AN: A huge thankyou to everyone who reviewed! Really appreciate your thoughts and it was great to read about your reactions to the events! Inspired me to get cracking with the next chapter and...well, here it is !

Hermione was now drunk off her tree as she wandered the hallways back to the Head digs. She had polished off the next third of the bottle before Blaise had mustered the courage to approach her and take it off her.

It was her fault, really. She had pushed him away at first, calling him a few names she couldn't quite remember, but knowing he deserved it for what he'd done – he had remained silent during her dramatic outbursts – and then, when she had least expected, he had somehow swept the bottle out of her hold.

"I should walk you back," he had said.

She had proceeded to yell at him for trying to act like he cared when all he wanted was to get in her pants.

It was his turn to be unimpressed and he walked out of the classroom without further word, taking the almost empty bottle of Firewhisky with him.

Hermione knew she would regret taking that line of argument with him in the morning as she approached the Knight's portrait. Somehow, she slurred the password at one amused Knight and finally found herself standing in the fire lit common room. She couldn't quite believe she had made it.

Hermione kicked off her shoes and began to remove her school jumper. It was halfway over her head when she heard someone clear their throat.

She froze for a moment before pulling it all the way off. Through her now unobstructed line of sight – though slightly blurred – she found herself peering at Malfoy, who had sat up on the red couch. The striking contrast of the furniture against his skin and hair reminded her of boiled candy. He must have been lying down in front of the fire when she walked in.

For a moment, Hermione had completely forgotten he was back. 'Wow, I really am drunk,' she mused. Not to mention, she felt rather awkward at that point.

"Um... I'll just be-" She pointed toward her door rather haphazardly. Well, the general direction was right.

His appraising stare was quite discomforting and she held it briefly, trying to catch her bearings. Her head was spinning a little too much. Slowly, she bent down to collect her shoes and pile them on top of her jumper in the crook of her arm.

He was still watching her when she stood up and exhaled a breath at the effort.

"Well, g'night," she said, and proceeded to walk toward her bedroom. She stood at her door, struggling to coordinate the hold on her things while attempting to free the door open. Unforgiving to her state, she lost a shoe in the process. It fell with a soft thud as the door creaked loose. "Shit," she muttered and moved to pick it up. The other shoe slipped out of her hold. "Bloody hell," she huffed.

"Are you drunk?"

"Huh?" Hermione pushed the door wide, grabbed both shoes and threw them into her room with a little too much force before turning around to face him. She was standing in her doorway: her jumper in hand, her hair falling out of its hold.

He was smirking.

"No!" She realised she hadn't defended herself yet. "It's a school night!" Her face scrunched up at the realisation.

He stood up off the couch and walked across toward her.

What are you doing?" she asked carefully. Either a gnawing sense of unease was culminating in the pit of her stomach or she was feeling queasy.

His calculated stare was a little too disconcerting. "I dunno, Granger, you look a little...off...balance," he said as he approached her door.

Hermione stepped back into her room. She was now on one side of the door frame, and he on the other. Though she moved to shut the door, his quick reflexes and her impeded response time left little room for a successful shut in. His hand came up and held it in its place.

"Distinctly malt," he said with observation.

"What?"

He grinned – his eyes sparkling with an amusement of sorts. "You reek of Firewhisky, Granger."

"Can you take your hand off my door, Malfoy?" she replied impatiently, swallowing the excess of saliva in her mouth. She was going to be sick.

"Not the cheap stuff, either," he continued, a veritable certainty about him.

"Malfoy, I didn't nominate to have you back as Head boy so I can have you antagonise me in this way. Now, move!" She hadn't realised what she'd said, but the sudden change in his expression cued her awareness. Hermione pulled her guard up, ready to defend herself... or throw up.

"You nominated me?" he asked, unabashed surprise on his face. "Care to explain?"

"I didn't." She lied. "And, no," she added definitively.

He narrowed his eyes. "Why would you want me back, Granger?" He leant closer. "Haven't you had enough of me?" His eyes sparkled with curiosity, attracting her gaze to his eyes. She stared at them, stunted by her inebriation, and yet, mesmerized.

"Oh, I've had enough of you." Her response was laced with innuendo. She had no idea why she replied in that way. Oh, yes, she was drunk.

He seemed to tense slightly and stood tall, bringing his hand away.

She didn't notice that she was free to shut her door on him.

"Whatever it is, Granger, let it go."

She blinked. "Who are you trying to convince?" she found herself asking.

"Get some rest, Granger." The finality in his tone was enough to rile her.

"Why do you do that?" she asked with exasperation. Her stomach churned with the ominous threat that it was about to reject its contents.

"Do what?" he asked.

Oh, there it was: the telling sign that her stomach had made up its mind as the bile rose. Without replying, Hermione slammed her door to save face and ran to the bathroom.

It was no ordinary school night.

Slumped over her breakfast, Hermione wished for silence. The noise level only inflamed her throbbing head.

"Owls interrupting your sleep too, Hermione?" Ron asked. He chuckled.

She waved him off. "It's my own fault. But I know how Harry must be feeling." She groaned, resting her head in her hand as her elbow leant on the table. She could hardly eat and her stomach swam with all the liquid she had drunk to quench her dehydration.

"I think he slept alright yesterday. Not as much activity."

She eyed him curiously through tired eyes. "What d'you mean?"

"He exercised his Captain authority and made us all do a round of bird watching while he slept. Think they're onto him, those owls. I didn't see or hear anything."

No wonder he was amused.

Hermione smiled at Harry's solution. He must really have been sleep deprived to abuse his Captain status. "Well, I guess, you can thank your lucky stars he won't ask you to do it again, then," she reasoned.

"I suppose..." He seemed distracted. "Uh...Hermione, I think you should know that Malfoy is heading this way," Ron said.

Hermione turned to confirm his observation. Malfoy was indeed heading toward her. She buried her face in her palms and exhaled.

"Granger, a word."

"Go away," she muttered, her voice muffled by her hands.

"Well, good morning to you, too."

"Sod off, Malfoy," Ron piped. "Hermione's not well, and you just made it worse."

"Has she told you why, Weasley?" she heard Malfoy sneer.

"Why all the concern, Malfoy?" Ron questioned, his tone accusing.

That was her cue to comply with his request. The cunning prat. "It's okay, Ron." She lifted her face to look at him, patting his arm reassuringly. "Malfoy's on probation, so he has to make an effort to be civil with me." She made sure she was loud and clear so everyone in the vicinity was aware of why Malfoy was standing around the Gryffindor table. Several students had stolen glances in their direction to see what all the fuss was about.

Ron rolled his eyes and finally nodded, accepting her explanation.

She moved out of her seat on the bench and stood to face Malfoy. He was not amused by her announcement. "Really, Granger? Was that necessary?" he asked.

"Can we take this elsewhere?" she replied, ignoring him.

"No, I think you've just excused any uncommon civility I might extend to you so let's just have it out here." He reached into his robe pocket.

She gave him a warning glare. "Malfoy..." She watched him pull out a vial. "What are you–"

"Drink this. I hear it does wonders for hangovers." He held it out for her to take, smirking with victory.

Hermione's eyes widened in horror, and she heard Ron splutter his juice from behind her.

"I went to all the effort, Granger, and you're not happy?"

"Stop...just stop," she bit out, pushing past him and walking toward the doors. She was mortified, not to mention livid.

Outside in the hallway she leant against the stone wall and breathed. A few moments later, she saw the Great Hall's doors open and Malfoy step out. He looked over at her, an impenetrable expression on his face.

"You came over to give me that?" she asked incredulously, standing straight.

"You made a scene, Granger," he said coolly. "I'm not going to stand there and let you make excuses to your insipid housemates at my expense."

"I made a scene? What else am I supposed to tell Ron when you feel the need to start a conversation with him?"

"I was trying to make you move, Granger. You're the one that insisted on qualifying my presence with some pathetic lie."

"What? That's not the point. What the hell are you thinking? Bringing me a potion and then announcing it's for hangovers! Are you out of your mind?"

She was met with a hard stare. "You know, Granger. If you can't handle a sign of gratitude, then your reasons for agreeing to have me back as Head Boy must really be fucking twisted."

"Gratitude? Is that what you're calling it?" Hermione was in disbelief. "More like a slap in the face!"

"Right, well, if you ever decide to get off your ridiculous notions of self-preservation, you might get a clue."

Hermione scrunched up her face. He was not making sense and in her tired state, she did not have the energy to read into his pseudo-psychology. "What's that supposed to mean?" she asked testily.

"It's all you, Granger. You expect me to act a certain way – like I did. You're comfortable with that. I can't change in your eyes until you open them. Well, let me tell you something, Granger, admitting things have changed is a lot different to acting like they have. "

"So you bring me a hangover potion to make a point?"

He rolled his eyes in frustration. "Why do you always ask questions?" he said with agitation.

"You still treat me the same way! Please, enlighten me, Malfoy. What has changed?" She

"Forget it, Granger." He started to walk away.

She wasn't having it. In her angered state, which seened to extinguish all awkwardness she felt around him lately, Hermione raced forward and grabbed hold of his arm.

"Still eager for a touch?" He tilted his head in mock inquiry.

"No," she replied simply. She tugged at his arm so he would turn around and face her. "You're no longer in control of me, Malfoy. You can't just expect me to do what you want, when you want. What about what I want?"

A wicked grin graced his lips. "Oh, really?" he asked, taking hold of her arm and pushing her back against the wall. He leaned forward. "What do you want, Granger?" he whispered.

Hermione inhaled. She had not been this close to Malfoy since- well, since just before she had taken Snape's purifying potion.

The heat of his hold triggered memories of their closeness. She dismissed them. "Answers," she said, relieved that she managed to sound unaffected.

He let go of her, but stood close, his gaze fixed on her with heated determination. She felt his eyes scan her face, and fall to her lips. She pursed them reflexively. "They're staring you in the face and you're blind to them, Granger. You need to know where to look." His hand came down to grab hold of hers.

Hermione recoiled at his touch. There was no building pressure driving an uncontrollable desire for lustful contact; like the kind she had succumbed to under the potion. Instead, there was a hitch in her breath as a tingling sensation shot through her arm - just like it had in the previous day in Potions. He brought her hand up and opened her palm, letting it face upward, and she felt something cool touch against her skin.

He let go.

Hermione looked down at the glass vial in her hand and stared up at him questioningly. Her irate state was suddenly abated – trumped with confusion.

Malfoy was once again composed and unreadable. "It's just a hangover potion, Granger. Thought you could do with it. I figure, after everything... and being Heads... we should look out for one another... now and then." He shrugged and stepped back.

She narrowed her eyes, but said nothing.

"No questions?" he jibed. The beginnings of a crooked smile spread across his lips, although he turned away quickly before she could see any real reaction, leaving a slack jawed Hermione staring at his retreating form.

There was no denying that Hermione had drunk Malfoy's peace offering of sorts – although, certainly not before testing it several times for any traces of poison – and she was definitely quietly thankful for it. Not only had the gesture thrown her completely off guard, it had left a lingering sense of uncertainty in its wake. His words were on repeat as she sat in class, half listening to the Professors drone on from one topic to the next.

That night, she felt the need to visit her library. She entered quietly and shut the door, looking about the room as the candles flickered into activity. Hermione leant against the door. Her gazed lingered over the tapestry and she felt compelled to walk over to it.

She stared at the look alike Malfoy. He was as still as ever, with that ominous phrase on the piece of parchment tucked into his hand. She exhaled loudly, letting the sigh escape her lips. So much had transpired and yet, not one single thread of the mystery behind the tapestry had come undone.

Now that she stood in the silence of the space with a clearer head, with the knowledge of her recent reading and musings following Blaise's confession, it seem plausible that Rose Malfoy was at the very centre of a family secret. Hermione sat down on the rug, pensively regarding the figures. Her gaze wandered to the dark haired man next to Malfoy's doppelganger. His solemn gaze gave away a discerning scrutiny that only someone familiar to the other figure could possess.

Lying flat on her back, Hermione's head hurt at trying formulate links between the fragments of information that she had accrued. If the tapestry was any reflection of reality, then the other figure was also a likeness of someone real. That, and the familiarity in the gaze meant that whoever he was, he knew Malfoy, which in turn, mean that Malfoy knew him, or at the very least, of him.

She was giving herself a headache.

Sitting up finally, Hermione made her way to the bookshelves to get on with her initial intention. She reached up to disturb the home of Magical Enlightenment: Heightening your sensory perception. It was the book that had first introduced her to the etat d'esprit and she vaguely remembered reading something that could help Harry.

Hermione set the book down at the desk and flicked to the index. She scanned through it until her gaze settled on barricading unwanted sensory reception. She smiled. At least her library was still useful for something.

Much to Harry's surprise, Hermione pulled him aside before they entered the Charm's classroom the next day.

"What 's so important you can't just tell me in class? We sit together, in case you've forgotten," he reminded.

"It's about your sleeping problem," she said.

"Hermione, ever heard of Muffliato?"

She rolled her eyes. "There won't be time for that. I think it's you who's forgotten. We have our practical test, today."

Harry's eyes widened. "Shit! I thought it was next week."

"Sleep deprivation can do that to you."

"I tried to sort it out, Hermione, but I can't have the Quidditch team keeping watch forever!"

"So, it's still bad?" she asked.

He nodded.

She pulled the piece of parchment she had tucked into one of her books. "Here, this should help".

He took it from her and unfolded it, glancing at its contents before lifting his head with surprise.

"It should solve your problem, but it will make you deaf to all sound."

"Surditus?" he read out.

Hermione nodded. "Cast in on yourself before bed. And, maybe let the others know not to creep up on you." She smiled.

He sighed with relief. "Thanks, Hermione, you're a life saver, you know that?" His warm gaze lingered.

Hermione shrugged. "Don't think it will get you out of the test," she replied sympathetically.

"Flitwick will probably let me re-sit, anyway."

"Now who's abusing their Captain status?" she asked as they walked into class.

That night, Hermione sought out the Head Boy. She was growing impatient with her idling and after his offer of gratitude that came with those critical words, she figured he was open to her company on some level. The fact that she had to convince herself of this was unsettling enough. "Have you seen Malfoy?" Hermione asked the Knight in the portrait after she searched the Head digs only to find it empty.

"Ah, yes. Not too long ago. The young Slytherin seemed in a rush. Lost a few quills on the way muttering something about being overworked. He's gone a bit soft since his previous reign. "

Hermione frowned. They were coming up to their practice NEWT assessments; perhaps he was finally feeling the brunt of his extra-curricular activities. She knew what that felt like.

"Thank you, Sir."

"My pleasure, Miss. Lovely to see you in good spirits, again," the Knight added. She wasn't sure if that was in reference to her drunken entry a few nights ago.

"Uh, thanks," she replied.

There was only one other place Hermione figured Malfoy would take his quills.

"You know who the other figure in the tapestry is, don't you?" He was hiding in the far most corner of the library where other students rarely sat to do homework as the lighting was rather poor. He hadn't seen her coming until she placed her hands on the desk and leant forward.

Malfoy looked up from his open books. She saw a flicker of surprise cross his features as he straightened up. "What are you talking about?" he asked, dipping his quill into his ink bottle.

"The tapestry... you know, in the room...on the fourth floor?" she pressed.

He sat back in his chair. "You mean the one in your little private library?" He tweaked a brow.

"Yes," she replied curtly.

"The one facing my look-alike?"

"Yes." She sent him a look of reproach for his deferring questions.

"No, I don't know him." He tapped his quill against the bottle to rid the excess ink.

She sent him a baleful glare. "Why prolong the answer, then?" she shot back.

"You know I like to see you suffer for a laugh."

"You've got to be joking," she muttered, pushing her hands off the table and turning to walk away. She had no time for his games.

"Granger... wait!" he spoke out.

She petulantly turned around.

"No need to be touchy, Granger. Take a seat." He gestured to the seat opposite him.

"First hangover cures, then invitations to sit with you while you're doing homework?" she asked, tilting her head. It was almost too much.

"Suit yourself," he replied, turning back to his work. Silence, except for the scratch of his quill against the parchment, surrounded them.

Against her better judgment, she pulled the chair out and sat. It was strange being in the library without any books in front of her and sitting with Malfoy only added to her discomfort. But if it meant getting him to talk, then she'd learn to deal with it, and him.

"So..." she started. He hadn't said a word since his prompt for her to hang about.

"So, you took it, then?"

She furrowed in confusion.

"The hangover potion?" he egged on.

"Answer my question first." Hermione crossed her arms.

Malfoy put his quill down and leant forward.

She waited, watching him. It had been a while since she had looked at him properly without any distraction and now, sitting directly opposite him, he did look different. Somehow... he looked even more self assured, if that were even possible. With his shirt sleeves rolled up and the ink blotches on his hands, he was oddly alluring.

A telling smirk crossed his mouth and, as Hermione stared at him expectantly, waiting for a reply, she noticed even that was altered: it was edged with a playfulness that overshadowed his customary cockiness.

"Say I did recognise a resemblance to someone I knew, then what?"

Hermione huffed. "I would ask who?"

"Well, if you admit you took the hangover potion, I would tell you."

Hermione pursed her lips. "I much prefer being hangover free," she replied.

His eyes sparkled. "In that case, I would say that he looks very much like my family's Healer."

Hermione was quiet, a current of assumptions flooding her mind. "Did you consult him to deal with the side effects?" she asked quietly.

He shook his head.

"Why not?"

"He's dead."

Hermione's looked at him, confused. "Dead?"

He nodded while fiddling with the feather on his quill. He glanced across at her. "Look, whatever conclusions you are trying to reach, you will be way off the mark."

"Blaise has kind of guided me in the right direction."

The eyes fixed on her narrowed. "Has he mentioned he is a backstabbing sod?"

"If you mean, did he tell me about his non-accidental potion brewing mistake, then yes, he did."

His mouth twisted into a sly smirk. "You got drunk with him yesterday, didn't you?"

Hermione opened her mouth and then shut it again. Whatever explanation she gave, it would not deter from the fact that she did get drunk. "It wasn't planned."

"Wrong. Everything with Zabini is planned."

"I chose to drink."

"He supplied the drink, didn't he?"

"It doesn't matter," Hermione dismissed. "I don't want to talk about Blaise."

"So he hit a nerve." Malfoy replied, dropping his quill and leaning forward. "Just admit it, Granger. It's his entire fault you and I ended up the way we did."

Hermione shook her head. "He didn't know."

Malfoy slammed his hands down on the desk and leant forward. "Fuck, Granger. You're defending him?" Despite his outburst, Hermione could tell he was restraining himself so that no one would overhear.

"No, I'm not. I just don't see what good it will do to blame him after the fact. Not even you knew what you were getting yourself into brewing a potion like that."

Malfoy crossed his arms and sent her an accusing glare. "You fucked him, didn't you?"

Hermione's eyes widened like saucers. "How dare you –"

"Fine, you slept with him."

"You're repulsive." Hermione stood up. His temerity only emphasised her need to end this conversation. How had it even got to this when all she did was come to ask him about the tapestry?

"C'mon, Granger. You're just trying to assuage his faults so that you don't feel so guilty for letting him get in your pants. Must be a girl thing."

He didn't flinch at the outrage written all over her face. Hermione 's ears were ringing with an onlsaught of fury. "I'll have you know, Malfoy... that- that the only guilt eating away at me is that I let you have me first." Her eyes were stinging with tears that wanted to escape as she watched blankness sketch across Malfoy's face. He switched off from her just as she wanted to scream at him for everything.

"You haven't changed at all," she grit out, her voice surprisingly controlled as she suppressed her rage, turning her back to the Slytherin as soon as she felt a tear ready to escape.

She was the one who had changed. And, not necessarily for the better.

A/N: Poor Hermione! Insufferable Draco! Gosh! lol xxx