Chapter Three: Caught

They walked mostly in silence, occasionally bickering about which way to go. He let her rant about her hatred for Quidditch, mostly because she talked herself into circles of further agitation to his absolute enjoyment.

She had been going on the topic for twenty minutes and was at a high point when he had to either draw the line or get her focused on something he was more curious about: why she was avoiding Gryffindor Tower. She was basically scolding him for playing the sport as if he had been reckless enough to rob Gringotts. She could win a trophy for best McGonagall impression if there were such a thing. This witch could be very scary when she was upset.

"Granger," Draco braved, "why are you so upset about Quidditch right now? Need I remind you that your team won."

"Ugh, you're just like all of the others!" She shouted loud enough to wake a few nearby paintings. She didn't seem to notice. "None of you care about the injuries that are caused or the fights that break out, or the relationships that get placed on the back burner for the stupid, savage game. Ron didn't talk to me for months in third year over a stupid argument over a broom – I was right, by the way, I always am – and this year looks like it will be the same. He's upset because he thought I doubted his abilities as a keeper and he took to snogging LAVENDER BROWN in the middle of the bloody common room just to spite me! You all get so worked up about a sport that shouldn't have so much control over your lives," She stormed, starting to collect herself from the tirade that took over. "It's ridiculous!"

Hermione finished with a few shaky breaths and an apologetic, embarrassed glance at Malfoy, then at the rows of paintings that had woken up to listen.

Silence consumed the unlikely pair as they resumed walking. Draco, feeling smug at his success and a little prattish at her obvious pain, fought the snigger that threatened to surface. So she's throwing a fit because Weasel-Bee is snogging that blonde Gryffindor slag? Interesting.

Hermione took a seat on a secluded staircase, burying her face in her hands. "I'm sorry I yelled at you. You don't deserve it."

No tears came. Only shame.

Most girls would have become a crying, blubbering mess of mascara; Draco was thankful that this witch wasn't like that.

He took a seat beside the brunette offering a playful nudge of comfort. "He's a prat anyway. Weasel doesn't deserve your time if that's how he treats his friends."

"It's more complicated than that. He just isn't great at communicating or handling things when he's angry," she defended.

Malfoy looked at her sternly before speaking. "See, this is why you're not a Slytherin. All of you Gryffindors are so bloody passionate and trusting and forgiving. You are cunning and observant, Granger, but you let your passion blind you. In Slytherin, we hide it. We keep face because we know what's useful. But you… you hate me, yet you share your most troubled thoughts with me almost without question," he argued. "Some may think that's real and healthy, but I see it as self-deprecation and ultimately, weakness.

"You let your emotions rule you. You'll do something reckless, but you'll call it brave. You try to live by putting everyone else first, protecting the world, but you won't see how it hurts you until it's already over," Malfoy exclaimed.

Hermione was taken aback by his insistence and, to her surprise, his accuracy. His words so perfectly described everything Harry had ever done, not to mention how she and Ron supported him along the way without question.

She'd be the first to admit that the revenge plan seemed enticing in the heat of the moment, but she demonstrated enough self-control to hold back. She thought it through and removed herself from the situation before she made any rash decisions.

"That may be true in some situations, but I have this under control. I'm usually the one in our group to think things through and take my time making decisions," the witch defended.

The famous Malfoy smirk graced his features again. "Sure, Granger, if you say so."

The man stood up, contemplating where to go next. He enjoyed, no needed, this break from working on the cabinet. He had spent too much time trapped in that room today and had distanced himself from his housemates to the point where suspicions would be raised if he'd stayed.

Hermione's inquiry earlier showed that she and her two friends were at least curious about his affiliation with the Dark Lord. There's no way they could know for sure. But they probably speculated. He'd need to be more careful to keep his cover, yet more diligent to complete his assignments.

The girl was still sulking, lost in the inner maze of her mind. Her head hung low in her hands and she looked tired. Her anger only masked part of the sadness he knew was there.

Hermione conjured a small flock of birds that twittered above her head, chirping happy, pleasant sounds. They mocked him. They reminded him of his impending failure.

He needed to get out of there, that room with its walls closing in. He reached out a hand to help her up.

Her brown eyes met his stormy ones, the birds grew quiet, her body sat unmoving on the step.

Draco internally cursed himself. Why did being raised a proper gentleman always have to rear his head when it would make things awkward? This is holding the door open for Pansy in fourth year all over again. At least this witch wasn't daft enough to assume a kind gesture was invitation for a relationship.

Hermione's body language was inquisitive, but she accepted his gesture anyway.

Almost as if on cue, the annoying sound of giggling filled the hall as the door opened at the end of the corridor allowing none other than Ron Weasley and Lavender Brown to walk through.

Everything was silent for a long moment. Draco could feel Hermione stiffen at his side. Did she realize her hand was still holding his? Her grip tightened around his hand like she had heard his thoughts. She wasn't going to let go.

"Oops," giggled the blonde girl, her own grip tightening around Ron's arm. "It looks like this room's taken."

"Her-Hermione, what are you doing here?" Asked the bumbling redhead.

Draco's hand got a squeeze again. "I was just having tea in the kitchens with Draco and we decided to go for a walk."

Damnit, Granger, she had to go and let her emotions run away with her brain. He didn't want to be dragged into her mess.

Weasel's face changed to match his hair color. "'Draco?' When did you start calling him 'Draco?'" He almost shouted.

"About a month ago when we got paired for an arithmancy project," Granger promptly lied.

Draco was sure a vein on Weasley's neck was about to pop. "Oh really?" he chided, "You've been hanging 'round the slimiest snake all term, have you?"

"Well if you had ever cared to ask–

"No, don't put that on me. Were you ever going to tell us? Would you have told me? I suppose you two are together now, right? Deserted corridors, holding hands..." Ron continued to get angrier, but his words told another story. He was jealous, too. Ron thought she had led him on. "He's a Death Eater, Hermione!"

Draco decided he wouldn't let this go any farther. Releasing Granger's hand, Malfoy reached for his wand, aiming it directly at the Weasel's abnormally large forehead. "I suggest you stop making assumptions, Weasel-Bee. This has nothing to do with you."

Ron scoffed, absentmindedly shoving Lavender away from him in his state of agitation. "You can bet your arse it involves me. You sneak around the castle, no one knows where you go or what you're up to. You're working on something! You're hiding something! What is it?"

Hermione cut in, stepping between the quarreling men. "Usually, he's with me, Ron. Now, if you'd kindly excuse us, it appears your girlfriend would like nothing better than to shag you in a dusty, dank corner of the castle and I don't want to be around when it starts."

With a definitive stomp of her foot signifying the conversation was over, Hermione grabbed Draco's hand roughly and pulled him away with her.

When he was finally able to stop her from moving forward, Draco shook himself free and not-so-gently trapped the offending witch against the cold, brick wall.

"What the bloody hell was that?"

"I- I- I don't know! I'm sorry, I just got carried away. The idea hit me earlier and I–

"You what, Granger? You dragged me into this and now that moron thinks we're together! Are you MAD?" Draco lost it.

"Well… Well…"

"Well what, Granger? I told you that something like this would happen. I knew you would let your emotions get the best of you! It's all you Gryffindors are reliable for; thinking with your heart instead of your brain and screwing everything up around you," he countered.

She tried to push him away from her with no success. He was too strong. He smelled like pine needles, clean and sharp like the lines of the angular face she was seeing close up for the first time.

The sound of a door opening on a nearby hallway shocked the pair. "Follow me," Draco commanded, swiftly leading her down a few empty hallways, through a cave-like tunnel behind a portrait she'd never seen before to a closet door that was vaguely familiar.

Reluctantly, she followed him inside.

Hermione spoke first, "Is it that bad of an idea? Look, Malfoy, they think you've got the Mark. They know you're up to something. I can vouch for you. I can get them off your track so you won't be followed everywhere. They trust me. Well, Harry does, and I'm tired of listening to their conversations about their ridiculous theories about you anyway. This could really help us both."

He'd admit the idea wasn't all bad. It would be helpful to have her on his side. He could find out how much they knew. He could use her.

Maybe – It's a dangerous idea – but maybe she could even help him fix the cabinet. She's called the smartest witch of their age for a reason. She might be able to see the situation from a different perspective. He wouldn't have to tell her exactly how the cabinet will be used.

He would have to come up with a plan before he agreed to anything.

"What would this be, a fake relationship? Why would I want the whole castle to think that I'm dating someone like you? It ruins my reputation as a pureblood," the blonde pointed out.

She thought differently, "No, no, no, don't you see? This would protect your reputation. Tell Nott and Goyle and the other elitists whatever you want, but it protects you from

the prying eyes of my side. It will keep McGonagall, Dumbledore, and even my friends off your back for a while. They know I'd never date someone with questionable intentions," Hermione countered.

"Do you hear yourself, Granger? You're aware my intentions are not aligned with yours. I'm not saying I'm Marked, but you know where my loyalties lie. That won't change." Draco shifted uncomfortably feeling like he'd given away too much information.

Hermione was too focused on her internal distress to notice the Slytherin's discomfort. Her mind was racing with thoughts. She knew she had been confirming everything Malfoy had said about Gryffindors when she decided not to let go of his hand. She knew that seeking revenge by fake-dating Ron's enemy wasn't the most logical way to go. But still, she loved the idea of seeing Ron squirm with a jealous rage. She loved the idea of proving that Hermione Granger was, in fact, datable. She also loved the idea of getting Harry to shut up for ten minutes about his Malfoy's-a-Death-Eater Theory. She wanted this, perhaps by a stroke of insanity, she wanted Malfoy to be her fake boyfriend.

"You're right," the witch muttered, shaking her head and sending curls flying every direction. "This might be crazy, but think about it! There is a lot of good that could come of it," she tried, the slightest bit of desperation echoing each word that left her mouth.

Her eyes sharpened at the dismissive shrug of his shoulders, but she could see the gears in his mind turning, thinking, considering.

"Wouldn't you like to not spend every minute shadowed by Harry?" she asked provocatively. He continued to think silently and she began to wonder if she was taking this too far, if it was a lost cause.

He looked nervous and unsure, two qualities she'd never seen him wear. She pressed on, "You do know he follows you around, right?"

At that, she had his attention. "Is that supposed to frighten me, Granger?" Malfoy scowled, his eyes piercing.

"No, I'm simply inquiring as to if you are aware," she clarified coolly, noting the way his muscles grew tense. "If he thought the two of us were dating, he wouldn't invade your privacy. He wouldn't follow you around. He'd leave us alone."

He sighed suddenly feeling the weight of his exhaustion weighing on his eyelids. "Okay, Granger, I see what you mean. There might be some benefits to making an arrangement with you, but I'm not sure I can commit to anything."

"But Malfoy, think abou-

"Look, why don't we sleep on it," offered Draco, cutting her off. "We can meet back here tomorrow night to see what we each decide and go from there. We both have a lot to lose."

"Okay, Malfoy, that's fine. Tomorrow, eight o'clock," she paused, "but where are we?"

"The Room of Requirement, of course."

She nodded. Of course.

"Just think 'I need a place to meet Draco' and it will appear."

She nodded again in understanding and turned to leave, obviously overcome with many thoughts from the evening.

"Goodnight, Malfoy."

"Goodnight, Granger."

With a shy smile and small nod, the witch closed the door.

Hermione arrived at the portrait hole soon after where she told the Fat Lady the password and made her way into the now-empty common area. Knowing that Lavender was likely still with Ron somewhere else in the castle, Hermione was safe to climb the stairs to her dorm deep in thought.

She crawled into bed with her clothes on thinking she'd fall asleep almost instantly, but she was wrong. Her mind was much too busy, thoughts swarming like threatened bees inside her usually organized mind.

More than anything, her thoughts were heavy with guilt, a feeling she wasn't all that familiar with. Had she been unreasonably harsh to Malfoy the past few years? She'd thought him to be an arrogant, aristocrat, mini-version of his awful father. He'd spent years calling her "mudblood." He believed that she deserved little more than the privilege of licking the dirt off his boots. He thought his pure blood and deep vaults placed him above everyone else– above muggleborns, above the working class, above magical creatures. Yet, one simple statement from Dobby had sent her whole picture of the blonde up in billowing smoke.

Malfoy apologizing was as rare and elusive as the Grim. Sure, it was bound to rear its head every once in a while, but it would absolutely shake anyone who witnessed it. No one would actually believe they saw it happen. For Malfoy to apologize to a house elf he'd treated unfairly, the world must be ending, right? She couldn't believe the git had actually moved away from his elitist mentality.

Well, maybe he hadn't. She couldn't be sure. His words said he still felt superior and wanted to fulfill his duty as a pureblood, but his actions told her a different story. If he truly thought her to be filth, would he have offered to go on a walk? Probably not, unless that was supposed to be some kind of trick. Would he have offered to help her up from the stairs? Now that was a definite no. Purebloods were supposed to be disgusted by the idea of interacting with a muggle-born, but Malfoy did not shy away in those moments at all. He didn't flinch or look all that uncomfortable.

She couldn't shake the disturbing thought that Malfoy had actually been nice to her. He'd told her what she needed to hear, he'd tried to distract her, he'd asked her questions about her thoughts, which none of her friends had bothered to do in weeks. He'd practically comforted her after she scolded him for something he didn't do and offered a kind hand to help her up like a gentleman should. It was all so foreign and confusing, especially when she was also thinking about Ron. Her supposed 'best friend and future boyfriend' had been ruthless with his words, yelling at her, insulting her, and doing something he knew would upset her immensely. Just as she thought their romantic relationship was going to take off, he decided to destroy her heart instead.

With this single comparison between the two boys, a kind enemy and a hurtful friend, Hermione couldn't help but wonder why she had been friends with Ron for so long in the first place. Even further, she wondered why she fell in love with him.

From the very first day of their first year, Ron showed the kind of hurtful things he was capable of. She hadn't forgotten that their trio formed on Halloween that first year after the boys saved her from that mountain troll. What the boys did certainly saved her life and for that, she was grateful. However, the boys seemed to let one minor detail slip from their memory of the event. She wouldn't have needed to be saved if Ronald Weasley hadn't shot off his mouth to insult her, causing her to cry her eyes out in that bathroom. He was angry all of the time and he held awful grudges. In times where they were at odds, he was ruthless and immature. Was that really the guy she fell in love with? Someone who is hot-headed and willing to throw away the people he calls friends until he gets over whatever minuscule misstep they made against him? She felt like she barely knew Ron at all. He was too unpredictable and she wasn't sure she could deal with him and his antics any longer.

On the other hand, Malfoy seemed to be reliable. She could count on him to insult her and make snarky comments in her direction. She could rely on his outfit to be a tailored black suit with either a black or white dress shirt and a simple tie. She could rely on him to be professional and he seemed like he would keep secrets, unless he personally gained something by spilling it, of course. She could count on him to make fun of her hair and her attachment to books, but he'd been quietly just behind her in grades in practically every class. Well, except potions. He'd been top of that class every year to her frustration.

Malfoy was insulting and arrogant and calculating and he'd come from a bad family, but after tonight, she no longer thought Malfoy was fundamentally a bad guy. How could she ignore the few positive qualities he'd shown as he walked her around the castle? He was protective, honest, challenging, attentive, and pleasant. He paid attention to her and he listened to her as she spoke. Hermione was shocked that Malfoy stood out above her friends in that area, and frustrated that it took her an evening of heartbreak and a stroll around the castle with an enemy to see that her friends weren't as reliable as she needed.

Of course, there were moments in her past that demonstrated how incredible Harry and Ron could be, as well as moments that proved how hurtful Malfoy could be, but recently? Recently, the Gryffindors had not shown any consideration for her and her feelings and Malfoy was the kind and attentive one.

She was still wary of the Slytherin, she wasn't sure if she could really trust him. But she couldn't completely write off the blonde as a lost cause.

This night had all been too confusing. Was she really thinking positive things about Malfoy? And could she be thinking negatively of her friends – the ones she spent every day with? It felt like betrayal. Then again, hadn't Ron's betrayal brought her to this point? That made her feel better about her strange thoughts. Whatever happened from this point forward could be blamed on the redhead.

It's all Ron's fault, really.

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A/N: As always, thank you, Rachelletwin2 and gray-jedi-scavenger-rey for editing and betaing this fic. Their feedback, suggestions, and help putting commas in the right place has been sooooo helpful. As we get more into the heart of the story, I hope all of you readers continue to love it :) Your kind comments, follows, favorites, and reviews have melted my heart. Thank you!

Disclaimer: All publically recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of J.K. Rowling.

Many thanks to anyone who takes the time to read this story, OxfordElise