Draco paced, his thoughts running wild as he traced a path around the small perimeter of his room. There were countless ordinary things he could have been thinking of at this time. For example, Quidditch, or the next letter he was going to write his mother, or even the weather. Any of those standard thoughts would have sufficed and made him seem more sane than he currently felt.

Instead, his thoughts linger on a certain sleeping witch just one room over.

The tale of her past seemed to be scorched into his memory with no hope of ever being forgotten. So it really came as no surprise that he was capable of recalling the story word for word but in doing so, he noticed that not once did she mention the name of her groom-to-be, instead opting to call him Weasel (among other colorful names).

Of course, this didn't make a cause for confusion. Draco already had a perfectly correct guess as to who it was that hurt Hermione so immensely.

Ronald Billius Weasley.

The name itself, one that used to make him scowl with disgust and loathing, now made him shake with an indescribable rage. That foul prick had hurt her in more ways than one. First breaking her heart on, of all days, their wedding day. Then smacking her to the ground while his side-woman watched the entire scene. After those two heavy blows to the innocent Hermione, he disappeared and hasn't been seen for a year and a half. He left without a punishment or apology for his actions.

All of this was certainly enough to scar the young witch for Merlin knows how long, but why did she suddenly break down over it? As far as Draco could recollect, he hadn't mentioned the weasel for a while and he was sure that she wouldn't spend her time thinking about that prick if she could help it. So what caused this?

The only other person who was here recently was the she-weasel but she wouldn't bring up her brother to Hermione unless something important happened, of that he's positive. Maybe he's in the hospital, or was found dead somewhere? No. If either of those were true, she wouldn't have acted so resentful towards him, even after what he had done. There really is only one other explanation

"That prick came back!" He growls, halting in his angry pacing and standing still at the foot of his bed. "He came back from wherever he disappeared in and now is here to do who knows what to Hermione."

If that weasel does anything to hurt her again or if he so much as comes to see her, he'll make sure he goes crawling back to wherever he came from. As long as Draco's here, Ronald won't ever lay another finger on his witch. He has no right to see her or speak to her.

Draco pauses, face twisting in confusion. "My witch? When in Merlin's name did I start referring to her as my witch?'" And since when did he start caring about what happens to her?"

He sits down heavy on his bed, feeling rather weary.

When had he started caring for her so much? The last he remembered was completely loathing the girl and everything she stood for. Sure she was sweet, kind, innocent, loving, incredibly intelligent and- no, he didn't care about her. In fact, he wouldn't care if Weasley came back here and broke her little heart all over again. He might actually thank the git.

No, he can't even lie to himself.

Draco's practically boiling with fury at the mere thought of him hurting her, never mind how he would feel if her actually came to Hermione again.

What did this mean for him, though? Did he consider her a friend? If it is, he isn't entirely opposed to the idea. She wouldn't make a terrible friend, being all sharp wit and warm gestures if he's acting good.

The idea of friendship doesn't ease the ache in his chest though. Every time he thought of the weasel and how he broke her heart, Draco's own heart twisted painfully. Whenever it happened, whenever he thought of how Weasley used to kiss her and...be with her, he felt angry and confused and something else that he couldn't quite place. It burned inside him, devouring every sane thought until all he felt was that raw, unfamiliar feeling. He desperately wanted to know what it was, if only to be able to mask the reactions it caused. He wasn't used to the feeling, it is foreign and unwelcome to him. If only he knew what it was so he could make it go away.

But it doesn't go away. In fact at this moment it comes back with a burning intensity and, only because he had been thinking of it and nothing else at the moment, he was suddenly able to place it.

"No...that's impossible! I couldn't...I wouldn't..." But he most certainly was. There was no denying it, not anymore. Even still, his thoughts drifted to a conversation he'd had years ago, when he'd tried to convince his family that he loved Astoria Greengrass. His mother hadn't believed him, only she could read him so easily, and had prodded him with questions.

He recalled the questions now, and found himself answering them as they came to mind.

"Does she make your heart skip a beat with a simple smile?"

He thinks back to the last time Hermione smiled, without it being in a mocking manner towards him. They had just gotten done studying about different cuisines when he said something, he couldn't quite remember what it had been, and then suddenly she was laughing. Her head thrown back as peals of laughter sprung from her lips.

He couldn't help but grin, surprisingly pleased that he was the one to make her do that, and she returned it with a smile of her own. That was just before the start of their most recent argument and he could still remember how he felt just after he received the breathtaking smile. Heart skipping a beat indeed.

"Do you find yourself doing anything you can to please her, even if it means you being unhappy?"

His immediate reaction was denial, but the longer he thought on it, the more he realized that it may be true.

In the time after they went the Paris, and even a bit before then, he would do anything she had asked him to do. Whenever she asked him to get something for her, hand something to her, or just listen to her while she taught, he would automatically agree to do it.

With any other person he would have made it difficult for them or just all together refused to do it. With her though, he seemed to strive to make it easier for her, when they weren't arguing at least.

" Do your eyes follow every movement she makes like she is the only thing in the world?"

This one took only a moment of thought. Just like the ones before, he answers with yes.

He often found his gaze following her everywhere she goes, admiring her in everything she did. Only when he noticed this action did he ever look away, and even then it was a bit of a battle to do so. He would have preferred to continue to watch her, like she was the only thing in the room, no matter how insane it made him look or sound.

With Astoria, these questions confirmed that he wasn't in love with her as he had claimed to be, for his parent's sake. With Hermione, thought, the opposite seems to have been proven.

After these three questions, he now knew for certain that the emotion he felt was real and true.

"Bloody hell...I'm in love with Hermione Granger," he groans and drops onto his back, bringing a pillow up over his head. "I can't love a muggleborn. She's supposed to be filthy, scum, and-absolutely bloody perfect is what she is."

Which brought him to the final question his mother had asked: "And most importantly, have you told her how you feel?"

"Because it's that easy," he mutters, rolling onto his side. "I'll just walk right up to her and say, 'Hermione, I think I might feel something more than friendship for you. What do you say you and I go out some time after I get out of this punishment given to me by the minister for crimes against muggles, and then we'll see where we go from there?' Oh yes, that's what I'll do!" He's thankful for the pillow over his head, because it seems he managed to keep himself up all night and sunlight is streaming through the window.

There is silence for a moment before Draco is scooting off the bed and jumping to his feet. Before he loses his will, he declares, "that's exactly what I'll do!" He figures the courage comes from lack of sleep, but he doesn't question it too much before striding out the door and bounding down the creaking stairs.

He can hear Hermione already in the kitchen, making up a breakfast. He pauses in the doorway to watch her.

She has her back to him and is humming a soft and slow song as she sways to the melody. Her hair, still damp from a recent shower, is darker than usual and hung around her in loose, untamed curls that resemble how they looked in school. She wears a pair of jeans and an over-sized sweater that hangs low on her small body.

He smiles at her, almost chuckling at the thoughts that were running through his head, until he sees the defeated droop of her shoulders and heard a small sniffle interrupt the song

She's still upset.

He tenses, fresh hatred for the weasel rolling through him, then silently pads farther in to the room.

"Hermione I-" He starts, but had apparently entered the room too silently and ends up startling the witch, who was already jumpy after the events of yesterday.

Hermione gives a small screech and the whisk she had been holding to beat the eggs now clattered to the ground. "Draco! You frightened me," she scolds after taking a calming breath. She doesn't turn to look at him.

"Yes well, I apologize, but I really need to tell you something." He pauses and clears his throat, hoping that his sudden nervousness wouldn't be detectable. When he opens his mouth to speak, Hermione interrupts, under the impression that he wasn't going to continue.

"Well speak if you are going to, leave if you're not." The words had meant to be harsh but they came out light and teasing. She curses herself for that but doesn't try to fix it. Instead, she picks up the fallen whisk and goes back to beating the eggs for their omelets.

"Right, what I wanted to say was-" Here he stops again, gathers every ounce of courage he could possibly have, and says, "could you possibly be any louder. I swear it's like a elephant tramping around down here." His eyes go wide as she freezes in the middle of pouring the eggs into the pan. He hadn't meant to say that! Not at all! He was supposed to tell her that he loved her, not insult her. He needed to fix this, apologize immediately. "Let's just add loud to the long list of things wrong with the little muddy-blooded girl." Right then it seemed like his heart had sunk straight down past the floor and into the deepest reaches of the planet. How could he have said that? What prompted him to say that to her when all he wanted was explain his feelings?

He watches her closely, desperately wishing he could apologize but afraid to open his mouth and have something other than an apology spill out instead. For a moment her shoulders shook and she bows her head. Then, almost as if puppet strings had been pulled tight again, her head jerks up and her shoulders square defiantly. She's quiet only for a moment before speaking.

"You really should find a new insult. Mudblood is getting old. Perhaps I could loan you a dictionary and you could look up a few new words to improve your abysmal vocabulary." Without another word, she goes back to making breakfast as if the exchange between them had never occurred.

Draco quickly rushes from the room, mentally berating himself for saying what he had, so he wouldn't be tempted to insult her back and lead them into another argument. But because he had left to soon, he fails to notice the way her body sags in relief.

Hermione is all too thankful for the bit of familiarity he brought this morning into her newly disturbed life. She needs a bit of normalcy, and them arguing is perfectly familiar. She had feared that after last night, he would take pity on her and refrain from insulting or starting an argument. But he doesn't appear to have changed and she is happy that he hadn't

So it is, she remains unaware of her housemates recently discovered feelings and falls back into what was familiar to her: hating him and arguing until her voice is hoarse with use.