A/N down below.

As always, enjoy

.~.

Let it Burn

Chapter One

Her Sanctuary

.~.

~*- The eyes seek what the heart cannot speak

To whom was standing underneath-*~

Wednesday September 11th, 1996

The rain was coming down harder than usual. A veil of morbid passing had been placed upon the surrounding area, pressing down upon the students and castle as the sun behind the looming clouds and passed over them. They were forced to tread through the weather, a nuisance for those whose classes were far across the vast plane of Hogwarts. But for some it was rather calming.

Hermione Granger hurriedly weaved through the lingering groups of students as she desperately tried to make it to her next class. She had lost Harry and Ron some time ago, but didn't have the time to go back and retrieve them. On top of that, Ron was still being very distant to her, which she could understand. She had treated him so badly. When they were patrolling, she said some things she shouldn't have, and she's regretted it ever since. Hermione had tried to apologize, but of course their conflicting personalities got the best of them, and destroyed any attempt at sealing up whatever rift that has separate them. One day, she planned on fixing that. Right now she just prayed she made it to class on time.

As she finally managed to get past a group of Hufflepuff girls, she caught sight of a familiar, glowering figure.

Standing with his arms crossed over his chest, his menacing eyes combing the corridor, was Draco Malfoy. Standing within inches of him was Theodore Nott, who appeared to be whispering something to his ear. He would nod slightly, tilt his head, or narrow his eyes in acknowledgement, but other than that he was quite unresponsive.

While the rain soaked completely through the clothing of those who had come from Herbology or Care for Magical Creatures, Malfoy was perfectly untouched. Not a single drop had come in contact with his skin, which made Hermione wonder briefly if the boy was made of porcelain. Why, however, she did not know? The rain would contrast so beautifully, and she couldn't help be so drawn to something so tragically stunning.

If it was the eye that want to see, the heart was the one that did not want to feel.

She backed away, and she could have sworn that those cold, grey eyes followed her.

Brown eyes watched with unadulterated happiness as the smallest bird of the flock joined its siblings. As it caught the air beneath its trembling wings, her heart sped up until it had the courage to fly once again. The flock circled around it in a colorful array of color; they flew up and down excitedly until the impressionable tale that something was wrong came to light. Its little wings were just about to give out. Once they did, he fell. As it lied on the dusty table inside the library, its caretaker's eyes never leaving its form, it gave out one last beating grunt before the wings stopped moving and the girl let out a shuddering breath.

Three days have passed since Hermione's last letter from the mysterious sender of the sparrows. Almost two weeks since the beginning of their secret love affair, and she was no step closer to figuring out who was sending the paper birds and writing the beautiful notes. The words themselves pierced her heart; it was as if the sender knew exactly what would please her, knew what would make her happy, as if they have known her all the life. The sparrows, a symbol she has yet to decipher, was a complete mystery to her. Their meaning was unknown, and so was her admirer.

Hermione's fingers brushed against the under belly of the bird, hoping that her loving caress would wake the sleeping bird. It had worked once before, but she supposed it would not work again. Alas, she was right. The bird did not respond to her touches, and remained in an everlasting slumber.

For weeks she's pondered the thought. She desperately wanted to know who had sent it. So much so that she's even lost some sleep over it. Her dreams were filled with nothing but Sparrows. Why the tiny bird and not something more extraordinary as a Phoenix, she did not know. Maybe it was time to do further research on the creature. At least it would give her some indication as to what the meaning behind the symbol was. Maybe it would even help her find who sent them to her.

She sighed.

This was one of the hardest things to watch, yet the most beautiful. There was something enchantingly alluring about it; though, she couldn't quite place the reason why. Her heart fell because she was unable to keep the bird from dying.

Her eyes flickered toward the open window, where the wind kicked up, causing the slumbering bird into the air. She watched, her eyes growing wide as the bird took flight once again, only to be caught the wind and pulled from the net of safety that she had placed. She watched as it floated away, and out of her vision.

Hermione sighed, distant.

Whilst the bird soared to heaven, her eyes glanced down and a smile appeared on her lovely lips. Although she had lost the birds due to the dwindling power of magic, she still held onto the notes. Out of fear, she wondered if the words upon the parchment would disappear with time. But, they've held on true, even after two or so weeks of carrying them around in her satchel, stealing glances when she was able to, and stuffing them back into her books when anyone came too close. Just as she had done then, she was forced to ruin what she had done on previous days when she noticed Ginny Weasley looking around the library, trying to determine where she was. As she has done in the past, she's changed her usual spot, opting for a more serene place to clear her mind and think. As of late, Ginny's been constantly on her back. For what, she can only imagine, which wasn't very hard to do so. It was no secret at Hogwarts that she had a fight with Ron.

Hermione slide down her chair, making sure that Ginny didn't see her through the fairly thick barrier of students that protected her from her gaze. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her move. Ginny was heading towards her, huffing as she practically scared the younger students away.

She sighed, straightening her posture as she did.

There was just no escaping her.

As soon as she was able to, Ginny slammed her books onto the table, earning her a frown from the older witch.

"Rough day?" she asked, careful to keep her secret. Hermione discreetly placed her books aside, her eyes scanning the loose letters to make sure that they were arranged appropriately.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "You would not believe what he's doing now."

"Who, Harry?"

She nodded. "Who else?" Ginny pulled out a chair and sat down. "I've been telling him for weeks now that he should turn in that bloody book of his and he still hasn't done it."

"Well, I've been telling him the same thing too," offered Hermione, almost smiling because of how foolish it was for them to even think that he would listen to them.

"It's like it goes in one ear and comes out the other," she carried on, distressed. "I don't understand why it's so interesting. It's like he's turned into you, no offense."

Hermione giggled." Oh, come off it. I'm sure he has a reasonable explanation as to why he's kept it for so long. Eventually he'll get bored with it. But, you're right. It is rather odd that he's so attached to it."

"It is, isn't it?" Ginny quipped. "I mean, it's a book for Merlin's sake."

"Oh, yes. How horrendous!"

Both girls laughed at the small joke. Of course Harry was not prone to read, or even open a book for that matter, but the idea of him actually taking the time to study for Potion's was a phenomenon of its own. Both boys had a penchant for procrastinating until the very last second, so having the book on hand was something to secretly thank in the privacy of their own accord. One way or another, however, this book was going to lead them both into a heap of trouble, and neither girl was going to be there to help them.

"I'm sure he'll lose interest soon enough," mused Hermione, thoughtfully. Though, she couldn't pretend that there wasn't something odd about that book. If she could just place her finger on it…

Several moments escaped them before either of them spoke again.

"So, anything new with you?" Ginny asked as if her friend would divulge anything remotely different. Hermione did the same thing every day, and even conversing with her friends was always accounted for. Where was she going with this? "I heard you and Ron fought a couple of weeks ago."

Hermione nodded, toying with her quill as she did so. The ruffled feathers stroked teasingly at the sides of her fingers as a slight blush rose to her cheeks.

If it was one thing she did not want to talk about was the fight that she had with her older brother.

"We did," she confirmed. "And, over something completely childish."

"From what I've heard," said Ginny, cautiously," he said some things he shouldn't have said."

"He did." Confirmed Hermione with a murmur. "Your brother likes to think that rules don't matter. I just don't understand why it's so hard to abide by them."

"Well, he does have you to do that for him." Ginny told her. "Plus, I can kind of see where he is coming from. You need to calm down and relax. That always seem to work for him."

"He isn't a saint!" cried the curly-haired witch. "He acts like I'm in the wrong, that I should be the one reprimanded! Well, he's the one who should be more cautious! What if that little boy had proceeded with his plan? Do you realize how disastrous it would have been? Your brother doesn't realize that the consequences of one's actions would be dire even if it smacked him upside the head. I-"

In that moment, her eyes landed on a lone red-haired figure. Ron Weasley stood before them, his eyes grazing over Hermione and in one swift second, they turned drastically dark. Something told Hermione that he had come to apologize because his eyes, which had lit up with the prospect of hope that she would forgive him, had vanished entirely from his orbs. He now stood with his hands inside the pockets of his black slacks, his gaze clouded with unadulterated hate.

She never felt so ashamed in that moment than she did now. Even if she was completely right.

"So, that's what you really think, eh?"

"Ron, I-"

"Save it," he hissed. "I don't want to hear it. I came to apologize but I guess I was wrong, huh? 'Even if it smacked me upside the head'." He mimicked her voice atrociously, shaking his head before turning on his heel and leaving. Harry had been standing in the distance. He said nothing, nodding once before rushing after his friend.

Ginny remained unnaturally silent for a few minutes.

"Should I…" she looked at Hermione," should I go talk to him?"

Shaking her head, Hermione tried to hold back the tears that swelled up inside her eyes. She was flushed with anger and embarrassment. Angry at Ron for being a prat while they were patrolling the halls two weeks ago, and herself for exploding the way she did.

Why did he have to be so bloody difficult? Finding the nerve to apologize two weeks after the fact and then coming to her in her most natural habitat, only to hear the negative thoughts that have been bottled up since that night? Merlin, he was such a bastard, but she was a bitch for betraying him in that way. She felt horrible. The only way she could avoid being caught crying was to ignore the calls of her friend, grab her belongings, and dash toward the other side of the library, as if escaping the inevitable and irreversible end to a long-lasting friendship.

She couldn't believe that she had belittled him in front of his sister, and to his face no less. How could she be such a horrible friend? Had she no shame?

Apparently not.

Hermione escaped to a section normally closed off during the day. It was fairly close to the Restricted Section, but not so much of a hazard to anyone who was in good with the librarian. She was safe for now. As she walked around, her fingertips brushing the spines of the tomes that called noisily to her, she let the tears escape their prison and sobbed like she's never sobbed before.

Everything came out. Her anger towards Ron, the years of mistreatment, then pitiful excuses and apologies, the whispers that taunted her even after their owners left- everything.

She knew that Ron was a prat, and that his inconsideration steamed from being the youngest Weasley boy, not to mention only knowing the gentleness of his mother and sister. Yet, she couldn't help think that this was more of his fault than hers. No matter what her mind wanted to think, it was her heart that had any true say in her emotions and actions.

That's probably why so many people couldn't tolerate her. With all her flaws and insecurities that she's buried inside her through the years, it came as no surprise to her that some just found her so-

"Fuck!" hissed a voice from nowhere.

A hard body collided with her, causing her to let out gasp. Within moments she found herself flat on the floor and nursing a bruised wrist where she forced her weight onto it. Books barricaded her in an almost barrier-like circle. Whomever it had been had caused more of an impact and resounding touch that she initially suspected. Wincing from the discomfort, she rubbed it, pulling her gaze to see what kind of damage was done. Someone was still standing in front of her, their perfectly polished dress shoes mere inches from her.

Startled, Hermione looked up, gasping at the figure as it became clearer through the tears. Terrified, she attempted to scoot away as the student she ran into glared down at her, his steel grey eyes tearing through her. Light blonde hair fell over them, drastically tampering the intensity of his hateful gaze whilst deepening the hue of his beautiful eyes. Dressed in emerald green, he appeared like a snake ready to strike.

Draco Malfoy.

She had bumped into the arrogant prat.

The Slytherin Prince.

Wetting her lips, terrified of what kind of brutal retorts he would shoot her today, Hermione struggled to stand, but managed to do so strongly and without faltering too badly. Malfoy watched unhurriedly, contemplating something that she has yet to decipher.

But, nothing came.

It was so strange.

Hermione gauged him carefully, considering since he was well known to change at a second's unnoticed sound. He seemed darker, more dangerous. Like some sort of curse had been placed on him, or he matured entirely too fast. Something about the half-moons that stuck out underneath his eyes, his hallowed cheeks, and frightened, distant expression made Hermione wonder if Harry said was true.

He just could not be a Death Eater. He was much too young, too inexperienced. The thought of someone giving him the Mark was just so beyond her that she couldn't even fathom the notion of it at all. Who in the world would do that to a sixteen year-old boy? To take away their innocence and make them do something so horrid? She did not know.

As she pulled away from her reverie, she realized that he was talking. Through the haze, she was able to hear the tail end of his sentence.

"-strife with Weaslebee. Whatever you did must have really angered him."

"What are you talking about, Malfoy?" she frowned, not liking at all where this was leading.

Draco smirked. "Didn't hear me, huh?" Her silence spoke louder than words. "Well, let me reiterate, Mudblood since you're incapable of listening. Merlin knows you could be heard all over bloody creation and don't care in the slightest about voice control- I really do have to commend you, though. For not only finally standing up for yourself, but for putting Weaslebee back into the level where he belongs."

"And, exactly where would that be, Malfoy?"

"In the dirt." A grin stretched across his face.

A resounding smack of hand meeting soft flesh echoed around them. Before either of them time to analyze what Hermione had done, Draco had taken the hand that she used to strike him, spun her around, and pushed her harshly against the row of books. The weight was just as unbearable and painful as the flooding rush of blood that ignited on his left cheek. Flushed with anger, Draco stared down at her, his heavy breathes fanning across her face. There was a killer glint in his eye. In that moment, no matter how mad that he had made her, she knew that it was a mistake to slap him.

No on touched Draco Malfoy.

This had been certain, until Hermione unknowingly threatened that universal notion.

With her hands pinned to the books, her legs shaking, tears building up in her eyes, the inevitable was upon her- she was either going to receive the same treatment as she had given him, or worse.

Hermione didn't know what to expect, so she prepared for the worse.

"If you ever do that to me again, Granger," he leaned in, his voice no high than whisper," I will see to it that you are removed from this school and that your wand is permanently broken. Do you understand?"

Channeling all her willpower, she gave him a nod, trying to keep herself from crying.

If there was one thing that he could not take from her it was her dignity.

He stayed there for another escaped minute before pulling away, staring down at her darkly. Backing away, he retreated from the realm that he had appeared from.

Draco left her as she was, leaving her to cry in the sanctuary of her passion.

He stormed out of the library. His rage palpable, and with each purposeful step, it grew exponentially to the point that he had to push those who stood in his way out of his path. Magic circulated through his body like vicious fumes; his eyes were caught in a hardened glare, and his hands were clutched into fists. While the profundity of what just happened circulated like an unrelenting scene, his mind just could not wrap itself around it.

The fucking bitch had slapped him!

A snarl escaped his lips as his heart continued to beat uncharacteristically inside his chest. A lustful glimmer travelled like a chariot in the sky across the darkened iris of his eyes. Never in his whole life did he ever feel such unbearable anger; the little twat had humiliated him. Fuck touching him with her disgusting hands, it was the fact that she held that power over him. Even for a moment, it was a disturbing, unrealistic dream. She would never be able to feel as victorious as he knew she felt again. He promised right then and there to seek revenge if that was the last thing he did.

Although the residual sting had long sense gone away, it was the profound way in which she had delivered her animosity. Never in his wildest fantasies did he ever think she had it in her. To think that she had that kind of fire burning slowly within the chambers of her heart was something to marvel at and hate with all his undying passion. The fire, the unyielding torch that had been placed inside her- Christ, where the fuck was she hiding her? Had Granger any idea of the absolute spectacle that she created? Forget being hit by her; it was that sweet caress of her hands as the soft side of her fingers made contact with his cheek.

Circe.

He needed to stop with this foolishness.

Forbidden fruit indeed. She made it all the easier to escape from his woes and venture to a far off land where the Dark Lord did not exist, that the task he given him was of no positive notation.

As symbolistic as it was, he needed to stop thinking of her more than a pawn. He needed her. For what, he could not exactly place. Granted, the little enchantress of his heartache and anger was more than a soothing piece of artwork that he would find more appeasable if she wasn't so bloody annoying. But, he was at a complete loss. He didn't have the time to dwindle his thumbs and allow nature to take its course. He needed her total and utter submission for his scheme to work. Without Granger's affection, how else was he supposed to question her about the Room of Requirement.

Those Sparrows he sent her was meant to guide her eventually to the sender, which he wasn't quite ready for yet. There was still a lot more that he needed to sort out before he reached out and invoked her again.

God, what a display that would be. Her secret admirer turning out to be none other than he worst enemy. No matter how genuine he made the letters seem, he could not help wonder about the repercussions and what Granger may do once she does realize who has been sending her the tiny little birds and letters. He knew the innocence of the expression was nothing more than his overactive imagination trying to get the best of him. There was no way that the gesture would be misconstrued.

At least, that is what he has been telling himself these last few weeks.

He gulped, licked his lips and sighed. Through his tirade of unrelenting anger, he had lost himself in thought and was far from his next scheduled class. He was somewhere in the castle. Where, he did not know. Just like the mischievous play of the moving staircase, his heart had taken him deeper into the castle than he was willing to go.

Oh, well.

Snape will just have to deal with it. God knew that the poor DADA Professor could use a good release, and he would only be a nuisance to him seeing that he still hasn't found a safe place to work on the cabinet.

He could only recount sourly about the recent conversation he had with him. One that surely would haunt him for the coming months. His warning meant to help him, and not share him shitless and run around as if his head had been chopped off. Still, a warning was a warning and he couldn't help take his consideration to the amount of time he had to perform the tasks that the Dark Lord has given him.

Time was certainly closing to an end. He found himself in a corner that he didn't know if he could not escape from.

His arm burned and he forced himself to move despite being trapped against his will.

Monday September 23rd, 1996

The morning of the twenty-third arrived with the whistling of the wind and an unnaturally cold caress. As a precaution to push the impending season of the flu, Hermione had placed several warming charms on herself and anyone who didn't scare her away. Call her overprotective, smart, or what have you, but she wanted to ensure that her chances of a good term weren't ruined by something that could have been easily prevented.

"People are talking about you," said Ginny with a slight laugh. "They're saying to watch out for you and that your name may be used for this season's virus."

Hermione rolled her eyes and huffed. Still frigidly cold, she hardly had the energy to provide the girl with a good retort. Her next class was in the Dungeons, and after that she had Defense Against the Dark Arts, to which Harry insisted was helping Malfoy with whatever task he was given by You-Know-Who.

She would be thrilled that he was still on speaking terms if it wasn't for Ron. Every time they tried to speak to one another, he would appear from nowhere and demand his attention by engaging him in conversation about the tryouts, or if he will ever make it on the team. Whatever he thought would anger her the most, his actions and words knew no bounds.

"Can we please stop talking about that?" begged Hermione; though, she knew it was wrong of her to even try to appeal to the school's sensibilities. Who knew going around and asking them would lead to this sort of taunting? "Just drop it, alright? It's not like anyone was thankful for enchantment, anyway."

"Oh, no. Not it slightest, Granger."

Groaning, Hermione and Ginny immediately halted and turned to find Draco standing with Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott, two of his closest allies. Whatever happed to Crabbe and Goyle would have to be saved for a later date for it looked like Malfoy had something to get off his chest, or mind.

"I have to say, Mudblood. You continue to amaze me," drawled the Heir. "Who knew you were this… liberal? Gone around asking if you could warm someone up, have you? Thought cozying up some poor bloke would earn you-"

"Enough, Draco." Came a dark, familiar voice.

A pale hand came to rest on the Prince's shoulder and all five students looked up to find none other than Severus Snape standing behind Malfoy. His presence alone was enough to suck all the warmth from the air, replacing it with pure coldness.

The newly appointed Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor didn't seem all to happy wasting his precious time by stopping his star pupil's early morning attempt to get a rise out of Hermione. Even if the pure pleasure of it wasn't more admirably pleasing, the older wizard whose penchant for reckoning of the severe sort looked all but supportive of his intrusive acts.

"Is there a problem?" his baritone voice cut the air like a knife. Snape looked between the two meddling students before settling his eyes on the student of his own house. "Well, Draco? I trust that whatever… disagreement you have found with Miss Granger can surely wait until a more appropriate time to discuss?"

"Yes, sir." Through a clenched jaw, Hermione noticed the amount of restraint that Malfoy was holding onto. One that prevented him from breathing a single word to her in his presence. An eerie premonition, but one she would not take without warning, either. "I was just about to suggest that to her, sir. You know how Granger is. Being a know-it-all Gryffindor, she just has to let the world know of her vast knowledge."

"Indeed."

A ping of mistrusted hurt gripped her. Of course the slime ball would agree with him!

"Well, I see there is no point of prolonging this thirst to prove herself." said Snape before he turned and presented both girls with daggers the size of well-crafted wands. "As for you two, ten points each from Gryffindor for being late."

"But-"

Just as Hermione was about to speak, a bell sounded in the distance but it was a lost cause. Both were only a few hurried turns away from their next class, not to mention it was noon and they were on their way to the Great Hall for lunch. Neither of them voiced this concern as Malfoy snickered soundlessly beside their Professor.

Biting her tongue and grounding herself was the only thing that kept Hermione from snapping at both of them. Like Professor, like student; there was no visible distinguishment between the two. No doubt of the deep friendship that Snape and Malfoy's father shared.

The hurt of a twenty-point loss for their house was all too unbearable. Hermione had to grip her forearm, her nails digging right into her skin to prevent herself from crying in front of both of them.

As she watched the scene before her unfold, she could have sworn that Malfoy's eyes trickled over to her and showed something that she never thought she would ever receive from him.

Honest sincerity.

But whatever it really was, she brushed it off as something that her overactive mind was tricking her into believing that is what she saw. Malfoy would never be sincere about anything he did, even in the apologetic sense.

When Snape had finished speaking to him, Hermione and Ginny left, her mind working in countless ways to solve the conundrum that was Draco Malfoy.

A current silence hovered over them as they worked quietly amongst themselves. Occasionally, an explosion of misshapen confusion would break out, but other than that the classroom remained relatively silent.

It was days like these that made Hermione wish that she had a companion. Sure, she loved Ancient Runes, but without partnership, someone to talk to, it was positively boring. The only thing that she had was the letter that she had received from her admirer accompanied by a rather amusing proclamation. She had asked him how he had been able to construct the paper sparrows. Always keen on learning something knew, she believed that he would provide some direction as how he was able to do it. Unfortunately, that was not the case. A wizard never reveals his secrets.

Granted, it was humorous and elicited the sort of giggles best suited for little girls, she still wanted to know. This magic was characteristically different. Well developed, actually. Truly a masterpiece. She just did not know who it belonged to.

I have come to know what humors you. She continued to read the letter from her newly acquainted friends. Her eyes drift over the words again, and she let out a pleasant sigh.

You must be wondering why I have chosen such a magnificent creature. As I have continued to state, sparrows are truly one of the world's most notable wanderers of the air. Even a tedious task as preparing the nest does not deter her; she is perfectly balanced and her mindset is very much admirable. Very much like you, I might add.

A slight blush acquainted her cheeks, welcoming the steady increase of her heartbeat as the words opened up to her once more to his deepest desires.

Which was something she yet to figure out.

No one was this considerably nice without reason, and it did worry her that whoever it was had been inflicted by some horrid reason to mess with her. A girl's heart was fragile, even hers. Not that she's never had her heart broken. With a frown, she pushed back the thoughts that threatened to rise. Ron was a git. Everyone knew that, but for whatever reason, he had acted completely out of character the night that the Sparrows came to her. Though, she was no better with her emotions, and she had hoped through the intense and rigorous exercise of researching would provide her with some kind of comfort.

That turned out to be an exhaustible example that proven to be the most tedious of tasks.

She had done as much research that her mind would accommodate. Countless hours were spent looking up these birds. From Care of Magical Creatures to a simple bird-watching handbook in the Muggle section of the library- nothing useful or noteworthy came up. The information that he had provided her did not help her, either. It was as if he wanted to keep the mystery of the birds a secret, as if the magic of it would lose its light if she knew how to conjure them. And that was it...

…that was what sparked sudden intrigue, something that she wouldn't have considered if it wasn't for that single word.

She recounted something he mentioned in one of his first letters:

To avoid a heavy heart, they tend to keep their burdens light.

If that was true, then why did they strive to be the most perfected version of themselves? For something so small, they sure were productive and attentive to the needs of other's. Surely, for a creature so small, they would have learned to keep their troubles to a minimum.

As she pondered this, a thought that she never considered rose from the blackened ink of his words.

Perhaps it was not the Sparrows he was talking about.

Maybe, he could very well be making these observations about her.

Draco's fingers brushed against the delicate handwritten words. His eyes were perpetually entranced by the neatness, the curvature of each letter. He was particularly fond of the way the G's and H's were written, as they were the leading letters of her first and last name.

It was always a relied whenever he received a response to one of his letters. As they spoke quite frequently, he literally awaited them whenever too much time separated the last one and the next. The rigorousness of the day, the demanding nature of school, Quidditch practice, tests, studying and whatever else that might make it impossible for a moment of his time had become the nemesis of his days. He didn't know whether it was out of anxiousness or the simple fact that he was planning on using her for a higher cause, but he was becoming more and more attached to the Mudblood as the days passed.

No, not Mudblood.

For some reason that word sent the wrong vibrations to course through his body. He loathed and valued the word, yet he couldn't stand the thought of attaching it to something as pure and inviting as Hermione Granger.

These past three weeks has given him hope. Not in the traditional sense, but as in the rejuvenated way that a cup of coffee or a needle of the most delicious substance could provide. He has learned things never thought possible. A simple, little girl who had the world opened up to her had given him the key that would unlock that same door. He never once thought about anything other than what he had been conditioned to believe. Not that his mother and father were against knowledge; it was the knowledge of the most scandalous kind that was forbidden to hold that they were worried about. They, much like the Muggles, were concerned about things they just did not understand. But who could blame them? Especially with a world so beautiful and filled with deadly beliefs and consequences, of course they would be a bit cautious about allowing him to explore the deeper reality of both worlds.

And that was what made Granger so attractive.

She wasn't afraid of going beyond the spectral plane in which they lived; she was adventurous, knowledgeable, and above all, spirited. Probably too spirited for her own good. For something so innocent, anyone could come and take her and no one would be the wiser.

Draco leaned back in his chair and sighed. It was nearing eleven, and he still hadn't replied to the letter that she had sent him.

It was amusing. She spoke of how she still hadn't figured out how he was able to conjure the sparrows, and even used his famously out words of 'a wizard never reveals his secrets.'

That was certainly true. He had a feeling if she were able to figure the charm for the sparrows, she would be able to discover the identity of the sender of the letters. That, he noted, could not happen until the right time was near.

No one must know of these exchanges, especially not the Dark Lord. If someone were to catch wind of this interaction between him and Granger, it would surely not end well. Luckily, the only other people who had any inkling to his dismayed infatuation with the Gryffindor Princess swore to him not to breath a single word to anyone. Their loyalty to his cause was more than he could ever express gratitude for. Only they understood the increased strain that the task that has been placed upon him.

"Struggling for words?" came Theodore Nott's voice as he approached him with reserved blankness. "Shall I go fetch a dictionary?"

"No dictionary will help, my dear friend." Blaise Zabini chuckled as he joined his friends in the Common Room.

As much as he appreciated his friends they could not have picked a worse time to make themselves present.

"Don't you two have somewhere else to be?"

"At eleven o'clock?" asked Theo before laughing. "No, not that I can recall. Unless you want me to be somewhere else, Malfoy."

He narrowed his eyes and glared menacingly at him.

"Relax," he threw his hands in front of him, laughing even harder. "I merely wanted to pay some respect to you before adjourning to bed. Something you should at least consider doing before day breaks."

"I will go to bed when I feel like it."

Blaise looked at him, his features as expressionless as always. "Are you not tired?"

Draco shook his head, his eyes transfixed completely on Granger's letter. He had yet to read the rest, too frightened as to what it might say. This always seemed to happen with her pleasantly detailed and long letters. His heart pounded against his ribs and his hands began to sweat.

He was nervous, but why? Why be nervous when she always brought the best out of him despite without her knowledge?

Of course his mates were able to catch onto the dilemma for they took a seat by the window and looked at him with the upmost concern.

His arm throbbed and it took every bit of his leftover strength to ignore it. The Dark Lord was commanding him to do something, and it seemed like he had lost his patience.

"He's mad." noted Blaise. "Have you found a solution to your problem?"

"If you mean have I found the fucking room then no, Blaise." Bit out Draco as the pain ran up his arm and spread across his chest. "Fuck!"

Theo reached out and touched his arm and an instant warmth spread over him. He didn't know what he had done, what nerve he had pressed, but Draco was thankful for his assistance. He would do the same if either of them were in the same predicament.

"You need more time."

"What I need is a miracle." He murmured as he leaned back in his chair and looked out the window, pondering.

How in the world was he supposed to do this? Albeit, the instructions were very clear, it seemed nearly impossible when he put it into actual practice. He only ever found the Room of Requirement a handful of times, and that was just last year when he wasn't plagued with restrictions. When he was more careful. Now, when his leash was literally as long as the Dark Lord would allow, he couldn't go about things in the normal way. He was gifted with Occlumency, something that his father and Godfather had proclaimed of its importance for years. It was the only revenue that he had that reflected any attacks from the Dark Lord. It allowed him to be more free than most of his other followers, giving him a longer leash. Not too much of a distance, but enough to do things that would seem completely daring.

He was going to cozy up to Granger, and eventually reveal to her of his identity. Hopefully, if all things went according to plan, she would be able to help him find the Room of Requirement. As the title entailed, it wasn't just about finding a damn room to fix the cabinet; he needed a room that he could call his. A room of safety, of comfort. A room that would provide him more than everything else could give to him.

There was a lot more to it than he ever thought possible.

And it was through the thought of using Granger for his own nefarious needs that made it impossible to find any amount of sleep.

A/N: For some reason, I couldn't bring myself to write such short chapters. Even if they were only 3,000 words a piece. It's just not me. I hope y'all don't mind me merging what I do have. Another chapter will come next Tuesday, hopefully around the same time as this one did. I like staying in Draco's point of view. Let me know, yeah? :) Please, please don't hate me for merging the chapters! I was just exceedingly difficult for me to write what I wanted/envisioned.

With that said, see you next week!

-Carolare Scarletus