Harry with a stitched golden Snitch on the corner, the latest CD by the Weird Sisters for Ginny…and that's it, I think."

He raised an eyebrow. "That's it? What about your dear boyfriend? Aren't you going to give him hair dye to change that ridiculous orange mane of his? You'd think they would have changed it for him while they were fixing his face."

He chuckled at his own insult, which faded as he saw the sour look on her face. Her eyes seemed to be a shade or two darker than normal and narrowed. She clenched her mug with white knuckles and drained whatever was left. "Madam Rosemerta? Please? Thanks," she said, indicating to her cup. The older woman went behind the counter to fill her order.

"Gran-Hermione," he said cautiously, trying to see her eyes, trying to figure out what she was feeling. Did he just say something offensive? He didn't think so, after all, he could have said something much worse, something incredibly crude and offensive, but he had checked himself in time. Surely making fun of her boyfriend's outrageous hair was not that offensive? She at least had to agree with him though: Weasley's hair was just ridiculous. What was bothering her then? Why was she so touchy about her boyfriend?

"Hermione—"

"I don't want to talk about him. Ever," she snapped, emphasizing the last word.

So something bad happened…he thought to himself. He watched her clutch her new mug filled to the brim and drink half of it in one go. That surely couldn't have been good for her; after all, Madam Rosemerta had admitted she used the Ol' Three Broomsticks recipe, which involved more alcohol than required. Consuming too much would definitely leave the drinker with a buzz. Did she have a fight with him? Is that why she didn't say goodbye to him at the train station? Anger? Unsettled issues? Do tell, sweet, naïve Gryffindor, do tell…

Draco leaned forward, a position that would have made a girl think he was flirting with her by letting his cologne tickle her nose. And maybe Draco was unconsciously doing that, but he'd used any means to find out what was going on amongst the Gryffindor Trio. From what information that had already been laid down, he could infer that Hermione and Potter were still on good terms; she had bought him a pair of nice gloves. But what was the deal between Hermione and Weasley? The only time he enjoyed gossip was when it was about the Gryffindor Trio – and only when there was something terrible brewing between the three.

"He upset you," he stated, watching her shoulders tense. He wondered if he was getting warm. Nonetheless, he continued to make suggestions in hope she'd tell him some more juicy details. "He doesn't know, either. Come on, Granger. Too much tension in a person could cause serious injuries to their shoulders. I see you need a sympathetic ear," he said gently. So what if his ear was never sympathetic? It had caught her eyes and he knew she was waiting to boil over and blab all her troubles. He pushed her a little further. "You can tell me."

"It's none of your business," she said quietly. He knew he was weakening her.

"What's upset you so much? What did he say? What did he do?" he asked, his voice sickly sweet. She was stubbornly silent. Now it was getting annoying. He hated when he didn't get the answer immediately; he had always been impatient. He leaned back in his chair, and taking a sip out of his mug, casually remarked, "Did he cheat on you or something?"

"Shut up, Malfoy!" she nearly yelled, slamming her hands on the table and causing a few heads to turn at the sound. Draco glared at prying eyes that eventually returned to their own table. He cocked his head to the side and looked at her, a smirk twisting on his face. So Weasley had cheated on her, had he? "Ah," he said lightly in an aggravating manner, "Twisted a nerve there, didn't I?"

"Don't patronize me," she snapped. Draco noticed the candle flame in the middle of their table flicker. He looked up at her again, watching her face contort in rage, in betrayal. "It's your fault it even happened in the first place!"

More heads turned and looked at the screaming, teary-eyed girl. "Hermione!" he hissed, warning her to lower her voice.

"Don't 'Hermione' me!" she whispered fiercely. "If you didn't get sick enjoyment out of tormenting me and Ron then none of this would have happened. If you could have just ignored him and not gotten into some dumb fist fight with him, then you wouldn't have burned his face and he wouldn't have had to get that face shaping ,plastic surgery, or whatever the bloody hell it's called then he wouldn't have cheated on me with that stupid, idiotic, airhead, Lavender! It's all your fault! I hate you! You ruined everything!"

She was shouting again, and now people were looking at them in irritation, more because she was disturbing their conversations, but some, he could tell, believed that he was breaking up with her due to the way she was yelling at him; what a horrible Christmas present. Draco shot her a warning glare. She ignored it. "Everything was fine without you getting in the way! And now it's all ruined!" she said, her voiced choked with tears. A couple droplets fell from her eyes and slid hotly down her cheek. It was rather beautiful when it caught the candlelight.

"Hermione…not in here," he said, already getting more glances than wanted. Don't let her breakdown in here! "Keep yourself together!" he hissed.

"Keep my-myself together?" she said, sobbing and chocking. "H-how can I when my-my boyfr-friend cheated on me!"

"He cheated on her!" a blond nearby whispered to her girlfriend, and they both sent Draco a murderous look. Right…they try and kill each other when trying to get the same guy, but then they band together when the one they had been battling against is in distress…that makes tons of sense…females…he sighed.

Hermione had now reduced to sniffling, wiping her nose fiercely with a napkin. He looked at her and leaned back in his chair. "Well," he began. He paused and tried to think of something comforting to say. Pretending to be friends with her was now starting to get hard. The small, playful debates, walks around the lakes, flying, chess-playing, and Christmas shopping where fine, almost fun, but did he really have to comfort her? He never comforted girls. Ok, so that wasn't exactly true. He could comfort girls, but not girls like Granger. She didn't accept physically comfort, that wasn't what soothed her. With girls like Granger, he needed to use words, words of comfort, words that held meaning. He thought of Weasley, his new face and him cheating on Lavender. "Well, I can't say I'm surprised."

Draco didn't know what he said that was so bad; all he knew was that Hermione had stormed out of the Three Broomsticks, and he had to grab his things and quickly pay a flustered Madam Rosemerta, before chasing after the wailing girl. "Bloody Merlin! What is going on?" he demanded, wishing someone was there to actually give him a logical answer while he chased after her. The wind had picked up and he was trying to figure out which direction she had gone. The streets were packed and he strained to look over the people's heads, trying to find her. Eventually, he spotted her turn sharply down one street that led to the castle. Draco sprinted after her, tempted to drop his bags and chase after her. He didn't know how long he had been running, but it felt like quiet awhile. In fact, he wondered briefly if she was flying away from him, she was going so fast.

"Hermione! Wait!" he yelled after her. "Damn it! What did I say?"

"What did you say? If you really think I'm that ugly, then just say it! You remark about my dirty blood so easily, why don't you continue on with the nasty insults and just tell me I'm fat, that I'm hideous, that a person would rather die a hundred, thousand painful deaths than have to touch me with a ten foot pole!" she screamed. Draco dropped his bags to the ground, stunned. He hadn't said anything of the sort!

"What the hell are you talking about!" he yelled in confusion. "I never said any of that. All I said was that I wasn't surprised he cheated on you."

"Exactly!" she glared, new, angry tears falling from her eyes. A cold blast of wind hit him, nearly knocking him over. He noticed that she was standing undisturbed.

"Exactly what?" he yelled over the roar of the wind. He held onto the ground, somehow digging his nails into the cold earth in a desperate attempt to keep from flying away. Now he knew she was doing it, she was controlling the wind. He heard his bags fly away. He hoped nothing was damaged.

"Of course you're not surprised he cheated on me! Who could ever love someone like me? How could a good looking guy like Ron ever love me? Who would love someone with nasty, bushy hair? Fat thighs, pudgy face, flat nose, small boobs… guys like perfect blonds anyway, don't they? Girls like Pansy. All perfect and beautiful," she said scornfully.

"What?" he yelled in shock and outrage. "I didn't say that you were hideous! Stop the wind and I'll tell you what I meant. I didn't mean anything that you said."

"Liar! Why should I believe you?"

His mind searched for an answer. What would be good reason for her to believe him? He was left bone dry, no good reason entered into his head. And right now, he didn't want to think of a good reason. He was becoming angry. He was cold and dirty, and a Malfoy never likes to be cold or dirty, especially at the same time. His frustration with the over-analyzing female mind was overpowering to the point where he finally bellowed, "BECAUSE, DAMN IT, I'M COLD!"

He didn't know if she heard him, the icy wind seemed to have muffled his words, but eventually the wind died and he was left on his stomach, his fingers still clutched into the cold dirt his. He could feel the dirty soil stuck under his nails. Hermione called out to him. "What did you mean?"

"I meant that now with his new face, Weasley would be a bigger idiot than he was before and he'd be overwhelmed by all the female attention he'd receive because of his new looks. He's weak when it comes to denying beauty; it'll be his downfall," he said breathing heavily. He felt incredibly cold.

"It's already his downfall with me," she said quietly, and Draco was startled at her sudden appearance. "Here," she said, holding out a hand to help him up. His grimy hand locked with hers and she helped pull him up. She didn't let go of his hand.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, looking down and away in shame. "I shouldn't have accused you like that. That was wrong for me to do that…it's just…what's wrong with me? I thought he loved me; he said he did. If he loved me, then he wouldn't have snogged her. If he loved me…why did he betray me like that?"

Draco desperately hoped she wasn't going to cry again, and so he told her what he told many weeping girls in the past. "He's an idiot, Hermione. He's not worth your time."

She smiled up at him and surprising him completely, leaned in and gave him a grateful hug. "Thank you," she said. Draco raised one awkward arm and put it lightly on her back. She didn't let go.

He cleared his throat. "Right…"

She clutched tighter onto him. He had never felt so depended on before that moment, and somehow, it made him proud that someone in the world needed him. And strangely, as he lifted his other arm to give her a complete embrace, he realized that what he had said earlier about Weasley being a waste of her time, he actually meant it. And even scarier, a small voice had commented to him that he wouldn't have been a waste of her time.

It started to call to him again as he remembered, and he covered it by saying, "We need to work on that anger problem of yours. If you blow up like that when Weasley comes back, it'll be a little harder to explain everything. And I'm sure Dumbledore won't be too pleased to find out that his prized student is gifted in the Dark Arts."

She chuckled and – fortunately for him – released him. She wiped her face clean of tears and gave a small smile. "You're going to teach me?"

"Well, I don't know anything about it," he said and paused before continuing. "But we can figure it out together? I need to learn how to control my burning problem. But I think I'm getting stronger."

"You are," she said, going and gathering their bags, checking Draco's gifts to make sure they weren't ruined.

"How do you know?" he asked curiously.

"I can just feel it, that's all," she shrugged as if it were simple question. She looked over her shoulder and smiled. He couldn't help but smile back, not because of the new news that he was getting stronger, but because her smile was just contagious. And to think…he helped make that smile so beautiful.

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