**Disclaimer: I own nothing; everything belongs to the wonderful J. K. Rowling.
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Chapter 22:

Deep below the Hogwarts castle, Draco awoke. He was covered in a thin veil of sweat even though the fire had gone out a long time ago and a chill was in the air. He knew that it must be very late but Draco was wide- awake now. He couldn’t remember what had awoken him or what his dreams had been about, but for that he was thankful. Draco’s dreams were far darker than Hermione’s, but then, he had known more violence than she had. Being Lucius’ son, Draco had been present several times when Lucius was going to make an example of someone. And considering how great his knowledge of dark spells, he had quite an active imagination.

Throwing back the green satin coverlet, Draco swung out of bed and crossed the room to his dresser where he changed into a thick school robe. He exited his room and entered a long dark hall dimly lit with dripping candles. Doors led off of from either side into other dorm rooms but Draco headed straight down towards the common room.

It was empty and silent when he got there. Surveying the room he went to the portrait hole and slipped out. He wanted to pick over the letter again; maybe something would give him a clue as to what was really going on. Draco knew that this was probably an effort in futility, all of his tricks had been taught to him by Lucius, there was little doubt that he would have been extra cautious in his wording. But Draco couldn’t sleep and it would help him to focus on something, anything.

The walk to the library took a long time, he’d had to hide several times behind suits of armor and even ducked into a deserted classroom a time or too. The blasted cat kept trying to sneak up on him. The mangy thing seemed to know that he was there but just couldn’t find him. He was surprised that there hadn’t been any teachers roaming the halls. It use to seem as if they were everywhere when he snuck out with Crabbe and Goyle. It felt like a very long time since he had snuck out with them. Or had gone out with Pansy to take in the view from the Astronomy tower. But he didn’t miss it. Most of his free time was spent working with Hermione, thinking of Hermione, or fighting with her. And of course, he had messed that up again, he had hurt her again. No sooner had she forgiven him for some nasty indiscretion than he went and did another one. Honestly, if he had been in her position he probably would have hexed himself by now. Draco frowned as he thought; he just wasn’t very good at being nice.

He reached their room and unlocked the door. As it opened a glimmer of light shone through the crack and he opened it all the way with a bit of surprise and found her sitting at the table, deeply involved with her book. She glanced up and for a moment her brown eyes held relief but they changed suddenly to fear and then worry as if she were remembering something. She looked back down.

His letter lay on the table where it had been left earlier. “Isn’t it a little late?” He asked quietly.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she muttered, “I had a dream.” She added when he looked at her more closely. “Why are you here?”

“I couldn’t sleep either,” he replied.

“Bad dream?”

“Probably, but the details seem to have slipped my mind at the moment.” Draco closed the door behind him. She jumped a little at the sound that it made. “So what was your dream about?” Draco asked with interest; she wasn’t usually so jumpy.

“Nothing” she muttered looking away from him, which was always a sign that it had definitely been something.

“Was I in it?” He smirked seductively.

“No!” She cried out in alarm and he just grinned more, she wasn’t very skilled at lying. “And even if you were in my dream, it wasn’t that type of dream.”

“But you’ve had those types of dreams before? About me?” Draco grinned with triumphant delight.

“I…I didn’t say that,” Hermione’s voice faltered and she blushed.

Draco smirked at her and she buried her head in her arms. “You’re such a prat Malfoy, you know that, right?”

“You might have mentioned it once or twice Granger.” He said gently still smiling. “So your dream, which wasn’t that type of dream, what was it about?” He sat down on the window bench and looked at her.

“I’m not sure, maybe a warning?” Hermione muttered, lifting her head to look at him.

“I thought that you didn’t hold with all that divination mumbo- jumbo.”

“I don’t normally, this just seemed different though.” Hermione flipped another page in the book and started to make more notes. “I think that I might almost have something, but I’m not sure, I’m having difficulty with the translation.”

Draco held out his hand for the book and Hermione glared at him momentarily before joining Draco on the window seat. Draco examined the book; it was one of the first encrypted ones that they had worked from.

“I remember this book.” He muttered and began to look over her translation. “Well you’ve done pretty good considering that Latin isn’t your strongest subject.”

Hermione glowered at him and Draco knew immediately that she had just fought down the urge to push him off the bench. She chose instead to ignore his comment. “This word here, and that phrase the next paragraph down. I can’t figure out either of those.”

Draco glanced over what she had just pointed out and then his eyes widened. “I know what this means,” he said quickly pointing to the phrase. “It says nex necis. It’s what they use to call the unforgivable curses, the original name.”

“What?” Hermione asked, the color draining from her face.

“Oh don’t tell me that they keep you little Gryffindors that sheltered? The unforgivable curses, you know, Cruciatus, Imperius, and Av…”

Hermione interceded, “of course I know what they are! But why is he writing about them?”

Draco frowned, “well it’s probably because they were created right about that time as well.”

“They were? I didn’t know that.” Hermione was starting to get her color back.

“Well it isn’t a very well known fact, but supposedly they were created by some group of wizards during the seizure of the Ministry back at the turn of the fifteenth century.”

Hermione looked surprised, “how do you know that?”

Draco grinned with pride; “well I just put my knowledge of the dark arts together with that scroll you lent me by Greyson. I’m can be very ingenious at times.”

“I’m thrilled that your knowledge of all things dark and evil is so great Draco.” Hermione said sourly. “So then the wizards that took hold of the ministry created those spells.”

“No,” Draco said quickly, “no, they were made by someone else. Lucius always said that we owed a great deal to a few unknown simpletons that were trying to do the right thing.”

Hermione sat quietly, the fingers of one hand were absentmindedly playing with a lock of dark hair, “You don’t think,” she paused and then continued in a whispered voice, “that O’Leary created them? He couldn’t have, could he? They’re evil spells.”

“Well he sounded rather desperate in his earlier journals.” Draco said thoughtfully. “And we know that he can make his own spells.”

“B…but, they’re evil.” Hermione whispered again in apparent shock. “And he was good, he couldn’t have, he wouldn’t have!”

“Just because they’re evil spells, that doesn’t mean that they aren’t useful.” Draco said automatically.

Hermione looked at him with a horrified expression before standing up, “you’re terrible. Really, really horrible. Do you know that?”

“Well it’s true.” Draco replied simply, as he watched her begin to angrily to pace around the little room. “Just because something does bad things, that doesn’t mean that it has no place in our world.”

“Those spells have hurt so many people, don’t you understand that? That one spell killed Harry’s parents! Don’t you care?” Hermione didn’t give him time to respond as she continued on ranting. “Of course you don’t care, you’re almost just as bad as those death eaters, no matter what you say. You’re just mean, and nasty, and evil…”

“I am not evil! And I’m certainly no death eater!” Draco snapped breaking Hermione’s tirade in-mid breath.

“Why not?” She asked him softly, the anger gone from her eyes, only curiosity left.

“Because of you; I think,” he replied quietly.

“That doesn’t make any sense.” Hermione came and sat back down next to Draco.

“I know that it doesn’t.” He muttered.

She closed her eyes for a moment. “Draco, are you in danger because of me?”

Her question held so many unanswerable worries and so many hopes. Draco felt a sudden unbearable pressure with her words and lashed out before thinking. “Of course I’m in danger because of you. What? Did you think my father would be happy if he knew that I enjoy kissing a mudblood?”

There was an echoing moment of silence in which Draco fervently wished that he had been born a mute before Hermione stood up. She didn’t look at him, only quietly gathered her things. Pausing before the door she finally met his eyes. And for once, Draco knew exactly what they said; she wasn’t coming back.

He launched himself after her and Hermione pushed through the door. She darted down the walkway to the stairs but Draco was faster. He grabbed her arm and jerked her backwards. She struggled against him and her hand darted towards her pocket where he knew her wand was. He forced it out of her hand as she pulled it out and she glared up at him with furious eyes.

“I’ll scream,” she hissed.

“You won’t,” he replied firmly hoping that he sounded more sure than he was.

He dragged her back into the room and pulled the door closed behind him. She was still struggling to break his grip, but she wasn’t having much luck.

“Would you stop that? You’re just wasting your time, not to mention your energy.” Just to make sure, Draco tightened his grip.

Hermione glared at him but stopped struggling.

“Look, I’m sorry,” he began gently, “I don’t think of you like that, not anymore. You know that I don’t.”

“I don’t know anything about what you think Malfoy. You’re always saying something different, or even worse, not saying anything at all and I’m rather sick of it.” The fight seemed to be going out of her and she sagged slightly, “I fight with you more than I fight with Ron.”

Draco felt a hot flash of anger, “well if being with me is so terrible, why don’t you go be with him.” And with that Draco let go her and she stumbled backwards.

Her eyes sparked dangerously and she seemed to swell in anger, “I’m not with you!” She stepped to him and pointed her finger at him. “The only time we’re ever together is in this room.”

“Is that it then?” He snapped, stepping closer to her.

“Of course that’s it, we wouldn’t want to soil your good name by associating with a mudblood.”

“It doesn’t have anything to do with my name!” Draco’s head was beginning to hurt and he knew that if they got much louder, surely someone would hear.

“Doesn’t have to do with your name? Of cou…”

Hermione’s voice had risen to such a shrill crescendo that Draco imagined that he could hear doors opening closing and could see Filch pounding up the stairs. Knowing that he needed to silence Hermione, Draco did something that would generally be considered very foolhardy. He kissed her, breaking off her rant mid-sentence.

She was so surprised that she didn’t do anything for several seconds, which was enough time for Draco to pull her closer to him. And when she finally did respond to his advance, it wasn’t by pushing him away, but by pulling him even closer, her hands curling around the back of his neck.

Draco didn’t pause to question this surprising turn of events, he was too busy becoming aware of how every part of his body seemed to have woken up. He was wondering at how a rush of endorphins from a few simple kisses could have such a profound effect on him. A faraway part of Draco’s mind was marveling at how he could want Hermione more than anything else. His mouth left hers and began to trace across her jaw. She tilted her head back and his lips came to rest at the silkily soft skin right below her ear. He breathed in the scent of her hair, a faint trace of vanilla. Draco broke away without letting go and studied her face. Her eyes opened and met his.

“You’re with me now,” he whispered huskily.

Hermione closed her eyes, “I’m with you now,” she agreed in a breathless voice.

Draco kissed her again, his lips zealously seeking hers. Her fingers tightened, pulling his pale hair. He drew her along with him as he stumbled through the stacks that littered the room. They found their way to the window seat and Draco pulled her down with him as he sat. One armed wrapped around her back holding her close while his other hand cupped her face. Her own hands dropped from his neck and ran along his chest, finding a way through his robes, her cool fingers leaving little burning wakes upon his skin. He hadn’t bothered to put a shirt on when he had left, only taking time to drape a robe over his shoulders and pajama bottoms, and the first moment her fingers found contact he was immensely thankful for his earlier haste.

Hermione pulled him along with her as she leaned farther down against the seat and Draco certainly put up no argument as he kissed the shallow hollow at the base of her throat. Draco pulled up from her and gazed at her face, hers cheeks had become rosy and her eyes were glassy. The sudden lack of contact seemed to almost pain her and she breathed hard. He held her gaze and gently lifted a hand to brush a stray curl back. She shivered against him as his fingers touched her temple. Draco swallowed, finding his mouth suddenly very dry, and let his hand trace back down her face. Hermione’s eyes widened when she seemed to realize what he was attempting but she made no effort to stop his fingers as they found the clasp of her robe.

He pushed the dark cloth away, forcing himself to move slowly, not giving into his desire to rip it to pieces. A slightly bemused expression spread across his face as he realized that Hermione was also wearing her pajamas under her robe, supple flannel with a pattern of small stars. Hermione seemed to notice his expression and frowned. Draco sensed that she was about to say something and he kissed her again before she could. And once again, Hermione melted into his arms. Under his robes, Hermione’s hands gripped his shoulders and brought him closer.

Her closeness was intoxicating and Draco was having a hard time fighting the urge to go faster, to kiss harder. He didn’t want to do anything that would make her slap him and storm away again. Draco realized that his hands had slid down her sides and had paused at the bottom of her nightshirt; it had risen up a bit and exposed a stretch of pale skin right above her navel. She stiffened as his fingers explored the naked skin. His fingertips paused at the hem of her shirt before sliding under the warm fabric. They moved further up and she whimpered softly. Her hands suddenly pulled out of his robes and she caught his before they could go any farther.

She held his hands in her own, her eyes pleading for forgiveness. Draco sat back, his hands still clasped tightly; he took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. Hermione’s eyes began to sparkle with an early hint of tears. She seemed on the verge of getting up when Draco pulled his hands from hers and shifted her so that she was leaning against him. He draped an arm around her shoulders and gently kissed the crown of her head.

She had gone very rigid when he pulled her to him, but she finally let out a deep breath and let her head rest upon his chest. He listened to her breathe without saying a word. Draco knew from past experience that it was a good idea to keep his mouth shut and avoid the possibility of saying something impeccably stupid. Hermione grew more still and eventually Draco knew that she had fallen asleep. He waited a few moments more, enjoying the defenseless closeness of her. He wasn’t sure if he had ever been near someone that trusted him this much.

Draco smiled and closed his own eyes, not believing that he would sleep, but wanting very much to have this moment extend indefinitely. His head seemed to become heavier and before he knew it, before he could fight against it, Draco had slipped into a deep and blessedly dreamless sleep.



He knew that it was ridiculous to believe that her absence was what woke him up several hours later when the sun had finally cleared the horizon of mountains. Draco knew that it was probably just his internal clock telling him that he would be late for potions if he didn’t get up soon. But he couldn’t help but feel, when he opened his eyes that morning and found the room deserted, that her non-existent presence had been responsible.

Draco hadn’t even been surprised when he jolted awake. A breeze ruffled the scrolls on the table as if she had just shut the door but when he had peered down the slowly lightening walkway it was empty.

Shafts of early morning sunlight had begun to stream through the high windows and Draco remembered that he was still wearing his pajamas. If he went to change now he would just make it in time for class. Professor Snape might favor the Slytherins, but he had always frowned upon tardiness. Draco sped out of the room, pausing long enough to lock the door, hoping that if anyone saw him, they would just assume that he had gotten up especially early, instead of staying up especially late.



Draco settled himself into his seat and glanced around the dungeon. The entire class was nearly here, minus Hermione. Potter and Weasley were wearing equally surprised faces; Hermione was never late. By chance, or maybe suspicion, Potter glanced at Draco. Not wanting to disappoint, Draco treated the Gryffindor boy to a knowing smirk.

All eyes turned as the door flew opened with a noticeable rush of haste, and Hermione practically tripped into the room.

“Ahh, Ms. Granger, I am so pleased that you have decided to join us for class today.” Professor Snape said coldly.

“Professor Snape, I’m so sorry. I…” Hermione tried to explain.

“I don’t want to hear your paltry attempts at an excuse. Ten points from Gryffindor. Now sit down before you hold up our precious class time even more than you already have.” Snape’s bracing voice made Draco frown; she had apologized after all.

Hermione nodded quickly, looking very embarrassed, and started towards her seat. She stopped when she saw Draco. Her eyes went wide and she blushed deeply. Draco felt like he should say something to her, which was absurd really since Snape was impatiently waiting for her to take her seat.

“Something wrong Ms. Granger? I never knew that Mr. Malfoy was so interesting.”

Hermione gasped and then fled to her seat turning her back on Draco.

Draco found himself glaring at his favorite professor now. Normally Draco found it amusing when Professor Snape gave the Gryffindors flak, but Hermione hadn’t really deserved all that. It was obvious from the deep circles under her eyes that she hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before. Thinking of the night before made Draco break out into a wide smirk and he leaned back in his chair and let himself remember.

His potion was bubbling along quite nicely which was surprising since he had spent most of the class watching Hermione carefully measure out her ingredients. She had pulled her dark brown hair back into a loose bun that she had affixed simply with a single band. Draco thought that it looked rather evocative, the back of her slender neck naked except for a few wispy tendrils that had escaped.

As he watched one of the other Gryffindor girls, Lavender he thought, started up the aisle. She slipped on the hem of her robe, which was fashionably too long and stumbled into Hermione. There was a boom as Hermione’s pinch of powdered lotus root turned into a handful. Lavender fell down crying, holding her hands over her face. But Draco couldn’t care less about her; he had already pushed past the fallen girl. Hermione was staring at her melted cauldron; a thick acidic green liquid was still spilling over the edge of her table. Draco reached her before almost anyone else had time to react. He noticed right away that her hands were covered in the same green fluid, as was the front of her robe. She seemed oblivious however as she raised her eyes to look at the other girl.

“Lavender?” She whispered dully.

Professor Snape was roaring up the aisle to them and Draco, having seen the affect that lotus root burns could have started to wrap Hermione’s hands in rags. She seemed oblivious to him as she looked at the other girl. Draco quickly undid the clasp of her robes and pulled it off of her, luckily enough for Hermione, she enjoyed wearing muggle clothes under her robes. Unlike some witches who would have been putting on quite a show in their knickers, Hermione was wearing a simple sweater and a brown, pleated skirt. Draco balled the smoldering robes and dropped them on top of the demolished cauldron.

“Lavender are you all right?” Hermione’s voice was quavering from shock and pain.

“What have you done you idiot girl!” Professor Snape, who had pulled Lavender’s hands away from her face to reveal that only a few burning drops had struck, bellowed at Hermione.

“Is she all right? I hadn’t meant to. It was an accident.”

“An accident? There are no accidents.” Professor Snape pulled Lavender to her feet.

Lavender was crying uncontrollably and Professor Snape was glowering at Hermione.

“Professor Snape,” Potter cried out, coming to stand next to Draco, “it wasn’t Hermione’s fault, Lavender stumbled, she knocked into Hermione.”

Draco nodded quickly knowing that Snape would be far more likely to believe him than Potter.

“I don’t care, Granger knows better than to measure lotus root above an open cauldron.” Snape’s glare never left Hermione. “Get out of my class. Take Ms. Brown to the hospital wing and don’t come back until you’ve written me five feet about proper safety standards in Potion making.”

Hermione nodded mutely and wrapped a swathed arm around the other girl’s shoulders and led her from the room, her shoulders shaking.

And for the first time in his entire life, Draco found his own voice raised in anger with the Gryffindors, not against. Potter and Weasley were now on either side of him and both boys looked at him in surprise. But in the chaos, no one else noticed Draco.

“Sit down!” Snape’s generally calm voice cracked in anger and the room began to quiet.

“It wasn’t her fault,” Draco snapped back at the Professor.

“Yeah,” Weasley spit angrily, “it was Lavender who wasn’t paying attention.”

“Goyle did the same thing last week, he’s just singling Hermione out because she’s a Gryffindor.” Potter muttered.

“Of course he is,” Draco agreed.

There was an awkward pause and the three boys looked at each other in silence. Draco then turned on his heel and headed back to his seat. He spent the rest of the class with a look of boredom masking his trepidation.