(Hermione)

Hermione placed her glass of pumpkin juice down on the table and glanced hopefully at the doors of the great hall before she had a chance to refrain herself. She instantly wished she had not – Lavender and 'Won-Won' had just entered and were looking deep into each others eyes with gooey expressions on their faces as Ron walked and Lavender skipped, hand in hand, to dinner. Lovely, she muttered, and snapped open the Prophet again, immersing herself in a story about Hinkypunks infiltrating the Ministry – a very Quibbleresque article written by a wizard whose name bore a striking resemblance to 'Stewed Applesauce'. If she had to watch the two of them spoon feed each other again, she mused, she would vomit.

She had not seen Draco Malfoy since double potions on Thursday and was becoming quite worried about his whereabouts – just thinking about the condition the Slytherin had been in during their encounter in the toilets made her stomach sink. She tried to hope for the best, but the worst could not be ruled out… Although he was fooling everyone else, Hermione remained unconvinced by his terrible acting. She had been watching him often enough for the last month to know that something was deeply wrong with the boy…

Whenever he thought no-one was looking his guard fell, and a fraction of the pain he had to endure could be witnessed every time he winced, every one of which caused her heart to twist a little more. To make matters worse he had been ignoring her completely since their last eventful meeting, apart from the mocking smiles and raised eyebrows she would receive when he caught her glancing his way. He was scared and confused, she knew… the way he had mutilated his arm like that… the Dark Mark … his guttural sobs on the toilet floor… She knew she had to help him, and it was very obvious he needed a shoulder to cry on, but did he have to treat her with such disdain? Was it out of habit, or out of fear of whatever he was feeling? She could not know. She had never been much of a leglimens.

It was absolutely absurd and illogical that she had developed such strong feelings for him. He had been mercilessly cruel to Harry and her for such a long time, and Ron too, but she dare not think about that slimy bastard, who at the present time – she rolled her eyes – was being fed cake by Lavender Brown. Being Hermione, a being who relied upon logic to stay sane, she had worked out just why she was suddenly attracted to Draco Malfoy. She had several theories, the majority of them revolving around how utterly helpless he had looked, curled up in the foetal position in a pool of assorted toiletries, and that she had a sudden desire to save him from himself and, of course, Lord Voldemort.

However, and Hermione knew this, the real reason she was falling for him was the way he had kissed her. How it had been so desperate, insisting and hard… the way he had held onto her hair with such strength. Her scalp tingled at the mere thought. He had taken the lead, and it had felt good… Victor had never been so domineering, preferring her to lead him on like some common harpy… the kiss scared her and she had ran away from him, but reflecting upon it, she yearned to be kissed like that again, and by Draco, too. None of these thoughts had she confided to anyone, not even Ginny, who had been such a good friend to her of late… it was crystal clear that the red-head would dismiss her feelings and tell her to move on, it was Malfoy who was the object of her affections, for Merlin's sake…

A collective gasp, very alike to a strong gust of wind, brought her out of her daydream. Hermione shook her head, removed her chin from her hand and looked up. Even Ron and Lavender had broken apart from their slimy kiss to see what the fuss was about. She followed the direction of their gaze and gasped along with the rest of them – there he was, the man himself, Lord Suave, strutting through the entrance to the Great Hall, as she had wished him to for days. He had that despicable air about him that many of pure blood did, and was smiling and waving at those who gawped at him as if nothing was wrong with him, nothing at all…

And to the casual observer, there would not have appeared to be anything wrong with Draco Malfoy. It was only once one looked through the blinding layer of beauty and mystique that was Draco Malfoy and saw just how unbelievably thin he was, and how exhausted and defeated he appeared to be did it became obvious that his absence from the public eye had not done him any favors.

Draco did not stop to sit down in his usual spot at the Slytherin table – which out of respect for him his friends and followers had kept empty for his eventual return – as Hermione and the rest of the student body expected him to. No, he carried on walking; swinging his arms in a very upbeat manner, until he arrived at the end of the Gryffindor table which Hermione was seated at. He halted and turned to her. His eyes, which were at the point of drooping shut, still somehow managed to retain their enamoring sparkle.

'Hello, Mudblood.' He paused and grabbed his chest, as if short of breath. 'I've a note for you…'

Draco did not hand over the promised note, neither did he elaborate. His eyes widened and he drew in a shaky breath. Then he crumpled into a pale heap at Hermione's feet.

--

So, no note? Would he have given it to her, or is Draco softening up a little? Whatever is going to happen next? We shall see...

A desperate plea for reviews here, I'm feeling a little discouraged... many of you have favourited me and that's brilliant, but I do love to read your opinions on my work! :*

I'll try to update tomorrow if I feel up to it, I've got a slight headache. :/

Laura