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 Ten.

"Stop!"

It was a break in the silence that neither Hermione, nor Draco, were aware of. Hermione had never been a heavy sleeper, the slightest noise waking her from content slumber.

"You can't do this, please-"

She was instantly stirred and wide awake by the shrill cries that seemed to be very close to her. Forcing her eyes open, Hermione squinted into the bleak, grey daylight that lit the room. She was thankful, however, that there seemed to be no attack, nor fight or duel or dangerous scenario unfolding. She released a sigh of relief, and unfolded her limbs as she stood from the armchair she had slept in.

"Please!"

The voices were not just a dream. Hermione's reflexes initiated, as she withdrew the wand from deep beneath her robes, and feverishly began searching the room. It was completely still. The fire continued to burn, not a tree moved outside. All the furniture was as it had been the night before. And the door had still not shown itself.

But there was something missing.

"Don't touch- Don't touch.."

Malfoy.

Hermione recognised the pleading instantly. His breath was coming in short rasps, that seemed to be no where near enough to fill his lungs, making his voice shake with fear. Her eyes could not see his lifeless frame anywhere. Instead, Hermione followed the small cries and protests as she made her way over to the direction of the kitchen. The door was only ever so slightly ajar. The adrenaline running through Hermione's body had her holding her wand defensively out in front of her. Her heart was racing and the sudden movements so early in the morning had her head spinning. Practically anything could be on the other side of that wall. Hermione began imagining the possibilities as she approached the door, and silently peered through the small gap.

Another person. Torture. Injury- Dreaming?

Hermione noticed Draco's tall frame propped carelessly against the door on the left wall. His eyes were tightly shut, as if sound asleep, but his face was contorted into a deep frown and his mouth was open slightly, panting for breath. The tips of his messy hair were wet, and clung to his face which was beaded with sweat, much like his chest, which was rapidly rising and falling. The thin, white cotton wrung with sweat, as it lay partially open over his torso.

Carefully, Hermione slipped her small frame through the gap in the door, making sure not to startle the troubled boy before her. She made her way over to Draco's direction, as he emitted a small choking noise, and lolled his head from side to side against the wood of the door behind him.

"Malfoy?" she whispered, crouching beside him, her brow furrowed in concern and confusion.

"No!" He cried, swallowing thickly and taking a deep breath, "No please, not her- No,"

Instantly, Draco's teeth clenched, as he grabbed his left arm, and released a low, painful grunt, as if something was infecting his pain threshold. Hermione's eyelids fluttered as she watched him strain in pain, the nails on his hand digging harshly into the skin under his shirt, and the veins in his neck protruding from the damp, pale skin. Something was hurting him. Something in his dream was ripping through the flesh of his skin, or poisoning his perfectly pure bloodstream. Hermione felt rather ill at the thought. She never had been good with blood.

To watch people hurt, or in pain, made Hermione's stomach lurch. It didn't sit well with her. Pain was not something she had a great deal of a hold over. Even if it was her worst enemy, Hermione could feel the lump in the back of her throat begin to swell as Draco winced in agony.

Her instincts took over. Hermione instantly reached for Draco's arm which was clutching on for dear life to his.. wounded limb.

"Malfoy, wake up," she said, her voice becoming a little more uneven than she'd hoped.

His skin was simmering under her touch. It was abnormally hot and feverish, as she tried to prise his grip from cutting off the blood circulation. She continued to order him to awaken, her voice calm with a slight nervous undertone. Draco was thrashing his head from side to side in response, his face still showing no release of pain.

"Draco!" she cried, finally.

His head whipped in her direction, and his arm suddenly became loose and relaxed. The Slytherin's eyes flew open, and stared, wide and fearful, like a small animal caught in headlights. Hermione noticed the dilation in his pupils as he adjusted to the light. But there was still a glaze over the icy blue orbs that stared deep into Hermione's soul. They were not gleaming with amusement or challenge. Instead, they looked bleak, and ever so slightly grey, like the morbid clouds pressing down outside. They were vacant. There was no sanity behind them in that moment. Draco's breathing was not showing any sign of slowing, and he began to shake his head spasmodically.

"They're coming," he whispered, the tone of his voice hitching in the back of his throat with fear.

Hermione took a large breath and swallowed deeply.

"There's no one here, Mal-"

"-They'll kill me!" He shouted, causing Hermione to gasp as he lurched forwards in between the small space that separated them.

"-They'll kill you, too!" He continued, though his voice was noticeably less loud than before. And more serious. Draco's face softened, and his heavy eyelids flickered as he sharply glanced to the left side of him, then back to Hermione.

"They'll kill me. Don't you understand? I can't, they won't let me, they'll take everything from me. They'll kill me, they'll kill-"

Draco's voice trailed off as his brow furrowed deeply, and his bottom lip began to quiver slightly. The Motherly instinct took over in Hermione, as she summoned a small tea-towel that lay beside the cooker, and pointed her wand at it.

"Aguamenti," she whispered, as cool jets of water soaked the cloth in her hand, which she wrung of excess, and placed gently on Draco's forehead.

Much to Hermione's relief, Draco's breathing began to steady. He lay his head back against the wood of the door, and allowed Hermione to press the cool material against his fiery skin. Hermione watched on, the lump in her throat beginning to fade, and instead sit heavily in her heart. She watched as Draco's eyes never fully recovered from each blink, until his lids were closed. He was still conscious, Hermione could tell, as he swallowed deeply from time to time, and wiped the sweat from the top of his lip every now and again, with his free hand. His other hand, Hermione had rested gently on the floor inbetween them once she'd been able to move his arm. Obliviously, Hermione had taken his shaking hand in hers, and was gently rubbing her thumb against the surface of his cooling skin.

Hermione was prone to nightmares as a child. She wasn't quite sure why, as she would never be exposed to scary stories, or frightening tales with over-protective parents like her's. Instead, the nightmares seemed to find her, in a world completely of her own, where her imaginative brain was able to create the most intimidating things she could think of. Often, she would awake in the middle of the night, screaming, and her mother would run into her room with a cool flannel and lie Hermione back down in her bed. She would place the flannel on Hermione's forehead, in a fashion much like she had just done to Draco, and gently hold her hand, rubbing her thumb on the back of it in a soothing motion.

When Draco's breath was coming in steady rises and falls, Hermione released his hand, and sat back on her heels. The Slytherin took one last, deep swallow, before he opened his eyes ever so slightly. He glanced around the room for a while, remembering just where he was, becoming familiar with his surroundings. Shortly, he rolled his head to the side, and looked up through his dark eyelashes at Hermione. She felt her heart murmur in a fashion that was not similar to the many times it had done that before. Instead, it sort of quivered slightly, causing a light vibrating feeling to spread from her head to the tip of her toes. All Hermione could do in response, was give a weak smile. But Draco did not smile in return. Instead, he took another deep swallow, and nodded his head politely.

"Thank you," he managed to choke out, before his gaze lingered ever so slightly on Hermione's parted lips, and then turned to face the room once again.

"I'll leave you to compose yourself," she said, taking a deep breath, and stood slowly, making her way out of the room.

Hermione was sure she had briefly heard a click, but chose to ignore it.

Draco watched Hermione's retreating figure. He took a deep breath and rested his eyes, before he too heard the click from behind. He stood, supporting his weight on the walls either side of his body and steadied himself onto what appeared to be very weak legs. He retrieved the cloth from his head and turned, eyeing the door in a curious manner. Reaching out a lightly shaking hand, Draco held the cool, brass nob of the door in his grip, and turned it gently. The door gave head under his grasp, and opened finally, revealing a large, aristocrat-esque white, marble bathroom.

Draco glanced momentarily through the archway to his left, and noticed the Gryffindor gazing out the window with a worried expression upon her face. He would tell her later. For now, Draco needed some time to his own.

The weather was dismal. The beautiful summer sunshine, alongside the bloom of the Herbology huts and the rich, green shards of grass and trees were long gone. In replace, there was not so much as a shadow of beauty left behind, and instead everything appeared to be monotone. The sky was masked with heavy, pessimistic clouds and the faded green of the foliage surrounding Hogwarts merged into one, great wall. Hermione stood briefly, glancing upwards to the brooding sky. It looked as though it would promise rain at any second, and much to Hermione's belief, fine droplets began to fall, pattering against the window. Hermione stood on her tiptoes and held onto the latch on the window frame, locking it down. She pushed against the glass, and took a deep breath of fresh air as the window opened. She leant forwards, resting her arms on the cool, stone windowsill as she felt the refreshing air from outside dance across her face. Never had Hermione witnessed Draco Malfoy in fear. She found herself absent mindedly fiddling with the sleeve of her jumper, as she allowed the heart wrenching cries of the troubled boy mull over in her mind. He was so scared. So completely and utterly fearful and caught up in the moment of whatever was taunting him behind his eyelids. Even with his eyes open, Hermione had seen the glaze that told her he was still dreaming. But what was he dreaming about?

No, not her. Don't touch- Don't touch. They'll kill me, don't you understand?

Hermione swallowed deeply as she remembered the fear in Draco's eyes as he stared at her, warning her.

They'll kill you, too.

Something was working against him. He couldn't do something. They wouldn't 'let him'. And they'd kill him because of it, and Hermione.

The Gryffindor pondered over the thought of who 'they' were. She supposed the most obvious suggestion would be his parents. They had a firm hold over Draco's life, and he would move not a foot without their confirmation first. Hermione wondered what they would not let him do. Something so against their morals, he would be killed for it.

Draco had had such a corrupt upbringing. With his ghastly excuse of a father, whispering malicious lies down one ear, and his quite normal excuse of a mother, who was helpless and merely watched on, Hermione could only imagine the way his life would've been at home. Suddenly, she felt quite spoiled. Hermione had been brought up with good manners, respect, and happy memories. Draco had none of that. Draco did not have someone to tuck him into bed at night and read him stories full of innocence and lack of prejudice. He did not have someone to hold his hand as he worried about the non-existent demons that lay under his bed and hid in his wardrobe. For all the life of Hermione, she could not imagine Lucius Malfoy taking Draco's hand and leading him to a public park, where he would learn to play with children despite their colour, or race, or wealth. It was not accustom for one of the age of merely five or six, to ask how wealthy ones acquaintances were.

Seeing Draco, the boy who had taunted Hermione with the words whispered in his ear by his father, and rolling off his tongue in his memory, shaking with pure fear, and quake in agony, was not something the Gryffindor had ever thought she would care for in her life. But she did. And watching the young Malfoy in Draco realise there was no one to remove the Demons from his wardrobe, no one to tell him the story had a happy ending, no one to say it was okay to play with any child he liked, made her heart sink with sorrow. The boy was so, so... troubled.

Hermione instantly swiped away a tear she had not realised had escaped her eyes. Suddenly she felt as though she was unworthy of any happiness when she was a child. There were people like Malfoy, who were merely brought up with what they were told was right. It was not the child's views. It was the mind of the parent, trapped in their son or daughter's body. They were the hardest ones to convince they could think what they liked. There was a chance for them to break the ways in which they had been told.

With a sigh, Hermione pushed herself away from the window, and shut it ever so slightly. The noise of the rain faded, but Hermione could still hear water running. She glanced to her right, through the doorway to the kitchen, and noticed Draco was not sat on the floor as she had left him. He had been quite a while, and Hermione had expected him to come back through to the main room, and do something Malfoy-eqsue. Complain about the weather, taunt her for not reading a book, ask when the door was ever going to appear. Instead, he didn't appear from the room. She furrowed her brow slightly, and began making her way towards the kitchen, careful not to be too loud.

As she entered the room, Hermione was shocked to find it empty. She searched behind the door, and bit her lip in contemplation. Somewhere, to her left, there was a sound of water trickling. She briefly checked behind herself, before approaching the door on the wall beside her. The window was still misty, and she couldn't see inside. Surely Draco would've told her if the door was open? With a sigh, Hermione dropped from her tiptoes, and grasped the door handle gently. She turned the nob, and gasped as it gave way under her grip. The oak door shifted, and opened as Hermione stepped through the archway.

The room was most beautiful. There were four great, white marble pillars in each corner, adorned with silver ivy wrapping around each of them. The floor, too, was marble, and white, like the perfectly tiled walls. Hermione's mouth dropped ever so slightly. She had never seen a bathroom of it's size and beauty before. In the center was a large bathing area, big enough to be a small pool, and sunk deep into the ground. It's water lay completely still, with large quantities of bubbles floating on it's surface. To the left was a rather splendid silver toilet, which Hermione smiled with amusement at. To the right, was a lightly frosted white door which Hermione imagined to be the shower. At the back of the room was a wall, completely covered with a slim, long mirror that had a majestic silver frame around it. And there were sinks lined up beneath the mirror, one occupied by somebody.

Hermione's smile faded instantly, and instead, her mouth fell open slightly once more. He had his back to her, but Hermione knew who it was instantly. Draco stood before the mirror, supporting his weight on the sink either side of him and leaning over the one he was occupying. His blonde hair, which looked even lighter in the blinding room, was slicked back and wet. Hermione's eyes wandered without her confirmation, taking in as he leant his head forwards and hung over the sink. Her vision roamed down his neck, to his shoulders, which were broad and tense whilst supporting his weight. She eyed the lines of definition on his shoulder-blades, and the deep line of his spine down the center of his back. Either side of the line were tensed muscles, and at the bottom of his back were two small dimples either side of his spine. Hermione's heart fluttered as she took in the boy, stood with merely nothing on but a green towel around his hips. His skin was dewy and damp, but was pale and marble like, much like the room. He looked nothing like a person, more like a sculpture of some Greek god, which went perfectly with the surroundings. Hermione had to admit, with his long, slim but perfectly toned frame, she had almost forgotten who exactly she was looking at. Draco bent to the sink, and splashed some cold water on his face. Hermione watched as the muscles in his back contorted as he moved. Only when he looked up and patted his face with another emerald towel, did Hermione snap out of her trance.

His eyes met hers in the mirror. She looked away instantly, and Draco turned, still patting his face gently. He did not look angry, nor shocked, like Hermione did. Instead, he looked rather amused.

Suddenly, Hermione became very interested in the window she had not seen, beside the door to the showers. Draco chuckled in response, as a noticeably red blush creeped upon her face. Hermione was doing everything in her power not to look back at the picturesque boy who stood before her, but could not help it as he spoke.

"Nice of you to join me, Granger," he said, his voice as smooth and silky as his slicked back hair.

Hermione glanced at him warily, keeping her eyes focused on his face.

"I didn't mean to intrude," she managed to choke out, and looked down at her feet sheepishly.

Draco merely nodded in response, before she was off again,

"It's just," she sighed, "Why didn't you tell me the room was open?"

Placing the towel on the counter beside him, Draco glanced back at Hermione, who was following his movements.

"I just needed some time," he said, carefully, "To myself-"

"-Forgive me," Hermione nodded in understanding, "I suppose I would've done the same in your situation."

Draco gave another nod, and leant back against the sink he had been leaning over beforehand. There was an awkward silence pressing on the two. Hermione wasn't quite sure why she was still stood there, but her brain had lost all sense of sanity, and she couldn't quite be rid of the scene she had just witnessed. Instead, her feet were rooted to the ground. She looked back to the window, not wanting to give Draco the satisfaction of seeing her blush due to his undeniable beauty. She could sense the smirk playing across his face, and need not glance back to confirm it. Finally, he broke the silence.

"Have you seen the view?" he asked, eyes still locked on the girl stood across the room from him. She glanced at him with a confused expression briefly.

"-You seemed so taken by the window," he mocked, causing Hermione to blush once more, "Isn't that what windows are for? Looking out of?"

Hermione finally allowed her brain to connect to her feet, as her school shoes clicked against the cool marble floor.

"If it's another view from Hogwarts, I doubt one will be most delighted," she muttered, the use of being able to speak becoming familiar again.

Draco simply scoffed in response, and watched as Hermione rounded on the window.

It was not Hogwarts at all. Instead, she looked out onto a large courtyard, with a rectangular lake running straight down the middle, and a marble tiled path with small fir trees lining each side. Hermione couldn't help but smile. It was like something out of a romantic novel she had read time and time again.

"It's impressive, but nothing compared to Malfoy Manor," Draco called from behind Hermione, who was longingly placing her hand against the misted glass.

"It's probably better, in many ways," she muttered in response, and received a scoff from Malfoy.

"And how would that be?" he questioned.

"Well," Hermione began, still taking in the scenery, "For a start, it's romantic-"

"-Romantic," Draco shook his head, eyeing the back of Hermione incredulously. She turned and rested against the window in response, quirking an eyebrow.

"And what exactly do you mean by that?" she asked, folding her arms defensively.

"Romance is dead and gone, Granger," he rolled his eyes.

"It is not!" Hermione cried, rather more loudly than she anticipated. The blonde smirked in response, and quirked an eyebrow in a fashion much like her. Taking a small breath, and calming herself, Hermione continued,

"Just because boys these days think it romantic to take a girl to bed and shag her before they barely know eachother, does not mean there is not one person out there who doesn't know what romance is. Honestly, if boys read some decent literature from time to time, they would know that!"

Draco turned back to the mirror, and picked up a comb from beside the taps.

"And what would you suggest is decent literature, Granger?" he said, beginning to part his hair in the unnatural, pin-straight line everyone was so used to seeing.

"Well," Hermione began, trying her best to act completely uninterested as Draco's muscular torso strained whilst he primed himself, "I suppose Pride and Prejudice is one to start on,"

"You really do have an interest in Jane Austen, don't you?" Draco said, a tone of amusement lacing his voice. Hermione remembered their brief conversation about the author only the other night. Suddenly, Hermione felt almost as though anything that was her view would not impress Malfoy. She gritted her teeth in response.

"She is a very talented author," Hermione said, attempting to keep her cool, "And her characters are most intriguing."

"Well, I would say Pride and Prejudice is one of the finer pieces of literature I've read," Draco commented, as if this agreeing thing was nothing new.

Hermione loosened her jaw at his reply, and merely stared at the boy before her in response. Draco faced her, as if expecting an answer. A large smirk played across his face as he eyed Hermione who was at a loss for words.

"Come on, Granger," he mused, "This is where you say something like 'Oh, how aristocrat of you it is for you to have read said books.'"

A smile of amusement almost crept through Hermione's lips as she witnessed Draco's accurate impression. She did her best, however, to hide the smile, and arched an eyebrow instead.

"I was a little taken aback when you'd heard of Jane Austen," she began, receiving a scoff from Malfoy, "But I didn't so much as think twice about you actually reading one of her books. She's a muggle, surely that is degrading the Malfoy name?"

Hermione took a seat on the chaise-lounge beside the window. She was a little uneasy at the fact of her comfortableness around a half naked Draco Malfoy who would've probably hexed her for lingering had it been a couple of months ago. Instead, he simply turned to face Hermione, and leant against the sink beside him.

"Though my father was an abominable tyrant," he began, "My mother did try to bring me up with some morals. She bought me the novel for one of my recent birthdays. A little disappointed, she was, to find I'm no Mr. Darcy, but one ought not to judge everyone under the judgement you made earlier."

"So what're you saying?" Hermione raised her eyebrows in interest. This was the longest conversation she and Draco had had about something actually worth talking about, and she was rather glad of that. Who knew that Draco Malfoy had a secret interest in English Literature?

"What're you implying?" He retorted. Draco, too, was slightly amused by their banter.

"I find it hard to believe that Draco Malfoy is that small percentage of people who understands what romance is, that is all," she dismissed her comment with a shrug of her shoulders.

Draco's eyes flashed with challenge. They were not vacant, like they had been earlier that morning. Hermione raised both her brows in response, expecting some sort of answer from him.

"Maybe I am more like Mr. Darcy than both you and I think," he said rather vaguely.

"You under-estimate my thoughts on you, then," Hermione said, almost without giving it a second thought, "I find you and Mr. Darcy very similar."

"Do you care to expand on that, Granger?" Draco said, raising an eyebrow much like Hermione had done.

"Well you are both unfortunately wealthy, ill of good conversational manners, and blinded by pride," Hermione listed, wondering whether she was pushing the Slytherin's boundaries ever so slightly. There was something on the tip of Hermione's tongue, begging to come out. Draco could sense this, and he nodded his head as if to queue her next comment.

"-And you both tend to look down on people for their inferior birth," she said finally, the smile fading from both their faces.

"Well then, I guess you have made it quite clear how much you despise both me and Mr. Darcy," Malfoy said, striding to the end of the sink and picking up a pile of folded material. A small sneer creeped back onto Draco's face, the one Hermione was used to. She felt her stomach lurch in response, as he glanced back at the Gryffindor.

"Fresh robes," he informed her, before folding them under his arm and striding across the room to leave.

Hermione eyed him as he left. Draco was quite wrong. She had been very fond of Mr. Darcy. She found his superiority and wealth, and large brains full of knowledge very attractive. She'd also found his arrogance and mysterious characteristics intriguing too. And his final admittance for his forbidden love between himself and Elizabeth was what made Hermione love the book so much. As much as Draco and Mr. Darcy were alike, she was very fond of Mr. Darcy, and as Draco shut the door rather forcefully behind him, she realised just how alike he and the fictional character were, too.

A/N: I'm sorry! I had writers block and found it hard to write another chapter. However, I recently re-watched Pride and Prejudice with Kiera Knightley and Matthew Macfadyen in, and it inspired me completely. Pride and Prejudice is so similar to Dramione in so many ways, and is one of my favourite books. I'd like to say thankyou to it, for making this chapter a joy to write.

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

Thanks, Amelia x