A/N: Hello, hello! Sorry for the delay, here is the short fourth chapter. It's merely a bridge, and I felt it was necessary for really getting into the guts of the story, or the twist :) Please review- I like hearing your opinion! Thanks, guys!

I DO NOT OWN- Everything you recognize belongs to JKR :)

Chapter Four- Sticks and Stones

Draco lay in the bed, staring at the ceiling above his head. The vision of Hermione laying in her own bed haunted him- she had struck him as beautiful in that moment. And, looking back, there had always been something that had drawn him to her. He had gone out of his way to insult her, make that fire blaze in her eyes.

It was like a child pulling the hair of the girl he had a crush on. Cruelty is attention, and unconsciously Draco had decided to take as much attention as possible, regardless of the kind.

The idea struck him hard, knocking the wind out of him in a whoosh of air. His silver eyes were closed, and the magnitude of his actions was suddenly overwhelming him.

He was attracted to the Gryffindor Princess?

The thought made him nauseous- how on earth could he be attracted to that Mudblood? Draco knew that times had changed, but the change was fresh. Years of prejudice weighed heavily on the boy; he had eighteen years of witnessing his father's cruelty, spewing vile propaganda about halfbloods and muggleborns.

When that was the only example set for an impressionable young boy, what could be expected of him? His friends, their parents, his parents, everyone in his little world up until his first year at Hogwarts all said and thought the same thing- muggleborns were second-rate compared to purebloods. The world would be better without them.

Then, there was Hogwarts. At eleven, Draco saw that the world was not black and white like he had always thought. There were varying shades of gray, and the world became that much more complex for the boy. At home, he attempted to ask his father about these uncertainties, and was punished severely for his doubt.

"Purebloods are the only ones deserving to be called wizards. Those dirty Mudbloods steal their magic from real witches and wizards, and try to get as much recognition. Well, the scum don't even deserve to scrub the muck from the bottom of our boots- and it would do you well to remember that, boy."

Lucius had taken great pleasure in Draco's punishment that evening.

He hadn't been able to get out of bed for the next two days; Lucius didn't believe in using potions to heal beatings. Draco still could trace the scar on his shoulder blade from Lucius' dragonhide boots.

Draco dragged himself out of his thoughts when he heard movement in the kitchen on the other side of his closed door. Standing silently, he padded over and pulled the door back.

Hermione stood with her back to him, wearing loose lounge pants and a dark gray sweater that swallowed her slim frame. Her wild curls were braided, hanging long and straight down her back. She was humming softly, hugging herself as the coffee pot in front of her gurgled happily, releasing the wonderful smell of freshly ground coffee beans into the air.

Draco leaned against the doorframe, observing with thoughtful eyes. Her voice in the silence made him jump.

"Hungry?"

He cleared his throat and made his way over to her, resting his elbows on the counter next to her. She glanced over at him, still hugging herself.

"I should probably take those bandages off and check the wounds." She paused, and he glanced up to meet her eyes. "If you'll allow me to, that is, Lord Malfoy." Her voice was light, empty of intent and sarcasm, but there was something in her eyes that spoke volumes.

He had deeply hurt her feelings.

Something cold wriggled in his stomach, a feeling he had never experienced. Draco felt uncomfortable, and it confused him.

Why should he feel guilty? What did he do wrong? He was a product of malice and prejudice, he kept telling himself. Not his fault, he was raised this way.

A voice whispered you could change if you wanted to.

Draco raised his eyes to Hermione's, watching her watch him. She was still hugging herself, the dark sweater hanging to mid-thigh, loose curls hanging in her face. Her eyes were soft, guarded. He signed and took a step over to the stove, running a hand along the countertop.

"I would appreciate that." He held out his hand to her, and felt an electric current run the length of his arm to his navel when she grasped it. Her slim fingers slowly unwrapped the gauze bandages; soon they had fallen away and his hand, pink with new skin, was clearly visible.

Hermione examined it, her eyes narrowed in concentration. "Looks good." She concluded, and reached for the bandage wrapped around is ribcage. Draco flinched as her fingers grazed his stomach, and Hermione felt heat rise to her face. She hurriedly unraveled the bandages, pulling away immediately.

"Your ribs are still bruised, I couldn't heal them completely." She said it apologetically, looking up to meet his eyes. "You're healing very quickly, which is good." She looked away, playing with the wrappings in her hands, twisting them absently.

Clearing her throat, she snapped out of her daze and moved to the trash to throw the used bandages out. "Uh, how about some breakfast?" she asked, swiftly moving to the cabinets and began pulling utensils and pots out.

Draco agreed silently, sitting down gracefully at the small table. He watched her move, mesmerized in the way she floated about the kitchen. It's merely a physical reaction, he reasoned, due to being confined to this apartment with only her.

At least, that's what he told himself.