"I could apologize a million times, yet what happened, happened. Nothing moves, moments are forever expended in time."

____

The two of them didn't talk much after that instance, just sat in the library, lingering silently. Draco was terribly aware of Weasley's eyes on him, and he could almost see the mental turmoil spiraling within his mind. He had no right, Draco thought to himself, purely revolted at the idea of anyone reading his work. He liked to write sometimes, here and there. It wasn't anything amazing, or really interesting for that matter, just something he did when he was bored.

When he was younger, his mother had forced him to practically absorb every piece of substantial literature in the wizarding world. At first, he hated it with a burning passion, but as he became more and more engulfed, he just kept craving more. The books he read seemed to be the one thing that he could hold onto, that would never change. He could read them a million times and the characters would always be the same, always feel the same, and behave the same. A heroism that could never be changed or bought with the endless pit of time.

It was amazing to him. So he would take up writing sometimes, just short freestyle poems or ratty haikus. He knew none of it was good, and the very existence of it if seen would forever brand him as the sod of Hogwarts. That's what Draco couldn't stop worrying about, lying on his bed and staring at the stark ceiling of his dorm. He laid like a dead body, hands on his stomach, griping his wand as if it were a bouquet of flowers.

He worried about everyone, always. The rain beading down his window made him sickly, craving that crisp autumn weather that brought about the memory of chocolate frogs and the chugga-chugg of the Hogwarts express. He thought of a time when the dark mark didn't burn into his skin like a bullet wound, or when he didn't have to do work for the dark lord. Easy, peaceful, stupid passing insults that didn't really mean anything. He would have done anything to have that back. But alas, that couldn't happen, so he mused himself with thinking of the fact that he still had an entire charms essay to write later that day.

"Draco? Are you asleep?," Blaise called, creaking the door open. His loose stream of thought was broken instantly, and he sat up against his fine silk pillows. He tucked his wand into his robe, "no, I'm just as bleeding awake as I always am," he said somewhat quietly.

"Well, it's time for dinner, I heard they're serving treacle tart." he said with a smirk. Draco's face brightened instantly upon hearing that, and he hurried out the door with a speed that even Blaise hadn't accounted for.

___

Dinner was good, the treacle tart specifically was delicious. Although, Draco had probably had to much of it considering that he sat in the Slytherin common room with a deathly stomach ache. He was neatly comfortably in a black leather chair, warming his hands by the fire. All of the while he tired to forget about what happened at dinner. It wasn't much, but he could see, with absolute certainty, that Weasley had been eyeing him the entire time.

There was something in his hazel eyes that looked sad, remorseful even. And with the way that his hair hung around his face and his cheek rested on his hand, Draco couldn't help but compare him to that of a puppy. He tried to avoid eye contact but it was positively useless, seeing as the rest of the people at the table didn't cease to make a comment about it ('the Weasley is looking at you!' or 'my, what have you done this time Draco?'). However, he shut them all down with one quick mention of the upcoming Slytherin Vs. Gryffindor quidditch game.

It was weird wasn't it? He hated Weasley, and he was sure that he hated him too. He thought it quite strange that he wasn't laughing at him, running and telling the rest of his clique what he had found out about "Malfoy." He was sure that he had told them, or was at least going to. It would spread like wildfire throughout Hogwarts, he knew that of course.

But the one thing that confused him, that made him question nearly everything was, why hadn't he done it yet?

___

Draco sat in the back of the defense against the dark arts classroom, listening to Snape ramble on and on about how next week they would be taking an entirely 'safe' field trip to capture their creatures. He didn't know what to think of it. He had not the slightest clue as to how he could capture a demon bat, and he was sure the Weasley didn't either. Ugh, he thought to himself, he knew they likely wouldn't be so behind if it wasn't for the constant arguing.

But what was he to do? Put up with the constant annoyance that was Ronald Weasley? He didn't know if that was even possible. "How's the Weasel?" Pansy asked with a sneer, staring at the back of Weasley's with revulsion.

"Need I say?" Draco asked, trying not to stare at Weasley's hair for to long. It really was quite smooth, had he not noticed that before? "I couldn't have done it, working with a Gryffindor is bad enough . . . but HIM, absolutely not,"

"Yeah," Draco wasn't really listening, because in all honesty, he didn't really care. He didn't like Pansy.

It wasn't anything specific, he supposed that it was for the same reason he didn't like most of his "friends." Because, well, they weren't friends. It was all necessity, superficial, forged out of the idea of being school bullies. He hated it, although, he would never say anything. "How do you even get through it?"

She said, staring at him in wonderment.

"I don't know Pans', force of will?"

"I couldn't, I would take a failing grade before I worked with him." You've made that abundantly clear, he thought to himself, growing more and more frustrated with Pansy's too-nice tone. It was a gift from Merlin when Snape said the words, "that'll be all for today."

He moved quickly, throwing his textbooks in his bag and pushing in his chair. Pansy waited for him patiently, arms crossed and foot tapping on the ground. He was just about to leave when a voice said "Malfoy . . . Can I have a second?" He turned around, it was Weasley, face childlike, hair covering his eyes just barely. Draco felt an odd stabbing in his heart that he decided to chalk up to disgust.

"Of course," Pansy said with annoyance, "I'll meet you in charms Draco." She patted him on the shoulder and disappeared behind the door. He looked around for second, noticing that Potter and Granger were no where to be seen. "What do you want Weasley?" Draco said, trying his hardest not to look dead into his wide eyes.

"I'm sorry," he blurted, looking petrified. "I . . . I mean, I'm sorry for taking your paper. I . . . didn't- I"

"Please spare me you're feeble attempt at an apology and go." Draco said, he had to stop himself from laughing at how fidgety Weasley was. "But, wait, I really am-"

"I am curious why you haven't been rubbing it in my face yet though?

I thought for certain that potter would make it a point to poke fun at me." Draco thought it was fascinating how much taller he was compared to Weasley. It was only a few inches but it felt like several feet in his presence. "I didn't tell anyone," he said frantically, gripping his bag for comfort. At that Draco had no idea what to say.

He wondered why, of course, that much was natural. But it wasn't so much that that amazed him, it was the fact that Weasley was standing there, telling him. "Oh," Draco said. They stood there for a few seconds, empty classroom, awkward silence. "Well, thank you, for that part I suppose,"

"I am sorry Malfoy, really," he said, he was pleading at that point.

"Goodbye Weasley, don't be late this time." With that, he slipped out the door, not allowing him to finish.

_____

Draco sat at the edge of his bed, finishing up some homework for potions. He had just gotten back from his session with Weasley, which, they had finally gotten a significant amount of work done in. It felt like a miracle, them being able to talk to each other like normal human beings. There was still insults thrown, of course, but they actually got stuff done, pulled ahead. It was refreshing to know that the forsaken project wasn't crushing him any longer and he could finally do things he had been meaning to get done.

He was just about to head to the bathroom when he heard a short tapping at his window. It was an owl, a sleek feathered brown one with a piece of parchment in it's mouth. Draco slid the glass open, allowing it to fly in and step on his desk. He gave the creature a soft pat on the head and watched longingly as it flew back outside, towards one of the many towers of Hogwarts. He opened the paper with soft crinkling noise, reading the black cursive letters.

Rose's are red

Violets are blue

I'm not much of a poet

But I am truly sorry

Sincerely, 'Weasley'

He set the paper on his desk, face down so that Dean wouldn't be able to see. He had to read the words a few times to make sure that he was seeing correctly. He was amazed, astonished even. And, he felt the suttle pang of his heart in his chest, pattering madly against his ribcage. An infantile flutter that made the blood in his veins both warm and freezing cold.

He felt that he had to run, to fly, to do whatever that wasn't being in that room, in that moment. All at once he thought, What in the hell is happening to me?