Disclaimer: It's getting pretty tedious having to keep saying that hey! I'm not JK! Or hey! I only own the plot! I think that, by now, you would know this, right? Goody!

A/N: Hope all is explained in this chapter. Have fun reading!

-----------------------------------------------------------Confessions-------------------------------------------------------------

Malfoy exhaled noisily, "Look, Granger, can't we talk about this tomorrow?" He glanced at his watch. "I mean, later today? It's getting late, and I'm really tired."

"No. Because if I don't do this now, I won't ever be able to!" She refused to look at him. His eyes had the habit of derailing whatever thought she had chugging around the track in her brain when she looked into them. Instead, she looked at the wall next to him.

He rolled his eyes, and drawled, "Won't ever be able to do what?" He began to make his way to his room.

She couldn't let that happen. "Stop!" she exclaimed.

The tone of her voice halted him. He looked at her then, and she forced herself to stare right back at him. Something on her face must have told him something because he intoned, "Fine. Ten minutes max." He started to close the distance between them, only to find her scooting around the table, to get further away from him.

She was running away from him?

"Uh, can you just stay there, please? I can't think - handle! I meant handle, close distances." He raised his eyebrows in amusement. He obviously caught her slip, and she mentally cursed herself. Ignoring her request, he closed the distance between them until they were about a foot apart. He noticed her breath hitch. He grinned.

"This good enough for you?" And not waiting for a reply, he took a seat at the table. He glanced at her. "By all means, do make yourself at home," he gestured to the seat across from him.

She narrowed her eyes, but took the seat anyway.

Malfoy fluttered his eyelashes, and asked in a low, seductive whisper, "So what is it, exactly, that you want to talk to me about?"

Something in her snapped. She stood up. "That," she replied angrily. "Your constant teasing. What is with you? You can't just - just -" she trailed off, waving her hands uselessly in the air.

He wasn't saying anything.

She started to pace up and down in front of him. "I get that the war affected you. It affected everyone. But what I don't get is how you can suddenly find it in yourself to be friendly towards me. More than friendly actually! Flirtatious, too!" She paused in her pacing, looked at him and whispered, "You hated me, remember?"

No words fell from his lips. He looked at her blankly. Her pacing resumed "My blood must matter to you! But if that's the case, how can you - how can you ..." she was getting a headache. This wasn't going according to plan. She sat back on her chair. She closed her eyes, lowered her head, and massaged her temples. Calm down, Hermione.

She felt a warm hand tug gently at her arms. She felt a wave of heat burn its way through her body at his touch. She stiffened.

Misinterpreting, he dropped his hand. "Granger."

Nothing.

"Granger," he persisted.

Nothing.

Malfoy sighed. "Hermione."

The sound of her name rolling off his tongue, almost caressing it ... No, that couldn't be right. She jerked her face up to see whether his expression matched his tone. She caught a flicker of emotions cross his face: affection, surprise and then ... blank. Great. So he was going to close off to her now?

"Can I talk now?" He went on, not waiting for an answer. "Yes, I did despise your blood. Yes, I did hate you. A Mudblood," he scoffed bitterly. "What use were you to me? So I taunted you. And enjoyed it."

His words cracked at her like a whip. She couldn't keep the hurt off her face. She stood up, about to leave, when he grabbed her wrist, making her turn around. He stood up, so he was facing her.

"But then," his voice only a soft whisper, his breath blew across her face, "towards the end of the war, my parents didn't fight for him - for Voldemort. They were worried about my whereabouts. My parents! Worried!" His voice sounded disbelieving. "My parents who, before, could only express scorn for those that didn't reach their standards and adoration for Voldemort. But they chose to look for me. I hadn't known that they were even capable of such emotion."

He continued, "That taught me something. When Mother found me, the tears on her face ..." he trailed off, remembering.

It was quiet for a moment. Malfoy came back to the present and said, "Salazar, Voldemort ... they initiated the whole 'Pure-blood is king' rule. I decided it wasn't worth it. My parents taught me that. They thought Voldemort wasn't worth it.

"So I tried to start anew this year. It was hard. My pride's very important to me, you see, and accepting those that I had taunted ... it was hard." His gaze never left her face.

"And you were the most understanding, even though you won't admit it. I don't even understand why you let me in ... after all that I'd done to you. For six years." He shook his head. Malfoy forced himself to say the next few words, "And for that, I'm ... I'm sorry."

She looked at him then; really looked at him; she could see that he really was sorry. He stared straight into her eyes. Hermione realized that he was still holding her wrist, and that he was extremely close to her. The hand around her wrist slipped down to lace his fingers with hers. Alarm crossed her features, and her heart began to pound. The air sandwiched between them buzzed with the sudden increase in temperature. And her heart pounded on ... Could he hear it?

His other hand slowly trailed up her free arm, planting a path of fire. Her body shivered at his touch. His hand paused atop her shoulder. Malfoy's eyes smouldered, becoming a more intense silver and she could bet her last Galleon that hers could put Dobby's to shame.

No words.

He drew his body closer to her, their bodies an inch apart.

The fingers on her shoulder inched their way to the base of her neck, drawing tiny circles that burned into her skin. She felt his fingers travel up her neck ... to her chin ... to her lips. She froze. His fingers brushed them tenderly, and they parted slightly. She let out the breath that she had been holding, which came out as a sigh.

Too close ...

She turned way from him abruptly, suddenly going cold.

He still had her hand.

Pulling her back against his tall frame, he whispered into her ear, "Don't go."

His breath tickled her ear.

He dropped his mouth to the back of her neck, and placed a soft kiss there. He heard her catch her breath. He dropped another kiss adjacent to his last one. He heard her uneven breathing. His lips brushed her soft skin once more.

He was torturing her.

She couldn't take it anymore, so she whipped around to face him. He gripped her tenderly by the shoulders and pushed her gently against the wall next to their (long-forgotten) table. He looked down into her deep brown eyes, and brought his lips to meet hers.

She inwardly gasped. His lips were so soft and warm! Her mind couldn't function. She couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.

She felt his tongue flick against her lower lip, and she parted her lips to let him in. She sighed contentedly.

Too soon, he pulled away. Hermione felt empty; her lips craving for his. She looked at him perplexed and found alarm clouding his features.

"Sorry," he muttered, and hurried to his room, closing the door behind him.

She touched her tingling lips. Puzzled, she turned to his door and thought, Sorry?

-----------------------------------------------------------to be continued----------------------------------------------------------

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