I do not own any of the characters or story line of Harry Potter, and all credit goes to J.K Rowling, the legend herself.

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Chapter Six.

Sometimes, in life, we have to do things we don't really want to do. For example, Hermione Granger was about to walk into a room full with over 500 students, 99% of which Hermione did not want to be around. That small, 1%, who she was more than happy to engage with, was Ginny. Hermione had only allowed her feet to carry her down to the Great Hall, due to her mission to find the red-head. Once she approached the large archway of the hall, her lack of desire to enter into the hurricane of rumors and stares, and conversations behind hands, which never really disguised the fact people were talking, was confirmed. And all that she had expected to happen, happened. As she stepped one foot into the Great Hall, it was as if she had hit a trigger, or initiated a booby-trap. People began pointing, and whispering, but Hermione chose to ignore their frivolous behavior. Instead, she tightly grasped the strap to her book bag, and advanced towards the right side of the hall, where Ginny sat alone, beside Neville and Seamus who seemed to be deep in conversation. Hermione sighed in relief. She had hoped to confide in Ginny, and didn't want Harry or Ron to be around to mollycoddle over her. Hermione knew a time would come where she would have to explain her sudden lack of interest in Dean. And her absence lastnight. And why she was called to McGonagall's office. And just what happened between Penelope and Dean. But she hoped that maybe, she didn't quite have to explain why Dean had a broken nose. Or anything that contributed to that matter.

That made her feel slightly better, as she approached Ginny who looked up from her half eaten plate with a smile. She'd noticed Hermione walking towards her. As the latter sat down, opposite the table to Ginny, she sighed gently. Hermione noticed Ginny's smile fade. She had not yet explained any of last night's events to Ginny. Eyeing Neville and Seamus, who seemed to be comparing Chocolate Frog cards, did people their age really still do that?, she broke into full force, explaining everything to Ginny in a lowered voice.

"... I applied some burn healer to my neck, but it hasn't healed. I was going to go to Madame Pomfrey, the last thing I want is people asking questions, but then this morning I saw Dean, and his nose was bruised and appeared to be broken-"

"-Did Malfoy do it?" Ginny asked, wide eyed at Hermione's story.

Hermione sighed in defeat,

"I don't know," she said, scooping some mash onto her plate, "I'm guessing so. I don't see anyone else with a motive to cause damage to Dean. And Malfoy was the last person to be in contact with him before I left. He's the only one who knows."

Ginny's eyes narrowed slightly, as she listened intently to Hermione's story.

"-And so I didn't go to the Hospital Wing because I thought maybe he'd be visiting there. Besides, straight after I got called to Professor McGonagall's office, after being told I have to do patrols with Malfoy, of all people, turns out he missed his duties too-"

Ginny rolled her eyes in disbelief, allowing Hermione to continue,

"I came straight here to tell you. And I guess that's it really," Hermione said bleakly.

She picked up her fork and prodded at the mash on her plate. She wasn't quite sure why she'd even got herself some. Her appetite was still absent and there was a nauseating, heavy feeling in the pit of her stomach. Ginny took a sip of her Pumpkin Juice and began picking at her food too.

"I don't know," she began, as Hermione looked up with interest, "What Dean did was ridiculous. Maybe that's why he was so reluctant for you to go. Either he's a complete wreck when he's drunk, and he knows it, or he had his night with Penelope planned beforehand. I'd say you should tell McGonagall, or Dumbledore, about how he, assaulted, you. But then I'd sound like you. And if you haven't done so already, I guess you're not planning on doing so either."

Hermione shook her head to confirm Ginny's theory.

"And then there's Malfoy," Ginny lowered her voice considerably.

Hermione looked up to Ginny again, resting her head on her hand.

"Why did he come striding in there, knowing full well you two had just gone into the dormitories alone. He was watching you, Hermione. I saw it. No matter how foul his expression was towards you, he was still watching you. And why was he so angry at Dean? What exactly was his motive to beat Dean's nose into a mess, -if," Ginny added quickly, as Hermione opened her mouth to talk, "-We know it was him. It just doesn't make sense, Hermione."

"Now you know why I've had no sleep," she said, resting her fork down on her plate.

"I guess Malfoy isn't that bad after all," Ginny said, glancing over Hermione's shoulder.

She blinked repeatedly, a small frown knitting in her brows. Shifting uncomfortably in her seat, Ginny cleared her throat gently and talked without moving her lips,

"Speaking of Malfoy," she said, glancing up at the brunette in concern.

Hermione felt her heart murmur. She turned, looking over her shoulder slightly as she spotted that familiar platinum hair. Draco was resting his head on his hand lightly. His face looked emotionless, much like his eyes that Hermione had looked into before, and had caught now. He tried his best and attempted to sneer at Hermione, and looked away instantly. She watched the Slytherin for a couple more seconds. He took a green apple from the bowl in the center of his table, and glanced back up to Hermione. She felt her breath seem to fade in and out in small wisps, as she watched the deteriorating boy with interest. Merely two days ago, he was his same, malicious, bullying self that Hermione despised. She watched as he broke the eye contact they shared for a moment, slinging his bag over his shoulder, in a fashion much like earlier that day, and stood from his table. He took a bite from the apple as he began striding out the hall, and then threw it in the bin as he disappeared around the corner of the doors. Apparently Draco didn't have much of an appetite either.

Draco lay on his bed in his dorm. Sleep had never been a good friend of Draco's. He planned on getting a nap before his patrols, much to his chagrin, with Granger, as he hadn't had much the night before. The dorm was empty. Crabbe and Goyle were most possibly out, searching for a new victim they could beat into a pulp. Blaise was in the library, finishing his work with his partner. His partner, once again, being Granger. It seemed as though her name and her being was following him everywhere. Much to Draco's annoyance, Granger's mere existence had been the reason he couldn't sleep. If it wasn't for her, and her mudblood character, Draco would not have been tossing feverishly in his bed, in attempt to rid the haunting images of the mess she had got herself into.

It was no joy, Draco thought, truthfully, to have the one being he resented, constantly crossing his mind involuntary.

He'd think of Granger from time to time, only to try and devour into her demeanor, and discover a new secret or foolish trait he could bully her for. Infact, it was quite enjoyable for Draco to plan his amusement. To think of ways to get Hermione's attention, to get her to react to his taunting, to sit and watch her become hysterically worked up over one mere comment he could make. Hermione Granger was the most reactive victim of his 'playing', you could say, and Draco enjoyed teasing the 'smartest witch of her age', until she'd rise her chin in a superior attitude, as if she as above him, Draco Malfoy, and walk about the corridors with her ego the size of her bushy hair and bucked teeth. Well, actually, Draco had noticed a considerable shrinkage in the mass volume that was the nest of hair upon Hermione Granger's head. And her teeth were merely no larger than his. Little things like this kept Draco on his toes, thinking of new things to taunt her for.

But Draco was not thinking of bullying methods. Nor was he thinking or taunts, or teasing techniques. He would be quite satisfied if Granger never crossed his mind again. But that, of course, was too much to ask.

The Slytherin closed his eyes, attempting to sleep for the third time that day. He shut the emerald, silk curtains around his four poster bed and lay comfortably on his back. Not only did he shut his curtains, but he also attempted to shut out the world that was waiting on the outside. He took a breath, calming himself and his mind. For a second, there was nothing, and Draco felt almost relaxed. But within an instant, it was back. He watched the scene unfold on the back of his eyelids.

Draco had never seen Hermione Granger look fearful. He'd never seen her look genuinely scared, so scared she was unable to come up with a sarcastic comment or witty remark. But he had witnessed it.

He glanced over to the mess that was Granger, lay on the bed. Her small body pressed under the reckless tyrant above her. For a second, their eyes connected, but she looked away almost instantly. She didn't want to look at him any more than he wanted to look at her. But Draco found that was all he could do. He stared at Hermione. He noticed how her eyes, that were once filled with passion, or excitement, or anger, or challenge, were now dull, and lifeless. Draco was the reason he had seen those emotions in her eyes. He was able to get her to react however he should like. That was a slight hold the blonde had over Hermione, and he was rather proud of it too. But now, he'd forgotten that life ever existed in the caramel, lava-like orbs. They were wide, and bleak, and slightly hazy with a coat of liquid that Draco could only presume was tears. It was her unbelievably stuck up attitude that had Hermione holding back tears whenever she ought to cry. Draco knew that the Gryffindor pride that radiated from her, was the cause of it. She blinked repeatedly, attempting to keep the tears at bay.
 His gaze wandered down to her lips, which were parted slightly as she drew sharp intakes of breath through her mouth. Draco wasn't used to the silence. He was used to the sarcasm and wit, and anger felt retorts that flowed out of her mouth in their presence. But now she was silent, and at a loss for words, and all Hermione could do was breathe. This didn't sit well with Draco, and made his stomach lurch in an unusual fashion. He almost wanted her to wet her lips, as she often did, and begin fumbling for something well thought through and witty to say. But she didn't.
He didn't want to look any further. He didn't want to see beneath the baby pink blouse that lay thrown open by her sides. He didn't want to see the light, olive skin that was glowing in the moonlight. He didn't want to see the delicate decolletage of her collar bones and slight outline of ribs as she drew in deeps breaths. He didn't want to see the peaks of her breasts from her purple, laced, balconette bra. He didn't want to see the way they perfectly fit the cup size that Draco had all his life, expected to be a lot smaller than what Granger was hiding. He didn't want to see the small section of her toned stomach, which was perfectly flat from what he could see. He didn't want to see any of it. But his mind was at a loss of power, and his eyes roamed free in a moment Draco was sure he would never come across again.
In that moment, Draco saw Hermione differently. He saw her as a small animal, as she whimpered slightly under the pressure of ignorance and selfishness that lay above her. She wasn't the mudblood that, time after time again, beat Draco in every test. She wasn't the object of amusement, for Draco to prod at with his hurtful words and insults. She was a person, like him. And she was scared. And Draco of all people knew what it was like to be scared. Knew what it was like to be sat in a room with around a dozen people, who had no fear to end his life, then and there. Knew what it was like to sit before your own father and be disapproved upon, whilst your mother sat in the background, too scared to say anything.
 And in a selfish part of his mind, Draco was glad that Hermione Granger had finally witnessed fear. The part of his conscience that found it fun to hurt her, returned. And it was amused by her predicament, and her fear, and it fed off her foreboding expression. It saw Hermione in a way that Draco had never hoped of seeing her. How special she looked, with her hair spread wildly on the blue silk bedding. With her small body lay upon it, scared, waiting for something to happen. And he almost wanted to put her out of her misery. He wanted to be back in his dominance, with complete control over her, and her emotions, as he toyed with her strings like a puppeteer. He liked the power he felt, for her to finally submit to him, and to be completely under is authority. Yes, he quite liked the scared Hermione Granger.
Yet, at the same time, Draco hated seeing the true fear struck across the Gryffindor's face. He hated fear within himself at best. It brought down the best of people, and made them feel worthless and incapable. And he wouldn't wish it upon anyone else.
Draco couldn't get the vision of her lay like that out of his mind. It was a vision he had never wanted to witness in his entirety, but never wanted to forget, none the less. He wasn't sure whether this was because, in his mind, it was something he could find a taunt within, or whether it was something completely different. And for once, he ventured into the other possibilities of his feelings. The ones he avoided because he knew he wouldn't like the answer. The ones he'd say 'I have my reasons' for to avoid complications. Maybe, and it was a large maybe, he didn't want to forget the vision he saw for one more reason. Because it was exciting. Because it was new. Because it was something Draco had never witnessed in Granger before. Something that none of the other girls had shown him. It was complete innocence. And maybe Draco liked that.

Draco's eyes flew open immediately. He noticed his breathing was rather shallow, and so he took a deep breath in attempt to calm himself. Throwing back the curtains around his bed, he glanced at the wrist watch beside him. He ignored the date that was slowly curving around the silver hands of the clock, and instead looked at the time. It was fifteen minutes before he was obliged to go and meet Granger for his patrolling. He had no intentions of being early, nor on time. He didn't want to look eager, and Draco was anything but. Thankfully, the blonde had acquired some sleep, even if it was for only an hour and a half. But he mentally kicked himself, and beat himself, and hexed himself into oblivion, thinking exactly what he had fallen asleep thinking about. In his dreams, and his mind that was half way between sleep and consciousness, Draco was unable to control his thoughts. If people knew exactly what Draco Malfoy dreamed about, the good, the bad, and the ugly, they'd never think straight again. Draco had witnessed dreams that left him shaking as he woke up in the morning. He'd slept through thoughts that caused him to question his sanity. But never had he been so scared about what he had just pondered over, than his thoughts on Granger. No, that dream did not sit well with the Slytherin at all. He promised to himself, for as long as he was sane, which he doubted from time to time whether it would be a long period of his life, he would never think about Granger in that way again. In attempt to rid himself of those haunting thoughts, Draco headed to the bathroom to take a shower. He blamed the craziness on his lack of sleep.

Hermione checked her watch, impatiently. She was told to meet Malfoy at 7 o'clock, outside the prefect's bathroom on the fifth floor. It was now fifteen minutes past the time they were meant to meet, and Hermione was growing angry. Not one student was caught out of bed in her presence, and there were a distinct lack of friendly ghosts down the narrow corridor she stood in. With a sigh, Hermione paced left and right, in front of the doorway to the bathroom. She straightened out her robes and uniform, and adjusted the prefect's badge that sat near her left shoulder. The Gryffindor glanced at the ground as she walked across the cold, marble floor. She noticed a small scuff on her black, patent shoes, and crouched down to clear it. With a simple lick of her finger, she polished away at the dirt, which left no remainder to say it was ever there. A familiar, arrogant click began growing louder as she heard someone making their way towards her. To match the signature rhythm of the superior swagger, Hermione heard a soft chuckle as she rolled her eyes in disgust.

"Unless you're searching for dwarves, Granger," the voice called, with a slight air of amusement, "I suggest you get the hell up off the floor and do your job properly."

Much to Hermione's chagrin, Draco had arrived. She stood slowly, and turned to see the blonde Slytherin make his final steps towards her.

"Nice of you to finally join me, Mr Malfoy," she said, eyeing him as he approached the slit of moonlight that shone on the floor, acting like a barrier between them.

As he stepped into the light, Hermione noticed something different about him. He stood tall, taller than he had done earlier that day, and his hair was fixed in it's side parting as it usually was. She watched as he arrogantly shoved his hands in his pockets, looking down on Hermione. The hollows of his cheeks were less deathly, and now formed in the sculptured dip they had always done. His eyes were no longer hiding behind bags and dark circles. Instead, they gleamed in the moonlight, making them appear like icy blue slates. And they flashed with life and energy. He quirked an eyebrow as he noticed the girl studying him.

"Don't gawp, Granger. Close your mouth too, and stop catching flies, it's not becoming of you," Draco's arrogant smirk returned to his face.

Hermione felt her lips instantly, noticing she was not gawping at all, and her mouth was not open. This received a satisfied snigger from the boy before her. Hermione stepped around him, noticing him linger slightly, before following on behind.

"How funny you are," she said sarcastically, beginning to make her way down the hall, wand out, lighting the way.

"I'm not funny, Granger," he began, before Hermione scoffed with a dignified 'Finally, you've realized,'

"-I'm fucking hilarious," the Slytherin continued, laughing at Hermione's sudden movements when she heard the slightest noise.

"How aristocrat of you," she called, "Using such language in an open corridor where anyone could hear you."

Both the Gryffindor and the Slytherin were secretly thankful of the return of their usual banter. Hermione had hated the silence which followed her incident with Dean. Any other day, she would've cherished the fact she didn't have to talk to Malfoy, but she knew that neither of them really knew what to do or say, and so the silence continued. She couldn't enjoy the awkwardness lingering in the quiet atmosphere. Draco, however, was merely cringing in Hermione's secret respect for him. He was almost regretting 'saving' her the other night. If he'd of known the change Hermione had suddenly thought had taken place between them, then he would've allowed herself and her Gryffindor courage and knowledge, to get themselves out of the mess they'd got into. Nothing had changed between him and Hermione. She was still and insufferable, pathetic mudblood. And in her eyes, he was still a foul, twitchy little ferret. And they hated each other again.

"Calm your non-existent tits," Draco mocked, as Hermione threw open the door to a deserted classroom, thinking there was someone in there.

The words had merely rolled of Draco's tongue without thought. That was, until, and unwelcome flashback of the 'incident' returned to him. Granger had more than existent breasts. He dismissed the thought instantly, feeling almost sickened that he'd linked the two together. Hermione was silent too. Draco could only imagine what she was thinking, as she closed the door to the classroom slowly, and continued down the hallway. Maybe she hadn't noticed that he'd seen, seeming as she looked away. Draco preferred this idea, and went with it. Maybe he could convince himself that he hadn't seen them either. Running a hand through his hair, Draco began catching up to Hermione, quickening his pace as he stared at the ground. He had a feeling there were going to be a lot more awkward silences like that, that night.

Hermione and Malfoy had spent almost an hour in somewhat silence. The two made their way down deserted corridors, checking a classroom each. The only time they spoke was after closing a door and commenting 'Clear'. Draco had paused on the archway that marked a corridor on the sixth floor. He leant against the cool marble, watching Hermione as she prudently checked all the classrooms. Draco wasn't quite sure whether he could tolerate much more of her snobbery. He admired her spirit, however, acting as though she had come out of the fight unscratched, as though she was still the wall Draco could not destroy, even after the events of the other night. She turned, noticing the lack of footsteps following behind her. Glaring at Draco in the semi-darkness, he rose from the wall with a sigh, and continued after her.

The two halted, however, when Hermione stopped abruptly before a corner.

"Granger, if you're that scared of your own shadow-" he began, before the Gryffindor turned and, rather forcefully, clamped her hand over Draco's mouth. He widened his eyes in surprise. How dare she touch him, and silence him too! He looked down, eyeing her hand over his mouth. Much to Hermione's surprise, though, he didn't swat her hand away. Instead, he merely kept quiet, listening to the footsteps Hermione had heard approaching round the corner.

A short, familiar, stocky Hufflepuff stood before them, eyeing the set up of the pair strangely.

"I've been looking for you," Dean said, glancing directly at Hermione.

A/N: Prepare to say farewell to Dean Thomas, ladies and gentlemen! As Jadepowell said in her kind review, yes, Dean's a jerk! This chapter, I'm not too sure about, but hopefully you get a slight better understanding. The story unfolds from here!

Don't forget review, good or bad, all feedback is appreciate and really motivates me to continue writing.

Thanks, Amelia x