Chapter Four – ''Every impulse that we strive to strangle broods in the mind and poisons us…the only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it.'' Oscar Wilde

Hermione walked down the corridor, battling an unpleasant mix of anticipation and fear. She couldn't believe that all it had taken to goad her into defending Draco was a particularly unpleasant government official. She half suspected Draco of having bribed Catton to say what he had said. She wouldn't have put it past him.

But every time she determined, definitely, finitely, truly, not to go near Draco again, to find him another person to defend him, she was reminded of him. She recalled his intelligent conversation, his laughing face, his tenderness, the way he knew her better than she knew herself, the way he could make her melt just by running his finger along her neck, the way he held her.

And then as soon as she remembered that, she would remember how he had schemed and manipulated, how he had been cruel and possessive, how he had been mocking and angry. No…she couldn't possibly have anything to do with a man like that.

Don't you think you owe the poor man something? After all, you did leave him deserted. For all you want to pretend he's a demon, you were certainly no angel. The little voice smirked at her.

Shut up. I am under no obligation to help a man like that.

Well, technically you are under an obligation now, because you promised to help him. Anyway, you know and I know that you are dying to kiss him, to have your Draco back!

Ah…but I didn't promise to do that! I can go in there and be completely professional and detached!

You honestly think you can do that? More to the point, do you want to?

Yes. Hermione kicked herself: even her thoughts lacked conviction. I mean, YES, of course that's what I want!

Yeah, yeah, whatever.

And so, if only to prove that oh-so-knowing part of her brain wrong, Hermione found herself walking towards Draco's cell late on Saturday afternoon (not wanting anyone to find out, she hadn't dared to take time off work), this time with a legitimate pass. Nodding nervously at the guard, she waited for him to open the door and then stepped into the serpent's lair.

Draco had spent the morning trying to sort out his hair without the aid of a mirror or comb. Long gone were the days where he was permanently immaculate. His robes didn't fit him properly anymore, as days on the run had left him rangier and leaner, and as today hadn't brought any razors, he had stubble blooming around his jaw. Running his hand irritably across the bristles, he thought back to the days where Hermione had seen him in peak condition. She would be sorely disappointed by seeing him up close, he mused, but then that had been the case with his personality. It would surely be a source of some comfort to complete the whole, flawed, picture.

Sitting on his bed, he heard the click of heels down the corridor and immediately leapt to his feet. What was he meant to do? Should he sit on the bed, stand up, move away from the door or greet her at the door? Should he smile, shake her hand or just nod? Why was he even so anxious to please the one girl who had ever succeeded in breaking his heart?

Hermione walked into the cell to see Draco suspended in some dreadful kind of limbo, unsure of how to act. She knew exactly how he felt. Looking around the scantily-furnished room, she wondered where she should sit. There was an empty space on the bed next to Draco, she noted with a heady rush of adrenalin, which she immediately tried to calm. Draco, herself and a bed was unlikely to prove a successful combination for rational conversation if he felt anything near what she felt for him.

Fortunately for Hermione, the guard was pushing in a tiny desk and chair, which she gratefully sat behind and shuffled her pages in front of her. She had the details of Draco's charges and what the Aurors who had caught him had said. Waiting until the guard had withdrawn from the cell, and to a respectable distance from the cell, she turned to Draco.

He looked achingly handsome. The stubble that was shadowing his face only served to remind her that she was no longer a young girl in the passionate throes of first love with a boy, but a woman dealing with a man. The violet shadows beneath his eyes were calling out to be soothed away with tender kisses and caresses. Shaking her head firmly, she half-smiled. ''So.''

Draco looked at her out of the corner of his eye, unwilling to be caught staring. She was wearing a pretty sundress and strappy, high-heeled sandals. Something she had thrown on that morning as her boyfriend (husband?) watched idly from the bed, or something she had agonised over for hours in order to impress him? Her hair was tied up, and the clean white skin on the nape of her neck looked so sweetly vulnerable that he felt a tremor run through him. ''So.''

''Is there anywhere you feel we should start?''

Draco almost frowned; she actually wanted to talk about his case? He wanted to talk to her about what had happened in the two missing years. He wanted to know everything she had done, and tell her everything that had happened to him. But if she wasn't interested…that wasn't the Hermione he knew. She must have a boyfriend, there was no ring on the small hand so there was no husband. And if there was a boyfriend, there was surely little point in getting his hopes up. ''Well, what do you want to know? What do you think would be a good starting point?''

I think a good starting point would be for you to come over here, yank me out of my chair, kiss me like you used to, and then tell me that it's like the past never existed, Hermione thought.

Ha! You admit it!

A momentary lapse, Hermione retorted. ''Erm…well, I'd like to know what your defence is.''

''You mean you don't have the answer? That must be a first Granger.''

Hermione jumped at the sound of her surname. ''I haven't had all the answers before. I can't solve every problem, and I need you to tell me why I'm wasting my Saturday trying to help you.''

''I was a Death Eater, but I never killed anyone, to put it briefly.'' Draco looked at her, wondering how she would react.

''I didn't think that was possible.'' Hermione raised her eyebrow.

''Well, you were never a Death Eater, were you?'' Draco snapped, desperate not to act like he cared what she thought. He knew he was overplaying it, knew that he was making himself entirely unapproachable, but what else was he meant to do? There was no use in trying to seduce her, she had made her thoughts on that matter perfectly clear two years ago, and she obviously just wanted this to be a business matter. Better to be utterly standoffish and rude than fawning all over her. He still had his pride. It was one of the few things left to him, and he wasn't relinquishing it without a fight.

''I never had the credentials for it,'' Hermione answered. ''So Voldemort was perfectly happy to just let you join his gang without selling your soul?''

''Melodramatic as ever, I see. Are you defending me or writing an article for the Daily Prophet?''

''Answer the question, or I'm leaving.'' Hermione looked at him through steely eyes. Why was he being such a complete idiot? He had been so sweet the other day, puzzled at her presence, but the look in his eyes had told her all she needed to know. Or so she thought. Any thoughts of apologising fled her mind, and her stubborn nature took over, crushing the hopeless romantic in her. Yes, she wanted him, needed him more than the air that she was breathing, but she would not be some grovelling little wreck seeking his approval. She had tried to gain that before and it had nearly broken her. She would be herself, and he could like it or lump it.

''No, of course he didn't want that. He needs servants who don't put conditions on their servitude. The night he told me to kill someone, I ran. I stayed in hiding, living in the country, Apparating to somewhere new everyday. And then I got caught by the morons of the Ministry, and you seem to know the rest of the story.''

''Why didn't you kill the person? Who was it?''

Draco looked at her coolly. ''I forget.''

''You've forgotten the last order that Voldemort ever gave you?''

''I had rather more important things on my mind. Survival for one.''

''Not that it matters, that poor person is probably dead anyway.''

''I didn't realise you were such a pessimist.'' Draco scratched his face.

''Where you're concerned, I've learned to be wary. So what did you do wrong?''

''Wrong?''

''Don't try and play games with me. I'm not interested in how you're planning to interpret the subjective nature of the word 'wrong'. I just want to know what you did to terrorise innocent people.''

''What makes you think you can deal with it?' His voice sounded like a snake; a low sinuous hiss that slithered through every part of her body.

''I managed to deal with Voldemort, I'm sure I can deal with what one little runaway did.'' Shooting him an icy glare, she couldn't help wondering what her voice sounded like to him. What effect did her words have on him?

Clearly the wrong one. His eyes narrowed to small, venomous slits. ''Well, you would know all about running away.''

''We aren't talking about that.''

''How do you know that your actions weren't to blame for my subsequent …adventures, shall we say?''

''Don't you dare try and pin this on me!'' Hermione stood up, unable to contain her fury. ''You did not turn into a Death Eater because I walked out of a relationship which would never have worked! You turned into a Death Eater because you are a coward who couldn't find the courage to stand up to his daddy and do something worthwhile with his life!''

Draco looked up at her, his heart ripping itself apart. ''You honestly think that?''

She sat back down, and stared down at her papers before looking at him. The expression in her eyes was enough to make him want to break down, to hold her in the fortress of her arms and never let anything harm her again. ''I have to.''

Draco opened his mouth, but what were you meant to say to that? Hermione was whispering now. ''I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you, but I know that if you felt anything like what I felt, it would have been the worst betrayal imaginable. But I couldn't carry on like that.''

''If both of us were hurting, how could it be right?'' He was leaning forward, almost touching her in the confined spaces of his prison.

''It wouldn't have worked.''

''How do you know? You don't have all the answers. Some answers aren't meant to be found in books, they're meant to be worked out. Worked out with another person.'' The intensity in his eyes was exhilarating, terrifying and wonderful at the same time. ''I could have changed, you could have changed, the whole bloody thing could have changed!''

''I…'' Hermione didn't know what to do. It was the same unbalancing act that he had performed on her with such success a million times before: unsettle her with his coldness and then warm her in the glow of his love. And she still wasn't immune.

''Hermione.'' He said her name so quietly, a perfect accompaniment to the pale hand that was taking her small one and squeezing it gently. ''Come on, this is me. Draco.''

''I don't know you. I don't know if I ever knew you.''

''You knew me too well.'' He had brought her hand up to his mouth and was whispering next to the soft skin, soft puffs of warm air running across her knuckles. ''And you saw the ugliest parts of me. But I'm not like that anymore, not to that extent.''

''No, you're a Death Eater, locked up in the Ministry,'' she said, her voice an odd mix between sobbing and laughing.

''I am always going to be proud, and greedy, and lustful, and lazy, and selfish and jealous, and possessive. But I'm not like I use to be. Living underneath a bush tends to put things in perspective for you. And I know you thought I was too possessive of you, but believe me, all I ever wanted was to hold you, and love you. I would have given you myself totally. I think I did.''

''You gave me yourself?'' Hermione's voice was quivering, and Draco was sure that he could see a tremulous kind of joy beginning to appear in her mouth.

''And if you wanted…''Before Draco could finish his sentence, letting her know that if she still wanted him, he was still hers, the guard bashed on the door.

''Time's up!''

''No!'' Draco glared at the guard, knowing that in one more minute Hermione would have been telling him that she still wanted him, that she was his and she had been from the moment that he put a piece of Chocolate Frog between her lips, from the moment he kissed her as the sun set across the lake. But she was already disentangling herself, picking up her papers, smiling slightly to herself.

Hermione fought back the urge to grin to herself. He wanted her, and it looked like he would forgive her for going, and she could forgive him, because he would have changed. And she would get him off scot-free, and they could live happily ever after. Unfortunately, Hermione had forgotten that real life is rarely so simple.

Draco looked at her as he lounged back on his bed. ''So, what are you up to tonight?''

''Er…nothing.'' She lied frantically, praying that he hadn't noticed.

''Liar,'' he laughed. ''Come on, you don't have to pretend you're staying in alone just because you feel sorry for me. Go on, what is it? A hot date?''

''No!''

Draco sat up. ''Rather vehement about that, aren't we?'' Instantly, all the teasing in his voice went. ''So you were laughing to yourself about me pouring my poor little convict heart out while you plan your wonderful night of passion?''

''Don't be ridiculous,'' she pleaded, but it was the wrong thing to say.

''Ridiculous? I don't think so Granger.''

''Well, it's my life, and I don't have to tell you if I don't want to.'' She was aiming for a teasing tone, but fear of discovery made her sharper than she had intended.

Draco's face closed instantly, all the intensity and fire doused in seconds. His voice was flat. ''Fine. Live your sodding life, and don't worry about telling me anything. I don't care.''

''Draco, I didn't mean it like that…''

''Granger, I don't CARE! Go on, get out. That moron's waiting.'' Gesturing at the guard, he turned his face to the wall. Not wanting to argue with him in front of the guard, and angry at how fucking pig-headed he was, Hermione stormed out of the cell.

A date indeed! It wasn't a date, it was that pathetic farce that Ron and Harry had blackmailed her into going on. Storming into her bedroom and kicking off her sandals, so carefully selected in the hope that he would notice, she contemplated cancelling. But she would never be able to escape simply by saying she had a headache. Harry would force her to reschedule, and she would have to spend more time dreading the outing.

Letting her hair down, she looked into her wardrobe. What was she meant to wear? She had no idea what Ron had in mind. Hopefully just something simple that would let her pretend that the evening was nothing more than time spent with friends. Jeans, she decided. Dark jeans with a silky top and high heels, and chandelier earrings. Quickly pulling on the clothes and retouching her make-up, she told herself that the evening wouldn't be awful. Ron would be fine, and easily subdued, and she could be home and in bed by eleven-thirty.

A knock came on the door, and with a sickening plummet of her stomach, she went to answer it. Ron beamed at her, and Hermione smiled weakly back. Thankfully he hadn't brought her flowers.

''Hi Ron. So, where are we going?''

''Come on.'' Ron reached forward and took hold of Hermione's elbow. She could feel the heat of his hand as he spun them into a claustrophobic instant and then spiralled them out into the foyer of a dimly lit restaurant. ''Great isn't it?''

Hermione nodded and followed Ron as the waiter showed them to a table. Ron took the proffered menu and then looked at her over the top of it. ''This was the restaurant where Dad proposed to Mum.''

Hermione inhaled deeply and willed herself not to pass out. He won't propose, he was just mentioning it in conversation, and for Merlin's sake I can damn well answer him. ''Really? How lovely for them. So what…''

But she completely forgot she was going to say, because as she looked at Ron it seemed that the twenty year old in front of her shrank back into the eleven year old boy that she had loved and loathed in equal measures. Their friendship flashed before her eyes, and in that second she knew that Harry had been wrong to tell her that Ron might be the solution to her loneliness. They were too firmly entrenched as friends for her to ever consider Ron as a serious romantic interest. To kiss him would be almost a perversion.

Smiling and looking down at her menu, she thought wryly that Draco couldn't have been more wrong about her having a 'hot date'. It wasn't even lukewarm.

They managed to make their way through to dessert without any romantic tones to the evening, despite the dusky lighting, and soppy couples around them. Just when Hermione was congratulating herself on coping so well in a potentially dangerous situation, Ron reached across the table and grabbed her hand. ''Hermione, I'm so glad you agreed to come tonight.''

''Really? Why?'' Her mouth was suddenly as dry as the Sahara, and it took her a minute to work the words out.

''You know how I feel about you and…''

''Ron, please, let me…''

''No, let me finish.'' Ron carried on, squeezing her hand gently. ''You know how I feel about you, and when you agreed to come I knew it meant a chance to finally talk to you about this.''

''Ron, you have to understand…''

''There's nothing to understand Hermione – when you kissed me the other day I knew that you felt the same way as I do.'' He smiled at her, and Hermione wanted to cry. Preferably in a small, dark, damp hole which was clearly where she belonged.

''I burst into tears and ran away,'' she reminded him gently. ''Ron, I've been feeling a little lonely recently, and I was just trying to ease that.''

''And you picked me! Come on, doesn't that tell you something?''

''Ron, it didn't feel right. I…I don't really know how to explain it, and I will never be sorrier for what I did the other night but…''

''Don't apologise for it,'' Ron's face was falling now, and Hermione felt tears begin to cluster in the corners of her eyes. ''It was one of the best nights ever.''

''Ron, please, I was just looking for comfort, and you deserve so much better than that!''

''I don't care about what you think I deserve. I want you!''

Hermione bit back the first thought in her mind – ''Well, I don't want you'' was too cruel. ''Ron, I'd like to go home now.''

Without another word, Ron paid the bill and led her to the door. She stepped away before he could Apparate with her. ''Ron, I'm sorry, but I just…I just can't. You're one of my oldest friends, and I need you to be my friend and nothing more.''

''I can be your boyfriend just as well as I can be your friend. Hermione, I've told you how I feel, you know that I love you but I can't do anymore.'' He rubbed the side of his head, clearly embarrassed. ''Please, just think about what I've said. I think we might be better suited than you'd like to admit.''

Leaning forward, he kissed her gently on the cheek, and was gone in a second. Hermione looked blankly at the spot where he had been, and then turned on the spot as well.

Walking, almost in a daze, she stood in front of the dark window, and reached forward a hand, almost touching her reflection. Instead, she knocked.

A pale shape reared up in the gloom. ''What?''

''I know it's late, and you said you don't care…''

Draco stood up and walked towards the door. ''You look awful. What's wrong, did the wonder-date not go too well?''

His sarcastic tone was more than Hermione could bear. ''Fine. Just fine. I don't know what I was thinking, coming here.''

Draco looked at her wan face, the tear-filled eyes and the angry eyes. ''What's wrong?'' This time his voice was gentler. Hermione rummaged in her purse, finding her security pass. Flicking it at the door, she stepped in as it opened, forcing Draco backwards.

''I know it's late and you said you don't care, but I'd like to tell you about my life.''

AN: Hey everyone! I know it took a little while to get this chapter up, but I wanted to make sure that it was a good one. Hopefully you agree…which is why a review would be ENORMOUSLY appreciated! Lots of love…Petitesorciere xxx