One of these days
I won't be afraid of staying with you
- Michelle Branch, "One of These Days"

She doesn't wake up screaming this time.

It's an improvement, though only a small one.

She does, however, abruptly bolt upright in bed, causing the sheets to fall in a heap upon her lap. Her hands clutch at her bare arms, and her breathing is quick and ragged. She is vaguely aware of the thick sheet of sweat covering her body, her heated skin, the blistering fever, and the migraine pounding within the confines of her skull. She is temporarily frightened when she does not remember where she is, but then it floods back into her conscious thought, and she takes slight comfort in this regained knowledge. She is safe here.

Her feet land silently onto the soft navy carpet bathed in silver moonlight beside the bed. She does not pull a robe over her nightgown because only Harry and Ron are here, and they're most likely asleep considering the time it must be. She does not want to either; it is surprisingly hot for nighttime, and she is already sweating because of the nightmares. She carefully makes her way to the door and into the hallway. The kitchen is nearby somewhere. She needs something cold to drink before taking a shower and cleaning herself up.

She is able to find the kitchen quite easily in the dark. She grabs a glass from a cupboard and fills it with cold water from the faucet. Her elbow knocks into something, and she hears a loud clatter as it hits the floor below. The sound makes her jump. She hopes nobody heard that. The other bedrooms aren't too close, but she can't help thinking it has probably just wakened one of them. It will be funny if they believe there is an intruder in the house. She sighs and smiles weakly at that thought. It would be funny, she thinks.

"Lumos."

Her whole body freezes up, but her grip is loosened on the glass in her hands. It slips out of her grasp and smashes onto the floor at her feet. She lets out a scream and stumbles backwards, stepping on the shards of scattered glass. They cut into her feet, and she screams again, tumbling onto the floor below. The fall is painful, and her feet are even worse, but none of that particularly matters because she is not alone in the room.

She can see the soft yellow light approaching from over the island counter she has landed behind, and suddenly the realization hits her that she has only woken up Harry or Ron. She curses herself mentally for managing to make a complete idiot out of herself like this. They'll probably never let her out of the house now, thinking she'll end up killing herself on accident. She's had so many of those lately.

He steps past the counter and stands before her. All of her muscles seize up, and her mouth falls open in silent disbelief. How in the world...?

"Merlin's beard, Granger," Malfoy scoffs, "do you always walk around in the dark breaking things?"

Hermione is far too shocked to say anything immediately. After a short bit of silence she manages, "M-Malfoy? What are you doing here? How did you get in?"

A smug look crosses Malfoy's face. "It's not hard to get into this place, Granger. All you really need is," he produces a shiny metallic object from one of his pockets and holds it up into the light for her to see, "a key."

Her face flushes with anger. "Where did you get that, Malfoy?"

"Which leads us to the answer of your first question," he answers lazily. He tilts his head to the side, pausing for good measure. The faintest smirk appears on his face before disappearing entirely and leaving his expression blank. "Harry sent me."

Hermione doesn't hide her absolute confusion. "Harry...sent you...?"

Malfoy sighs in a bored manner and rolls his eyes along with his head. "Yes, Harry sent me. He and Weasley had an urgent call and had to leave. He asked if I would come over."

"What for?" Hermione shoots at him. She is growing angrier and angrier by the second at Malfoy and now at Harry as well.

Malfoy raises an eyebrow. "If someone has to spell it out for you, Granger, you're worse off than I thought."

She glares menacingly at him. "I am perfectly fine!" she snaps, trying to get to her feet. This causes her to quail out in pain and fall back to the floor again. Malfoy looks down at her feet and swears loudly.

"Granger, you're bleeding all over the damn floor. I hardly call that perfectly fine," he retorts.

She ignores him and tries standing again. Once again, she falls to the floor, managing to bite back a cry. He doesn't approach her to help.

"I know you're high and mighty with the Muggle way of things, Granger, but just heal yourself already," Malfoy scolds, eyeing her with a mixture of annoyance and disgust. "You'd be doing your feet and this floor a favor."

Hermione blushes a deep crimson and fixes her eyes on a spot near her knee. "I left my wand in the bedroom."

She expects him to laugh and berate her further, but he merely shifts around for a bit in silence.

"Lift your feet," he finally says in a flat voice.

Hermione sets her jaw and obeys by first raising her right foot. Malfoy mutters a healing spell, and she carefully lowers her healed foot onto cleared floor. They repeat the process one more time with her left foot. Hermione rises from the floor and straightens her gown. She stands quiet for a moment, five feet across from Malfoy, and then makes quickly for the exit.

"Where are you going?" he calls to her.

"To get my wand!"

When Hermione returns to the kitchen with a robe on and her wand tucked into one of its pockets, Malfoy has cleaned up the broken glass and spilled water. He looks up from where he is sitting, which is in a chair at the end of the island counter, and arches his eyebrows at her. He is holding the handle of a mug that is resting on the surface in front of him. Hermione notices there is a second one beside him.

"You didn't have to do that," Malfoy says, smirking, "It's not as if I care. It's hot any way."

She feels her face flush again and pulls the robe tighter around herself.

"I'm cold," she lies.

Malfoy leans back in the chair, lifting the mug to his lips. He is watching her observantly, still smirking. "Yes, because we all sweat when we're cold." His tone isn't cruel, only amused. He takes a drink, and then sets the mug back upon the counter. When he notices she still hasn't moved, he gestures at the other one nearby. "Well, have a drink."

She stands where she is, staring suspiciously at the second mug. "What is it?"

"Butterbeer. Iced," he says nonchalantly, then almost gleefully, "For when it's cold."

Hermione glares as fiercely as she can at Malfoy, who isn't even trying to hide the sheer enjoyment he is experiencing from being able to make her agitated. She defiantly remains where she is.

"I'm not thirsty."

Malfoy is shaking with silent laughter. "Just like you're not hot, right?" he counters.

Hermione smiles with a faked expression of surprise. "What was that, Malfoy?"

He instantly falls still, realizing how his words sounded.

She presses on, "Did you just call me, Muggle-born Granger, 'hot'?"

He narrows his eyes at her. "Don't even go there, Granger."

"Oh, I didn't go there, Malfoy. You did," she says spitefully.

His voice is dangerously low. "You know bloody well what I was talking about." The amusement is erased completely from his face, and suddenly he stands up, taking the mug with him and leaving out the opposite kitchen exit towards the living room. Hermione is left alone in the room, utterly bewildered with what just happened.

She swallows nervously and notices her throat is horribly dry. Her eyes fall upon the other mug of iced butterbeer. Throwing her suspicions out the window, she approaches the counter and takes the mug into her hands, greedily drinking down half of the cool beverage and feeling immediately better. She remains in the kitchen a little while longer, clutching the mug between her hands and mulling over her thoughts.

After a few moments of standing in silence, Hermione finally treads out of the kitchen the same way Malfoy went. She steps into the living room warily. The fireplace is crackling away in merriment, though not in warmth because it is charmed, and shadows are dancing across the walls and furniture like clouds of black smoke. Malfoy is sitting on the far right of the couch facing the fire with one of his arms draped lazily over the back. The other is holding the mug of butterbeer in his lap. His left ankle rests over his other leg, his knee jutting out to the side in the same way she remembers her father's doing. Her father. Her throat seizes up at the thought of him.

Hermione stands in the entryway for a long time, wondering what she should do or if she should do anything at all. Harry may be able to handle an emotional Malfoy these days, but she doesn't know how. The frustrating thought causes her to sigh softly, running fingers through her less-than-usual messy hair. She thinks the humidity must have tamed it some. Shaking the thought from her head, she sets down her mug of cold butterbeer on an end table as quietly as possible.

After regarding the still profile of Malfoy for a little while longer, Hermione finally decides to make a move -- and a very, very bold move at that.

She takes a seat on the couch beside Malfoy, and not just at the other end of the couch either, but in the middle. Hermione is not sure what force possessed her to do such a thing, and clearly Malfoy is too. His draping arm recoils quickly to avoid the accident of touching her, and his whole body becomes rigid as if he is about to jump to his feet, though he doesn't. Malfoy simply stares at her, clearly confused, maybe a bit fearful, and undoubtedly uncomfortable with the closeness. Hermione pretends not to notice.

She stares forward at the fire, hands in her lap. His reaction to her sitting beside him prompts her to ask a sudden question.

"Why do you still hate me so much, Malfoy?"

Her voice is soft and quiet instead of accusatory as is normally expected. She turns to meet his gaze, but Malfoy looks away. His face is devoid of any emotion, and all his muscles seem to have frozen in place. A life-like statue, she thinks bitterly. There are only three things Malfoy ever shows: anger, amusement, and nothing. Hermione thinks nothing doesn't exactly count.

Her question is one she hasn't been able to understand for a long time. Harry saved Malfoy's life about three months ago. A pureblood had to be sacrificed for a Dark Magic spell Voldemort wanted done, and Voldemort demanded it to be Lucius's son. Lucius didn't put up much of a disagreement to this apparently. They had showed up just in time. Malfoy was bleeding badly. Voldemort ordered Lucius to finish it immediately, to kill him before it was too late. Lucius hesitated, and Harry blasted him off his feet. Malfoy was released and brought to safety before the situation arose to a full-scale battle.

Malfoy lost both of his parents that day. His father was murdered, and his mother was too, but no one knows who killed her. She was found dead at the Manor. The Killing Curse. They had put into reports that it was a Death Eater. It probably was. Narcissa did not agree with her husband over the matter of her son and threatened to tell Dumbledore of the ritual. She went through with her threat after she escaped the Imperius Curse. That was how they found out about it in the first place. Narcissa shouldn't have gone back to the Manor, but she insisted she had to retrieve something. She was probably hit from behind. At least that's what they say.

Voldemort escaped, though, yet again. He is still out there right now, somewhere. Malfoy refuses to help them do any fighting, and he refuses to tell them anything that he may know, which Hermione believes is very little to begin with. She wonders why this is, but Malfoy offers no explanations for his actions. She thinks he is just tired of fighting. After all, who wouldn't be after losing their parents because of it? She knows how that feels. She almost gave up helping them herself at one point. Harry changed her mind, though. She wonders why Harry can't change Malfoy's.

Malfoy refers to Harry as Harry these days and not Potter, but Ron is still Weasley and Hermione is still Granger. Harry calls Malfoy by his given name as well. It's not exactly a friendship, except that it is. They do not talk like Harry and Ron do; they do not spend time together like that either. Somehow, though, Harry and Malfoy have an unspoken bond. Malfoy has even lightened up a bit towards Ron, but he still regards Hermione in the same way he always has. The only difference is he just doesn't call her a Mudblood anymore. He has called her a Muggle-born, though, but he won't do it in front of Harry or Ron. He has only said it to her in private, but those times are extremely rare. Malfoy never likes being around Hermione, and especially not alone.

Then why is he even here?

Because Harry asked him, Hermione thinks vehemently.

Many minutes have passed, and still Malfoy has not answered her question. He is staring intently at the fire with a faraway look in his eyes. Hermione doesn't know why, but her own eyes are stinging. She blinks carefully, realizing that tears are threatening to fall. For some reason his cool indifferent silence is hurting her deeply, like Harry or Ron's anger would. She sniffs, trying to hold back the urge to cry, and quickly stands up from the couch.

It all comes down to blood, in the end, with Malfoy.

Hermione cuts around the back of the couch so as to not pass in front of Malfoy and heads for the hallway. She wants to go back to her room and hopes silently that he will get the hint and leave. She isn't helpless like Harry thinks she is. She is only distraught. Who wouldn't be? With people like Malfoy hanging around and her parents...her parents...

She stops at the hallway entrance when Malfoy's voice carries across the room.

"You're good," he says.

Hermione is jarred from her thoughts. She has no idea what he is talking about. Turning around slowly, she finds that Malfoy is still gazing at the fire, but his face is strained. She looks at his hand, the one holding the mug; his grip on the handle is deathly tight. Hermione calms her nerves with a deep breath before speaking.

"What?"

Her voice comes out a little shakier than she likes. Malfoy shifts on the couch. She can tell he'd rather not elaborate, but he does.

"You asked why I still hate you," he replies smoothly. "You're good."

Hermione tries taking this in, but is doesn't make any sense to her. "Because I'm good...?" She wraps her arms around herself, furrowing her brows. "I don't understand."

Malfoy lets out a small chuckle. He turns his head to look at her, and suddenly he seems a bit more relaxed. "Yes, because you're good, Granger. Why, you're Miss I'm So Innocent I Still Wouldn't Even Know the Meaning of Evil If I Looked It Up in the Dictionary, for God's sake." Malfoy stands up from the couch and, without looking away from her, deposits the mug of butterbeer on the coffee table. He isn't smiling anymore. "You're whole perfect, pristine existence makes me sick to my stomach," he sneers, approaching her with the likeness of a snake poising for attack.

Hermione is enraged and even insulted by this accusation. How could he say she has no idea what evil is when she's seen what it can do firsthand? Standing her ground, she snaps back at him, "That is a lie, and you know it! Why do you think Harry asked you to come over? I know what evil is! I had to see it murder my parents!"

The tears are falling now, and she can't stop them. Malfoy isn't fazed by this dramatic display, though. He halts right before her, no more than a foot away, smirking cruelly. "I'm not talking about what you've seen, Granger. I'm talking about what you've done..." She follows the path of his eyes and his hand above her head, where he traces a fake halo with his finger. "...Which is nothing."

"What's so wrong with that?" Hermione asks shrilly. "What's so wrong about never doing anything wrong?!"

Malfoy lowers his hand back to his side, looking her straight in the eyes. "Nothing, I suppose." He shrugs absently. "But you asked why I still hated you, and that's why."

Hermione stares in disbelief. He gazes at her for a little while as if contemplating something, then turns away and heads back to the couch. He lounges out in a lying position this time, closing his eyes against the partial darkness of the room. She isn't able to move or talk or do anything really. Of all the things in the world to hate somebody for...

"And don't even say it because you know it's not true," Malfoy drawls.

Hermione is shaken unexpectedly from her thoughts. "What?"

He laughs softly. "That you hate me. Don't say it because you know it's not true."

"And how would you know?" she snaps, feeling the anger surge back into her veins.

"Because you don't hate anybody. You just don't like them. It's part of the goody-goody nature..."

It happens so quickly Malfoy doesn't have time to react. Hermione storms right over to him and slaps him hard across the face. His eyes shoot open in shock, but before she can swing again he is able to snag her by the arms. "Let me go!" she shrieks, twisting and jerking so violently that when he does she loses her balance and topples into the sharp corner of the coffee table. She cries out in pain from the impact and falls to the floor. Malfoy swears and slips off the couch, getting down on his knees beside her.

"Shit, Granger! Can't you ever control your temper? By Merlin if Harry's going to skin me alive because of you..." He stares at her for moment, unsure of what to do. "Well...where did it hit you?" His voice is annoyed, not concerned. Hermione doesn't answer. She only glares at him, biting fiercely on her bottom lip. "Look, I'm not leaving you here with a bruise the size of England on your back that you can try to blame on me," he hisses indignantly. Again, no answer.

Malfoy sighs irritably, rolling his eyes. "Fine. You want to do this the hard way, we'll do it the hard way, Granger." He props himself up using his left arm and positions himself above her. Hermione's eyes grow wide, and she makes a squeal in her throat while trying to scoot away. Malfoy looks at her face, clearly surprised, and then it dawns on him. He breaks out into a grin and tries suppressing his laughter. "Please, Granger, like I would ever shag you."

This only makes her even angrier. Hermione deftly slaps him again. "How dare you? There is nothing wrong with me!"

Malfoy gently rubs his cheek with his other hand and smirks back at her. "Are you saying you want me to shag you?"

Hermione slaps him yet again. He falls over to her right, clutching his face. "Goddamn it, Granger!" She climbs to her feet and kicks him forcefully in the side. He swears profoundly at this, and Hermione smiles.

"Now we're even," she says pleasantly.

She steps over him to go and collect her mug from the end table when Malfoy trips her. Hermione screams, landing on the floor with her palms and knees taking most of the impact. Malfoy climbs onto her back and effectively pins her down. "Rug burn is such a pain in the arse, don't you think?" he asks cheerfully.

"You're the pain in the arse, Malfoy!"

He gasps in mock surprise. "Why, Granger, I didn't think we went that far yet!"

"Aaaaaaaargh!" Hermione savagely kicks upwards, hitting Malfoy between the legs. He swears yet again; this time a nasty four-lettered word. She shoves him off and scrambles to her feet, straightening up her disheveled robe. Looking down at him, she fixes him with a deadly leer. "I don't think there'll be any of that," she says venomously. Then a little too brightly, "Especially now."

She stalks away towards her mug again, but something catches around the front of her ankles like a rope, and before she knows it she's back on the floor in crumpled heap.

"MALFOY!"

She rolls over onto her back to see him standing before her and laughing. Apparently she didn't kick him hard enough. Hermione sits up, but he quickly straddles her knees before she can manage to get away. She squirms and twists helplessly. "Get off me!"

Malfoy smirks at her, twirling his wand between his fingers. "Trip Jinx," he replies, "I used it to trip Harry in our fifth year, you know."

"Like I care," Hermione says through clenched teeth.

"You're a feisty one, aren't you? I suppose all virgins ar--"

She lunges at him, pushing him onto his back and freeing her legs. He grabs her forearms, pulling her down on top of him. She falls hard against his chest, effectively knocking the wind out of both of them.

They lie there still for a while, trying to regain their breaths. Hermione's eyes travel over Malfoy's face. He is flushed; his normally pale skin is pink, tinged with a bit of red in the cheeks. His parted lips look slightly swollen from aggravation, giving them the hue of cherries. Has he been biting them? she wonders. He licks his lips. Hermione's heart pumps erratically, and her eyes widen. She realizes this is the closest she's ever been to Malfoy. The thought makes her cringe, and she quickly scrambles off him and climbs to her feet. Malfoy slowly sits up, watching her with childlike interest.

"So..." he says, pausing as a smirk crept onto his lips, "...was it good for you?"

Hermione snatches a pillow from the couch and throws it at him. He catches it and laughs. "Well, you're the first unsatisfied woman..."

"Oh, quit acting like you've even been with a woman!" Hermione retorts hotly. "Because you haven't!"

"Says who?" Malfoy asks, obviously offended.

"Says Harry!"

Malfoy's mouth falls open and his eyes widen in horror. "Why, that nasty little blighter--" He suddenly pauses, eyeing Hermione curiously. She is trying desperately to hold back a grin. "Wait..."

"I knew it!" she cried out.

"No!" Malfoy leaps to his feet and points a finger at her, his face burning with color. "You tricked me! That is so...so--"

"Wrong?" Hermione offers, crossing her arms. The grin is no longer on her face.

Malfoy drops his hand to his side, his reddened face contorting in a mix of what must be anger and shame and surprise. An uncomfortable silence descends upon the room, leaving only the sounds of the crackling flames from the fireplace and Malfoy's heavy breathing. Hermione chews on her bottom lip and wonders in the secret chambers of her mind what he is thinking. She breaks eye contact with him by looking at the floor and rubs her forehead with her hands.

"Don't worry. I'm not going to tell anyone; it doesn't matter..." She shakes her head and laughs softly, and a bit sadly. "And you're right, you know. I don't hate you. You're human like the rest of us. I just don't understand what drives you to be the way you are. I just...I just wish you'd treat me like a person with feelings sometimes..." Hermione doesn't know where the words are coming from. She's just speaking them with complete ease as if she is talking to Harry or Ron and not Draco Malfoy. Suddenly she shakes her head. "Okay, so all the time. Maybe I'm being selfish and unrealistic, but isn't that what everybody wants? To be treated like they matter?" She drops her hands and lifts her face to see him.

Malfoy is gazing blankly at what may or may not be the couch or coffee table. He stands there unmoving, save for the curling of his fingers at his sides. When he doesn't reply, Hermione decides to be bold again.

"Isn't that what you wanted?"

He suddenly stiffens, entirely aware of incident she is talking about. His turns his gaze upon her, and Hermione swears she can see a fire blazing beyond the gray of his eyes. But what if it was always there, and she just never took the time to see it before? What if he's just been very good at hiding it? She clutches her arms again, waiting for him to say something. He doesn't. Hermione feels something in her chest crack. Why is his silence so painful?

Because he wants to say something, but he's afraid. Say it for him. Just say it for him...

"Because you do matter," Hermione finds herself saying, "You matter and Harry matters and Ron matters and I matter!"

She wants a reaction from him so badly other than the silence that she doesn't care if he loses it and storms out. She just wants him to show that he feels something, anything. Something other than nothing because she always sees nothing, and she knows there is more to him than that. She knows it. Why won't he give up trying to hide it? Her head is pounding again; it hurts so much. For God's sake, say something!

"Why?"

Her heart leaps into her throat, and her hands instinctively fly to her chest. He spoke. He spoke. He asked why. Why? Why what?

"Why what?" she asks quietly.

"Why are you saying this?"

Her heart falls back into place, and suddenly she feels as if she just fell from somewhere high up and hit the ground below with a smack. He doesn't believe her, does he? He thinks she is just saying it to be saying it. Hermione hates herself for not being able to handle this calmly, for not being able to keep her nerves from shaking and her eyes from burning. It is such a trivial thing to be upset about. If he doesn't care, then why should she? She wishes she doesn't, but she does, though she cannot fully understand why. Human or not, Draco Malfoy is an insufferable person with no consideration for other people's feelings. Maybe even lives, she thinks in her fit of rage.

"Just because you're a liar doesn't mean the rest of us are!" she yells at him. "If you want to believe I'm just making it up, then fine! Believe it, Malfoy! It can all be lies if that's all you're comfortable with!"

With that, she turns on her heels and storms out of the living room. She doesn't even bother to light her wand as she stumbles through the hallways. She moves quickly, finding her room rather sooner than she expects to. Hermione hurries in, slamming the door behind her, and makes for the bed. She falls on top of it like a little child would, burying her face into the softness of her pillow. She does not cry, only breathes. Heavy, deep breaths that allow as much oxygen as possible to fill into her lungs. She is comforted after what seems about twenty minutes.

She finally musters the strength to pull off her robe. It is too hot to be wearing. Hermione merely shoves it over to a spot beside her on the bed and then lifts a single sheet up to her waist; she has never been able to lie down without being covered somewhat. Her surroundings are bathed in pure silence. Not a single sound can she hear, save for the breathing of her lungs and the beating of her heart. It is very uncomfortable for her. It is far too quiet. She has never been able to sleep in complete silence before.

Hermione lies there for what must be over a hour, yet not quite two. She stares up at the ceiling, wondering if and when she falls asleep will the dreams come back. The ones about her parents that wake her up every single night. The ones that leave her with nothing but fear and dread and the feeling of doom wrapped tightly around her soul. She hates waking up that way all the time. Sometimes she tries going without sleep for as long as possible, but it makes her collapse from exhaustion. She's had a lot of accidents lately because of that. Ron and Harry forbid her to do it anymore. They can't exactly stop her, though. The most they can do is force her to take a sleeping draught.

They let her have the dreamless sleep draught at the beginning, but she grew tired of having to constantly take it, for the dreams (or nightmares, really) never went away. She took the draught until she was absolutely sick of it, which was probably after a month. It was about four months ago when they were murdered. Three months ago when she stopped taking the draught. Three months ago when...

When Malfoy's parents were murdered.

It strikes her that she really has not noticed how Harry, Malfoy, and herself are all orphans now. All seventeen. All without parents. Ron is lucky, she thinks. Maybe that is why she and Ron broke up. She was jealous, spiteful, angry even that his family was still intact. It pained her so much, reminded her of how much she had lost, how perfect and whole he was. The only person who really understands her pain is Harry. He may not remember losing his parents, but he had lost them. And Sirius...

Yes, no one understands her pain like Harry. She used to ask him if he would stay with her at night, help her sleep. Comfort her. Ron did not like it. They had a huge fight over it. Stupid, silly thing that was. She misses clinging to somebody. Somebody like her; somebody who understands. She misses Harry's warm arms around her, though not in a lover's embrace, only a comforting embrace. It was like her father clinging to her when she had nightmares as a child and hopped into her parent's bed. Oh, how she misses her father...

Hermione is suddenly torn from her thoughts. There is the softest creak coming from the doorway. The door is opening. She feels her breathing hitch in her chest. Harry and Ron can't be here yet. They are always so noisy when they move through the house. And Malfoy...didn't Malfoy leave? Certainly he didn't stay here after that row earlier, and he certainly would not be coming into her room. Especially since it's been...what, two hours since the fight? Or was it a fight? More like an anger release, perhaps?

She hears the soft click of the door closing. Her heart pounds madly within her ribcage. What should she do? Pretend she's asleep? Bolt upright and scream? Grab for her wand? Hermione mentally tells herself to calm down. She can take a peek and see who it is without them realizing she's awake. It's easy enough to do. Then she can decide what course of action to take after that.

She carefully tilts her head with the slightest of moves. It is very dark in the room, but she can see the person's head. He is approaching slowly, cautiously. She cannot see his face, but she knows that silvery blond hair from anywhere.

Malfoy.

Now she is confused. She doesn't know what to do. Why is he in her room? When she is supposed to be asleep nonetheless? Is he trying to play some childish prank on her? Hex her when she's sleeping? Turn her hair purple? Oh, the nerve of him! After everything he's been through, he's still a whiny brat! Hermione wants to grab her wand and hex him first, but something is holding her back. She wants to know what he's planning to do before she makes it known she is awake. Alright, so she'll pretend to be asleep. It isn't a hard thing to do.

She can feel his presence stop beside the right of her bed, the side she is lying on. He is quiet and doesn't do anything. He stands there for a while like that. Hermione can feel every single nerve of hers tightening, anticipating something. Anything. She knows he is staring at her; she can feel it. He is probably trying to figure out what hex will be the best to use on her. Oh, that horrible little twit--

"Granger?"

His voice is smooth, soft. Gentle even. She has never heard him speak like that before. It surprises her. But she does not open her eyes. She doesn't say anything. She continues to feign sleep. Malfoy is only trying to make sure she's asleep before hexing her into oblivion any way. He is silent for about a minute.

"Granger, are you awake?"

A little more urgent this time. A few more words as well. Hermione is still unresponsive.

"Granger..."

She realizes he isn't going to give up. She has to convince him she's asleep. She shifts groggily onto her side, twitching her head towards him, and moaning softly for good measure. She's seen plenty of people do that in their sleep when someone is trying to wake them up. A lock of curly hair falls into her face and tickles her eyelash. She wants to push it out of the way, but knows she can't. She is supposed to be asleep. Oh, bugger, it tickles...

She feels the edge of the bed sink in. Her heart nearly bursts from her chest. He is sitting on her bed! What in Merlin's name does Malfoy think he's doing, sitting on her bed? She wants to bolt up now and scare him half to death for doing that. He has no right sitting on her bed! Especially when she's asleep on it! Well, she isn't exactly asleep on it, but he thinks she is. And that counts!

Hermione isn't expecting what comes next. His fingers, surprisingly warm, graze against her cheek. She flinches involuntarily. Good Lord, he's touching me! Touching me! When I'm supposed to be asleep! What does he think he's doing? Malfoy must believe the action normal, and it crosses her mind that she is lucky people actually do that in their sleep or she'd have given herself away. The next thing she feels is one of his fingers curl under the lock of stray hair and pull it away from her face. Hermione's heart is hammering so loud that he must be able to hear it, but if he can he doesn't acknowledge it.

Malfoy's hand returns to her face, gently touching her cheek with his thumb. Hermione wants to scream. This isn't right. You don't touch someone you hate like a lover when they're asleep. You just don't. It's wrong. But Malfoy doesn't hear her thoughts, and she doesn't speak them out loud. His whole hand carefully lowers upon her jaw and neck, and he strokes his fingers along the sensitive skin below her ear. She feels a tingle surge through her body as he touches her. It feels nice...but it's still wrong. It's Malfoy. Hermione silently hopes he doesn't go any further. She never thought of him as this...this kind of person. If he stops now, she'll just let it be forgotten. She will, but he has to stop. Please, Malfoy...just stop...just stop it now...please...

As if he hears her silent command, he removes his hand from her a bit reluctantly. His breathing is ragged and heavy. She hears Malfoy sigh exasperatedly and shift around. He makes a quiet, painful growl in his throat. Hermione is afraid. Is he going to leave?

"Why you?" he asks in a strained voice. "Why does it have to be you?"

Is he talking to me? Hermione finds herself confused. She's asleep, though. Or he thinks she is. Why would he be talking to someone who is asleep? She doesn't understand what's going on. She wants to pull the sheet over her head and hide, but she can't move. She mustn't move. He sighs again and, according to the sinking feeling of the bed towards her, moves closer.

"You're so beautiful when you sleep..." he says in a soft whisper. She feels his fingers gently graze her cheek again. "A lot like an angel, you know..." He laughs quietly at this. "So much like one, in fact. Can't say I've seen one, though..." he pauses. "But you're close enough..."

He goes silent again, and suddenly the familiar burn returns to Hermione's eyes. She shouldn't be hearing this, but she is. These are intimate words, private words -- secret words. They're for her, yes, but it seems so wrong to be hearing them because she isn't really meant to. Her chest is aching now. She isn't sure from what. She feels like she's been holding her breath.

"It's so easy speaking to now...when you're asleep. You can't hear me. You can't laugh. You can't yell at me...or call me a liar. I can say anything I want, and you'll never argue with me. You won't think it's some horrible joke if I say you're beautiful...or if I say I want to be near you..." He grows quiet, and she can hear his breathing in the silence.

Hermione's hand unconsciously grips onto the mattress. This is just far too much information for her. How is she supposed to handle it? It frightens her terribly. It's not that she's frightened of him...okay, so maybe she is. Here he is in her room, in the middle of the night, touching her and talking to her, thinking she's asleep. What girl wouldn't be afraid of that?

And suddenly that fear rips through her body as she feels him lean in toward her and thread his fingers through her thick hair, gripping it. He isn't...isn't going to try anything, is he? She can feel her whole body tremble, but he obviously doesn't notice this. His head is right beside hers, and he's breathing in deeply as if her hair is a bundle of flowers. God, she is beyond frightened. She is mortified. This is so very wrong in so many different ways.

"Why can't I hate you anymore, Hermione?" he whispers so quietly it seems but a breath. "I try so hard, but you just won't let me..." He stays like that, with only an inch or two between them, for quite some time. She releases her held breath when Malfoy finally untangles his fingers from her hair, but he leans in close to her face now. She can tell he is gazing at her features. It unnerves her having him so close to her, being so intimate with her, and really without her consent when she thinks about it.

Hermione hears him draw in a sharp breath. "I...I'm sorry I lied. I didn't have a choice..." He breathes out, and Hermione can feel the warmth. She would be so concerned with how close he is if it isn't for the fact that she has just heard him apologize to her. Apologize? Malfoy? To her? Well, after everything else he has just done to her -- and her being Hermione Granger, no doubt -- how much more surprised can she possibly be? Any apology is different from a touch, though. An apology...oh, for Heaven's sake, she can't think right now with him so close to her. But suddenly, at least, she doesn't feel that frightened anymore. She feels...well, oddly a bit safe.

He leans back a comfortable distance then, as if he is reading her thoughts once again. Hermione relaxes a great deal now. Something makes her feel ashamed, however. She recognizes what it is rather sooner than she expects with her mind working at such the sluggish rate it is -- her earlier thoughts. When she was thinking he had come here to...to...well, do something with her. Why did she think that so suddenly? She ponders this for a while before she realizes that she really had every right to think that. What is a girl supposed to think when a guy comes in her room at night and touches her like that? Any girl would have thought what she did.

But still she feels ashamed at thinking it. Malfoy isn't that kind of person. She should have known that. But...he isn't this kind of person either, is he? A person that apologizes? Calls a Muggle-born beautiful? Voluntarily touches one in a gentle way because he wants to? Oh, how Hermione is so confused. What is Malfoy? Is he just some brilliant actor? Why is he doing this? Why now? Why here? And...why her?

She can feel the bed move slightly as Malfoy leans back a bit more, probably in a straight position. He sighs. He sounds tired. Tired and exhausted and...defeated.

"This is still so new for me," Malfoy quietly admits to her supposedly sleeping self. "These thoughts...these feelings. I can't think or feel the way I used to about things. Somehow you make it all not matter...Mudblood...pureblood. They just seem like words now...just stupid words..."

That's what does it.

Maybe it is her bewildered state. Maybe it has something to do with all the pain she has been experiencing lately. Maybe it is just because of everything that has now occurred between the two of them tonight. Or maybe it's really because she just doesn't give a damn anymore about reactions and consequences.

Hermione opens her eyes to look at him as she pushes herself up into a sitting position. Malfoy starts as if a jolt of electricity has just shot through his nerves. His eyes widen in horror much like they did earlier, and his mouth falls agape. He is about to jump off the bed, but he freezes for only a few seconds, and those few seconds are all Hermione needs to wrap her arms around his neck and pull him to her. She hears his breath hitch in his throat, and she can imagine what kind of fear is flooding through his system. The same fear she felt when he began touching her.

Malfoy doesn't move, doesn't speak. He doesn't try to pull away or even hug her back. His body is stiff and rigid in her embrace. Hermione tightens her arms around him, reaching one of her hands behind his head and letting the other fall down to his back. She strokes her fingers gently through his hair, as if trying to soothe a small child.

"It's okay," she whispers softly, "It's okay. I believe you. I believe you, Draco..."

Draco. She has never called him that before. She has never thought of him as Draco before. He's always been Malfoy. Just Malfoy.

But now he's Draco.

Just Draco.

Hermione can hear him expel a heavy breath. The warm air hits her ear, and she has the sudden urge to pull him closer. She hasn't been able to hold someone for so long. It is comforting for her. Draco is breathing now; she can feel it. His chest heaves against hers with each deep breath he takes. Hermione continues stroking his hair and begins rubbing his back with the palm of her hand. Draco is relaxing. His head leans against hers; his breathing calms. She is sure he does not know what to make of this, but everything can be sorted out and stacked later. Right now she just wants to hold him.

They sit there, on the edge of her bed, for what seems like an eternity of stilled time. Hermione doesn't recall when Draco wrapped an arm around her waist and tangled a hand into her hair. For her it is all just one very long moment in which she helplessly clings to him, afraid of letting go, of waking up from what may turn out to be nothing more than a wonderful dream after all. He doesn't seem willing to speak. Hermione doesn't want him to. He has said all he has to say.

She imbeds in her memory the smell of Draco: expensive soap, spice, and sour fruit. Probably lemon. She also fixes somewhere in her mind the contours of his body and the way he molds against her. He feels nothing like Ron, nothing like Harry. Draco is different from them in so many ways, but she cannot sort out all those ways at the moment, nor does she want to. Hermione is becoming tired, though; she cannot stay like this all night. As slowly as possible, she removes her hold on Draco and gives him time to do the same before pulling away.

She has never seen him as vulnerable as he is now. The calm blankness of his eyes is gone, the surety of his expression faded, and even his graceful movement seems to have become somewhat awkward. Hermione's hands rise to the clasp of Draco's robe, and she can see the bewilderment in his face. He catches his breath as she undoes the clasp and pushes the robe off his shoulders. It falls down his back and onto the floor. Hermione cannot help but smile at what thoughts must be going through his head.

"You might want to take off your shoes," she whispers, her hands now brushing over his shoulders in small circles.

Draco swallows heavily. "What for?"

Hermione's small smile becomes a shy grin as she glances away. She is fully aware what he thinks she is suggesting, and it makes her blush.

"Not for that..." she says quickly. "I...I would just like some company tonight. You don't mind..." Hermione meets his eyes. "Do you?"

Draco looks away and releases his held breath, then brings his gaze back to hers. He manages to shake his head. "No..."

She smiles softly and scoots away to lie back down when Draco gently takes her by the wrist.

"Wait..."

Hermione looks at his eyes, a little confused. He bites on the inside of his bottom lip, as if fearful of saying something. She furrows her brows.

"What?"

His expression is pained. He glances down at the space between them. "Were you awake the whole time?"

Hermione nods, then realizes he isn't looking. "Yes," she replies.

Draco is quiet for a while, absorbing this in.

"And you're not mad?" His voice isn't weak or shy. It is firm and laced with disbelief.

Hermione reaches out and takes him by the chin, lifting his face to hers. His skin is slightly pink-tinged on the cheeks and forehead, and his eyes are so bright. She knows that Draco must feel overwhelmingly embarrassed by his earlier actions when she was supposed to be asleep. Hermione cups his face with her other hand and makes light strokes with her thumb.

She slowly shakes her head. "No."

He stares at her, mouth slightly open. After a while, he lifts his hand to her face, copying her actions. The silence reigns between them as they study each other's face. Hermione licks her partially dry lips to moisten them. Draco unconsciously does the same thing. Suddenly he leans towards her, but pauses only a few inches away. She says nothing, though her eyes flutter to a close. Draco leans in fully, pressing his lips onto hers in a soft kiss.

Hermione doesn't resist, and before long they are entangled in each other's arms. Her mouth parts open, allowing more than just the contact of their lips. Draco deepens the kiss, gently entering his tongue, touching hers with his own in the most sensual way she has ever known. There is so much passion behind it, so much truth, so much desire. She feels herself melt against him and into him. Everywhere his hands touch, her skin burns. It is the most beautiful thing she has ever known, and she wonders if it is the same for him. She hopes it is.

Hermione is vaguely aware of being laid down onto the bed. She can hear the clunk of his shoes as he kicks them off onto the floor. Draco's body is pressed entirely against hers, pinning her between himself and the bed. She does not mind. As long as he doesn't stop kissing her. Her skin feels like a fire is scorching it from outside and within. One of his hands is running up and down her side. Hermione isn't sure where the other one is. It doesn't matter. His kisses are becoming more heated, more urgent. She wants to feel the warmth of his mouth closer, but she doesn't know how. She can only answer him with movement just as desperate.

They continue like this, overcome with desire and wanting, for what seems like forever; never going too far, yet never slowing down. That is, until Hermione moans into his mouth. Draco responds with a similar sound, deeper and more guttural than hers. The hand massaging her side carefully slides downwards, over her hip and onto her thigh. He strokes it with soft circular patterns. She moans again, louder, and in a way that sounds a lot like, "Oh..." His hand passes onto her inner thigh, traveling upwards...

Her eyes shoot open, and she catches his wrist before he goes any further. Draco pulls away from the kiss, flushed and breathless, and meets her pleading gaze. He stares at her for a while with his eyes wide and glassy and his mouth, swollen and red from abuse, hanging open. He is about to say something, but Hermione hushes him. She shakes her head, telling him to be silent. He continues staring straight into her eyes for a long moment, just watching her in the quiet darkness; then he leans down and kisses her softly on the forehead. Hermione closes her eyes, feeling tears burning at the back of them. She is having a hard time believing this is really happening now. All of this...between her and Draco Malfoy...it seems as if she is going to wake up any moment and find him gone and this unreal. Any moment...

He carefully crawls off her, lying himself beside her on the bed at her left. He slips his arm around her waist, and the other rests on the pillows, toying with her hair. Hermione clutches onto the arm around her and turns on her side, leaving him facing her back. She feels Draco move closer to her, pressing his body against hers and holding her tightly. Hermione sighs in content at being nestled with him in the safety of her bed. Neither of them speaks, and as the night wears on, they fall peacefully asleep in each other's arms.

And for the first time in three months, the nightmares do not come back.

TBC