A/N: Thanks to everybody who's reviewing, and to all those that have added War of Words to their story Alerts! I really appreciate it! I'm really loving all your reviews! Hope you like this chapter. It might get a bit confusing towards the end, but it will be explained in Chapter 8. Speaking of chapters, I think this story has 2 more until it's done! Anyway, have fun reading it!

-------------------------------------------------------INSULTUS MOMENTUS-----------------------------------------------------

After much debating with himself, Draco Malfoy made his decision. He couldn't handle it anymore. He was going to do it. He was going to tell her today. Whether it hailed, whether the sun burnt a hole in the ground he walked on, he was going to do it.

He would just have to wait until after classes to do that.

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Ron didn't read for fun. Bloody hell, Ron didn't know how to read for fun. This was why Harry found it a rather shocking sight to wake up and find his best friend reading a fairly voluminous book - a bright pink one at that. Not knowing if he was still dreaming, he rubbed the sleepiness from his eyes, stifled a yawn, and reached for his glasses, and popped them on.

Adjusting them, he glanced back at Ron, who was still reading his book quite intently.

"Ron?" Harry's voice came out quite warbled, due to his sleepy state, "Are you reading?"

Ron put the book face down on his duvet cover. "Why is it that people automatically assume that I'm not the library-book-reading type?"

Harry looked perplexed, and was about to answer, when Ron held up a hand, and said, "Don't. Even. Go. There."

Harry shrugged, not thinking too clearly, his mind still in another far away place with Ginny. Too bad this place was dreamland.

Harry's thoughts were interrupted by Ron, who jumped out of bed, with energy that was uncanny for a seventeen year old to have after just waking up - or reading a bright pink book, in Ron's case -and announced, "I'm going to the Great Hall," and with that, he rushed off, unaware of the fact that he was still clad in his pyjamas.

Harry heard a burst of high-pitched giggles floating up from the Common Room, and watched as a red-faced Ron clambered up the stairs. "Why didn't you tell me I was still in my pyjamas!" And he hunted for the spare robes that were sleeping somewhere in his trunk. He rushed to the bathroom, and emerged about a minute later, Harry deciding that it was the quickest bath ever.

"In a rush, Ron?" Harry queried, yawning.

"Something like that," Ron replied, wiggling his eyebrows mysteriously, and he rushed off once again.

Something about the way that Ron was acting made Harry suspicious. He pulled out his Marauder's Map and his wand. Tapping the map lightly with his wand, he muttered, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

He opened the map, and searched for his best friend. Ronald Weasley was apparently making his way up to the seventh floor. After a while, the name suddenly disappeared right off the map.

Harry frowned. Why would Ron lie to him? Why would Ron go to the Room of Requirement?

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Ron sighed with satisfaction as the dummy in front of him spouted things that would've drove McGonagall to an early grave. Not that he wanted that of course. He was just so glad that he had finally mastered the spell. Now he just needed the perfect moment to cast it. He grinned maliciously, in spite of himself. Malfoy, you are going down.

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Hermione gazed longingly at the back of Draco Malfoy's head. She felt like reaching out to stroke the pale-blonde hair that curled at the nape of his neck. She wanted to relieve his shoulders of the stress that was suffocating them. He must have felt her looking at him - something she did often ever since she moved to the back of the class - because he turned slowly around in his chair to lock his gaze onto hers.

The energy that zinged through the air between them did nothing to help her. It was the first time after a whole week since he'd looked at her. It was the first time after a week that she was able to see his beautiful silver eyes - silver eyes that just wouldn't look away. She felt warm all of a sudden, and her body ached to be near his. Pulling herself out of the force his eyes had on her, she snapped her attention to focus on Slughorn's droning voice instead.

But try as she might, her hand wasn't able to take down the notes on Slughorn's lecture on Polyjuice Potion (something she knew full well about). Her gaze kept on straying to Malfoy, who, she noticed, was also not taking down notes. Whether it was out of pure ignorance or laziness, she didn't know. She saw him massage his temples, and worried about what was troubling him. She couldn't even ask him.

Or maybe she could. What would be the worst thing he could do to her if she tried talking to him? Humiliate her in front of everybody else? Yell incredibly nasty things in her face? No, that Malfoy belonged in the past. Maybe she would talk to him after class. In any case, she did have a free after Potions and if she wasn't mistaken, so did he.

So lost was Hermione in her thoughts, that she wasn't conscious of the scraping of chairs and the raised chitter-chatter of voices in the air. Class must have ended, then. Realizing what this meant, her heart started to thud loudly. She spotted Malfoy standing up, gathering all his things together. She slowly made her way over to him; people bustling passed her, trying to get to their next class in time.

She came to a stop next to his desk, and cleared her throat, announcing her presence. She didn't want to be the first one to speak.

Draco, sensing her presence, and hearing the faint throat-clearing, looked up, not daring to believe what he was seeing.

"Hermione," he breathed.

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Draco's POV

I couldn't believe it. There she was, the girl that had been occupying my thoughts for the past week. I stared at her, noticing a few strands that managed to extricate themselves from her lovely hair. My fingers ached to tuck them behind her ear, but I clenched my firsts, restraining them.

She looked nervous, and I wondered why.

"We need to, um, talk," she muttered, breathlessly.

Her voice sent shivers down my spine, and I fought with myself to gain control, clenching my fists more tightly.

I hadn't planned on talking to her this soon, but I might as well face the music.

"Sure," I replied, staring at her intently, searching he ryes to see if she regretted voicing her request. She didn't.

I gestured for her to follow me, and I walked out of the classroom and down the corridor, turning my head this way and that, in search for an empty classroom. I finally found one, and motioned towards it so that she entered it first. I didn't bother to close the door behind me; most people were in their next class by now.

We stood there; Hermione by the desk, and me by the door. I wanted to close the space between us, but refrained from doing so. She might not want that.

"I, uh, would just like to know -" she said, at the same time that I said, "Look, I really need to -"

We stopped, waiting for the other to finish their sentence. When neither one of us said anything, I started up again and said, "Look, I really need to know how you're feeling. I'm not too sure why you just stopped talking to me, but -"

I was cut off by her, "You're not too sure?" She asked in a low whisper, her eyes glinting dangerously. I took a step back, surprised. Where had this sudden anger come from?

"You're not too SURE?" she repeated loudly. "Oh, of course it wasn't because you apologised for kissing me!" She stepped closer to me. "Of course it wasn't because you completely regretted doing it!" Her words flied quickly into my head, and I felt confused.

She stopped talking to me because I apologised for kissing her? She thought I regretted it? I started shaking my head, willing her to stop. "Hermione-" I began.

She prodded my chest with her finger. Her touch, even though slightly painful, affected many senses of mine. "Do you even know how humiliated I felt? Do you even know what it felt like to be shrugged off by you, as if I was just another one of your flings? Do you even know -" she broke off, tears filling her eyes.

I couldn't handle it anymore, so I reached out and grabbed her shoulders with my hands and brought her close to me. "Sorry," I mumbled. "I thought that you didn't ... I thought that you didn't like ... that you weren't comfortable with what I was doing." My sentences were incoherent, and I wondered if she understood what I meant. To make myself clearer, I pulled away, still holding onto her delicate shoulders, and I was about to say something when I felt an odd sensation pass through me. Trying to shrug it off, I tried talking to her again, but that odd sensation was still there.

In my peripheral vision, I saw a flame of red hair rush passed the doorframe. I tried talking again to Hermione, who was looking up at me, confused.

What came out of my mouth was completely unexpected though.

"Get away from me you filthy little Mudblood."

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

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