Complicated

Draco lay awake in his bed. The dungeon room in which his dorm was located in echoed with the snores of his dormmates. Sometimes he wished he could be in another House, just so he wouldn't have to sleep in the dreary dungeons all the time. But he only wished this on extremely cold nights, such as this, or when he couldn't sleep.

When Draco couldn't sleep, it was usually because he needed to think, and when thinking, he liked to look at the stars or moon. They calmed him and helped clear his mind. Astronomy was Draco's favourite class and he sometimes dreamed about just running wild, studying the stars for his whole life, like the centaurs. Draco needed the stars' constant, unwavering beauty to feel alive and remember why he was alive in the first place. He couldn't do this in the dungeon.

Lately, he'd had plenty to think about. For the past week, Draco had done his best to avoid That Granger Girl (as he'd taken to calling her), but she invaded his thoughts still. During Potions and meals he often caught himself openly staring at her, sometimes on purpose. She either didn't notice or pretended not to, because not once had he caught her looking back.

He hated her. She was right. He *wasn't* nice. He was a Malfoy, pureblooded, rich, and powerful. Malfoys didn't love. Malfoys didn't do anything unless it got them something in return. Draco tried to tell himself that his words had meant nothing that night in the garden. That he was just messing with the mudblood's head. And it nearly worked.

Still, the things she had said pulled emotions to the surface that Draco didn't even know he had. He *was* someone else when he wasn't trying to obey his father and keep up the so-called family honour, or try to impress his Slytherin friends. Even Harry Potter and his ridiculous fame hardened Draco and made him meaner than he wished to be. There was a part of Draco Malfoy that laughed and smiled, real smiles and not the cold smirk he usually gave. That Draco Malfoy had conversations and friends. That Draco Malfoy wanted desperately to be free and seen.

But thanks to his father, Draco could never show that side of himself. People only thought of a snobby, evil, Death Eater when they heard the name Malfoy. It didn't matter if Draco Malfoy and Lucious Malfoy were two separate people. The role was set and Draco had no choice but to dutifully play his part: the heir.

That, Draco decided as he rolled over and wrapped the velvet green and black blankets more tightly around him, was what he had to tell her.

~~~~

Hermione sighed. She was curled up in an armchair by the windows of Gryffindor Tower's common room. It was too cold to sneak outside, or she would have ventured to the gardens or, perhaps, the lake. The thing she loved most about being a Gryffindor, aside from all of the honour and glory and great friends, was that unless it was cloudy or excessively foggy, she could always look out at the moon.

For some reason, the moon had always helped her think. Its constant, unwavering presence calmed her, and even as a child listening to her parent's fights or after a rough day in school, she could always lay in her bed and look at the moon and somehow feel better. Hermione had never really had much of an interest in astronomy, in fact, she didn't even care much for the stars and dismissed them as trivial balls of gas. But like the roses in the garden, the moon held something for her. Mystery, perhaps, and that somehow soothed her; the thought that something just is without having a reason.

As of late, Hermione needed all the help thinking she could get. The past week had been agony. No matter what, she couldn't get Draco (as she had suddenly taken to calling him) off her mind. During Potions and mealtimes, even in the halls, she felt his stare burning into her. But she wouldn't let herself return his looks.

Not that it took him and his words off her mind, though. Nightly, she went over the things he had said. She also thought about what *she* had said. He was a Malfoy. Over and over again Draco had belittled and tortured Hermione and her friends. He *hated* her for just being who she was! Not to mention the fact that his father was a Death Eater. Like father like son, right?

Yet, Hermione couldn't help but wonder if for one night, she had viewed a rare glimpse of the *real* Draco Malfoy. A Draco Malfoy hidden behind many layers of hate and expectations and rigid rules and stereotypes impressed upon him by a father who cared nothing of him but to carry on the Malfoy name. As mad as it sounded, the thought refused to leave her and kept picking at her brain.

Reaching inside her dressing gown, Hermione pulled out the rose. During one of her frequent hideouts in the library that week, she had searched out an enchantment that would keep it looking fresh, as it had been looking quite droopy by Tuesday. She also put a spell on it to keep the petals from falling off.

Now, looking at it, tracing the delicate petals as Draco had done, she decided she wanted to know if there was a secret, good side to him. She *had* to know. Closing her eyes, Hermione smiled. For the first time in days, her mind was finally at rest with her heart.