A/N: Yes, usually I put this at the bottom…but…change is a good thing. Either way, I do have to say that I find it quite entertaining that I started this story about a year ago, and now, it's Christmas time again…and their finishing up Christmas in this story. F-I-N-A-L-L-Y! And now for some shout outs, which you guys completely deserve because you guys are awesome in reviewing for me:

Babmidnight, crzyflgrl, marajade64, SweetMary, DeathsBride08, firefairy91, dandh, poopwnsyou, LivingImapred, Diamond-Wind, pink-strawberries, Secret Thought, TwilightGirl, love-puddle, Jackie, cellosrock753, jesstergrl, Ellie, Dookie, kat, ignorencecreekstruth, Monday Mornings, LILHOUSELF, Aleja21, JUJI, The Lady of the Four Leafed Clover, Bumblebeegonecrazy, mrs skywalker, SuperSammie325, MiSs JoVaNNa, Firefox Sunset – Formerly Cinderbrat, Serenity Komoshiro, Prettyinpink09,

CareBearErin: I have to say, that I LOVE how you analyze in your review. It's so fun to hear what readers pick up when th read stories, because sometimes when you try and get a point across, the reader tends to read something totally different, and your review was what I was going for. So major peaches to you. I just wanted to let you know…your review was quiet entertaining to read.

Nini3838fanficker: Wow…five times? O.o I didn't know my story was worth reading that many times! But I'm seriously grateful and totally stunned. You're really amazing. And yeah…I have a #1 fan! Hehehe.

Snorlax1084: That you so much. I really do appreciate it when fans enjoy the fact that I'm not jumping into fluff and sex plots between the two characters. Draco and Hermione are a very delicate ship, and hard to pull off when written realistically. And let me know if you detect the loose of passion in my writing because this is my first mutichapter fic and I don't know if my writing is meant for that style. ;)

RebelSheepSayMoo: Don't worry. I have an idea where Harry and Hermione will go. But this is a fic that's randomly thought up on as my fingers type away. Thanks for reading. I love your input on my chapters. It's encouraging to have someone find problems or give advice on situations and writing style.

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Cry Me Tears of Fire

Pensive Puddles

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That was close. Too close. He had almost kissed her. And Salazar forbid, he still wanted to kiss her. Her lips were still moving in his head. He could still see her face, alive with the flickering shadows the fire blew with warm breaths. Merlin, if Hermione hadn't been Hermione at that moment, he would have kissed her, taken her, loved her. But he couldn't. Just because Hermione wasn't the type of girl he could just kiss, just take, just love. It was forbidden in so many ways: against his Voldemort, against his family, against himself. To allow himself to be with Hermione Granger was such a sin, and it wasn't a tasteful sin either. It was sickening, more because he wanted it, and knew he could never have it.

Draco had to end this…this "truce" with Hermione. He couldn't take it any longer. Not because it was unbearable (he wished it was), but because it was making him treat her…differently, affectionately. It was warping his cold, heartless attitude towards her into an attitude he reserved for friends. Of course, that last moment where he had almost lost himself in the Common Room still left him breathing unevenly. What was wrong with him! Yet even if these puzzling feelings were forgotten, Draco Malfoy could never allow himself to befriend Hermione Granger. This was just a truce. It was supposed to last only for the winter break, and then it was back to the bitter friction between them, the familiar way of life.

But in the darkest corners of his locked away secrets, Draco didn't want to return to the familiar bitterness, the familiar hatred. He enjoyed her company. He enjoyed her presence. He enjoyed how now, any displays of bitterness were more teasing than anything else. And he wasn't sure if he was ready to just…let it go.

Some would say that Draco was being completely sentimental, completely un-Malfoyish, and completely senile. And he was. Draco was all those things. He was becoming more sentimental, more un-Malfoyish, and more senile than any other time in his life. And he needed to change. He needed to revert back to his old ways and stay the cold-hearted prick that he was. He couldn't…couldn't stay like this.

He had finally made up his mind.

Draco sighed and looked around the Quidditch pitch. It was such a wonderful spot to sort out his thoughts. The cold winter air blew against his face, making his pale skin flush against the bitter iciness. He could see dazzling sights in the morning, and even in the evenings when he was out here. He would fly up and watch the sun rise or fall, watch it touch the mountainsides and accent the dark colored boulders. She probably would have liked to see it…too bad she was scared of heights…

Damn it, stop! he yelled in his mind. He held his face in his hands trying to ease his frustrations, some how hold onto his escaping thoughts that became a whirlwind of utter excitement. This was why he needed to stop this truce with her. She was entering more and more into his thoughts. It was bad enough before, and now…now it was just terrible. He had hoped that in having this truce with her, he would understand her behavior and find flaws in it and find something detestable, something to hate her for, something that would take all fascination away and reveal that she was just like every other girl.

But there wasn't and she wasn't. And that was what angered Draco the most.

"Draco!" he heard a faint, soft chime in the air and he looked around for that sound. His eyes fell to the ground and he looked at the devil of his thoughts, her. He breathed deeply. This was where he would start changing. This was where he would break the truce. It was the only way for him to go back to the way he was and crush this curiosity and fascination of his.

But the inner child who loves to show off, the child we all have inside us, couldn't help but give one last, astounding show to his fake friend. It was a move that he had practiced only at home when his parents would argue, or when his father was away and his mother was entertaining her…special guests. It was daring, it was stupid, it was just a guy thing to do, and like most guys, he couldn't help but show off to a girl, even if it was a mudblood girl.

Standing on his broom that hovered in the air, balancing himself, Draco braced himself and made sure that his wand was tucked safely in his pocket. And then he leapt out into open space, falling to the ground at such a wild pace that he couldn't help but laugh and shriek like a mad man, drowning out the sounds of her screaming.

"Accio Lightening Bolt 3000!" he cried and the broom that hovered a hundred feet above him lurched towards its master. Draco noticed that the ground was closer than it normally was when he practiced it at the Manor, and he could see her covering her face in fear of seeing his body shatter against the cold ground. Smirking, Draco twisted himself upright and landed on his broom that placed itself beneath his feet. It slowed gradually till he hovered a foot or two below Hermione's head.

She looked up at him, blood drained from her face, yet a look of disbelief and awe shinning her eyes. He wished that he could smirk at her, wink at her and strut off back to the castle. He wished he hadn't called off the truce with her in his head, and then he'd have the freedom to stay at her side and feel her light hits against his chest, hear her fierce scolding, just be there with her in general. But the truce was over, and Draco was doing what the old Draco Malfoy would have done: he scowled, told her to sod off, and walked away.

He could feel her shock in the air around her, but he ignored it while he strode back to the castle, looking arrogant, being the pompous ass that he once was, and yet felt like the biggest piece of scum to walk the planet.

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Draco didn't speak to her for the rest of the day. She tried to catch his eye at dinner, but found that he would purposefully sit himself next to Snape, and Hermione would never sit near Snape even if it could free all the House elves from slavery. The students who stayed at Hogwarts were few and so both the teachers and the students sat at the same table for meals. It offered a more homely touch. Hermione attempted to entertain a Ravenclaw boy a year younger than her who kept asking her questions, wanting to start a conversation, and she had to admit she was having a fun time discussing things with him that she never could discussed with Ron and Harry because they found it incredibly dull.

While in the midst of laughing with her new friend, she instinctively looked over at Draco and was surprised to actually meet his eyes. They were cold and sharp, startling her, but she stared back nonetheless. The familiar look of loathing and hatred shook her, but then she found herself looking at the side of his head, as he started talking to someone in his class that sat across from him.

"Hermione? You all right? You look kind of pale," Edward, the Ravenclaw boy, remarked. Hermione turned to him and smiled, shaking her head, "It's nothing. Forget it."

Edward, being a smart boy, looked to where her eyes were once staring. He frowned at the pale haired blond who was smirking at his fellow Slytherin's display of theatrics while telling him some sort of story. "The nut doesn't fall far from the tree, Hermione."

"What?"

Edward crinkled his brow, something Hermione noticed he did when he was about to explain something. "I know girls find him fascinating. I hear the smart girls in my House rave over him, and none of the guys can ever figure out what they find in him that's so fascinating. But he's pure evil, not much different from his father."

"How do you know? He could be…different by himself," she said, quietly, recalling small moments where Draco wasn't like the Draco people usually spoke of.

Edward shrugged. "The job I had last summer, I heard stories of the two Malfoy men that would make your skin crawl, all from different people. No one goes unaffected with those two around. They're a walking pestilence. And Malfoy's not doing anything to take himself out of his father's shoes."

"Still…" she began but trailed off as Malfoy walked past her without any sign of recognition, but a voice in her head, the same voice that taunted her on the train platform not a few days before, spat viciously, Mudblood whore.

"Just be careful, Hermione. That's all I'm saying. Sometime things aren't different from what they appear to be. They are what they are, no smoke and mirrors," Edward said gently, noticing her hurt expression. He knew there was something deeper in the rivalry between the Slytherin Malfoy and the Gryffindor Granger than normal. But he didn't probe further. Instead, he said, "Did you read the new essay by Rodrick Saunders?"

Hermione, familiar with the article, became quite interested in Edward's words and pushed the Slytherin out of her mind for the time being.

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Hermione walked back to her dorm, humming an odd tune that she had heard once a very long time ago. Every now and then she would lift her bottle of butterbeer to her lips and take a swig, smack her lips and smile at how rude she must look and sound. But she didn't care. She had just had a lovely discussion with a boy who actually was interested in her opinions, who enjoyed questioning her ideas and approaching them from quite interesting angles that left her wondering why didn't she think of it first.

Still humming, she bid goodnight to the Head's portrait, the gray face that materialized out of the dark clouds, and entered into her extravagant, beautiful room. She loved Hogwarts. She really, really did. And she couldn't understand those who didn't. After the war was over, and Harry was out of danger from Voldemort, Hermione decided that she'd return to Hogwarts and be a Professor. It was her ideal job: spreading knowledge, constantly in access to Hogwarts library and hospitality and good living spaces. It was such a beautiful dream.

"Well, someone's obviously happy," a sneer remarked out of the corner of the couch. Hermione, blushing slightly from being caught humming (she knew she was a terrible singer, even if her mouth was closed), glared at Draco who didn't even look at her, but stared at the fire and added in his bored drawl, "Did that Ravenclaw brat shag you or something?"

Hermione stared at him in silent rage. How could he be so cruel? "No, we actually talked about things that didn't revolve around Quidditch or anything else that you boys are interested in."

Draco inwardly seethed at being called a boy. If only she knew the pain he went though, then she'd understand that he was no boy. "Well, obviously that's a tactic to get you into bed. Merlin, he must be as desperate as Weasley if he sinks so low as to want to shag you." He paused, pretending to ponder and in an after thought remarked, "He's probably gay."

"What the hell is your problem?" she yelled, tears of anger, hurt, and frustration welling behind her eyes, but she dared not let them fall. "You were perfectly nice until I got that letter from Ron. Then you reverted back to your cruel, irritating self! We had a truce."

"The truce is broken. There's only so much of you I can stand," Draco snapped. And he knew that that was a lie.

"You are unbelievable…" she said, shaking her head in disbelief. "I must be the stupidest person to ever walk these halls to think that you could be different from your father! I wanted to believe that you weren't that detestable, evil little maggot that people say you are. I wanted to believe that you didn't follow your daddy's footsteps, that you actually had a small drop of decency in you." She clutched her butterbeer in her hand and walked to her room, quietly saying, "But you are what they said you are: a cruel, arrogant, spoiled brat."

Draco stood for a silent moment in anger at her accusations. He stormed towards her and grabbed her, holding her by the neck, reminding him of how he had her next to him in the hallway with Golden Boy Potter cowering before his feet so that Draco wouldn't hurt his precious friend. He still had her small neck in his hand, could feel her smooth skin beneath his palms. He stared right into her eyes, watched how they glowed defiantly. She licked her lips, and he watched, captivated. This was a wrong move. She tempted him too much. But he refused to let her go, for then she would sense his weakness. He was just going to have to intimidate her.

"You lying little slut—"

"You shouldn't talk about your girlfriend like that," Hermione remarked, referring to Pansy, and she chocked somewhat as he clutched her throat. He held her in front of him, lifting her slightly off the ground.

Draco was enraged to the point where he couldn't force his tongue to return vile insults. He couldn't think of anything to call her that would affect her. He could only looked at her, admiring how mean she could be. No trace of fear was evident in her eyes. Defiance, anger, definitely. But fear? None. "Let…me…go..." she rasped out.

He smirked slowly and brought her towards him, his nose almost touching hers, and he whispered, his hot breath bathing her face, "Why should I?"

"Because I'll do this," she said before she thrust her hand forward against his chest. A great blast of air ripped Draco away from her, sending him flying backwards into the wall where he smashed up against it and crumbled to the floor. Hermione, meanwhile, lightly touched ground again, with the help of her element, lightly touched the spots his fingers had purposefully dug into.

She walked over to Draco and stared at him. The crumbled boy looked up at her and gasped out, "How'd you get so strong?"

"Practice makes perfect," she replied coldly and watched, as he closed his eyes and blacked out. Hermione sighed, kneeling down and touching his already bruising forehead. She hoped his crash against the wall wouldn't leave too much brain damage; she liked his intellectual mind. She could still smell the alcohol on his breath and she questioned herself why she didn't notice it right off. It explained a lot. Taking a deep breath, Hermione halfway dragged, halfway used the wind to float Draco back to his room. Lying him on his bed, she made sure he at least looked comfortable and covered him with his blankets. She was repaying the favor.

As she stepped back out into the common room, Hermione finally noticed the bottle of fire whisky sitting on the table. Apparently, Draco helped himself to one that he had gotten Blaise for Christmas. Taking her own butterbeer, she titled the bottle towards Draco's room, almost in a toasting manner and said to an empty room, "Happy Christmas Eve, Draco."

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Unlike Hermione's experience with hangovers and memory lapses, Draco remembered every word, every touch, every breath the two shared the night before, and he had never been so humiliated. Not because he had made a fool of himself – and even more embarrassing, he was having a hard time concealing his bruised forehead – but because the look she gave him at breakfast made him feel silly and immature. He hadn't felt like that for quite some time, and some people would say that it was healthy for a person to remember their flaws, that they really hadn't grown into an adult quite yet.

Hermione stayed close to Edward throughout the meals, and Draco spent most of the time imaging what the little Ravenclaw's hair would look like if he set fire to it. The idea was so entertaining that he had found himself laughing outright at the table and receiving odd, questioning glances. Draco almost felt as exposed as that night in the Dark Lord's quarters.

Flashes overwhelmed him and Draco suddenly lost all appetite. No, nothing could have been so humiliating and exposing as that cursed night.

The next few days that passed after Christmas were quiet between the two students. Both would sit opposite of each other, watching but never speaking. One would always find an excuse to leave, but of course wouldn't tell where the other was going. The truce was over. And Draco almost wanted to call it back on to break the heavy silences that suffocated him when he was in her presence.

It wasn't until New Year's Eve that Draco finally made the first attempt of conversation. He didn't quite know what came over him. He had just walked back from the Quidditch field, thinking and flying and practicing his Snitch catching. His fingers were cold, even when he had his gloves on. Draco couldn't recall a more bitter winter. He opened the Common Room to see Hermione sitting in the chair, reading a book. He almost wanted to smirk. Some things never changed.

"It's cold outside," he remarked, looking at the window, purposefully avoiding her eyes and mentally killing himself again and again for saying anything, especially since he didn't even think before he said it. It was like another force was making him speak. And could he come up with a lamer pike up line? Take knife, cut out tongue …

"I will not hold a conversation with you until you apologize to me. Drunk or not, you had no right to treat me the way you did," she remarked, looking at him, trying to catch his eyes.

"Apologize? To you? What for?" Draco said in outrage. "I didn't do anything wrong."

"Holy Merlin, how have I not strangled you yet?" Hermione stated more than questioned in irritation. Getting out of the chair, she threw the book back and stormed over to him, and preceded to randomly poke him in the chest to accent her points (and hopefully add more bruises to his pretty pale body to accompany the one on his forehead), "You have to be the most immature person I know! And I've had to put up with Ron for seven years! But even he knew when he was wrong. You…you've never admitted to anything when it was completely your fault."

"Is that supposed to make me crumble and see the error of my ways?" he sneered, giving her a nasty glare. "You're going to have to try harder than that. Your feelings mean nothing to mean, Granger. You are what you are: a mudblood, and a Gryffindor mudblood at that! I don't care what you think or what you say because you are at the bottom of the hierarchy pyramid, Granger, and you'll stay there with the house elves. No, you're lower than the house elves. Fouler than trolls. Disgusting and not fit to be part of the wizardry world, let alone any world. That is why when I fight on the battlefield, Granger, I'll fight in the haze of the afterglow of the spells, and I'll find you, and I'll kill you. I swear to Merlin, I will. And it will be painful, and I will make you regret ever stepping foot into this school and looking at me."

Hermione stared at him, immobilized from wiping away her tears. She looked at him, not knowing what to think, not knowing what to say, not knowing what to do. And finally, with a raspy, chocked voice, whispered only three words, "You're a monster."

She couldn't move away and Draco's towering figure over her made her knees shake. She couldn't believe that he would say those things. She thought he was different. She thought that he was playing the part of being interested in fighting with the Dark Lord. Draco seemed too smart to involve himself in such things and it crushed Hermione to hear those words filled with such hate spill out of his mouth as if it were common truth, not a terrifying threat.

Draco, meanwhile, wanted to run to the bathroom and barf. It was one thing to say nasty things to Potter and Weasley. They were boys. A couple punches and fuming days and it would blow away. But girls…girls were another story. A tiny insult could affect a girl's behavior entirely. Draco couldn't stand tears, either, and watching Hermione's watery eyes bleed clear blood drop after drop after drop made him feel…like his father.

Dark rooms, evil spirits, wasted lives, and he just stood to the side and watched, never once making a sign of outrage, of fear for his son.

Draco did what he could do at the moment; he walked past Hermione, locked his door and took out his lighter. He was incredibly stressed, completely overwhelmed with emotions. But he couldn't place his finger on what powerful emotion was consuming him either, and it only caused him to become even more irritated. He played with his fire and tried to drain himself of energy, tried to get that old light headed feeling that he experienced when he first started using his element. And now…nothing. He was getting stronger.

Growling in outrage at how he couldn't pacify himself, Draco ravaged through his cupboards and drawers. Moving clothes and notes and hidden treasures, Draco grinned as his hand closed around a cardboard box. Ripping it out and almost leaping towards the window, he swung it open and finally returned to an old habit that he had missed for so long.

Draco inhaled and held in the smoky nicotine that slithered through his lungs, up his throat, into his brain. "Merlin, what do I do know?" he asked the winter air, the smoke dispersing into the dead season's breath.

And no answer filtered back to him.

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Since most of you probably didn't read the top (unless your name was up there), I want to say that the reason why this wasn't up sooner (and you guys are probably not going to believe me…it's just so ridiculous) is that I broke my arm. :readers laugh and call Pensive Puddles a liar: Seriously, I did:readers still don't believe: Well, it's true. And typing with a cast on is incredibly difficult because you end up only using one hand. But I'm better and I've finally written this chapter. I'm not too sure what I think about it. I thought I was loosing some of my darkness in the story so I tried to bring it back. You guys probably don't like this chapter that much. But I promise the next chapter will be good. At least, I think so…