The Reason

The morning had passed uneventfully for Hermione, and for that, she was thankful. She lay stretched out across her bed, intent on taking a nap. The radio was on and playing a soft melody, and she found herself getting lost in the tune. She closed her eyes and hummed along with it, then sighed. The boredom was becoming physically painful. She had nothing to distract her mind from Draco, except for the occasional fleeting thought that the Death Eaters might actually find them. Then again, she felt totally safe knowing that Harry was the one who was protecting them. The thought covered her like a warm blanket, and she smiled into her pillow.

"Mione?" a soft voice called. She was halfway between sleep and wakefulness, and thought she was already dreaming. She was jarred when a hand gripped her calf and shook gently. Her eyes flew open to see Harry standing over her like an angel. She leapt up and wrapped her arms around his neck, not noticing someone pass by her open bedroom door.

"Oh, Harry!" She squealed, planting a light kiss on his lips. She pulled away immediately, embarrassed with herself. He blinked, then sucked in a breath and pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. "I'm so happy to see you! What are you doing back so soon?" He sat down on the edge of the bed and grinned.

"Snivellus had too much to do, so guess who got volunteered to bring you and the smarmy bugger your homework for next week?" He handed her a rolled-up piece of parchment, and she grinned, her eyes sparkling with excitement. Homework would be a welcome release from the overpowering boredom.

"Oh, that's great!" she exclaimed, grabbing the parchment from him. She reached out and put her hand on top of his, surprising him. "Harry, I can't tell you how much what you're doing means to me. You mean a lot to me, too." His cheeks turned crimson, and he concentrated on his hands.

Outside the bedroom door, Draco was listening with his back pressed against the wall. The more they spoke, the angrier he became. Potter wasn't her boyfriend, so why had she kissed him like he was? If she really wasn't in love with Potter, then why did she act like it whenever he came around? He began to grind his teeth. He didn't know what pissed him off more; her kissing Potter, or the fact that she'd just kissed someone that wasn't him.

He clenched his fists as he heard them erupt into a bout of raucous laughter, and he felt a stab of jealousy. It was more than painfully obvious that she and the Boy Wonder were close. He'd never been that close to anyone, except maybe his mother. He closed his eyes and exhaled deeply, wondering what it would be like to have a friend he could actually talk to and laugh with. What he wouldn't give at that very moment to have a taste of Potter's life - at least his friends were sincere.

His eyes flew open with the sudden rage that boiled up inside of him. Why was he standing here, being jealous of Saint Potter? A slow smirk of self-satisfaction covered his face. He'd be willing to bet that Harry had never been kissed like she'd kissed him last night. What would it do to him to find out that she'd kissed his enemy, and better yet, that she'd enjoyed it?

He thought for a moment before deciding on a course of action. He took a steadying breath and tried to ignore the sound of his conscience (where had that come from?) telling him that he should stop before he did something he'd regret later. It was easier to revert to this tried-and-true prick persona than it was to deal with the new feelings that raged through his body.

"Well, well," he drawled, leaning against the doorjamb of Hermione's bedroom. "Isn't this a cozy little scene? Does the Weasel know that you're putting the moves on his girlfriend?" Harry's back was to Malfoy, and he screwed up his face and began doing an impression of Malfoy talking. Hermione covered her mouth with her hand, trying to stifle the giggles that threatened to escape.

"Malfoy," Harry said, turning around and looking at him through highly amused eyes. "You'd be doing us all a favor if you'd just sod off. Don't you have something else to do? Like gelling your hair?" He turned back to Hermione, whose face was red. She was shaking with silent laughter.

"Your girlfriend likes my hair down," Draco said smoothly. He felt a guilty pang at the scandalized look on Hermione's face, but it quickly dissolved into amusement when he saw Harry's back stiffen.

"I'm not his girlfriend," she said, her face paling a bit. Harry turned to look back at Malfoy. The amusement he'd felt just a few seconds ago had turned into something darker, and he felt the hairs on the back of his neck bristling and standing on end.

"Why don't we reach an agreement, Malfoy?" Harry asked, his eyes glittering wildly. "You don't ever mention her name or come near her again, and I'll let you live."

"Is that your angry face?" Draco said, mock pouting. "I'm really scared! Ooh, I'm shaking in my boots, Potter!" He laughed. Harry started to get up, but Hermione put a hand out to stop him. Draco felt a surge of anger. Why is she touching him?

"Did Granger tell you about our little game?"

"Malfoy, please go away," she begged. Her eyes were wide and pleading, but he couldn't stop now, or Harry would suspect that something was going on. What was going on? Draco didn't think even he knew.

"Oh, you didn't tell him?" He asked, feigning surprise. "Well, allow me to illuminate you, Scarhead. You pure, precious little girlfriend here got trashed with me two nights ago." He smirked at Hermione, whose face dropped into her hands.

"And?" Harry asked, shrugging. "Hermione's a big girl. She can do whatever she likes. Actually, I'd imagine that being drunk around you might make you a bit more tolerable. Maybe."

"But there's more, Potty," he said, sounding positively gleeful. "She kissed me. And from the way she was moaning, I'd say she rather enjoyed it." Harry's face turned ashen and he turned to look at his friend.

"You know, Malfoy," Harry said, standing slowly. "I could believe that she'd kiss you when she was drunk - people do stupid things when they have alcohol in their system. But what really interests me," he said, moving in front of Draco. "Is why you'd allow the kiss with a Mudblood, and then actually tell someone about it." He arched an eyebrow at Draco, whose mouth dropped open slightly.

Hermione looked up from her seat on the bed and watched with growing curiosity. Harry had a point; why would Draco voluntarily mention their kiss? She frowned to herself. What was he playing at now?

Harry stared at Draco, waiting for an answer. When none came, he decided to see if his instincts were right. He had a feeling that Draco was jealous; had Draco somehow developed feelings for Hermione - his Hermione - in the short time they'd been here? He moved closer to Hermione and squatted on the floor next to where she sat.

"I didn't tell anyone," Draco huffed angrily. "I told you. If it gets out that it happened, I'll know it was you and I'll come looking for you. Not like anyone would believe it anyway - me touching a Mudblood?" He sneered.

"I see," Harry said softly. He put a hand on Hermione's knee, surprising her. When he winked at her, she knew he was up to something, and wanted her to play along. His eyes moved to Draco's as he slid his hand slowly up her leg, until it was touching her thigh. Draco narrowed his eyes and his breathing became ragged.

"What the hell are you doing, Potter?" he snarled. At that moment, he would have given anything to have an axe to chop the offending hand off with. "I don't care if you shag the Mudblood, but you will not do it in front of me!"

Harry turned to look at Hermione, not noticing how her pupils had dilated, or how she was holding her breath. He shot her another wink that Malfoy didn't see, then touched her cheek with his hand. His thumb caressed her satiny skin, and with a sudden jolt, he realized that he was enjoying the contact - much more than a best friend should.

Draco saw the change in Harry's eyes as soon as it happened, and he went rigid. He knew what that look meant - he'd been on the receiving end of it too many times to count. Pansy was constantly giving him that look; as though he held the last bit of air she needed to survive. His heart nearly stopped in his chest as Harry bent and touched his lips to Hermione's.

"Stop," he said angrily. Harry had no intention of doing anything remotely close to stopping, though. Draco turned and stormed out of the room. Harry teased her lips apart with his tongue, and drank in the sweetness of her. His mind was reeling. What was he doing? He was kissing Hermione - something he'd been thinking about for almost an entire year. He cupped her cheeks in his hands, and she gripped the front of his shirt; afraid that if she let go of him, she'd drown in their kiss.

When Harry finally pulled away, they were both having trouble breathing. She stared at him with those big, innocent brown eyes, and he felt his heart thudding wildly against his chest. What was he doing? He became angry with himself. He shouldn't have kissed her like that ... but he couldn't help himself. He ran a hand nervously through his hair and scooted away from her a bit.

"Mione, I'm sorry," he said, shaking his head. "I didn't mean to-"

"Where did you learn to kiss like that?" She asked breathlessly. He looked up in mild surprise.

"I don't know," he said honestly. "I've never done it before."

"Well, you're good at it," she said, the heat rising in her cheeks. He grinned.

"Thanks," he said, sniggering softly. "Maybe you could put a good word in for me with some of the girls at school. Maybe then I might stand a chance of having a girlfriend." She gave him a wry smile.

"You have problems getting a girlfriend, and I have problems getting a boyfriend. We're two peas from the same pod, Harry Potter." He nodded and gave her a quick peck on the cheek before rising to his feet.

"I'll be back to check on you soon," he said. She nodded and smiled as she watched him walk out the door. She pressed her fingertips to her lips and felt herself smiling. She turned onto her stomach and pressed her face into her pillow, then let out a small scream of excitement. She knew that Harry didn't have romantic feelings towards her, but she was awfully tempted to instigate another kiss the next time she saw him. She kicked her feet wildly in the air and screamed into her pillow again.

After the initial excitement had passed, she sat up on her bed and sighed again. She unrolled the parchment Harry had given her, and realized with sudden dread that Draco had all of her textbooks. She bit her bottom lip. He'd looked really angry when he left; would it be wise to go and ask for them now? She shrugged and decided that she'd rather risk his anger for her textbooks than just lie around and not do anything at all. She stood and smoothed her hair out, then went and knocked on his door.

"Who is it?"

"It's Hermione. I need my books back."

"Sod off, Mudblood." She didn't know why, but the tone of his voice stung her.

"Malfoy, I'll leave you alone, but I need my books first. I have your assignment list as well." She stood there waiting for so long that she was beginning to think he was asleep. She turned to go back into her room, but just as she'd stepped over the threshold, he was at her back.

"Here. Take these damned books; I don't want anything that you've put your filthy hands on!" She blinked in surprise, but remained silent as she took the books from him. She shoved his assignment parchment at him, then went to her desk, not looking back at him. She opened her Transfiguration book and tried to read, although she was finding it difficult when she could feel his eyes on her.

"Was there something else you wanted?" she finally asked, turning her eyes towards him.

"What could I possibly want that you could give me?" He snapped.

"Absolutely nothing."

"I'm glad we both agree on something," he said, his eyes blazing. She turned back to her book and waited for him to leave. When he finally turned and left, she dropped her head onto the desk and let out a low groan of frustration. Just when she'd thought that they were getting to a point of civility, he'd turned back into the arrogant bastard that she hated.

Draco lay on his bed, trying to sort out the mess that his mind had become. He'd wanted to kill Potter when he'd touched her, but why? When Potter had kissed her, and she'd allowed it, he'd been ready to fly into a blind rage and kill the both of them - but why? He knew that Pansy screwed other guys besides him, and it had never bothered him, even though he knew that she was in love with him. He'd never thought of her as anything more than an easy lay; an outlet for his sexual energy.

Why was everything suddenly so gray? It seemed like a lifetime ago that he'd been at Hogwarts, making fun of her and her idiotic friends, and being... well, he couldn't really say he'd been happy, could he? His mouth twisted into an ironic smile. Actually, his father escaping was turning out to be a mixed blessing. He was away from the annoying entourage that he called his friends; but on the other hand, he was with someone that was wreaking havoc with his entire life.

Everything was black and white last week. Now the lines of propriety and class and wealth and bloodlines were all blurring and smudged, and he felt as though he was being pulled in two different directions. Her words echoed in his mind. "You know, you don't always have to be what they want you to be." How could she say something like that to him? It had shaken him to the very core of his being. He felt sad at the realization that there was never a time when he wasn't trying to show everyone who he was, and what he could do. Wouldn't it be nice to relax and just ... be, for once?

And what about the kisses they'd shared? Those were more confusing than anything else he'd ever encountered in his entire life. He smiled to himself as he remembered playing truth or dare while they were both snookered, and he laughed softly. If anyone had told him that he'd get drunk with Granger, he would have torn their head off. He sighed.

Sitting here and pondering the whole thing was utterly ridiculous. He knew that even if she reciprocated the muddled feelings that he had for her, they could never work. Before they'd ever met, fate had determined that they were not meant for each other. His father's voice rang in his head. Purebloods do not mix with Mudbloods. But what was a Mudblood, really? She was half Muggle, and yet she was the most intelligent, talented witch in their year. Surely the Muggle half of her couldn't be that bad, could it?

He'd done everything his father had told him; had followed his rules without question. He'd never thought to question his father, actually. Weren't fathers supposed to know best? He'd relied heavily on his father to teach him right from wrong, and how to survive in the world. His father had dictated who he could and could not be friends with. And look where trusting my father has gotten me. I'm stuck hiding from evil personified.

He'd asked her what he could possibly want that she could give him. She'd said nothing, but he was beginning to believe otherwise. He'd felt alive when he kissed her. He'd felt alive when they watched TV together. He'd felt alive when they spoke to each other. He felt all this and more, even when their only contact was their eyes meeting. A burning sensation had planted itself in his chest, and was growing steadily.

He realized with a sudden shock that he needed Hermione. He didn't know what she had, but he needed it. There was something so inherently good about her that it made him cringe. She's so good, and I'm so... he didn't want to think about it. He wanted to kick himself. He'd finally realized that it didn't matter what kind of blood flowed in her veins; all that mattered was that he had the chance to have a genuine, honest-to-goodness friend. And he'd gone and reverted to his normal bastard-like persona, just because he'd been jealous of Potter.

Potter, who had everything he wanted. Potter, who got to spend every waking moment with her, and bask in the light that radiated from her. Potter, who had just kissed her, and been the recipient of a look that he'd gladly die to have from her now. He was pulled from his thoughts by his Mother's voice calling him down to lunch. His stomach gave an unpleasant lurch as he stood up and made his way downstairs. He was nervous now. He was unsure as to what path he should take; which road should he travel? For once, his father wasn't here to dictate to him. He suddenly realized that he was free in the truest sense of the word; free here to be whoever- whatever- he wanted to be.

He sat down at the table, making a concentrated effort to avoid making eye contact with his Mother. He wondered briefly if Hermione was coming down. Should he go and get her? His palms began to sweat. Why do I feel like a lovesick teenager all of a sudden? He had just reached for his fork when the kitchen door creaked open. He didn't look up - he didn't have to. He could smell her perfume. She sat down across from him and poured herself a glass of milk. His eyes flickered up to hers, but she wasn't looking at him. She was concentrating on her food almost as much as he was.

Narcissa began to wonder at the cause of the averted glances between the two of them. The tension was almost palpable, and she smiled secretly to herself. She'd known yesterday when she'd seen that look cross her son's face, and she wondered when he'd realize what it was. It seemed he'd been enlightened.

"So," she said, trying to lighten the mood. "What do you two have planned for the rest of the night?"

"I'm going to start on my homework," Hermione said, her pleasant voice sounding strained.

"What about you, Draco? Anything planned?"

"Homework," he mumbled, shifting uncomfortably under his Mother's gaze.

"I've been meaning to ask -how is Severus doing? Is he well?" Hermione and Draco both looked up at her in mild surprise, and she blushed. A hint of a smile tugged at Draco's lips.

"I didn't realize you were on a first-name basis." Hermione looked at him and grinned, and he grinned back. His heart lightened.

"Well, he and I were at school together."

"And?" Draco asked, arching an eyebrow curiously. His mother raised her teacup to her lips, and the look on her face gave him a start. "You like him, don't you?" She sputtered and Hermione had to bite down on her bottom lip to keep from laughing.

"Draco, what are you on about?" she asked, her cheeks flushing.

"You like Snape," he repeated incredulously.

"Yes, well," she said, waving her hand dismissively. "I always had a crush on him in school, but my Mother had already arranged my marriage. It was only after I married your father that I found out my feelings were reciprocated, and then it was too late to do anything about it." A fleeting look of sadness passed over her face.

"Why didn't you say something to him before you and Father married? You might have been happy with him! Instead, you got stuck with... with..." his voice trailed off, and Hermione felt her heart going out to him. He looked completely vulnerable, and at that moment, all she wanted to do was hold him and tell him that everything was going to be alright.

"I didn't say anything because I let my Mother dictate my life," she said, giving her son a pointed look. "She told me how to dress, what to eat, who I could and could not associate with. And I trusted her, so I allowed it."

"I see," he said quietly, looking down at his hands folded in his lap. Hermione glanced between them, wondering what unspoken conversation was going on. For the most part after that, lunch was a somber affair. Hermione didn't speak; she let Draco and Narcissa banter lightly back and forth. It was somewhat relaxing to see a more human side of Draco, but on the other hand, it was unsettling to realize that he could possibly be as emotionally vulnerable as she was. She took her dishes to the sink and muttered "Scourgify." When she had placed the clean dishes back into the cupboards they belonged in, she went back up to her room.

"Mother," Draco said, sucking in a lungful of air. "What do I do?" She tried not to smile at him, and reached across the table to pat his hand gently.

"The only thing you can do, Draco. Talk to her."

"What if she still hates me afterwards?" He was staring so hard at the tabletop that Narcissa was surprised he hadn't bored a hole into it.

"Darling, I'm afraid that's just a chance you're going to have to take. If you don't, you'll go through the rest of your life like me - wondering 'what if?', and that's a path you don't want to walk down, I promise you."

He felt an uncontrollable honesty well up inside of him. "I don't deserve even friendship from her."

"Draco, don't ever let anyone make you feel like you don't deserve what you want." He lifted surprised eyes to her, hardly believing that this was the same woman who had suffered numerous beatings at the hand of his father.

"I'll try," he said, giving her a half-hearted smile. She beamed and nodded, then stood.

"I think I'm going to go take a nap before I start dinner." With that, she was out the door and off to her room. Draco smiled at the back of the door she'd just exited through. He knew that that had been her subtle way of telling him that she'd stay out of the way while he spoke to Hermione.

He stood and took his dishes to the sink, and swore softly under his breath. His hands were trembling. For cripes' sake! She's only a girl! He took a deep breath and tried to steel himself against what he anticipated to be bitter rejection, then headed towards Hermione's room.