Rose and Sword

by SanaNGU

Draco Malfoy, due to the prolonged absence of the Ancient Runes teacher, has been stirring up the class as he pleases with the help of his cronies, preventing the other students from studying. Hermione Granger, a responsible and persevering student, is not going to sit idly by.

25. Glass shelter

Hi, how are you? I hope very well 😊

As always THANK YOU VERY MUCH for your support, I don't want to be repetitive but I really appreciate it. Thanks to everyone who is reading and enjoying the story 😍.

I really hope you like the new chapter (if you don't, I'll cry 😂), I personally like it a lot 😍 I have a special fondness for it because it took me a lot of headaches to write it... And it has become one of my favourites; I don't know if it's THE favourite, because there are others that I also like a lot, but it's certainly in my TOP 3 heh, heh, heh 😍.

Grab some popcorn, we've got an intense chapter ahead of us... Thanks in advance for reading!

PS, I would also like to remind you that I always announce when I publish a new chapter on my Instagram stories, at "sana_ngu_fanfics" 😊

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CHAPTER 25

Glass shelter

Transfiguration class that morning was unusually lively. The students were practising one of the most complicated transfiguration spells in the A Guide to Advanced Transfiguration textbook. In past years, they had transformed an inanimate being into another inanimate being, turning matchsticks into pins, for example, and animate beings into animate ones, turning butterflies into wasps. Definitely a memorable class. In their last school year, they were practising the most advanced level, which consisted of transforming an animate being into an inanimate one and vice versa. They had to turn a medium-sized rock into a Labrador puppy, and then return it to its original form. More than one student was despairing at not succeeding, or, on the contrary, at succeeding, for the dogs were quite real and soon escaped, barking relentlessly, to run around the classroom. And to play with the other dogs. The classroom was a hive of howling, barking and cries for help.

Ron, sitting next to Harry, had managed to turn his stone into a cute brown puppy, but now he was busier trying to keep the dog from jumping off the table than turning it back to its real form. Harry, meanwhile, had managed to turn his rock into a dog, and back into a rock, but now he couldn't get the spell to work again, and had spent several minutes muttering the spell incessantly at the immobile rock. Hermione, sitting on Harry's other side, had unsurprisingly turned her rock into a dog and back again several times. But now she hadn't moved for quite a while.

Her wand was clutched in her hand, and she was pointing it at her corresponding rock, but her eyes were diverted to the right side of the classroom, fixed on the only empty seat in the room. Hermione looked down, lost in thought. Ever since the day of Malfoy's unusual hug and subsequent passionate kiss, and more specifically since her conversation with Nott, she had made a firm resolution to run away from him. It might not have been a very brave decision, but she saw no other way out. If they were nowhere alone, there was no risk of being at the mercy of those stupid feelings that made them commit unseemly acts. It would soon pass. All of it. It was only a matter of time. And distance. Hermione came to that logical conclusion, with relative ease. It really wasn't that complicated to know what to do. If she wanted to stop the feelings that had taken hold of her, the attraction she felt for this boy, she just had to get away from him as soon as possible. At least until everything was back to normal. Although it was easier to plan it than to do it.

She had done the unthinkable since then to avoid being alone with him anywhere, though it hadn't taken much effort on her part either. She hadn't even been near Malfoy in any of the classes they shared, nor in the Great Hall, with their respective tables on opposite sides of the room, or anywhere in the castle in their free time. They hadn't met the Slytherins in the previous class, but they had in this one. And he wasn't there. Realising this, as her treacherous eyes scanned the area where the Slytherins were seated, she couldn't help but find his absence strange. She even went so far as to wonder if something untoward had happened. Then she thought resignedly that he was probably off somewhere being a hooligan with his mates. Picking on a first or second-year student or making a mess of some school property. Which filled her with frustration and anger. He was incorrigible. She told herself that she should talk to him afterwards, make it clear to him that he couldn't keep behaving like an eleven-year-old, and that he should...

"No. Hermione, no, damn it. You don't have to reprimand him for anything. You're not his mother, and you're not his friend," the girl said to herself, deeply furious. "You're trying to forget he exists, remember? So you have nothing to talk to him about, nothing at all..."

But her stubborn brain resumed its musings, as her eyes scanned the classroom around her discreetly. Zabini was there. And Nott, too. And Parkinson. And she was sure he was no longer speaking to Crabbe and Goyle, who were also there. Would he be with someone from the Quidditch team? It was possible... She contemplated the back of Nott's neck, and felt a strong desire to ask him about the blond's whereabouts when the bell rang. She wondered if her friends would find it suspicious if she spoke to Nott after class, alone...

And then she dismissed the idea with a snort, disappointed in herself, making a noticeable effort. One of the most important parts of her plan to get away from him was also to stop keeping an eye on him. Could she really not control herself?

"Forget about him, forget about him..."

"Hermione?" a voice called, to her left.

The girl turned her head in a dazed inertia and met Harry's green gaze, glowing with strangeness. Ron, on the other side, was snorting as he pushed the dog's back, trying to get it to sit on the table instead of jumping on the floor, as it seemed intent on doing.

"Are you listening to me?" Harry wanted to know, looking at her intently. Hermione composed an embarrassed expression. She felt herself blushing. Her friend had been talking for several minutes and she hadn't heard a single word.

"My God... No, I'm sorry, I got —" the young woman hesitated for a moment, frustrated with herself. "I couldn't get the spell to work and I got distracted. What were you saying?"

Harry smiled with amusement.

"I was answering your question," he reminded, teasing and not at all annoyed. Hermione smiled back, still embarrassed.

"Right, sorry. So when did you hear that voice?"

"Yesterday afternoon," the boy admitted, self-absorbed. "It was only for a second. He just said my name and that was it. That's all."

"Where were you?" the girl questioned, writing down the date in the margin of one of her parchments.

"At Quidditch practice," Ron replied, still panting and struggling with the dog. "Sit, you stupid dog..." he growled more quietly, pushing the dog to make it lie down. The animal barked happily.

"That extends the search range to the castle grounds," Hermione commented, concentrating on writing. "Later I'll note this date with the previous ones. We need to see if there's any pattern to the frequency at which he's communicating with you..."

"You know? Sometimes I think it's just a joke," Harry admitted, looking very serious. He glanced at McGonagall, to make sure she wasn't paying attention to them, and added even more quietly, "That it's just some Slytherin trying to scare me. And it's not some dark wizard or anything like that."

Hermione nibbled her lip, doubtful. Ron's puppy barked loudly again and finally sat down. The boy sighed with relief.

"I don't see it so clearly," the girl murmured softly. "Someone is getting access to your mind, Harry. They're talking to you in your head. Not just any student has the ability to do something like that. It's very advanced magic. It has to be an experienced wizard..."

"The only wizard I can think of is Dumbledore," Ron interjected, still holding the dog, though more loosely as it seemed to have calmed down. He picked up his wand to try the spell again. "He's a powerful wizard... But that's silly. He could summon Harry to his office to tell him anything."

"Maybe it's something he can't tell him in person. Or that he doesn't want anyone else to know," Hermione corroborated, a twinkle in her eye. But Harry was shaking his head, listlessly. A dog from the Slytherin area barked loudly.

"I'd recognise Dumbledore's voice in any situation, guys. And I don't know whose voice this is..."

"Watch out!"

Ron's dog suddenly escaped from his grasp, taking him by surprise, and bolted across the table at a run, still barking. Throwing Ron's, Harry's and Hermione's notes, quills, ink bottles, books and parchment all over the floor. Dean's dog, in front of them, howled in fright at the noise and lunged across his desk, straight at Hermione. The girl, expecting to receive the warm, soft body of a dog, stretched out her arms in its direction, to catch it in mid-air and keep it from hurting itself. But suddenly everything changed. Dean's puppy transformed into a rock as it crossed the air and the young girl was unable to react in time. The rock landed on her hands, unprepared to handle the unexpected weight, and her left hand buckled excessively. Hermione, with a groan of pain, lost the strength to hold on to the rock and it slid to the ground with a resounding thud.

"Hermione!" Harry exclaimed, startled. Ron inhaled loudly, making to stand up, dragging the chair with him.

"What's going on in there?" McGonagall's voice called out.

The teacher watched them sternly behind her square spectacles, as she approached them in a few steps, scrutinising the scene. The rest of the classmates had also noticed them now, concerned and curious, leaving the spell aside. A dozen Labrador dogs were still barking, ignored by their creators. Hermione clutched her wrist tightly with her other hand. She felt a deep, sharp pain in the joint. Her hand had returned to its normal position, but she could feel the pain shoot through her entire limb, almost all the way to her shoulder. Tears had even welled up in her eyes.

"Are you alright, Hermione?" Dean asked, panicked, getting to his feet as well and hurrying over to her table. Trying to get as close as he could without stepping on any of the objects that had fallen to the floor, including the ink stain that was beginning to form from one of the broken inkwells.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" gasped Ron, very distressed, walking behind Harry's chair to get to Hermione. He put both hands on her shoulders protectively. "It was my stupid dog, he ran off and scared yours..." he looked at Dean helplessly.

"Why did you turn the dog into a rock?" Harry asked, looking at Dean as well, but accusingly. But the boy returned a stunned look and shook his head.

"Me? I thought it was you guys! Or her reflexively," he confessed, looking at Hermione in bewilderment. "I didn't do the counter-spell."

McGonagall, listening to the conversation, watching them one by one as they spoke, relaxed her features slightly. She scrutinised the girl, the pained expression on her face, and adjusted her spectacles on the bridge of her nose.

"Go to the Hospital Wing, Miss Granger. It doesn't look too serious, but you'd better have Madam Pomfrey examine you. No, Mr. Potter, you stay," she ordered, sternly, as she saw the boy rise, solicitous. "Miss Granger is fit enough to walk to the Hospital on her own. It's on this floor."

Hermione nodded, thanking the professor for her gesture, and admitting that she was right about her being able to go on her own. She stood up, and seemed ready to pick up her things from the floor with one hand, while keeping her left forearm pressed against her chest. But Harry, who had reluctantly sat back down at the teacher's words, stopped her by saying:

"Don't worry, just leave everything here. We'll clean up now. We'll wait for you until you get back, and if you're late, we'll come and get you from the Hospital," he said softly. Ron watched her silently, embarrassed, still unable to sit down.

"All right, thank you," the girl agreed, gratefully, smiling. "I'll see you in a minute..."

She pushed her chair aside and, after patting the arm of a stricken Ron with her healthy hand, headed for the door. As she made her way down the centre aisle of the class, she attracted the curious glances of her classmates, who gradually lost interest in her as they saw that she wasn't injured enough not to walk on her own. Near the exit, a small piece of paper magically floated before her eyes, folded in four folds until it was very small. The young woman, puzzled, hurriedly picked it up, surreptitiously, and kept it in her hand.

Once outside, and after closing the door behind her, she took a deep breath. She opened her hand and fought with her own clumsiness to open the folded paper, using only the fingers of her healthy hand, and a little of her teeth. On its surface were two sentences written in a handwriting she did not know. It was unsigned.

This is for Malfoy, for trying to attack him in the Hospital Wing.

Don't ever do anything like that again or you'll regret it.

The girl felt her heart race. That was the explanation for the mysterious transfiguration of the Labrador puppy into a rock. One of the Slytherins had cast a spell on it, taking advantage of the situation to hurt her in revenge. Had it been Parkinson herself or another student? She let out a sigh. Apparently, they still thought she'd tried to attack him in the Hospital Wing. Well, maybe it was for the best. Ironically, another kind of conclusion might be even more dangerous.

She glanced over her shoulder, uneasily, towards the closed door. She sighed one last time and started walking in the direction of the Hospital, slightly demoralised. Everything that had happened with Malfoy was still haunting her, and she wondered if it would ever end. If she would ever get her life and her peace of mind back. Luckily, it didn't take her more than a few minutes to reach the Hospital, and she was able to stop thinking about her everlasting problems. She opened the door slowly and stepped into the large room. It was dimly lit by the bright rays of sunlight streaming through the small glass windows. It was almost noon, and the day had turned out to be clear. She could see at a glance that most of the beds were unoccupied, except for one on her right, hidden by a screen. And two others on the left, concealed by curtains. Madam Pomfrey emerged from her office, carrying a steaming potion in her hands.

"What's the matter with you?" the Healer questioned instantly, efficiently, as she saw her approaching.

"I had an accident in Transfiguration class," the girl explained, carefully raising her forearm to indicate the injured area. "I was hit by a rock."

The woman clicked her tongue impatiently.

"Every year I tell Minerva that she should be careful about the transfigurations she teaches you... Wait a minute," she moved to one of the beds, one hidden by white curtains, and the girl saw against the light as she set the potion on the bedside table. She whispered something to the occupant of the bed and then stepped out, adjusting her work apron. "Sit here."

She pointed to the bed closest to her, located near the door of her office. The girl complied and sat on the edge, still holding her left forearm with her good hand. Pomfrey, with the help of her wand, moved closer to the bed a trolley, full of potions, bandages and earthen bowls that was in a corner, and manually pulled a vial of translucent contents from a wooden cabinet attached to the wall. Then she sat down opposite her in a low chair.

"What movements hurt?" the Healer questioned, as she undid the button on the cuff of the girl's shirt and pulled it up to her elbow, along with the wide sleeve of her robes. Leaving her forearm exposed.

"The truth is, it hurts so much just holding it still that I haven't tried to move it," the girl admitted, hesitantly. Pomfrey waved her wand over her skin, muttering a spell that sounded like a lullaby. She waved her wand in a circular motion, then in an eight-figure, causing several runes to be drawn in the air, surrounded by golden smoke. Hermione watched her work, ecstatic.

"You didn't break anything," the woman finally said, adamant. "It was just a sprain. And a small muscle tear. We'll have it fixed in no time."

Hermione smiled with relief. Madam Pomfrey turned to pick up the vial of translucent liquid and the stopper magically opened, going to rest obediently on the trolley next to them. She dropped a single drop onto the girl's wrist. Hermione watched as the liquid disappeared into her skin, seeping into her flesh. It felt cold inside the joint, which was quite pleasant. The woman waved her wand in an unfamiliar motion and Hermione felt a tingle run up and down her forearm. As if her muscles were vibrating under her skin. Finally, the Healer picked up one of the mortars resting on the trolley and poured the contents of a couple of glass jars into it. They appeared to be dried herbs, like cooking spices, and a teaspoon of a dark green paste. She had the mortar and pestle grind it all by itself with magic, while she created a bandage, which she laid in her lap. Once the contents were well shredded, the woman placed the pasty mixture on Hermione's wrist, and, with a flick of her wand, the bandages covered the area perfectly.

"I'm going inside to get a potion to ease the pain. You may be a little sore for the next few hours, but that's because the Bicorn horn paste is working. You'll be as good as new by the afternoon."

"Thank you very much," Hermione hastened to reply, looking at her tight bandage as the Healer walked away into her office with agitated steps. Hermione sighed weakly as she pulled her shirt sleeve back into place. She was actually grateful for the silence and quiet of the room, though it didn't help her attempt to keep her mind off certain subjects. At least, for the most part, when she was in class, she was focused on her studies. Except when she was sharing a class with the Slytherins. Or, if she was with her friends, they were busy figuring out the origin of the voice Harry was hearing, or doing homework, or playing Wizard's Chess... But, when she was alone, and especially in the midst of crushing silences like that, her mind decided it was more interesting to remember a certain young Slytherin. Which was damned frustrating.

After a few seconds, she was grateful to hear the muffled voice of the woman, still in the office, breaking her out of her thoughts.

"Have you finished yet?" she heard her say, her tone stern.

"Can't you see that I have?" a male voice replied dryly. A voice that dragged its syllables haughtily.

A voice all too familiar.

Hermione felt a hollowness in her chest. And a shiver ran through her. She stopped staring at her arm, and looked up in the direction of the office. She pricked up her ears.

It couldn't be true.

"Then go to class," Pomfrey said disinterestedly. She left the office then, a glass jar and a ceramic cup in her hand, but continued talking over her shoulder. "I'll tell Minerva that you took longer than usual with the cleaning and that's why you're late for her class."

No one responded to that. Hermione heard the sound of footsteps, caused by hard-soled shoes, and suddenly an absent-minded Draco Malfoy was coming out of Madam Pomfrey's office, walking straight towards her, but without seeing her.

Hermione was so shocked at her bad luck that she barely knew how to react. She managed to open her mouth slightly. She wasn't able to look away from the boy, as would have been the socially appropriate thing to do, such was her surprise.

"Someone up there definitely hates me..."

Malfoy, visibly in a bad mood, then seemed to feel eyes glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. He scanned around, looking listless, still walking. And then he saw her. And his gaze focused on her. Hermione couldn't tell for sure because of the distance between them, but it seemed to her that his light eyes widened slightly. That was the only gesture that indicated he recognised her.

"Mr. Malfoy, same time tomorrow," Pomfrey commented, sitting back down in front of Hermione. "You still have one day's detention left. And then I will inform Professor Sprout."

The young man did not answer. He looked straight ahead, seemingly annoyed at the Healer's lack of discretion, and continued on his way to the exit door without turning his head or looking at Hermione again. Until he was out of her field of vision.

"Here it is, my dear," Pomfrey said, pouring the contents of the flask she was carrying into the glass, and sprinkling it with a fine silver powder from one of the ceramic bowls on the trolley. She held it out to the girl, who discovered that the steaming potion it contained had turned sky blue. Hermione took it in her hands, managing a grateful smile. She heard the door to the Hospital close behind her with a thud.

Hermione drank the potion with difficulty. It burned, and tasted sour. And her throat felt tight from Malfoy's brief but unexpected presence. Trying not to think, trying not to feel, she drank it in a few gulps. On the last one, with the dregs of a certain herbal ingredient passing down her throat, she felt the pain in her arm subside by far.

"All right, that's it. You can go back to class, you still have time until the bell rings," said the Healer, removing the glass from her hands and rearranging the scattered items on the trolley. Hermione swallowed, her throat feeling a little tender, and smiled kindly at the woman.

"Thank you for everything, Madam Pomfrey," she murmured, rising to her feet. Even her voice sounded a little raspy. She could still taste the potion in her mouth.

"Take care of yourself, dear."

Hermione walked around the bed she had been sitting on and headed for the door, her heart pounding against her chest. She felt an irrepressible, irrational nervousness grip her body as she approached the double doors, and she tried to convince herself that it was absurd. Yes, she'd run into Draco Malfoy apparently coming out of detention, so what? He'd already left. And he'd barely looked at her. He had no interest in approaching her, and that suited her just fine as she went along with her plan to get away from him. She'd only bumped into one classmate... That didn't mean he was outside waiting for her...

The girl pushed the door open with her healthy arm and took a step outside, glancing in front of her and to either side, her heart pounding in her ears. The corridor seemed empty. She heard nothing outside, nor did she see anyone. There were no windows, being an interior corridor, and the walls were covered with very few small tapestries. The only illumination came from a few torches, and light from adjoining corridors. She stepped fully out of the Hospital Wing and moved to close the door behind her, feeling an overwhelming sense of relief. Thank goodness. He wasn't there. Her plan to stay away from him was still in place, and it was succeeding despite her bad luck.

As she closed the door all the way, pushing it back with her body, she exposed the piece of wall hidden behind it. And a grim Draco Malfoy leaning against it.

Hermione was visibly startled, as if the boy had been waiting for her with wand in hand instead of arms folded. She didn't even dare to meet his steely gaze. Without even pausing to think for a second, her survival instinct kicked in and forced her to stride quickly down the corridor and away from him at full speed. She didn't even make it three steps, however, when Malfoy's hand grabbed her right elbow, pinning her down.

"No!" she cried out of inertia, desperate. She tugged hard at her own elbow, trying to free herself from his hand, to no avail. She didn't turn around. She didn't want to have to look at him. "What do you think you're doing? Let go of me!"

When she could not get him to loosen his firm grip in the slightest, the girl twisted harder and harder in an attempt to free herself from his grasp. But Malfoy would not budge, and would not let her go.

"Granger..." she heard him growl, but she didn't want to look him in the face. She didn't want to see his eyes, or his expression. She didn't want to see him. She just wanted to get out of there.

"Release me! Get off me!"

She tried to move to the side, desperate, and then spun on her heels, trying to pull his hand away from her. But, within a few steps, her back slammed into the wall, cutting off her breath as well as her escape. Malfoy had managed not to let her go and ended up standing in front of her. The girl raised her free forearm, and tried to push his chest away, while he continued to hold her right elbow. Then Malfoy reached up with his other hand and grabbed the arm she was trying to push him away with. As she felt his long fingers wrap carelessly around her newly healed wrist, an uncontrollable scream of pain escaped her mouth, and she reflexively shrank in on herself.

Hearing her sudden scream, and watching her stricken expression, Malfoy pulled his fingers away from her instantly, as if she had burned him. He held his hand in the air, not knowing what to do with it. He stared at her in astonishment, analysing her reaction. He seemed surprised that he had hurt her, aware that he had not been rough to that extent. But then he scanned her raised forearm with his keen eyes, to discover the bandage peeking out from under the sleeve of the robes. He did not try to touch her again. Nor did he let go of her other arm.

They both stopped struggling at last. They were panting.

"What happened to you?" Draco questioned, in a sharp whisper. He raised his eyes from her bandaged wrist to her eyes. But she wasn't looking at him. She was staring fiercely, her brow firmly furrowed, at a spot in the centre of his green and silver tie.

Hermione did not answer his question. She couldn't speak. She didn't want to speak. His hand, wrapped around her elbow, burned against her skin even over her clothes.

"What — what do you want?" she finally managed to articulate, almost spitting out the words, after swallowing a couple of times. She forced herself to straighten up and speak sternly. "Because I would ask you to — to —"

But she made the mistake of reflexively looking up. Of meeting his eyes. And she couldn't continue speaking. Draco's light eyes watched her with determination beneath his blond fringes, piercing her down to the nape of her neck. He was gauging her with his eyes, blinking at a slower rate than normal. He seemed to be reading her genetic code. Which did not please her in the least, and made her feel, to say the least, vulnerable. And there was nothing she could stand less than feeling vulnerable in front of Malfoy. Neither of them said anything for what seemed like minutes at a time. But it was only five seconds.

Malfoy finally released her, very slowly. But she didn't think for a moment about trying to escape again. She realised, once the adrenaline had subsided, that Malfoy clearly wanted to talk to her. And she thought he must have a good reason for it, after what had happened in the Arithmancy classroom. After being driven to such an extent by their impulses that it was clear to both of them that they couldn't let it happen again. Maybe something had happened. Something important. Maybe about Crabbe and Goyle. And if so, she was definitely interested to know. But she didn't intend to show it.

"I don't have time for this. I have to —" she sputtered still, haughtily, lifting her chin even higher.

"What did you tell Nott?" Draco asked in turn, his voice as low as dangerous, without any preamble whatsoever.

Hermione choked in the middle of her protest, suddenly falling silent. Her mouth went dry. She hadn't expected that. It wasn't true. It couldn't be true. Nott couldn't have done that to her. He couldn't have told him. Malfoy was staring at her so vehemently that she was petrified. Even though he wasn't touching her, even though he was almost two feet away, the girl felt as if he was pinning her against the wall. The difference in height seemed to her at the time to be greater than it really was.

She tried to read his eyes, terrified. She tried to read in them what he knew. But she could make out nothing in those two silver lakes.

"What are you talking about…?" she managed to articulate, breathless. But he wouldn't allow her to test the waters.

"Don't you dare deny me, Granger. I won't let you. I'm sick of you. You've told him what happened between us, and you've told him you have feelings for me," he spat, blunt. Unceremoniously. No euphemisms. Laying his cards on the table with such certainty that Hermione realised with cold terror that she wasn't going to be able to escape this conversation. "I don't know what you're playing at. I don't understand why you'd say something like that to him. And I'm sick of hearing all sorts of crazy nonsense from other people. I want you to tell me the truth, Granger. I'm sick of secrets, I'm sick of bullshit... So talk! What's going on?" he demanded gruffly, a glint in his eye. He didn't take his eyes off hers at any point. "It's like... it's like nothing makes sense anymore. And I'm fed up. Tell me the truth."

Hermione was blank. She wasn't prepared for this situation, for this conversation. What she had planned was to put it all behind her, to get away from him. Not to confess to him out of the blue, unprepared, how much she was attracted to him. That was not an option. She hadn't prepared, at all, for something like that. She had prepared nothing coherent to say, no logical explanation for what was happening. She couldn't face it.

"Me, have feelings for you? What a stupid thing to say. I don't. Of course I don't. Who do you think you are? That's ridiculous. I could never like you, you're just an evil pig, an arrogant prat, a spoiled child... I never said anything like that to him. What Nott told you is not true, he lied to you..."

No. It was absurd. She couldn't make Theodore out to be a liar. It wouldn't be fair. Nor honest. Even if he deserved it for being a bloody traitor. But it might get him into serious trouble. Judging by past experiences, Malfoy didn't seem to cope particularly well with people lying to him...

She didn't have the faintest idea how to get out of the situation.

"The truth?" she repeated, overwhelmed. She allowed herself to look away from his eyes for a few seconds and fixed her gaze on his chest. Trying to notice his heartbeats. She wondered if it were as fast as hers. She looked up into his eyes again. "So, Malfoy, will you tell me the truth as well?"

The boy frowned slightly. Now he was the one who looked confused.

"What do you mean?" he wanted to know, coldly, though Hermione sensed it was just to buy time.

"Did Crabbe and Goyle beat you up for catching us kissing?" she accused him, determined. She saw him swallow, but he didn't change his wary expression. "You didn't tell me anything about it. You only told me that you were branded a blood traitor. You kept it from me, and I don't understand why. Nor do I understand why you accused me of giving you a love potion and casting a spell on you. You kissed me... Kissed me, Malfoy," she emphasised, breathlessly. "Even though you said it was a mistake, you've repeated that mistake several times. You hate people like me, you think you're superior and you think I'm scum, you've made that clear to me ever since we've known each other. You humiliate me every chance you get, but then... you beat up Warrington for listening to him pick on me," she faltered, upset, unable to go on. Unable to assimilate it all herself. Draco just stared at her, impassive. "What are you playing at, Malfoy?" she accused, her voice hoarse. She waited, but he still didn't say anything, so she continued, "What do you get out of it? I need to know. I need to know the truth. Are you laughing at me? Is it possible that — ?" she hesitated, unable to form words from her thoughts. Too embarrassed to express herself clearly, "What do you think about everything that's going on? What... do you feel for me?"

She hadn't meant to ask the last question, considering it almost comical, but she couldn't contain her voice. It came out almost in a whisper, leaving her subconscious at last. She needed to know, though she wasn't sure she wanted to know. Because, in fact, she already knew. The answer was obvious. It had been right in front of her for seven years. And she didn't want to hear it.

But Malfoy remained silent. He stood motionless, his hands hanging on either side of his body, his shoulders stiff, and his gaze fixed on the girl's. She even wondered if he was breathing or not. She wasn't sure she saw any movement in his chest.

"Do you think I can feel anything for you, Granger?" he replied suddenly, his voice faint and cold. The haughty look in his eyes failed to intimidate her. "Are you clear on — ?"

"I'm quite clear on everything," she spat, interrupting him sharply, furious. "And you?"

Draco let the air out of his nose in a snort. He clicked his tongue wearily and turned his face away, staring blankly down the corridor. His grey eyes shifted nervously in their sockets, revealing the speed of his thoughts.

"Why did you tell Nott that you... you...?" he asked again now, unable to finish the sentence and pronounce the word 'liked me'. He let out a frustrated gasp, giving it up as impossible, and continued more emphatically, looking at her again, "Why would you say such a thing to him?"

Hermione let out a sound that was half snort, half laugh. She looked him in the eye, feeling her chest tighten, not admitting any more oxygen. She was tempted to close her eyes, but she forced herself to keep them open. To meet his gaze. Exhausted, frustrated, and, even if she wanted to deny it, scared. Because everything had gotten too far out of control to straighten out. She felt the lump in her throat rise to moisten her eyes. But she straightened up boldly.

Maybe that was the solution to put an end to it. To be honest. To be rejected.

"Why would I lie to him about something like that?" she asked in a clear, heavy whisper. Her voice sounded more audible in the silence of the hallway than she would have liked. Though she barely heard it, deafened as she was by the pounding of her heart in her ears.

Draco didn't even flinch. He didn't even blink. He just kept staring into her eyes, not moving. It took several seconds for the words to reach the comprehension area of his brain. He shifted his gaze from one of her eyes to the other. He seemed to be looking for the lie in them, seemed to be waiting to see her falter. To see her rectify. As if, at any moment, she was going to scream "innocent" and laugh in his face. But none of that happened. Hermione was staring back at him, fixedly, the rapid rise and fall of her chest lending veracity to what she had said.

"So, it was... true? Does... she... like me?"

And he understood that he had to react. That what she had told him deserved a reaction. It deserved a cruel smile. A sneer. An open guffaw. It deserved him to run immediately to his Common Room, to tell all his mates so that they could laugh with him. She deserved the whole school to hear what she'd just told him. She deserved to be the butt of their jokes for the rest of the term. That was what he had to do. Because it was ridiculous. And it was Draco's duty to humiliate her. To treat her like what she was; someone inferior. Someone who didn't even deserve to be taken seriously. It was just funny that someone inferior felt that way about him. It was almost cute. It was almost as if a house-elf felt that way about his master. It was pathetic.

Why then didn't he feel any of that? Why did he feel that all that had nothing to do with him? Why did he feel like anything but laughing, let alone making fun, or telling anyone about it? Why did all he felt was his heart pounding in his ribs as hard as if he were on a broomstick, flying at two hundred miles an hour, instead of standing in the middle of a corridor?

He would tell his friends. They would love to know. It wasn't really humiliating, it wasn't something that put him in a bad light. It had nothing to do with him. It would just be an amusing anecdote. Because, that Hermione Granger, the obnoxious know-it-all, the Mudblood friend of St. Potter, felt that way about him was something no one would expect. They could laugh about it together. It had no relevance. It would just be a scandal, something to keep secret, something definitely problematic, if he also...

Hermione saw Draco lower his gaze to a point near her right knee and blink rapidly. He was breathing deeply. He looked like he was capable of pacing like a caged lion, and that was rather ironic coming from a Slytherin. Hermione stared at him. Trying to figure out what he was thinking just by watching his undaunted face. She cursed his ability to contain his emotions. Her friends were much more open, easier to understand. Harry was pure fire, impulsive and communicative. Ron, too, generally showed his feelings openly, whether he was angry, behaving grumpy and irritated, or jovial, showing it without reserve, with wide smiles and amusing jokes. But not Malfoy. Malfoy was a bloody puzzle that wouldn't allow her to be close enough to even try to solve it.

The girl was barely conscious of what she was experiencing. She could not assimilate the sudden turn of events from one moment to the next. She didn't even have the strength to regret what she had confessed. Realising that, quite possibly, it had been a mistake. But there was nothing she could do. She could only look at him, scrutinise his gestures. She waited, her heart pounding, for the predictable smirk that was sure to appear on his angular face. The sneers. The contemptuous guffaw that was slow in coming, but would undoubtedly come. She almost longed for it. She almost needed it. To return to reality, to a reality that was what they were used to. To hate each other. To insult each other. But not to that. To that silence.

But he didn't seem willing to do anything the girl thought he would do.

"How can you — ?" Draco finally managed to articulate, his voice icy. His voice quivered, and the girl thought, indignantly, that it was out of anger. "What is this about? What do you intend to — ?"

Hermione let out a strangled gasp. A gasp of disbelief. The thought that Malfoy could be enraged that someone he considered inferior had feelings for him filled her with anger. Of resentment towards him. Hatred for all his racist beliefs.

"Intend to?" she mumbled, enraged, almost breathless "Are you kidding me? Do you think it's a damn pride for me to feel this way? Do you think I have anything to gain from this? I didn't want you to know, you weren't supposed to know anything about this. Nott wasn't supposed to tell you anything. You didn't have to have this weapon against me," her voice trailed off, but she continued to speak firmly. With nothing to lose. "This weapon to martyr me, as you're about to do. You wanted the truth? Well, here it is, go ahead and tell it to the whole school! Make fun of me, do whatever you want! I don't care!" she shouted, haughtily, pointing to the empty corridor with a wide gesture. "I can handle anything. Because nothing you can do to me is worse than feeling this way about someone like you. To feel this way about someone who won't love me back, because he considers me inferior to him in every way. Can you even imagine what that's like, Malfoy? I realise that none of this makes any sense, or leads anywhere. I know you would never reciprocate. Nor do I want you to. I don't want to be with you. And I know you don't either. I know perfectly well that you don't feel anything like that... You don't..." her voice became weaker, more breathless. She fell silent, thinking he would have something to say, but he didn't. Malfoy said nothing. "You don't. You don't feel it, Malfoy, I know perfectly well that y-you don't feel it," she repeated, more firmly, urging him to corroborate it, to no avail. He continued not to speak. Not agreeing with her. "You don't — you don't, it's clear..." she tried again, and was silent for another moment, giving him a chance to speak. But all she got was silence. "You don't — you don't, Malfoy... Do you?"

More silence. He didn't open his mouth. He just looked at her, unblinking now. His face almost livid. Listening to her speech, her feelings, the force with which she was confronting him. Her words, the content of them. Listening to her say that nothing he could do to her was worse than having feelings for him. Assimilating, with difficulty, with a painful prick in the pit of his stomach, that someone could have such a conception of him. But everything else overshadowed that feeling. Later he would have time to feel guilty for provoking that in someone.

Granger had feelings for him. She really had.

And he couldn't say a single word.

"Malfoy," she slurred as best she could. Trying to make him react, too nervous to remain silent. She couldn't bear to look at him anymore. She couldn't stand his silence. His lack of denial. "Why don't you — ? Say something. Say you don't feel the same way, for heaven's sake... Don't make me take it for granted. I know you don't, but... Say it."

Her voice ended up sounding pleading. Malfoy continued to stare at her. He began to blink slowly, but it was the only gesture that showed he was alive. He couldn't articulate a word. For the first time in his life, he couldn't speak. His brain struggled to get his vocal cords to work, unsuccessfully. He was almost frightened to lose control of himself like that. His brain and his mouth had disconnected. He moved his tongue inside his mouth, and swallowed saliva. But nothing.

Because he didn't know what the fuck to say to her.

He could not lie to her. He could not tell her the truth. He could not agree with her. Or prove her wrong. He couldn't tell her that he didn't feel the same way. Nor that he did.

Feel… the same.

They looked at each other for long seconds. Draco wondered if she was reading something in his gaze. Because the only information he could give her about himself at that moment were his eyes. And he wasn't even sure he wanted to reflect the truth. He realised that she must be seeing something in them, despite himself. Something she didn't like, because he saw her shake her head slowly, still shifting her gaze from one of Draco's eyes to the other.

Fear shone in the girl's pupils.

Hermione felt an aching emptiness in her stomach. The thousand and one things she still wanted to scream at him died in her throat. The boy's muteness rubbed off on her. She was unable to react to what his eyes were telling her. To what his silence implied. She instinctively backed away as far as she could, even though she was up against the wall. She began to tremble with pure anguish, starting with her legs, and ending with her hands. How was it possible? How had they come to such a situation...?

'Not until you tell me what you've done to me. What was it? Amortentia? The one your filthy Weasleys were selling?'

'And why did you kiss me?'… 'What reason can you think of for me to have done that, Granger?'… 'It was a mistake. Just a mistake. Don't mention it again. I assure you that it will not happen again.'… 'I made a fucking mistake. That's all. You will get nothing more from me, Granger, because there is nothing more.'

'Getting rid of the smell of a Mudblood is impossible...'

'That kiss was a mistake… They were both a mistake.'

'What if I were a pure-blood?'

'And what the hell do you care what they do to me?'... 'I care when it's because of me'... 'Yeah, well, don't get used to it.'

'Damn you; if there's anyone here who's going to kill me, it'll be you.'

'What — what are you doing?'... 'I don't know. I haven't understood anything I've been doing for a long time.'… 'Put me away. Stop me. Stop me, for fuck's sake...'

They felt the same.

"That can't be," she replied, hoarsely. He hadn't said anything, though. More than to his words, she responded to his gaze. Suddenly, an inexplicable rage was sweeping through her. It was easier to feel anger at him than anything else. "That's impossible, you — you can't — how can you — ?"

Suddenly, Malfoy seemed to come to. Hermione could tell because she saw his lips pucker into a resentful grimace. His eyes glittered choleric in the gloom. His nostrils widen as he breathed in sharply.

"Do you intend to explain to me that I can't?" he spat, his voice recovering in indignation. "Does it seem so easy to you? Do I look like I'm in my right mind? Don't you realise how much I'm struggling to contain... all this? Do you think I understand anything of what's going on?" he managed to say, between unsteady gasps. "Now just... shut up for a second, okay?" he spat, his voice deepening. He raised both hands, twitching, as if he could silence her without touching her.

His breathing was ragged, and his grey eyes seemed to glow with frenzy in the gloom of the deserted corridor. But also with shame, and Hermione couldn't remember ever seeing that feeling in him before. For the first time, Draco felt out of his depth in front of her, finding it difficult to maintain his usual cool, impassive, dismissive demeanour. Even if he managed to be brusque, he felt dazed and out of place.

But Hermione was not about to be sympathetic.

"This is absurd," she repeated firmly, as if it were obvious. As if she could just disprove the whole thing. "This is simply absurd. I'm a Muggle-born, you would never —"

"I fucking know, I know... You think I'm an imbecile?" he sputtered, exalted. He raised his hands again, as if the idea of squeezing her to silence her was plausible.

"But then, how could you possibly — ?" Hermione was shocked, equally furious.

"How the hell should I know, do I look like I understand anything?" he despaired, raising his voice even higher, his grey eyes flashing. Were his hands shaking? "Just... just shut up already, damn it..."

"How can you expect me to shut up after what you've said? And why should I shut up?" Hermione shouted, beside herself.

"Firstly, I didn't say anything, and secondly, I want you to shut up because I need to think about what we're doing now and your insufferable voice won't let me!" he shouted, equally unhinged. Hermione's face suddenly turned pale. Suddenly she seemed to lose all her anger, which was replaced by a thrilled astonishment.

"Think?" she gasped, her voice weak. Incredulous. Frozen. "What is there to think about...?"

The words hovered between them, in the most pervading silence they had ever experienced. Draco parted his lips, barely a millimetre, stunned. Understanding perfectly well what she meant. There was nothing to think about. Because there was nothing they could do. He had to look away, unable to hold her gaze. Looking completely lost. Neither of them wanted to be the first to bring up any options. Neither wanted to be the next to take the first step after that. Because there was no step to take.

Fortunately, or not, they were still alone. It was obvious that everyone was in class, as it was school time. And no one seemed to have needed to go to the Hospital Wing. Nor to any of the classrooms on that floor, at least not across the corridor they were in.

Suddenly, the loud, metallic sound of the bell ending classes startled them. Jolting them back to reality. Reminding them that they were at school. That they had to go back to class. Anyone could catch them there, in a poorly justifiable situation. Hermione had to get back to Harry and Ron before they came looking for her, as promised. She closed her eyes, and took a deep breath to calm herself. It was ridiculous how distraught she still felt. But that was it. She had no reason to be nervous anymore. It was over.

"Well, I guess that's all said and done," she said suddenly, calmly. She turned to the side and started walking, stepping out of the gap between the wall and Malfoy. "Goodbye."

Malfoy winced and finally looked at her, furiously incredulous, barely realising that she intended to leave.

"What? No way..." he spat, grabbing her hastily by the elbow again, preventing her from walking away. She stopped, forcibly, but didn't turn to look at him. "Where do you think you're going? We haven't finished," he protested, authoritatively, not releasing her.

"Yes, we have," she replied, still not looking at him. She turned her face and looked at him over her shoulder. Her face was serene. Her eyes were determined. "Is anything going to change after this conversation?"

Draco blinked, understanding what she meant. Realising that she was right. Absolutely nothing would change. What they felt, or didn't feel, didn't simplify the situation, didn't solve anything. It wasn't an excuse, it didn't change centuries and centuries of rules. It did not bring their diametrically opposed lives any closer together. It was not a solution. It was just another obstacle. An obstacle they could not overcome in any way.

"No," Draco corroborated, listening to himself as if he were far away. "Of course not."

Hermione let the air out of her nose briefly, making a sound that sounded like a chuckle.

"Then we can call it a day. As far as I'm concerned, this conversation has never taken place," she said, resolute, clearly. "I hope you will do the same."

She looked to the front again and moved forward. Draco's hand, still clinging to her arm, slipped, slack, limp, until he released her completely. The girl walked away with determined strides, leaving Draco alone in the middle of the corridor. The young man felt unable to take a step. His chest heaved. He could hear the roar of his blood in his ears, dazing him, confusing him. He could not take his eyes off the girl's back until she was out of sight around the corner. Once alone, he allowed himself to let out the breath he had been holding. He looked around the deserted corridor, not knowing where to fix his dazed gaze. He could not think clearly. His brain felt like it was full of cotton wool.

He put both hands to his face and rubbed it hard. His heart was still pounding wildly, and he was furious about it. It had been a while since he'd shouted. And Granger was already gone. Stubborn, proud, as always. Why was he still on the verge of tachycardia? It was all over. Now it was all over. Because there was no way they could go any further.

Even if they felt the same.

Noticing his chest beginning to tremble with sheer stress, he raised his hands further to bury them in his blond hair, tugging at the limp strands between his fingers. Fighting to regain control. He hated himself. Hated himself more than he hated her. For losing control of himself. For feeling that all this was overwhelming him, when it should not have altered his life at all.

He released his hair abruptly, with a furious snort. His face felt like it was on fire. He took a couple of hesitant, circling steps, not knowing what to do. Where to go. And suddenly he found himself facing the wall.

Why, why Hermione Granger, why did he have to feel so overwhelmingly for her, why did she have to feel the same way?

They both felt the same...

He clenched his fist and hit the wall with the edge of his hand, loosely. Just to feel something to dull what was boiling inside him. Whatever it was. So that his heart would stop thundering in his ears. He repeated the gesture, harder. But, though it helped, it wasn't enough. He needed more. In utter frustration, he kicked the stone wall hard. That was better. That was more useful for blowing off steam. He felt disgusted with himself. He hated feeling like that. He hated the intense anguish he felt inside, for a reason that was in no way justified. But it was a feeling so clear, so crushing, and so painful that it made him grit his teeth. And he couldn't control it. He struck the stone wall again with his foot. He hit it hard again, and again, and with the last kick he couldn't hold back a choked scream that sapped his strength.

He leaned his arms on the wall, and his forehead on them, so as not to slip to the floor. He realised that, instead of calming down, he had only succeeded in speeding up his heartbeat. He was panting. He turned his back to the wall and leaned against it. Breathing. He closed his eyes tightly, leaning his head back until he rested the back of his neck against the wall. His strength was gone. That outburst had given way to utter bitterness. He clenched his jaw to contain the burning that came over him. He didn't know whether he felt like screaming, vomiting or crying. Or all at once. His foot hurt intensely.

"Damn you, Granger," he thought bitterly, raising a clenched hand into a firm fist to cover his eyes. He swallowed a choked sob. "Damn you, Mudblood..."

---

"I'm not going to let you get away with this, Draco Malfoy," Pansy said with a mischievous grin. "I am the one who knows how to play this game. You still have a lot to learn."

"Pansy, darling," Draco replied teasingly, looking at her with a mischievous glint in his grey eyes, "I was born for this. I'm going to show you what I'm made of. I'll have you begging in less than two minutes..."

"Go ahead, whenever you want," she purred, settling back on the sofa and changing the cross of her legs. "I'm waiting for you..."

"Don't play with fire, little one," Draco sneered, arching an eyebrow arrogantly. Pansy choked back a giggle.

"Let's do this... take it out!" she ordered, still grinning with amusement.

Both youths placed two cards each on the sofa, in the gap between them, at the same time. In the middle of another pile of cards, all placed face up. After two seconds of hesitation, Draco was quicker. He tapped his wand quickly on two of the cards, both of which had an identical dancing Bowtruckle on their surface. They glowed and moved to a corner. Pansy clicked her tongue in frustration, still examining the cards intently.

"I've got it!" she exclaimed, excitedly, touching two others featuring a pair of grumpy Cyclops.

"I'm still winning..." Draco hummed with a lopsided grin.

"Shut your mouth... Oh, damn it, hurry up, get two more, they're exploding!"

They both drew two cards again, but were not quick enough. The two remaining cards on the table, one with Manticores on its surface, and the other with a picture of Elfrida Clagg, Chieftainess of the Wizards' Council back in the seventeenth century, exploded hopelessly with a faint cloud of smoke. Pansy laughed, resigned.

"I told you, I was born for this. I always win," Draco boasted, glowering smugly at her. She looked at him with a mock pout. "You owe me three Galleons."

"There's a first time for everything, dear," the girl joked, picking up the deck of Exploding Snap cards and shuffling them deftly. "Let's have another round. Double or quits. And let's try to make it a longer one," she checked her wristwatch. "Yes, we still have time..."

Draco chuckled and settled back on the couch, draping an arm over the backrest. He watched the sparsely-populated Slytherin Common Room, distracted, as his friend dealt the cards into two equal piles. A quicker movement amidst the quiet caught his attention, and his eyes caught the moment Nott entered through the entrance hidden in the wall. Theodore didn't look in his direction, Draco wasn't sure if on purpose or by chance, but he did approach one of the wide tables, the one closest to the black shelves filled with reference books. Daphne Greengrass was there, studying in solitude, her blonde hair pulled back in a casual bun on top of her head. Nott tapped her shoulder as he reached her side, and gave her a faint smile in greeting. The girl returned it in kind, looking up at him with clear excitement, and pulling aside the chair next to her to invite him to sit. He took a seat, setting his bag on the table, while she said something animatedly that Draco didn't quite hear. He was able to hear the murmur of her voice in the middle of the not very loud Common Room, but he couldn't make out what she was saying. When he sat down, Daphne leaned forward and placed a quick kiss on his lips before continuing to talk about, apparently, something to do with the parchments on the table. Nott continued to listen to her intently, his serious and normally sad face now looking serene; but his blue eyes were shining, unable to conceal how enamoured he was with the young woman. At least it seemed obvious to Draco.

Draco, immersed in the scene, nearly let out an almost imperceptible smile. He hadn't spoken to Nott in days, since their heated argument about Granger in the bathroom of their bedroom. In fact, he hadn't told him anything at all about the conversation he'd had with her. He was still angry with him, fed up with his attitude and the fact that he repeatedly berated him for anything to do with Granger, as if it were his business. But Draco still considered him his friend. His best friend. And he couldn't help but empathise with his happiness. Nott had lived through such hard years... First, the tragic death of his mother, in front of his eyes, when he was still a child; then the imprisonment of his almost agonising father; and soon he would be forced to become a Death Eater, against his will, and be under the command of the person he hated most for the rest of his life...

He deserved to be happy. Draco wanted him to be happy. And with Greengrass he definitely was.

"Greengrass and Nott... Who would have thought it?" said a haughty voice to Draco's right. Draco snapped out of his thoughts and turned his face, noticing Zabini's arrival just as he sat down in the next seat. He seemed to have correctly deduced the trajectory of Draco's gaze. Pansy glanced at the newcomer for a moment, smiling at him in greeting, but then looked over the back of the sofa at the pair as well, following their gazes.

"You can say that again," she agreed, arching a dark eyebrow. "There they are, still so happy. I didn't think they'd last this long. Well, I never would have thought they'd end up together in the first place. They don't fit me as a couple. I admit, when Daphne told me... I was shocked. She never told me she liked him before," she sounded slightly spiteful.

"I'm sure she told you and you didn't listen to her," Zabini scoffed, giving Draco a sly look. He raised his eyebrows, scathing.

"Pansy ignoring gossip? You're delusional, Blaise."

"Ha-ha, very funny, guys," Pansy laughed sarcastically. Still, she gave an amused smile. "She was really excited when she told me, so I kept my mouth shut and didn't say anything, but, anyway... Nott?" she shuddered aloud, shaking her head as if she thought it absurd.

"I didn't know Nott liked Greengrass either. What a pair, how quiet they kept it..." said Blaise, indifferently, glancing back at Draco. "I don't really talk to him much either, I'll admit..."

Draco shrugged, in a vague way.

"Yes, he said something to me once," he said evasively. He did not mind gossip, but he did not think it in good taste to gossip about his friend's innermost feelings, and avoided doing so.

"Daphne's a sweetheart. She's so nice and funny... Nott, on the other hand, is so... bland," Pansy opined disdainfully, setting her pile of cards down on the couch as they talked. "Don't get me wrong," she added, looking at Draco as if apologising, "I don't dislike him. He's nice. I just... don't like him much with Daphne."

"It's the truth. I'll tell you, he's dull," Blaise said remorselessly, crossing his legs. "But, well, maybe that's why they like each other. They complement each other," he joked, disinterestedly.

"I don't think it matters much to them whether we think they make a good couple or not," Draco added, glancing at the couple again. They were talking quietly, intimately, oblivious to everything.

Draco swallowed at the sudden quickening of his heartbeats. He had said it without thinking, but he knew it was true. Nott had never cared what others thought of him. He was above all that. Always, in the back of his mind, he had admired and almost envied him for it. And Greengrass didn't seem to mind too much either. Greengrass liked Nott, it was obvious, and she didn't care what the rest of her classmates thought of him. That her friends thought of him as someone weird and bland who wasn't worth having anything more than a couple of polite phrases with. She loved him. And he was crazy about her, Draco knew that very well. They didn't hide their feelings. Why should they? They corresponded each other's feelings. They felt the same.

They felt the same...

A thick mane of brown hair floated before his eyes.

He felt his chest tighten. He, unexpectedly, had been presented with an opportunity to have what Nott and Greengrass had. An opportunity that had come suddenly, improbably, and definitely complicated. And he had realised, despite everything, that he wanted to have it. And he wasn't used to not getting what he wanted. And he was filled with an immature sense of continual frustration. His parents had always given him everything, anything he wanted, since he was very young. But this time, to his despair, it was he himself, in the first place, who wouldn't allow himself to have it. It was madness. A ridiculous irony. He wasn't getting what he wanted because he wasn't letting himself have it. But, in defence of himself, the situation was... the last one he could have imagined. The last he would have wanted. He had instantly given up that it could actually happen, without giving it a second thought, since it was something he hadn't even considered possible in the first place. It couldn't happen. Not with her. But his brain had thought about it, in spite of everything. And, days later, he was still thinking about it. Sometimes without even being aware of it. It was the hardest decision he had ever had to make, and he thought the decision had been made all along. But his brain didn't seem to know that.

It had been relatively easy to keep his feet on the ground, to keep calm, being sure that, whatever he felt, nothing was going to happen between them. It had been easy as long as he thought it was just him who was losing his mind. But now she had turned everything upside down. She had made it terribly real.

Draco had never been overly interested in finding a partner, or anything similar. He had never considered himself a romantic, sentimental, let alone affectionate person. He hadn't even considered that he could behave like that. It wasn't his style. To be like that was too... It was embarrassing. It meant opening up too much. Becoming... vulnerable. And offering yourself up on a platter to be hurt if they wanted to hurt you couldn't be very smart. And he was smart. So he'd never felt he needed that kind of relationship, intimate and physical. Well, hell, he was human, he had his... urges. He had desires. He had eyes in his head. But that was it. He'd had other priorities. More important things to occupy his time: his studies, wanting to get the best grades he could to meet his parents' expectations, hard Quidditch training since he was twelve to try to be the best Seeker, making friends and relationships to build a reputation in the wizarding world, taking care of his family, everything to do with the Dark Lord over the last few years... But now, suddenly, the possibility of a relationship had stuck in his chest. Now he was really thinking about it. It was more present in his mind than ever, puzzling him deeply.

Maybe the triggering reason had been contemplating his best friend's relationship. Maybe it had awakened something in him. Curiosity, perhaps. Or maybe it was that, for the first time, he had found someone he wanted to have it with.

He had to close his eyes at the thought. Damn it.

But he couldn't see himself able to bear all that it entailed. All that would change, all that he would have to fight against, if hypothetically — and only hypothetically — he went ahead. Against himself, to begin with. Against his own family, to continue. Against the entire wizarding world, to end. It wasn't even clear to him why he was even considering it. He was no traitor, he wasn't like those wizards who betrayed their magical blood and ended up married to Muggle-borns. He was a pure-blood. One who knew where his place was, and what he could and could not do. No, it was definitely impossible. There was no way it could happen. Not even remotely. But he had caught himself constantly thinking about how he could solve it... Solve it. As if there was really a way he could be with her. Of actually being able to have a relationship with her. No, not a relationship. Not that. She was a Mudblood, Merlin's beard. He was not a blood traitor. He wasn't. But... he did want to be close to her. Or something like that. He wasn't quite sure.

Nott and Greengrass didn't care what the world thought of them. It didn't matter if Zabini or Pansy thought they didn't make a good couple. It was derisory. It didn't make any difference. They were allowed to be together, if they wanted to.

Draco felt the burn of envy in his throat.

They did not break centuries and centuries of rules. They were not forbidden to be together. The whole of society would not turn its back on what they were doing. Their families, their friends... would approve. They didn't have to consider whether or not to fight for their relationship, beyond the gossip of their teenage classmates. Their lives were not at stake.

"Didn't you two have some sort of Prefect thing? A meeting or something?" Zabini wanted to know, changing the subject, pulling Draco out of the black hole that was his thoughts.

"Yeah, in a bit," Pansy corroborated, resigned, combing her short hair with her fingers, distracted. "We have to talk to Snape in half an hour. That's why we've been playing, to kill time until then."

"And wasn't there a more grown-up game than Exploding Snap?" Blaise scoffed. "Where's Wizard's Chess?"

"Astoria was playing with a friend," Pansy confessed with a shrug. "And we didn't think it appropriate to take advantage of our Prefect rank with Daphne's little sister," she added, giggling, picking up her cards again with the intention of starting a new game.

"Touché. Deal me some cards, I'm in," Blaise said, sitting down at the side table in front of the double sofa, looking at them with proud satisfaction. Draco forced a half-smile and handed his cards to Pansy to shuffle again, and deal them this time into three equal piles.

But his mind was far away. Shuffling through a decision that had nothing to do with the Exploding Snap or Prefect duties.

---

The noon bell resounded inside the castle, muffled in the greenhouses, ending the second lesson of the morning and igniting the flames of conversation among the students.

"I'll have the essay I've asked for after the Easter holidays, all right? And can someone help me pick all this stuff up?" asked Professor Sprout, in a slightly louder voice to make herself heard over the din.

The vast majority of the students continued their conversations, blatantly pretending not to hear her. Two hands were the only ones raised. Those of Hermione Granger and Neville Longbottom.

"Granger and Longbottom, of course," smiled the squat professor. "Mr. Longbottom, help me with these here, please. Miss Granger, take care of the protective equipment. The rest of you, will you please come out now."

The entire class scrambled out of the glass door, causing congestion. Hermione watched them, distracted, as she removed her large goggles, waiting for them to come out so she could collect everyone's equipment. Amidst the sea of students, her eyes met unusual, more than familiar grey eyes, staring back at her. Her heart skipped a beat. Malfoy stood forcibly still in the middle of the crowd blocking the door as everyone struggled to get out. His expression was serious and neutral, but his eyes were locked on hers. Hermione felt a more than familiar shiver run through her. They hadn't looked at each other, spoken to each other, or dealt with each other in any way for days. They hadn't shared a glance since their conversation in front of the Hospital Wing.

But now Malfoy was looking at her, without any discretion. And that wasn't all. It wasn't the worst. The worst was feeling her body go up in flames. It felt different from the other times she had looked directly into his eyes from a distance. An almost overwhelming heat swept over her, from the nape of her neck to the small of her back. As she moved her hands, she noticed that her palms had begun to sweat, and her throat felt dry as she tried to swallow saliva. It was as if she had suddenly been plunged into hell. And Malfoy's eyes were still locked on hers, unabashedly, seemingly unconcerned with how exposed he was, how easy it would be for anyone to notice that something odd was going on. Was no one else noticing that look that could set a tundra of ice on fire?

Why did she feel such heat, why did it feel so different to exchange a simple glance with him? Maybe because she now knew what Malfoy felt... And he knew what she felt. And yet he was looking at her. Her nervous body seemed to think that the rest of the class knew what they were feeling too. Or that they would definitely guess, just from watching them stare at each other like that. Which was ridiculous, and she knew it. But it was filling her with dread, with adrenaline. If anyone would even think to follow their gazes, if they connected the dots...

She and Draco had mutually decided that nothing was going to happen, as was logical. And yet he was looking at her. He was making her burn.

"Hermione… why?" a plaintive voice to her left protested. Hermione averted her gaze from Malfoy's eyes and looked in that direction. Harry and Ron were still standing beside her, their expressions resigned and exasperated respectively.

"What?" she mumbled, confused. Her heart was still racing and she prayed she wasn't blushing.

"Why?" Ron repeated emphatically, looking at her in frustration. "I'm hungry, I don't want to pick up the pots, I wanna go eat..."

"But you don't have to pick up anything," protested the girl, incredulously, focusing on the conversation with her friends. "I volunteered."

"Yeah, but we're not going to leave you alone," said Ron as if it were obvious. He took off his goggles and set them on the table, still staring at her as if she was exhausting him.

"We'll help you," Harry added as well, honestly, as if there was no doubt about it. Ron shook his head in exasperation as he picked up one of the pots on his own table.

"Of course not, don't worry about it," the girl replied. She reached out to take the pot from Ron's hands and put it back on the table. "I can do it myself just fine. You two go and eat. Neville and I will manage."

"Woman…" protested Harry, hesitantly. Neville, a few feet away, was already picking up some pots and placing them on shelves by the greenhouse wall.

"You've got Quidditch practice after lunch, don't think I've forgotten. If you dawdle here, you won't have time to eat properly. So get to the Great Hall immediately. That's an order," said the girl, adamant. Seeing Harry's still guilty look, she smiled more warmly, an indication that it was all right. Her dark-haired friend sighed almost to himself.

"Sure?"

"Sure. Go on, get out of here. I'll see you in a minute. I'll catch up with you in the Great Hall before you go. This won't take long."

"Don't be long," Ron ordered in turn, smiling guiltily. He took off his gloves and, instead of leaving them on the table, placed them neatly on the glove rack, saving the girl some work. Harry followed suit, and they both walked out the door, patting Neville on the back as well, while the boy stood to the side to let them pass, pot in hand. Hermione ventured a glance at the door. Malfoy was gone. So were the rest of the students.

"I'm going to take these to Greenhouse Two," Professor Sprout reported, waving her wand and hoisting a pair of large, heavy urns into the air. "Mr. Longbottom, take the Gurdyroot to Greenhouse Four, please."

"Shall I change the compost, Professor? The weather's been quite mild, maybe they need the new substrate with Doxy's eggs," Neville proposed immediately, visibly excited. The woman smiled proudly at her pupil's knowledge.

"That will take a while, dear."

"I don't mind," the boy said, almost anxiously. Hermione smiled helplessly and exchanged a warm look with her professor.

"Very well, that would be wonderful, thank you. Do you know where it is?"

"Yes, Professor," Neville said. He waved his wand as well to raise the three small pots three feet off the ground. Sprout, still smiling, rearranged her pointed hat over her grizzled hair and turned to Hermione.

"Miss Granger, when you're done with the equipment, can you put the Tormentil pots on the bottom shelves? I don't want too much sun on them. And be careful with the pots, they're a bit fragile. They are worn out. I'll transplant them tomorrow..." Professor Sprout walked over to the door, still making float two of the pots, and held it open so that Neville could get out before her. As he passed a table, one of the pots the boy was holding in the air hit a corner, shaking the young man and his professor alike. But no misfortune befell, and the boy managed to carry them to the door in one piece.

"Don't wait for me if you finish early, Hermione, go to the Great Hall," the boy said over his shoulder contentedly as another of the pots clattered loosely against the door frame before floating out of the greenhouse.

"Don't worry, I'll wait for you," she assured him, smiling, "I'll go to Greenhouse Four and find you as soon as I close this."

Neville gave her one last grateful smile, and then finally left the place. Professor Sprout, on the other hand, looked a little stressed by her student's clumsiness as she turned to Hermione to add:

"I'll be closing later, don't worry about that. You can go when you're done."

"All right, Professor," the girl agreed gratefully.

The woman made to leave after Neville, but stopped abruptly and turned to look at her student with a smile.

"Oh, and ten points to Gryffindor," she added, kindly.

Hermione smiled broadly, delighted. Professor and student finally left, leaving her alone in the cold greenhouse. The girl took a deep breath and, after a moment's hesitation, ended up taking off her thick gloves. They would keep her hands clean, but they would also take away the precision and strength of her hands. She rolled up the sleeves of her shirt and robes to the elbow so as not to stain them, and looked around her, noting the equipment she had to collect. On each table was a pair of gloves and a pair of goggles for each student. With a wave of the wand, the task would be done. She would leave it till last, first she would get on with the pots, which was the most labour-intensive part. She decided that she preferred to carry them by hand, fearing that she would be less skilled at levitating them with her wand. She picked up one of the pots full of small plants with yellow berry-shaped flowers that had been used, and carried it to the metal table on the other side of the greenhouse, which was used as a reservoir for the plants that were not currently in use. She squatted down to place it on the bottom shelf, as the professor had asked her to do. The shelves of the shelf next to it were also filled with pots of various kinds of plants, several of each species, and some of them were hidden by thick white sheets. Probably so that the plants in question wouldn't wake up. Hermione suspected that among them would be the Mandrakes.

Then she heard the sound of a door opening. She turned her face, still squatting, and looked up, solicitous. Expecting to see Professor Sprout. Or maybe Neville.

But not Draco Malfoy, who was staring at her with an impregnable face from the doorway of the greenhouse.

If there was such a thing as a soul, Hermione had just felt hers slip to the floor. Several seconds of cold silence followed, until Hermione felt the need to break it, unable to bear it.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, quietly and calmly. She was too bewildered to react in any particular way. She stood up, turning fully around to face him.

"Not sucking up to the professor like you do, certainly not," he replied, also in a low voice. In an overtly dismissive tone. Hermione frowned. Several retorts came to mind, each more acidic than the last, but she decided to bite her tongue. She didn't want to play into his game. She just wanted to get rid of him as soon as possible.

"We're old enough to know the difference between being polite and being a flatterer. And whether I do it or not is definitely none of your business," Hermione snapped, raising her chin. "What do you want, Malfoy?"

Even from her position, she could see Draco swallowing saliva. His face lost all trace of disdain. He was now looking at her with unexpected, and almost worrying, seriousness. His grey eyes narrowed slightly before he answered in a whisper:

"Since you ask..."

And it happened. One stride, two strides, and by the third stride Malfoy was in front of her, his hands cupping her face and his lips covering hers. Hermione gasped, suddenly finding herself pushed back slightly, until she hit the table behind her with the small of her back. One of the pots on the edge of the surface was knocked off balance by the blow and fell to the floor, shattering with a crunch of broken clay. The flowers let out a soft groan of protest.

Hermione didn't even hear it. All reason left her body, leaving her curiously empty and free of all emotion. She retained only her sense of touch. She was digging uncomfortably into the edge of the table, and had rested one of her hands on the table's surface for balance when he pushed her back. She felt that hand in contact with cold, damp soil and compost. But none of that mattered in the slightest.

She felt her cheeks burn beneath his palms, and wondered vaguely if he would be able to tell. Malfoy's hands felt rough, icy, and large in comparison to her face. She could feel his fingertips reaching for her sensitive neck, making her shiver. And his lips... She'd forgotten how they felt against hers. How wonderfully good they felt. Or maybe her brain had wanted to forget, to make it easier for her. To make it easier for her to forget. But now she was fully aware of the ardour of his breath, of the softness of his moist, thin lips as they touched hers, deepening the kiss firmly, though without making it cheeky. Just... frustratingly slow and pleasurable. Definitely not helping her at all. His warm breath sent shivers down her spine and made her head spin. He'd never kissed her so... decisively.

Finally, after about seven all-too-brief seconds, Malfoy moved his lips away, just enough so that they weren't pressed together. But he didn't let go of her face. Hermione took a shaky breath of air, opening her eyes and staring back at him, stunned. She could have sworn she could see herself reflected in his unusually dilated pupils.

As she was released from his lips, sanity stumbled back into the girl's brain. Breathing heavily, she raised the hand she had been holding still at her side and placed it on his chest. She slowly pushed him away from her, even if it was only by a few inches. Not using too much force, but definitely firm. He agreed to pull his hands away from her face, sliding them down her cheeks until he finally released her. He took a step back, still looking at her.

And she was unable to understand his gaze.

"This… this isn't right," Hermione managed to say softly. She could barely hear herself. And she couldn't think of anything else to say.

Malfoy snorted, as if that had been funny.

"You think I don't know that?" he replied dryly.

"Neville — he could come at any moment," the girl surprised herself by saying, as she struggled to keep a level head. She couldn't let herself get carried away again. She couldn't. And any excuse was welcome at this urgent moment.

Draco's thin mouth curved into an unexpectedly wicked grin.

"He won't. I have enchanted the door to his greenhouse. And, knowing his magical abilities, he'll starve to death if I don't intervene."

Hermione snorted in dismay. She shook her head in frustration. She decided to put Neville aside for the moment, quieting her conscience. She had other things to sort out.

"But... why...?" she managed to ask with difficulty. She couldn't think straight. She hated having to think under such pressure. She couldn't take in what was happening. "What... what we talked about the other day... in front of the Hospital Wing..."

"You think I don't remember?" he asked more sharply, no longer smiling at all. "Do you really think that if I could control this thing I'm feeling I'd be here, Granger? Do you think that if I could ignore you, ignore this, I wouldn't? I've tried, Merlin knows I've tried. I've been paying no attention to you for days, forcing myself not to even look at you. But... it seems to only make it worse. It's fucking hard, knowing you're in the same room and — it's like there's only you. And, earlier — shit, earlier, when we've looked at each other —" he faltered, breathing heavily. Hermione's mouth dropped open in surprise. He'd felt different from other times, too. He, too, had felt himself burning. "I can't, Granger. This has gotten stronger than me. You've become stronger than me. And I don't know how to stop it —"

"Malfoy —" she gasped, trying to intervene, but he ignored her.

"I'm about to lose my mind!" Draco continued, louder. He took a step back, visibly tormented, "I don't know how to control this! Damn it, tell me you feel the same way I do! Lie to me if you want, but tell me I'm not the only one who's fucked up!"

"You're not," Hermione stammered, trying to contain the emotion in her voice, "I feel just like you, I really do... I'm having just as hard a time as you are, I can assure you."

Malfoy ruffled his blond hair with one hand, almost desperately, without looking at her. He looked truly mortified.

"What do we do?" he sputtered, returning his attention to her. "What do we do to end this? I want to stop this no matter what..."

Hermione forced herself to take a deep breath, taking her time before trying to formulate a minimally coherent sentence.

"I don't know... what to answer," she finally confessed in a cautious whisper. She still looked serene, unlike her interlocutor. Draco let out a desperate snort, raising his eyes and arms to the sky. As if asking for strength from a higher entity to be able to bear her.

"Well, that would be a first," the boy spat, sarcastic and annoyed, averting his gaze to the side.

"I don't know what we can do," Hermione repeated, more firmly, emphasising it. Though she was trembling with pure anxiety. "I don't know, Malfoy. How could I know? I've... I've never... I've never felt like this. And I can't stand it either," a small lump settled in her throat but she forced herself to speak through it. "You've always been... just another one, Malfoy. Just another student, just another classmate. One who insulted us for the simple pleasure of it. Someone who hated me. And who it was easy not to want to have around. But now it's... you. I have you... in my thoughts. I don't understand this stupid pile of feelings inside me. I'm confused, and scared too. For the same reason you are, for not being able to control it."

They stood in silence for a few seconds, looking at each other. Just looking at each other. She was sorrowful, he was desperate.

"I have a number of duties, Granger," Draco said in a calmer voice, looking at her gravely. "Duties to my family, to the Malfoy name, which you don't fit into. I need you to understand that what is happening between us is demeaning to me."

"I realise your situation, Malfoy," Hermione said, quietly but firmly. "I understand that you must be going mad. That all this goes against what you've always believed in. Just because I don't share it doesn't mean I don't understand it." His shoulders relaxed at her words. The fact that she understood, the fact that he felt remotely understood, had apparently reassured him despite everything. "But don't expect me to feel guilty about it," she added, more sharply. "And my situation is not easy either. It's not easy for me to realise that I have feelings for a person who has shown that he hates me on numerous occasions, and who has hurt not only me but also many people I love. It's also demeaning to me, and it's... scary to be able to feel this way about someone like you."

"At least you wouldn't have to betray your whole family, and everything you've been taught, for this," he replied, impassively, seemingly willing to look like the victim of the whole matter.

"I betray my own principles, which is almost worse," Hermione retorted, defiantly. "And I have never asked you to betray your family. Nor would I ever. How could I ask such a thing of you?"

"But that's what I'm doing!" Malfoy shouted angrily. "That's what I do every time you and I — !" he didn't finish the sentence, but she understood anyway. "To have something with you would mean betraying everything I know! Everything I am! How... how can I do something like that? How can I even consider it? How can I... be considering it?"

"I'm not forcing you to do anything, don't say it like it's my fault. And I'd have to betray a lot of things, too," Hermione protested stiffly. "My integrity and my dignity, to begin with."

"What's dignity have to do with your situation?" he spat, perplexed and irritated. He pressed his index finger to his chest, tapping it intermittently, "I would lose my dignity and that of my whole family if I were involved with a Mudblood..."

"And I would lose mine if I were involved with someone who hates the likes of me and considers us lower than any insect," Hermione snapped, resolute. He hesitated, but said nothing back. He had recognised his own words in hers. "Tell me, Malfoy, what do you think of Muggle-borns?" she asked then, angry, with palpable irony.

Draco snorted loudly and took a couple of steps away, spinning around in frustration.

"Don't fuck with me…" he protested, in a growl.

"What do you think of Muggle-borns?" Hermione insisted, articulating her words heavily, almost menacingly.

"That they're the worst!" Draco exploded, turning to her and glaring at her with passionate rage. "That they should leave the wizarding world, that they shouldn't be allowed to do magic, or be taught anything! That they're a blight, a blight on the wizarding world as we know it...!"

Hermione barely blinked. She continued to stare at him with fire in her eyes. His words had not impressed her. It was just as she had expected.

"Do you hear yourself? Do you think I can be with you under these circumstances? Am I not supposed to make a big deal out of it?" Hermione was shocked, breathless, staring at him in disbelief. "How can you think such things and — ?"

"Oh, damn it, and what am I supposed to think?" he sputtered, upset, unembarrassed. "Imagine that you've been told all your fucking life that fire burns. Then suddenly you find a flame that doesn't. Would you think it was all a lie? That you've been fooled your whole life, just because of that one flame? Because of a fucking exception that disproves the rule?"

Hermione swallowed hard, unable to keep her eyes on him any longer. She stared at the dirty greenhouse floor, sizing up his words. Sizing up his reasoning. Really trying to put herself in his shoes. She couldn't justify his racism, no way, but... it was what he had always been taught. The only version he had ever known. The upbringing he had received. It was understandable that he felt that way.

And yet he was aware, and admitting, that he had found an exception to all his rules. To his way of seeing life. She.

And yes, his hands were shaking.

"I would at least begin to question its veracity. To think for myself," Hermione murmured, her gaze rising again, almost golden in the midday sun that streamed through the glass walls of the greenhouse. Draco let out a faint snort, not strong enough to sound scathing.

"Who said I'm not doing it?" he managed to mumble, unable to look her in the eye. He almost felt nauseous. He felt dizzy. He didn't want to think about it too much at the moment, because his mind was too cluttered with information to have his head clear. There was too much at stake. He didn't feel able to make a decision with the information he had. He couldn't throw out all his old beliefs for one exception. For the simple existence of Hermione Granger.

Only one thing was clear to him, and that was the exception that belied all his rules, and that was standing before him, seeking his gaze. That exception existed, and it was so real it hurt.

She felt unable to say anything. She blinked a couple of times and her mouth opened slightly in surprise. Was Malfoy really beginning to question his beliefs... at least vaguely? Given his closed, old-fashioned mindset, it seemed to Hermione, at the time, to be a major breakthrough about which she could add little. The most important reason why she would not allow herself to be with him, or even feel anything for him, was the mentality he displayed. The hatred he showed towards her, and all those like her. His beliefs, his outlook on life, completely opposite to her own. As well as his arrogant and cruel attitude, among other things. She had always seen him as an equal, but an equal she didn't want to have around. But his case was different. For as long as he had known her, he had considered her to be truly inferior. He firmly believed that she was beneath him. But now, it seemed, he was beginning to think that maybe that hierarchy wasn't so clear... And that changed a lot of things.

Hermione could hardly take in the surprising turn of events in the conversation. She had never imagined herself having such a conversation with Draco Malfoy.

"Are you really... questioning...?" she began, unable to contain herself. But Malfoy shook his head, turning to the side so he wouldn't have to look at her. He raised his index finger in her direction in a mute warning.

"Granger, don't even think about it. Don't even say it. I'm not talking about this with you, so don't even try," he articulated sharply. She gave in for once and kept quiet. Realising that she couldn't force him any further. The boy was already putting up with too much. It couldn't be bearable to have your strongest beliefs suddenly hanging by a thread. "Just tell me what we do about all this. What choices we have," he changed the subject, more quietly. Hermione swallowed. She folded her arms tightly, before speaking.

"I'm not sure. But... we clearly can't control this," she almost laughed mournfully to herself, alluding to the two of them being there and the kiss they had just shared. "So, since we can't repress what we feel no matter how hard we try, being logical, we should try to... at least improve our relationship," she mumbled, trying to speak sensibly. He then dared to look at her, but looked wildly incredulous. "Speak to each other with respect, to begin with. As equals," she demanded a little more firmly, staring him back vehemently.

"'To begin with'..." the boy repeated disdainfully, definitely unconvinced. "And that's it, that's your solution? What the hell do we get out of it? Does that make it any less immoral? This whole thing is still an aberration!" he added, incredulous and upset. "How is that going to help us?"

"I don't know, Malfoy!" she exclaimed, exasperated, "Then what do you suggest to make it stop being an aberration? I can't change my blood, and you won't renounce your beliefs! Your solution would be for us to... have an affair? A merely... physical relationship? A one-night of — ? A one-night stand? Is that what you want?" she fell silent for a moment, just to catch her breath. Too upset and indignant to be ashamed of what she was proposing. "Well, I don't. I'm not willing to do that. I'm not willing to... spend one night with you and then go back to our lives as if nothing happened. I can't. I don't want to."

He seemed petrified. He was silent for several seconds, taking his time to reply. He seemed to be pondering, apparently analysing the magnitude of her proposal. He was stiff as a stake. And his face was unperturbed. He did not appear at all excited or disappointed by her words.

"Me neither," he finally murmured, almost to himself. As if he had just realised it. "That's not what I want. That's not enough. Well, I don't know —" he corrected himself in a louder voice, seemingly frightened out of his thoughts. "I don't know... anything. Shit," he muttered, unable to contain himself, incredulous at his own words.

Hermione blinked, lowering her gaze. A sudden nervousness tingled down her back. Surprised that they were agreeing to something like this. Wasn't a fling enough for Malfoy? Wasn't he just looking for... a physical relationship with her? She knew nothing of any possible relationships Malfoy might have had in the past, but she had assumed that a night of passion would fit the situation quite well. They would relieve the desire that gnawed at them, and then get back to their lives. Hermione, while unwilling for such a thing, did think it would be enough for Malfoy. But that didn't seem to be the case.

"Maybe we could... try," Hermione then proposed, summoning up a courage she didn't know she possessed. She wasn't even sure what she was saying, her lips seemed to have it clearer than she did. "Not a one-night stand," she hastened to clarify, looking up to meet his eyes, as if to emphasise it. "Not just one night, but... Letting ourselves be carried away by this. Allow ourselves to feel this."

Draco looked at her, just looked at her, for several seconds. He didn't seem to fully understand what she meant.

"What?" he ended questioning, in a low voice. Hermione swallowed, but continued, trying to sound coherent. She took half a step towards him, fixing her determined gaze on his eyes.

"Would it be crazy, to let us feel this until we get our heads straight? It wouldn't exactly be a 'relationship'," she lowered her voice as she said the word, raising both hands and making quote marks with her fingers, trying to take some of the seriousness out of it. "Just... spending some time together. Just you and me," she emphasised cautiously. "We can't continue like this. And it's clear that we can't renounce what has formed between us. The only solution I can think of is... to have it. To give ourselves a break and allow ourselves to feel this way. And when we see that this can't work, that everything is a disaster, we'll stop and go back to our usual relationship," she added quickly, in response to his long silence, in order to downplay the importance of the proposal a little. Fearing that he was going to reject it.

But he wasn't silent because he didn't agree. In fact, he thought it was a fantastic idea. But he had other concerns on his mind. Something he hadn't allowed himself to think about in recent weeks. Something that was definitely above and beyond what they felt. And that had come back to his mind at the most inopportune moment.

The Dark Lord.

He had forced himself to push Him out of his mind, the thought being so terrifying that it took his breath away. He had only allowed himself to think of his parents' reaction, being something terrible, but definitely not deadly. But he was going to be a Death Eater. For the rest of his life. That was a fact. And he was talking about having a potential relationship, or whatever it was, with a Mudblood. Two things that certainly couldn't go together.

Terror was flooding him, making his breath quicken. Chilling the sweat off his back. If someone told Him, if the Dark Lord somehow found out... He was undoubtedly dead.

But... no one had to find out. If they played it safe, no one would find out. They were not going to go around proclaiming it. Evidently, implicit in the girl's proposal was that they would meet in secret. It was convenient for both of them. They would meet secretly, very carefully, and the Dark Lord would never know about it. It was only temporary, as she had said. Until they got their heads straight.

"It's certainly the only possible solution, yes," Draco said as soon as he was able to leave his thoughts, his confidence rising, as if the idea had already occurred to him in the first place. He was silent for a moment, and his haughty face clouded with caution as he added, as if he couldn't help it, "Are you... sure about this?"

Hermione let out a melancholy snort of laughter through her nose.

"Who could be sure of anything in our situation?" she pointed out, with open resignation. He ran his tongue over the surface of his teeth, as he began drumming his fingers on the side of his thigh.

"Can we really... do something like that?" he questioned, articulating the words carefully. She looked at him expectantly. "Without anyone finding out? How do we do it?"

"What if someone finds out?" Hermione mumbled, slightly offended, with some irony.

"Well, you'd be just as fucked up as I am. Or do you want to tell your stupid little Gryffindor friends?" Draco replied, harshly, "It's just as bad for you as it is for me that someone knows about this. I'll have to trust you not to tell, and you'll have to do the same."

Hermione swallowed and looked away. Feeling the weight of shame slump her shoulders. Hide it from Harry and Ron? Was it necessary? She couldn't do something like that... But how could she explain such a conversation to them? But how could she look them in the face while doing something like that behind their backs? She had to think about it carefully...

She felt the unexpected desire to stop everything. To back out her own proposal. But she couldn't get rid of what this boy was doing to her. She could not renounce what she had with him. Those brief but intense clandestine encounters they had experienced, those glances, those kisses, his simple closeness... She wanted to have something with him. Anything. The solution they had found was risky, precarious and complicated. But it was the only one they had.

"This is —" she hesitated, and had to finish the sentence with her eyes closed, "— difficult."

"Do you have any better ideas?" he replied, unperturbed. Hermione looked at him as if she couldn't believe her ears.

"I can think of hundreds," she mumbled, incredulous. "Any idea that doesn't involve betraying everyone for something we don't even fully understand. For something we know has no future. Are we really going to get into such a mess? We're going to be continually looking back, fearing at all times that we'll be found out. We will live a lie. And all for... sneaking around to... kiss?" she added emphatically, almost unable to believe the idea.

Malfoy, without her expecting it, gave a sideways smile that was meant to be sly.

"It doesn't sound so bad either."

Hermione blinked rapidly and let out a laugh that was meant to sound shocked, but in which she could barely conceal the fact that she had actually found his words funny. She could tell that he was as nervous as she was, and that his way of armouring himself, of avoiding showing himself as he felt, was through sharp humour. Still, his words brought a sudden nervous knot to her stomach. Not an unpleasant knot at all.

Sneaking around to kiss... The fact that Malfoy found such an idea interesting, to say the least, made her belly jolt. It didn't seem like such a bad idea to her either, in that light.

She tried to compose herself — not to let herself be carried away by such purely emotional thoughts — and to speak sternly and sanely.

"You are incapable of taking anything I say seriously. We can't even maintain a coherent conversation without ending up wanting to poke each other's eyes out with the wand," she protested, resigned. She rubbed her temples with her fingertips, mentally exhausted. "I don't know what the point of this is. It's all so... unwise."

"I agree," he admitted, arching both eyebrows, gazing impassively at her visible exhaustion. "This — whatever it is, it's not going to last a week. We can even bet, if you like."

Hermione had to restrain herself from bursting out laughing at the absurdity of such a proposal. Bloody hell, how could he get her to laugh at his inappropriate witticisms?

"We can't even put a name to what's happening between us," Hermione protested instead, giving an apathetic, resigned smile. She hugged herself, needing some comfort. "We're mental."

Malfoy seemed to hesitate at those words, thinking about them for several seconds. The smug smile leaving his face. He ended up searching for her eyes with an uncharacteristic seriousness and sincerity in his silver gaze.

"Is it indispensable to name it?"

Hermione agreed to look him in the eye. And she was surprised at how easy it seemed at that moment to hold his gaze. How at ease she felt about it, not feeling the urge to look away at full speed, uncomfortable or embarrassed. She was beginning to feel relaxed looking at him. She had actually known him for years, and yet it was the first time in her life that she felt like Draco Malfoy was speaking to her as an equal. The first time he was looking at her as an equal. Without open contempt. No more superiority than his face habitually showed to everyone else.

"I suppose it's not," she finally said, shrugging her shoulders slowly. "But —" she protested again, quietly, "— I need to understand better... this. I need to know what you expect from this. What you want from me."

Draco took the time for a frustrated, discreet sigh before answering. After hesitating, he took the necessary steps to stand in front of her. As he allowed his gaze to roam over her face, looking like he wasn't quite sure if he was allowed to do so. Hermione mimicked him, scanning his features with her nervous eyes. Allowing herself to appreciate his attractiveness. Allowing herself to feel attracted to the boy before her.

"I'm not sure," he then confessed, drawing out the syllables as usual, making even his doubts sound like something he had under control. However, he seemed to need to look away. "A relationship I... I can't. I don't want one night either. I want... this," he looked back into her eyes and waved his pale hand in a gesture that included them both. Alluding to what they were going through. He frowned, almost incredulous at his own words. "Does it make any sense?" he questioned, seemingly without hope that it did. But Hermione nodded her head very slowly. Without looking away from his eyes.

"Yes," she corroborated, as much to herself as to him. "I think it does. And I want the same."

They said nothing more. Malfoy breathed in and out slowly, as if a weight had finally been lifted from his shoulders. After exchanging a fleeting glance with her, perhaps to make sure she wouldn't hit him or curse him, he moved a little closer to her. Until their bodies were almost pressed together. She stopped hugging herself, so that her arms wouldn't impede their closeness. Draco leaned his forehead against hers, almost tentatively making physical contact with her. Hermione couldn't hold back a sigh at the closeness. At the feel of his face pressed against hers. Draco tilted his own, slightly, and sought her lips cautiously. Just a soft, tentative touch. As if it was the first time they had ever kissed. Feeling his lips on hers, she tried to return his kiss shyly, awed, barely moving her lips. Just as slowly as he did. Curiously, that chaste kiss, so gentle, so subtle, was the one that most accelerated her heart of all those they had exchanged. It was a calm, peaceful kiss. Even amusingly clumsy at times. A gentle kiss, getting to know each other, getting to know each other's mouths. For once, it wasn't a hard, fiery kiss, quick and urgent. It was a change, but it was no less pleasant. On the contrary, Hermione enjoyed the sensation of slowly losing herself in his mouth, no regrets, no fear of imminent rejection as soon as they parted, no thought of pushing him away.

Deep down, and not so deep down, she was terrified of what they were going to do. But a strange emotion, akin to adrenaline, dread, or excitement, had taken hold of her at the situation. And common sense had left her. Being in that greenhouse with its clear glass walls, sharing clandestine kisses with Draco Malfoy, at the risk of anyone passing by and seeing them, was the most alarming, forbidden, passionate situation she had ever experienced. It was an addictive, intoxicating drug-like sensation.

When their lips lost contact, Hermione took a few seconds longer than he did to open her eyes, as if she wanted to preserve the moment by keeping them closed. When she met his gaze, and found those deep grey eyes staring at her from such close proximity, she could barely contain another sigh. She tried not to completely detach herself from his skin. She loved being so close to his face, feeling her fringes tangle with his. His hot breath leaving his nose and colliding with her skin.

She felt like her heart was going to burst out of her chest. This was happening. It was really happening. It wasn't just a dream...

"This cannot work out well," Hermione whispered, a faint smile on her face. She closed her eyes again, and couldn't help but move her face a few millimetres, to brush against his. To nuzzle skin to skin. Draco did not reciprocate. But he didn't move away either.

"I thought you Gryffindors were brave," he replied, equally in a low voice. She noticed under the skin of her face that his was twitching in sarcasm. "You spend ninety per cent of your existence bragging about it."

"We are brave, not foolish," Hermione replied, without opening her eyes. The two of them were talking in whispers, arguing in whispers, even though they were alone in that place. But the closeness felt too good to abandon. She was too lost in the intimacy of the moment.

"'Brave' and 'foolish' are synonyms, believe me."

"And so are 'Malfoy' and 'presumptuous'."

The boy gave a definite presumptuous half-smile. His hands went forward and reached for her forearms, wrapping around them and caressing them with his thumbs.

"You're a pedant, Granger," he whispered against her mouth.

And he kissed her again, harder, cornering her against the greenhouse table.