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.

Please enjoy reading this, any comments or feedback is most appreciated. Enjoy!

Chapter Seven.

Trapped. That was the constant word that mocked and laughed and taunted Draco repeatedly in his mind. Trapped with Granger, too! Draco felt that his fortune had taken a turn for the worst, and that it couldn't possibly get any better. He recalled the last thing Hermione had said, before the two sat at opposite sides of the coffee table, ignoring eachother's presence.

"The room has a mind of it's own, Malfoy. And I don't think it's planning on letting us out. Atleast, not any time soon."

Granger was an absolute bookworm. There was no doubt about that. And Draco had learnt the hard way, that was very little chance of her ever being wrong. Yet, as he sat with his legs hanging from one side of the armchair, and his head dangling from the other, he hoped to god that, for once in the whole of Hermione Granger's irksome existence, she was wrong. With a great sigh, Draco rolled his head to the left, and glared at the girl he was unwillingly forced to spend a period of time, of which he did not know, with.

Hermione sat quietly in the corner of the plush, red sofas. She curled up into a ball, and rested the book she had found on the table, on the arm of the sofa. Leaning on her hand, she began to read the book, which she recognized to be slightly familiar with. The warmth of the fire acted like a guarding blanket, wrapping its heat around her and comforting at it's will. The room smelt vaguely like a mixture of old parchment, and sandal wood, which Hermione presumed was burning in the fireplace. Overall, it was everything she'd ever experienced in the Gryffindor Common room, and it felt almost like home. There was just one thing out of place. And it's constant sighs every regulated five minutes was disturbing Hermione from her happiness.

"Sighing isn't going to help any of this, Malfoy," she said, glancing up at the boy who was lounged lazily over the armchair before her, and seemed to be already glaring at her.

"Well I don't see you trying to think of a solution, atleast I'm thinking," he said, shooting Hermione his best disapproving look.

"That's because there isn't a solution!" Hermione cried, turning the page of her book with a little more force than intended.

Draco released another sigh, causing Hermione to grit her teeth. He swung his tall legs off the chair, and forced himself up. Taking a step forwards into the small space beside the coffee table, that acted like a barrier between the two, he stared at the ceiling, and folded his arms. Hermione eyed him curiously as he stood there, eyes closed, head tilted back. The Slytherin stood like that briefly for a couple of moments, before he was interrupted.

"What on earth are you doing-"

"Shh!," Draco said, dismissing Hermione's comment as he put up his hand, which he later folded back into his arms.

Hermione furrowed her brow at the rudeness and peculiarity of the boy before her. There was a strange sort of silence settling around the two, until Draco finally spoke.

"Hello, Room?" he said, perfectly pronounced and audible. His addressing to the room echoed around the walls, and Hermione almost laughed at his attempt to converse with it.

"-Can you hear me?" he continued, recieving a scoff from Hermione.

"You can't talk to it, Malfoy, it's not-"

"Shh!" Draco hissed once again, a little more angrily than the last time. He opened his eyes and continued to stare at the ceiling, blinking in concentration.

"Please, Room, show us the doorway to lead us out of this mess," he continued, lingering his stare at the ceiling momentarily, before looking to the large expanse of wall space where the door had once been.

Hermione glanced briefly at it too, although she knew something as simple as that, something Malfoy had come up with, would not be the answer to their prayers.

"It can't hear you!" she laughed, found herself quite amused at Draco's pathetic attempt.

"Says who? Hm?" he replied, placing his hands out either side of him, "You said it had a mind of it's own. Who says it doesn't have ears too? And eyes?"

This time, Hermione couldn't contain her laughter. She closed her book gently, attempting to stiffle the guffaws she was witnessing.

Draco sneered at the Gryffindor before him. How dare she laugh at him? It was a reasonable enough attempt!

"What the fuck are you laughing at, Granger?" he spat, watching the girl settle herself, "Atleast I'm trying! Your lack of input almost makes me think you want to be here!"

Hermione felt her laughter subside, as she frowned at Malfoys comment.

"I'm sorry, what?" she asked in disblief.

"I mean," Draco began, a small smirk gracing his aristocrat features, "Who wouldn't want to be in a confined space with me? Count yourself lucky, Granger."

"I wouldn't have chosen to be in this room with you if it was a decision between you," Hermione had a look of sheer disgust, "And a screaming banshee!"

Draco felt his fists clench beside him. He'd almost forgotten how much of an annoyance Hermione Granger was. Suddenly, having to spend time with her superior attitude and constant remarks, was seeming even more bleak than before.

"If it were not for you, and you stupid little mistake, we wouldn't be stuck here," Draco sneered, watching Hermione as her expression changed.

"And what exactly do you mean by that?" she asked, pursing her lips and furrowing her brow.

That was the expression he was used to. This was the taunting comfort zone Draco felt comfortable being in. He smirked at her rising anger. She was so easy to taunt, and to get a reaction out of. These petty little characteristics were what had Draco teasing the Gryffindor for years. It was rather amusing.

"If you hadn't fallen inlove with the insufferable idiot that is Dean Thomas, none of this would've happened."

His simple expression and tone to his voice ignited the fire within Hermione. She threw her book to sofa beside her and stood instantly, advancing on Draco. He merely watched, arms folded once more, as she glared at him with little effect.

"You!" she spat, prodding at his chest rather forcefully, "You foul, loathsome, evil little cockroach! How dare you!"

The truth was, both Hermione and Draco had forgotten about the incident with Dean, and were too caught up in their own misfortune to even ponder over the thought. Hermione had felt it's return with large impact. As if it had hit her like she was stood infront of the Hogwarts Express. Her heart was racing and her thoughts were unable to settle as she felt a familiar loathing return concerning the boy stood smugly before her.

"You are the reason we're here! You drove him to do what he did! You influenced him with your own stupid, pureblood morals-" she emphasized every you with another prod to Draco's hard chest, "And if it wasn't for you and your stupid following, the room probably wouldn't have vanished the door, and I would've been back in the real Gryffindor common room, without you, without a thought about your unwanted whereabouts and arrogance!"

Draco's smile faltered as she dropped her hand from his chest, and tucked a stray piece of untamed hair behind her ear. He felt that all too familiar feeling that he often felt around Granger, return to his chest. His heart raced at her cheek, and her began to sneer down into her scowling face.

"As if it isn't bad enough, being trapped in here," Draco snarled, his voice noticeably lower and more heartfelt, "But no, I'm trapped with a stupid mudblood like you."

Hermione felt her heart murmur. She clenched her jaw and stared into the glistening, icy-cold grey eyes that bored into hers. They seemed far more cold than usual, and Hermione felt this as a shiver ran down her spine.

"You are so callow and pathetic," she whispered, though no less heartfelt, as the blonde Slytherin towered over her, closing the small space that separated them, "-I don't want to be here any more than you do. Infact, probably a million times less than you."

"You have no idea how easy it is for me to hex you so badly I don't even have to hear another murmur from you," this recieved a scoff from Hermione, as though she'd prefer to be half unconcious than deal with his presence, "-If my father heard about this,-"

"-If you're father heard about this he'd probably laugh at how concieted you're being!" Hermione laughed, glaring at Draco in a 'You're ridiculous' fashion, "Though maybe not. He's just as pathetic and frivolous as you are-,"

She could see the glint in Draco's eye, daring her to go one step further. She'd hit a nerve, that she knew already existed, but was careful not to provoke as it usually ended badly. Now however, Hermione didn't care. She was at her wits end with the boy, and he deserved some sort of vengeance for ruining her one chance of happiness.

"-And you're just,"

She prodded him hard in the chest once again,

"-Like,"

Another poke,

"-Him."

And she went to prod him once more. But the vein on his temple was now throbbing, and his sneer was contorting and becoming one of something out of a nightmare. And as Hermione went for the last blow, his hand was suddenly snatched around her wrist, restraining her from making impact with his chest, catching her off guard.

Hermione felt his grasp around her small limb. She gasped in a mixture of shock, and pain, due to his tight grip. Her breath caught harshly in her chest, causing a slight choking noise to form in her throat. Draco was in a trance Hermione had never seen him in. His breath was coming in rapid rises and falls, through his nose, alongside his clenched jaw. His narrowed eyes glanced from her shocked face to his hand on her wrist. His grip was relentless, and refusing to weaken. Hermione closed her eyes at the pain. She'd faced pain before, her parents were dentists for crying out loud, and this was nothing. But it was the fact her sworn enemy was physically touching her. Skin on skin. It wasn't a spell or something cast by a wand. It was something new, and it scared her. He was hurting her.

"Malfoy" she whispered, staring at Draco who's expression was unreadable, "Let go."

Draco felt his heart catch in his throat. Hermione wore an expression similar to the night he'd discovered her squirming under Dean's body. She was scared. Truly.

"You're hurting me," she said, swallowing deeply as she noticed her voice waver slightly. She glanced at Draco's grip on her wrist.

"Please," she added finally, blinking repeatedly in attempt to settle the pricks in her eyes.

And suddenly Draco understood. He let go instantly, and took a step back from Hermione who was nursing her wrist tenderly, still staring at Draco.

His mind was a blur. A true fog he couldn't see through.

Draco sat on the floor in Malfoy Manor. He was merely six, maybe even five, he couldn't quite remember. He could remember, however, how happy he was to be cleaning his new broom he'd got for his birthday, with his kit he'd also got of his neighbors the Zabinis. Narcissa sat in a large, leather armchair, with gold, ornate detailing around the circular back and down the curving arm rests. He smiled at her with a wide, toothy grin, as she sat and watched. She smiled back, but it faltered a little as she heard a slam from downstairs. Draco had heard it too. It was the front door, and Draco knew his father was home. Though, he wasn't quite sure where exactly he'd been. A mixture of excitement and dread swept over him, as he heard the loud clunk of his father's shoes, making their way up the dark, oak staircase. Finally, he opened the door to the playroom in which Draco sat.

"Draco," he said, wearing a smile that never really eased the small boy.

"Hello Daddy," Draco smiled, "Look at my broom. Doesn't it look better?"

Lucius strided over to see what work Draco had done. He nodded his head, showing now support for the boy, but Draco knew that he had acknowledged his hard work.

"Very good," he said, with a tone that showed no reflection of what he had just said.

Draco looked back to his mother, and smiled. She smoothed down her black, satin dress and fixed a stray piece of hair, ignoring Draco. His smile faded, as he father turned to see who he was looking at.

"Narcissa," he said, with a growing smile, "My beautiful wife-"

"-May I have a word, please?" she interrupted, standing from her chair. When Lucius nodded in return, she took a breath and continued, "Outside."

Draco looked up at his disfunctional parents. Lucius glanced at his son briefly, before striding out the room, followed by Narcissa, who gave Draco a sympathetic smile, and followed him outside. Draco had noticed his parents growing apart. He wasn't sure whether it was because they were finding it hard to hide it, or Draco had grown up and it had become more obvious. Maybe it had been there all along, he'd just never understood. However, as he heard the muffled voices of the two talking in the hallway, he made his way over to the door, and watched intently through the small gap between the hinge and wood,

"-Where on earth have you been?" his mother said, in a hushed voice, that was still filled with coldness.

"That doesn't concern you, Narcissa," his father replied. Narcissa folded her arms and shook her head, looking away from her husbands stare.

"You've been with her again, haven't you?" she spat.

"Who is 'her', my dear?" Lucius asked, apparently oblivious to her claims.

"You know who!" she replied, scowling at him, "Who was it this time? Hm? That woman in The Three Broomsticks? Or Lucinda Zabini? Which one was it this time, which one so much better than me?"

"Would I lie to you, my dearest Narcissa?" Draco's father replied.

Narcissa scoffed,

"You can't fool me," she said, eyeing the floor.

"I can, and I have done many times before."

Suddenly, her gaze was lifted from the ground, and instead she stared at her husband with complete disgust. Draco watched on as she raised her hand, slowly, and swung it to his face. But he caught it in time, securing his firm grasp around his wife's wrist. She flinched in pain, closing her eyes, and tried to stifle the small cry that emitted from her pursed lips. Draco felt his fists clench as he craned his neck to see properly.

"Lucius, let go, you're hurting me," Narcissa said, her voice shaking slightly, much like her hand.

"What do you say?" Lucius mocked, placing his hand on the wall beside her.

Draco stared, as his mother swallowed deeply.

"Please," she whispered, taking a deep breath in attempt to calm herself.

"Much better," his father snarled, as he took her restrained hand in his, and kissed it gently. He glanced at her briefly, before stalking off down the hallway. Draco opened the door slightly, cringing as it creaked louder than he'd hoped. He noticed his mother turn instantly to see her small son, appearing slowly from behind the door. His expression was unreadable, as he approached the woman in the hallway who was nursing her wrist tenderly. He noticed the red burns from the grip of his hand on her pale, delicate wrist, and suddenly his hands were clenched again. He despised his father.

Draco took a deep breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. Suddenly, the flashback had gone, and he was crashing back to Earth. To Hogwarts. To the Room of Requirement. To the place where he stood rooted to the spot, staring at the girl before him. He watched as she traced her fingers lightly over the red marks of where his fingers had been. The marks he'd inflicted on her. She stared back at him, regardlessly. Her mouth was slightly parted as she took in light, shaky breaths, and her brows knit together in confusion. Draco felt his stomach clench. He felt nauseous. Sick. Sick at his actions, and aggressiveness.

Hermione was right.

He'd become so much like his father recently. Hating to see people happy. Wanting to break their happiness. Bullying people. Degrading people. Belittling people. Hurting people. Physcially and mentally. Draco looked at his hand which was still slightly clenched, and then dared to glance at Hermione. She was rooted to the spot, much like him, pressing gently on the bruises forming around her wrist. Eventually, she looked up and met Draco's stare. He'd closed his eyes briefly, almost like he was battling with himself. Hermione felt almost guilty. She'd pushed it too far.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, hoping her voice would be calm, but instead it caught in the back of her throat.

Draco opened his eyes immediately. He almost couldn't believe what he was hearing. There was no need for her to apologise, not one reasonable excuse for her to be so mature and kind. He shook his head in response, but she continued,

"I had no right to talk about your family, I deserved this-" she continued, gesturing to her wrist.

A selfish part of Draco's mind was nagging him. Of course she deserved it. She talked about your Father like she knew the man. She compared you to him. She doesn't know anything.

"-Granger," he interrupted, finally showing some sign of life, "Stop, just stop... Please."

And that was the first time in Hermione Granger's life she'd ever heard Draco say please. And that was the first time in Draco's life he was able to swipe away the inner Malfoy in himself, and ignore the voice in the back of his mind. It was a day the two of them would not forget.

The door had still not shown. It had been an hour since Draco and Hermione's incident. Draco had spent most of the time pacing around the room, with his hand on his foreheard that would often wipe down his face and settle under his chin. Hermione sat in her former position, in the corner of the sofa, reading the book she had done before. Every once and again, she would glance up at Draco. It seemed as though the battle with himself that she'd noticed before, was growing into more of a war. The two had no idea what time it was. They had started prefecting at just gone seven, and Draco imagined it had been a good few hours since then. Hermione glanced over to the left wall, where, like the Gryffindor Common Room, she expected there would be a window. But there was a distinct lack of glass, and instead, a bookcase covered the space. Instead, she looked at her watch. It seemed to have stopped. Hermione twisted one of the cogs on the side, but still it did not move, nor tick. She sighed, and scoped the room. It was playing some sort of game with them, and Hermione knew it. How she wished there would just be atleast a window, to show some sort of life and light outside of the confined, four walls she was chained in. With a sigh, she rested her head on her arm, which was lay on the armrest of the sofa, and allowed her eyes to gently close. They stinged slightly, due to the time and the tears, but she ignored it, feeling some sort of bliss in the world she could escape to behind her eyelids.

Draco did not want to sleep. His mind was overactive. He could only imagine what kind of dream he would submit to that night. But his legs were beginning to give in from the constant pacing, and his headache was rebounding on the inside of his skull. With a sigh, he turned and made his way to the large armchair by the fire. Once he sat upon it, Draco noticed the absence of the swoosh that signaled Hermione turning a page of her book. He broke his gaze from the flames that were still burning, and instead looked to the Gryffindor before him. Her breathing was coming in slow, steady rises and falls. Draco knew she was asleep.

Loosening his tie, and undoing the top few buttons of his shirt, Draco relaxed back into the seat, allowing his head to rest on it's tall back. Through half mast lids, Draco glanced down at Hermione. The feeling of guilt never did sit well with Draco. Guilt meant only one thing. You did something, you didn't do it right, and it hurt somebody or something in the end. Draco did not like to disappoint, and this time, he had disappointed no-one but himself. The reminder of his actions haunted him, as he noticed Hermione fidget, and pull the sleeve of her school jumper down, over her wrist. He closed his eyes briefly. They stung ever so slightly. Draco blamed it on lack of sleep. He could only imagine what time it was. Opening his eyes only slightly, once more, he glanced around the room. It was so plain, boring, basic. Four walls. No windows. No clock. No beds. No shower. Not even a toilet he was aware of. And then who he was sharing it with. Granger.

His eyes snapped back to the small huddle on the sofa. Draco, for the first time in his life, began to inspect Hermione. He started at her face. Her brows were still slightly knit, showing that she was troubled. Draco felt his stomach knot. He progressed, never the less. Her eyes were shut, but Draco noticed how abnormally long her eyelashes were. He continued to her nose, which was slightly upturned. Draco figured this was why she tended to be so snobby. Her mouth was parted slightly, showing two, white, perfectly straight teeth. It had come to Draco's attention that they had shrunk slightly over the past year, and were a lot more regulated than the buck-teeth he used to taunt her for. Her lips were slightly swollen, and red, from crying. This was reflected, to, on her skin. Hermione's skin was nice, as far as skin goes, and it was a medium olive shade. She had a distinct lack of blemishes, that Draco found rather annoying. It was something he couldn't bully her for. Who bullys someone for having flawless skin? But there were slight streaks where her tears had dried and her skin looked tight. Her hair was a lot more tamed, Draco observed, as a small wavy strand fell in her face. It was no longer the large, bushy nest that it had once been. Instead, it fell in loose waves, to just after her shoulders. That was quickly becoming something Draco could also not taunt her for.

He didn't care to venture any further down her physique. He didn't need flashbacks of the 'incident', especially not tonight. Draco was surprised he could even think mildly straight. But the guilt was crawling at his insides. That was the thing about guilt. No matter how much you tried to surpress it, it was an emotion that demanded to be felt.

And in the spur of the moment, remembering Hermione's un-needed apology, Draco lazily slid his wand out of his pocket, summoning a piece of parchment and a quill from the desk at the back of the room. He grunted slightly, as he strained forwards and ripped a small square of parchment from the sheet. Taking the quill in his hand, he began to write in a careless penmanship. It didn't take long, and once he had finished, Draco took his wand once again and levitated the paper. With a swift flick, he sent it in Hermione's direction, as it settled on the open page in her book, which noticeably, was falling off the armrest of the sofa. He gracefully swished his wand once more, as the book closed over neatly, and floated down, towards the table. Next, he sent the parchment and ink back to where it had came from, and, in a satisfied manner, slid his wand back into his pocket.

It was unsuspected, that night, when sleep greeted Draco like an old friend. Earlier than he'd expected, too. And surprisingly, he did not have troublesome dreams. Infact, they were rather pleasant. And Draco was thankful of that.

A/N: Hello! Ah, this chapter was one that took a lot of attention. I hope I captured the feelings and struggles in the right way. I just wanted to get it over with realy, (I have so many snippets I can't wait to insert for future chapters). Anyway, not much to say here!

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

Thanks, Amelia x