Mixed Feelings

In The Room of Hidden Things
POV: Hermione Granger

"What is it, Professor?" I inquire, reaching out to examine the intricately carved wood of what looks to be a peculiarly shaped… outhouse, maybe? It certainly seems large enough to hold a person inside of it.

"It's a Vanishing Cabinet, Miss Granger, broken during your first year by that wretched poltergeist, Peeves. I am still not quite sure what he and Nearly Headless Nick had been doing in front of Filch's door that night."

Since I know what had happened that night, I look away, busily pretending to be especially enamored by a very beautiful tiara perched on the head of a statue of a rather unremarkable famous half-blood wizard. Professor Snape does not seem to notice my fidgeting since he continues his explanation without pause.

"In any case, Dumbledore would like this cabinet repaired and brought back to working order."

While obviously exceptionally well-made, upon closer inspection, the sides of the cabinet do look warped, likely from the several-story free fall it must have undergone in Peeves' over exuberance at doing something frightfully naughty to antagonize Filch.

"What does it do, Professor?" I say, trying to ignore Malfoy's sarcastic silently mouthed imitations of my questioning.

What a child!

"Whatever you place into it vanishes, of course, Miss Granger."

"Where do those things that disappear go?" I continue my inquiry as Malfoy perfects the art of the eye roll.

"This is the reason Professor Dumbledore would like this repaired," explains Professor Snape, surprisingly patient. "He would like to investigate exactly where things vanish off to. We're not exactly sure where the things in the cabinet go when they are vanished, Miss Granger," he stops to rub the top of his beak-like nose.

"Which brings me to another point. Since this is so, it is imperative that you and Mr. Malfoy conduct your trails only with things, and not attempt to vanish each other."

Snape slides his gaze towards the Ferret, and there is no question as to exactly whom he is speaking, "no matter how tempting the idea might be."

I think of all the television shows I'd seen of Muggle magicians who perform disappearing acts: David Copperfield, Harry Houdini, Hans Klok, Criss Angel, and David Blaine. I smile to myself. Considering Professor Snape's blood status and his having lived in the Muggle world as a child, I know that he will understand the colloquial reference I am about to use.

"You mean like Abracadabra?" I ask, thoroughly amused.

Malfoy's grey orbs go round in their sockets as he hears me utter the unfamiliar Muggle incantation. I'd wager that if he'd had any pigmentation at all in that colorless skin of his, it would have faded to white while his mouth began forming the gaping "O" that hangs open in front of me.

I laugh at his unanticipated expression.

Professor Snape, who'd just poked his nose into the black cavern of the cabinet, jumps back, obviously startled at my joyous sound. Then he slowly turns to look at me, his unibrow creased in the middle to form a great "V" of profound annoyance. Surprisingly, he does not look half as annoyed as Malfoy does.

His death stare could shrivel up daisies.

"Be mindful of your annunciation and use of that Muggle word, Miss Granger," Snape scolds.

"But why, Professor?" I ask, genuinely perplexed.

"Because it sounds an awful lot like the Killing Curse, doesn't it, you bloody, daft bint," snarls Malfoy who'd just snapped out of his dumbfounded stupor.

"Mind your mouth, Mr. Malfoy!" shouts Snape.

The prat doesn't even have the decency to look even a little bit guilty over his inappropriate word choice.

"In any case, children, this is your task. You have open access to The Restricted Section of the library. Mdm. Pince is already aware of this and should give you minimal trouble."

I hear Malfoy's undisguised snort of doubt. I lift an eyebrow, but feel the giddy onset of a mental happy dance to celebrate the new power that's just been bestowed upon me… and, oh, yes, upon the filthy-mouthed cockroach, as well.

"I trust there is no need to remind either of you of the absolute need for discretion."

Again, my eyes go wide at the horrifying possibility of punishment and I shake my head, no!

Malfoy, too, has blanched.

No, absolutely no need for that reminder!

"I'll leave you two to it, then." Professor Snape turns away to walk out of the room, leaving Malfoy and me to gawk at one another.

Not really knowing how to proceed, I take one darting glance at the Ferret and with some prejudice, immediately peg him the penultimate aristocrat unable to do the slightest thing for himself. With this thought, I realize we desperately require a plan.

"Library?" I say, not really meaning it as a question.

"Library," he asserts with a nod, and makes a motion for me to follow him.

I sigh.

So much for chivalry, I think quietly, not bothering to wonder why I'd expected that sort of thing from the likes of Malfoy.

But as we gingerly make our way through the room, I can't help but notice all of the things that could possibly snag at me, or topple over onto me. Halfway through, I decide that in this case, I don't mind so much that Malfoy did not do the gentlemanly thing of insisting, ladies first.

Three Weeks Later
POV: Draco Malfoy

I am spending far too much time with the Mudblood, I think, wallowing in self-disgust.

It is as if I am watching from above, seeing myself stupidly transfixed at the sight of her lids, with absurdly long lashes, flutter in their fight against sleep. I regret, yet again, my notice of the banking of the usual inquisitive fire in her chocolate brown eyes. Her glazed, faraway look convinces me that she's wont to give in to her tiredness, setting aside her need to quell her endless curiosity in favor of a short respite, despite my presence... or more disturbingly, perhaps because of it.

She wearily pushes the book she'd been reading across the table towards me.

There is something going on with Granger that appears to have escaped her self-centered friends' notice. I only realize this because I see the same signs in my stealthy examination of her as I do in the mirror when examining myself. The growing stress of my two extra-curricular tasks has, for me, resulted in insomnia and an absolute loss of appetite. She hasn't been eating either, and looks as exhausted as I feel, which is rather disquieting. I wonder idily what is causing Granger's stress. It has to be more than just this assignment.

It bothers me to note the tiredness around her eyes and the slight downturn of her mouth as she murmurs something like, "Just a moment, Malfoy. I need to rest my eyes."

Even as I reach out to take the book from her, my own lips quirk at her now familiar empty promise. This must be close to the fifth time this has happened. It's happened so often that I know her eye resting will result in her catching a bit of a cat nap while I continue our research en solo.

Once she's asleep my only distraction is her occasional quiet sigh or other sleepy sounds.

Through our working together, she's expressed some surprise at my nearly whine-free compliance at her insistence that I be present while she reads the references on the intricacies of magical repair. The reason I continue to follow her into the bowels of the library has everything to do with the fulfillment of the Dark Lord's request and not an iota to do with my growing curiosity in the bushy-haired know-it-all.

At least this is what I try to convince myself of.

As I now gaze at the top of her head, cradled in her comfort of her arms, I come to the sudden realization that an unlikely truce has developed between us. Though we both seem to still thoroughly enjoy our near constant verbal sparring, the stinging bite of our barbs are no longer quite as sharp.

Though I would rather Moody hex me back into a ferret and bounce me around the schoolyard than admit it aloud, I discovered, two weeks ago, one reason I continue to allow myself to be bossed around by the likes of this Gryffindor bibliophile.

Each passing day of my father's incarceration brings to light the fickleness of my Slytherin brethren. I tire of having to keep up face for the members of my House. With my father now dethroned as The Dark Lord's right hand man, I, in turn, have also lost the entitlements previously endowed to me as the holder of the notorious, and coveted, title of Slytherin prince. It's exhausting to try to convince fellow Slytherins, much less myself, that my family hasn't lost valuable footing in The Dark Lord's perverse organizational pecking order. I hardly care, but it did keep my Slytherin housemates slightly wary and fearful of me without much effort on my part.

It has been a strange relief, then, to be able to sit quietly across this table from Granger who expects very little of me but for the endless witty bickering. Our quarreling is a near comfort compared to the dragon dung I have to deal with in my common room and house table in the Great Hall.

Also, I still am very curious about the photograph of the mystery squib girl in Granger's knapsack. We haven't spoken of her request of me to aid her in the exploration of the Senguis family name in the magical books my father keeps at the Manor. Though the subject remains undiscussed between us, I haven't forgotten. Without telling Granger anything, I sent an owl post to my mother requesting a particular book on magical family trees be mailed to me as soon as possible. I am still waiting. I worry what might be happening to her with Death Eaters making themselves comfortable in my ancestral home. It pains me to think of it. I hope I haven't caused my mum undue harm with my slightly unusual request. I did couch it under the guise of needing the text to help me complete Binn's essay on magical family trees. I dare to think that the book might also assist in helping me find out the answer to the riddle of the prophecy my father gave to me.

The final and perhaps most self-serving reason I remain at the bookworm's side is to keep a vigilant eye on her attempts to fix the blasted Vanishing Cabinet. Snape and I have worked out an agreement about testing the cabinet's effectiveness while Granger is in the Room of Hidden Things working on the cabinet with me. Snape decided that it would be best if he is the one at Borgin and Burkes to receive the items that do make it through during our fix-it experimentation period.

And so far it's worked.

Of the things that never made it through the first week, among them were scraps of parchment, and a quill. One thing that vanished but was never recovered, a red hair ribbon. Last week, we placed a teddy bear, which Granger denied up and down as being hers, into the cabinet. It was a little brown bear, with black button eyes, and a lopsided smile. She said she'd transfigured a small figurine of a frog in the room into the bear. But that didn't make a bit of sense, and I told her so. I still don't believe her. She is rubbish at lying.

In any case, we'd placed the brown teddy bear in the cabinet and it came back completely white with the previously lost red hair ribbon tied in a jaunty bow at its neck.

At the unexpected sight of the stuffed bear sitting in the vast darkness of the cabinet , Granger let out a delighted giggle that I hadn't expected from her. She'd reached out to touch the bear before I picked it up. Apparently my handling of it was too rough for the bookworm's comfort as she'd grabbed it out of my hold and hugged it to herself. Upon finishing her own examination of it, she danced a little jig at its transformation, cooing about how cute it was.

I'd sent her a disapproving frown. Then, she had the insolence to twitter at my outward dismay!

Her laughter, and the twinkle in her eye, usually reserved for those undeserving twits, Potty and Weasel, was suddenly, unexpectedly turned on me. It was particularly unnerving to want to respond to her beaming delight. For a split second, her flushed, smiling face, excited that the bear had been returned to us, transformed her in my eyes from the annoying braniac of the Golden Trio to just a girl, and a fairly attractive one at that.

On that day, I'd been thoroughly shaken by my untoward thoughts regarding the Gryffindor golden girl.

"Your excitement is premature, Granger. The ear is torn," I'd pointed out that afternoon, flinching back as she threatened to invade my space with her happy dance. She'd been spinning the albino bear in the air, her arms outstretched. I'd quickly stepped out of the way lest she violate my person with her enthusiastic celebratory cavorting.

"That's because you pulled it out by its ear, Malfoy. You're the one who ripped it!"

She'd then pushed her face into the plush toy's nose talking to it, "You poor itty bitty thing, that awful, big, mean Ferret, hurting the likes of cute little you!"

At that precise moment, I remember distinctly wondering if it was wrong of me to be jealous of a stuffed animal. Her long curls whipped past me as she waltzed away, her apricot scent lingering in the air for a moment. The sight and fragrance of her being so un-Granger-like was positively disturbing and I purposely pouted about it.

"Stop spoiling the moment," she admonished. "Mr. Bear came back! Though it might hurt your face to smile, Malfoy, just this once, please be happy." Then, she'd genuinely smiled at me as she thrust the bear into my face. At which point, I'd immediately scowled and grabbed it out of her hands.

"It's not even the right color, Granger," I'd grumbled, gripping the soft fuzzy body and flipping it upside down. "This is not something to celebrate! Look at it! Its black eyes look grey and it's lost all its color. "

"So, therefore, that pitiful, baby bear that you are currently manhandling looks a lot like you!" she'd joked, "And dare I say, I hardly snarl at you anymore, or go around calling you inadequate! So of all people, you should understand what it's like to be grey and colorless! So, be nice, Malfoy!"

To my utter horror I found her teasing both amusing and charming as she continued looking up at me, eyes full of merriment. "Anyway, it came back, and with hardly a scratch, didn't it? We're getting so much closer to fixing this thing!"

"Indeed." I'd nodded my accord and unceremoniously threw the bear at her. I watched her fumble the catch as I effectively ended our repair session by slamming the cabinet door shut and stalking away from her.

I realized immediately that I was too out of sorts, that it would be a mistake to be alone with her in the downstairs stacks with only the bookshelves to keep us company.

She was unlike anything my father had warned me of about Mudbloods.

I'd long determined that neither her magic, nor her mind were inferior to my pureblooded talents. In fact, her mind was as sharp as a tack, bringing ideas to the cabinet repair that I would never have conjured up on my own. Imagine learning elf and goblin incantations!

She'd learned to speak both and used her knowledge so that we were finally able to have vanished items at last reappear. While I've been told that I am personally prone to hissy fits when things do not go my way, it has been hardly upsetting for me to witness the slow progression to full repair with Granger at my side. She rejoiced in the smallest of things.

For example, not one of the items we used as test objects was returned to us in its initial form. Yet, when there was any hint of return, intact or not, Granger was the picture of excited success, just barely containing herself to keep from... gasp... hugging me.

I learn later, from Snape, exactly how successful, or rather unsuccessful, our trails have been. He confirmed that the transformation of the object occurs somewhere between us and him, with another random thing happening to the vanished item in its travel between Borgin and Burkes to Hogwarts.

It had been all too easy to imagine it was Snape making all of the transformations on his side in the pawn shop.

I'd left Granger that night, lost in myself again, stewing about my need to complete my job for the Dark Lord. For the first time since receiving the task, I'd forgotten the stress of it. And all because of Granger. That evening, in the corridor outside of the Room of Requirement, I was extremely bothered by this fact.

How could she, a Mudblood, make me forget my allegiance to my family, even if it had been for only a moment? In my opinion, she'd reached high above herself in regard to me and had gotten far too used to walking at my side to the library.

I purposely caught her eye before turning to stride away, alone, toward my common room. I was rewarded with witnessing the befuddled, somewhat hurt look she sent me as I made my abrupt departure. As I rounded the corner, at the removal of her from my view, I felt a slight, unfamiliar pang in my chest.

It wasn't until much later in the week that I made the shocking realization that the pain was something akin to regret.

So, to punish her for behaving in a way so completely unbecoming of the Granger I love to hate, I'd made sure to be especially cruel to the Insufferable Know-It-All. For days after the bear incident, I made it a point to make fun of her looks, which was a bit difficult to pull off considering that her teeth are no longer overly large, and her bushy hair is, now, rather fetching - less rat's nest, more tantalizing headful of untamed curls.

I frown at the memory of having struggled to put some heat into the insults. She had been disappointingly unaffected by my less than impressive attempts at making her despise me.

Yesterday, I made the further troubling discovery that her blood is neither brown, nor dirty. She'd pricked herself on something sharp in the Room of Hidden Things and before she could bring her finger up to her mouth, I'd seen and been mesmerized by the dot of bright red blood on her fingertip.

"It's nothing, Malfoy," she'd mumbled her annoyance at the intense way I'd been staring at her bloodied finger. "Stop looking at me as though I'll drop dead any second."

I turned away quickly, but not without the bright red color dancing in my head.

No, not dirtied at all.

Today, she runs up to me after Arithmancy, whispering excitedly about a new incantation she wants to try.

"I'll bring something sort of living this time," she says, looking up at me.

As I start to protest, she stares at me in a way that brings me up short. The midday sun is shining on her in a certain way that allows the light to bring out the color in her eyes. She's blushing with excitement. I have to shake my head to wipe the pretty image of her from my mind. She mistakes my movement for disagreement and scowls.

"It won't be an animal or anything, Malfoy, just alive, sort of," she says snippily. "I'm surprised you care about such things, at all!"

I don't bother asking what it is, or feigning moral outrage at her perception of my gross insensitivity. I just want her gone, away from my sight. Besides, Pansy is prancing this way, so I send a regal wave of dismissal at the bookworm, and smart girl that she is, takes one glance down the corridor, confirming the female Slytherin's approach.

"I'll see you later, Ferret," she whispers, waiting confirmation.

"In a bit, then, bookworm," I reply absently, determined to avoid Pansy as I head toward Snape's office, intent on letting him know we'll be testing the cabinet using something semi-alive later on today.

Thankfully Granger hurries off.

Later, I meet her in the corridor outside of the Great Hall so we can head toward the Room of Requirement together. All through the dinner hour, I'd taken notice that between the both of us, we'd barely drank a cup of pumpkin juice. Her plate was still as full as mine when she finally got up to leave. Glancing back into the Great Hall, I spied the Weasel leaning forward to check on her plate while her back was turned to him. He frowned, but did not insist she eat before leaving.

I don't know why I am upset at his inaction.

At her approach, I notice she holds something in her hand. As soon as we enter the magical room together, she lifts the item up to my eye-level so I can examine it.

"A flower."

"Yes, Malfoy, you're absolutely brilliant!" she replies, voice dripping with sarcasm.

I ignore her and go straight toward the cabinet.

"Put it in, then," I command, opening the door, grandly gesturing toward the inside with my other.

"A small thank you would be a kind thing to say, Malfoy," she scolds primly.

"When did I ever claim kindness, Mudblood?" I rejoin, with a scoff.

"Touchè," she replies, lips pursed. "How silly of me, thinking you might have grown a heart."

I watch as she carefully places the tiny white flower into the belly of the cabinet. She closes the door, whispering something to herself. She stops her muttering and finally nods at me to open the door.

Empty.

We look at one another and wait. After a few minutes, we look to one another again to confirm enough time has passed to try to summon the item back into the cabinet.

I watch her pluck a piece of parchment from her pocket. She makes some graceful hand and wrist flicks, waving her wand at the cabinet as she reads from her notes. Her hand dances to the sound of her hushed incantation.

"Mutuo sero EGO operor non animadverto EGO peto unus quisnam mutuo is ex megive meus possessio sic permissum is exsisto!"

I cast her a curious look, but say nothing. She nods and I pull at the door. It doesn't budge. I try again, placing my feet wider apart for leverage. Still the door is stuck.

"Granger! What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything the least bit scandalous, Malfoy. I just asked for my flower to be returned!" she cries, exasperated. "Here, let me try."

I let go of the handle and step aside.

At the touch of her fingertips on the handle, the door swing open, as though propelled by the sheer weight of the plethora of identical white flowers bursting forth like a wave onto our feet.

"Oh!" Granger squeals beside me. "Look at them, Malfoy! Isn't it the most beautiful thing you've ever seen? And the scent…"

"...heavenly…" I softly complete her sentence, as I find myself gazing at her in the midst of the profusion of blossoms. It is very nearly the most ridiculous, yet most profoundly lovely sight I'd set eyes on in a very long time. As she looks in wonder at the flowers surrounding her, I feel a slight thawing in my chest. And this time, instead of anger, I meet these new feeling with more than just a little confusion, and a whole lot of trepidation.

"Is this Edelweiss, Granger?"

She looks up momentarily to catch my eye. I watch her nod, seeming to be quite surprised, and perplexed, that I possess the knowledge of posies. How can I not, considering flowers are my mother's favorite hobby.

"Fitting, then," I say, offering the tiniest of smiles to her.

She sends me a guarded, quizzical look, and a shy smile in return.

"Shall we label this a success, then, Malfoy?" she asks, clearing her throat awkwardly. "They're all quite perfect."

I look at her, at us, surrounded by a sea of white petals and it all suddenly seems so incredibly hilarious.

"Perhaps a little too much of a success, Granger," I say with a sincere laugh, obviously catching her off guard. As I continue my uncharacteristic chuckling, she shifts away slightly, frowning a bit and shaking her head at me. Perhaps she thinks I've gone completely nutters.

Her disconcert makes me laugh even more.

I finally quiet as I watch her gingerly touch the blossoms that surround her. I start casting Scourgify spells to clean up. From her expression alone, it is clear Granger is sorry to see the flowers disappear. I make sure to capture a few in my hand to place in my knapsack before our tidying is done. While her back is turned I look at one of the flowers I still secretly cradle in my palm.

Clean and white…

Strong and bright…

the sight of Edelweiss means daring and noble courage.

So fitting because…

these would be the exact words I would use to describe…

Granger.

That Night In the Library Stacks...
POV: Ron Weasley

Nearly a month ago, since that day Snape demanded Hermione and the Ferret remain after class, I've seen hardly a hair on my best friend's bushy brunette head.

Whatever Snape has them working on is absolute secret and the mere idea of her working so closely with Malfoy upsets Harry and me to no end.

Harry, having become disturbingly good at spying on Malfoy using the Marauder's Map, has been leaving his spying tool in my care during his lessons with Dumbledore. This allows me, on most night, to remain the faithful lookout.

So, after some grueling quidditch practices, post-bath, and after filling my stomach full of dinner, I go into spy mode.

I've even learned how to charm my hair, having learned a thing or two from my delinquent twin brothers. I've managed a rather becoming auburn, masking the siren of Weasley red that would give me away in a second.

For weeks now, it has been through a variation of my brothers' altered polyjuice potion, Disillusionment Charms, and the Invisibility Cloak that I've been able to keep silent watch over Hermione and Malfoy. Today has been no different from the rest of the times I've been on self-appointed watchdog duty to protect my female best friend from the likes of the Slytherin prince.

As in days past, I notice their eyes meet after having had enough time to push their food around their plates. Hermione barely touches dinner, Malfoy is the same. After they come to some silent agreement, she gets up, as does he, to disappear into what can only be the Room of Requirement. I gather this is so since both their names fall off the map after they disappear from the Great Hall.

Then, after what seems like an especially long time for those two to be together without hexing one another into the next magical century, they leave one after the other onto the seventh floor corridor, and head straight for the school library.

It's at this time that I usually sneak down into the shadowy quiet of the lower stacks to keep an eye on Hermione from a darkened corner of the lower library room. They seat themselves at a worktable in the back of the stacks area. I move to a nook under the staircase where I can secretly watch them behind the heavy cover of endless rows of bookshelves.

There are plenty of cubby holes into which I can fold myself into and actually get some reading done - never mind that my reading material is usually the latest copy of Wizard's Sports Illustrated. Since deciding to keep watch over Hermione, I'm getting the best marks in my classes than in all my previous years put together. I've even become quite skilled at the non-verbal Disillusionment Charm.

I usually stay in the library until one of two things happens. Either I see on the Marauder's Map that Harry leaves the Headmaster's Office, or the Ferret and Hermione leave the library.

Today, she is sleeping…again. Her head and arms rest on her stack of books and parchments. Malfoy is sitting across the table from her, sneaking her glances every so often when she makes a quiet sound in her sleep.

According to my own count, this is the fifth time this has happened, her falling asleep in the library... while with him, I mean.

I shudder to think how much time they've spent together and what they've been doing in the unplottable room to allow Hermione to be so comfortable with Malfoy that she can drop her guard enough to fall asleep in his presence. He has always stayed on the opposite side of the table, and has yet to touch her, or rifle through her things while she is in such a vulnerable position. All the same, I feel good to be near should he try something despicable like that.

I continue to take measure him, examining the git who I'd long considered an archenemy, especially since he began calling me a blood traitor early on.

I look at his lean frame and am surprised at what I discover. I don't know what's happening to him, but he looks twice as gaunt and exhausted as Hermione does.

While he still claims that snooty Malfoy air, it seems that when he believes he is not being watched, he looks very…

What is it?

Tortured.

Pathetic.

Empty.

Alone.

I worry again at the amount of secrecy surrounding Snape's assignment for these two.

Why do they both seem so wound up and tired?

Hermione swears up and down that while what Snape's having them do is really complicated, it is Dumbledore-sanctioned, and, therefore, must be pretty harmless.

Harry scoffs at her reasoning, it seems some of the adventures he's had with the Headmaster haven't exactly been a picnic in the park, but Harry's also not talking abouot the particulars of his solo lessons with Dumbledore with either Hermione or me.

Oddly, I do not feel left out of things, even though both of my best friends have been taken under the wings of one school teacher or another. I am quite pleased with myself, actually, standing on my own this year.

Prefect.

Quidditch Keeper.

My own man.

Thanks to Harry's little trick with the Felix Felicis, I know that I can make my own luck. It's amazing what a little mental clarity can do for a bloke.

And now others are noticing the change in me.

What had been an interesting result of this was the very wet and wild snog given to me by Lavender Brown, right in the middle of the Gryffindor common room during our victory party over the defeat of Slytherin.

I had been surprised by Hermione later that night when I found her crying on Harry's shoulder in a quiet corner of the castle. It was bad form for her to have launched those blasted canaries at me! But what was most upsetting was the hateful look Harry threw at me when Lavender, who'd been holding my hand, dragged me out of the room. I was just experimenting with Lavender, who seemed quite content with gathering my affections. Never had Hermione showed any interest before, anyway. By the morning, I'd attributed her bizarre behavior to female hormones, and I'd shrugged off her temper tantrum.

In any case, it was Harry's silent treatment that I was more concerned about.

It has been quite confusing - the lot of it.

So, despite this, a lot of people were noticing my new found popularity... nearly everyone except my two best friends, who clearly have other things on their minds.

It's OK, though, I understand. I always understand. They have things to do, mysteries to uncover.

Besides, it's nice to be known as just plain Ron Weasley, and not solely for my having that pitifully overlooked, and certainly lesser role in the Golden Trio.

Despite starting to growing up and slightly apart from Hermione and Harry, I still care for them very much. And like Harry, I have my strong suspicions that Hermione might not be fully informed about her Defense against the Dark Arts assignment, especially considering who is involved in it.

Harry continues to insist that Malfoy already sports the Dark Mark. I still doubt Harry, considering the un-Malfoyesque behavior I've recently witnessed. And Hermione is stubbornly insistent that Harry is overreacting. Though I agree with her about the Ferret, I still raise an eyebrow at the strength of her arguments in defending Malfoy. I also disagree with her naive assessment of Snape.

I know Hermione, and perhaps this knowledge makes me even more worried for her. She is ever trusting and awed by authority figures, no matter how greasy-looking. She will not ask important questions and will agree to all manners of things, especially if her scores are on the line. I am convinced, this is the very thing that Snape's got over on her to have her agreeing to complete this strange assignment with Malfoy.

I also know that Hermione can be a bossy little thing. If the Ferret appears even the least bit weak, she'll run him over, forcing him to do whatever, no matter how miserable the git might be to work with. Worse, she may not see the evil in front of her when working with Malfoy because of her over-confidence about being able to deal with him. She'd gained this high and mighty attitude back in Third Year, after slapping the Ferret silly and making him cry when she pulled her wand on him. She's more than convinced herself that she has Malfoy figured all out, that she'll know the exact moment he's lying to her.

But this time, I know better than Hermione. Draco Malfoy is his father. He is a Malfoy, and their lot is a dirty sneaky bunch.

My thoughts bring me back to my examination of the Slytherin sitting several feet in front of me.

Hermione is across from him, still snoozing, her head in her arms, resting on her things.

All I see is the back of her robes, and the crown of her frizzy head.

Tonight, Malfoy has his foot kicked up on the chair beside him. I watch his elegant form bend slightly to pluck something rather dainty out of the knapsack that's set next to him. What he holds is white, and based solely on the way he gently pinches it between his fingers, it is also seemingly quite delicate.

He brings whatever it is up to his face to examine it, and then places it on the work table beside his quill. I am too far away to determine exactly what it is.

Curiosity has me bending over to peer through an opening in the bookshelf to watch what he is about to do.

My breath catches as he bends his torso over the table to stare intently at Hermione. My heart is pounding in my chest as I watch him approach my friend. Everything in my head is screaming at me to warn the Ferret off, but for once in my life I ignore the impulse.

He's been alone with her here for weeks, now, I reason with myself. If he was going to do something evil, he would have done it already!

Paralyzed, I watch his hand reach out to gently brush a loose tendril from the curve of her cheek. It is a move I sometimes find myself making when we're in the middle of our Common Room and she's in such a tizzy about whatever she's blathering on about that she hasn't noticed a strand of hair straying too close to her mouth.

I recognize his movement as one similar to the one I make, a rather intimate gesture of caring and close friendship.

My eyes widen in amazement as a soft smile graces the thin line of Malfoy's lips as he looks down at her. His eyes never leave the sight of her sleep-softened face. He is still for a moment, simply gazing at her. Then, he soundlessly moves back into his seat again to pack up his things.

This is the first night it seems they will not be leaving together.

I watch him carefully place the item he's taken from his knapsack on top of the pages of the book next to Hermione's nose. If she doesn't move her head in her sleep, it will be the first thing she sees when she opens her eyes.

Malfoy then bends to pick up his bag and turns to go. Before he steps out of the archway, however, I watch him point his wand toward Hermione.

My heart leaps to my throat, my muscles bunch as my body answers my instinct to jump up and block what I imagine is a hex he's about to place on her.

But before I can move from my hideyhole, I catch the sound of his incantation.

"Wingardium Leviosa," his hushed whisper is powerful.

I turn to see Hermione's quill hover just a hairsbreadth from her nose. With a twitch of his wand, Malfoy has the feather tip brushing softly against her face. As she wipes the sleep from her eye and reaches up to brush the quill away, I turn to look at Malfoy…

... but he is gone.

I turn back to Hermione who is just now noticing the item Malfoy placed in front of her.

I fall back in wonderment as I see how carefully she cradles in her hand what I now recognize as a small white blossom.

On her face is the happiest of smiles.

He'd left her…

a flower.

It seems my heart stops beating for a moment as an impossible idea dawns on me.

Hermione...

and…

Malfoy?