Confidences

Hermione bolted upright in her bed. She felt terror clutch at her, something that wasn't quite a continuation of her dream. Though the dream of her sitting in class naked, without even her homework still made her heart cold and her stomach flutter, this was something else. She gripped her bedclothes tight, peering around her, brown eyes narrowing as she tried to decipher the shadows.

"Is someone there?" she whispered, pulling her sheets up a little closer to her neck. Had she forgotten to lock her door? She still was growing used to having her own room. As Head Girl, she was given a very small one of her own, and the silence nearly drowned her.

Her own breaths were coming more frequently. She was panicking, and what for? Finally, she reached to the small table next to her bed, pushing books to the floor as she searches a little frantically for her wand. Her long fingers wrapped around it, and she whispered into the darkness, "Lumos." A golden light appeared, chasing the shadows away. As she looked around, she still saw nothing. Except that her door was partly open.

Cursing softly at her neglectfulness, something so very out of character for her, Hermione slid off the bed, wrapping her sheet around her. She also cursed the fact that she had taken to sleeping naked. Tucking the sheets tightly under her arms, she tiptoed, wand in hand, to the door. "Harry?" she whispered, leaning out and looking down the corridor. She saw nothing and heard nothing except the muffled snores from the other Gryffindors a couple rooms down.

She exhaled softly, closing the door tightly and whispering a simple locking spell. When she was confident that all outside forces were barred from coming in, she rested her forehead against the warm wood. Who had opened her door? She had noticed that Harry had been acting odd around her lately, and wouldn't put it past him to confront her in these late hours. It would be like him not to want to interrupt her studies. Sleep was fine to disturb, of course...

As she walked back to her bed, she was still not completely comfortable. Maybe it was just the aftermath of the earlier panic. When she looked up, her eyes met a piercing gaze. Gasping, she dropped her wand, the light blinking out, now that was no longer sustaining the spell. She found her voice enough to whisper, "Who's there?"

"It's me, Hermione." The voice was soft in the silence, like a caress over her cheek. She shivered, a blush spreading over her skin as she remembered her lack of dress.

Her tongue flicked over her lips before she spoke again. "Draco? Why are you in here?" Hermione's eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Get out."

His chuckle felt like feathers on her spine. Or, what she assumed feathers on her spine would feel like. She felt him move closer. He was very close, and she nearly dropped her sheet in surprise when his voice was so close. "Why do you hate me?" Draco's musical voice was curious, not sharp as usual, just calm, and curious.

Hermione made out his form in the darkness, his hair glinting white gold in the moonlight. She moved back to her bed, sliding under her comforter and putting as much fabric as she could between herself and the Slytherin. "Hate is a strong word." His laugh was a little harsh, and she heard him move closer to her. "It's more like an... intense dislike."

"Mm..." he murmured, sitting at the foot of her bed, dignified in his posture. She took a moment to study him; he looked down, something he rarely did, as if studying the hardwood floor beneath his bare feet. He wore a set of thin black silk pajamas. Hermione felt a smile play at her lips. If ever she had imagined what Draco habitually wore to bed, which she didn't, this would be it. What surprised her most was that there was not an air of teasing about him. No maliciousness. Hermione leaned back, and thought that since she woke up she had not felt the familiar sense of foreboding that she usually felt when she was in danger. Which had been often in her short life. He was simply inquiring, not threatening, as usual. His voice made her shiver when he spoke suddenly, breaking her from her thoughts. "Do you think that maybe we can stop this?"

Coughing, she said, "After all of these years-after all of the torments and you treating me like, like, crap, you want to know if we can stop?" She was not angry. She thought that in this situation she might take cover in a holier-than-thou attitude, but this late at night Hermione could hardly muster up her normal sure-of-self tone.

"As odd as this sounds, Granger, I want to be your friend." Draco's hands gripped his knees, his knuckles whitening, obviously hating himself for the admission.

Her laugh sounded harsh to her own ears. "And what bet are you trying to win, Slytherin?" she sneered. I... sneer?

Hermione heard the smile in Draco's voice as he spoke softly. "No bet, actually. It's just, you and I are alike in many ways. We are both intelligent people." She thought on this, deciding that she had to grudgingly agree that point. In most of her classes, Draco was the only one that came near to touching her grades. The competition between them seemed all the greater, especially since she rarely saw him study. "My own cronies, Crabbe and Goyle, well... let us just say that the conversation isn't exactly the most stimulating intellectually."

She laughed outright. Crabbe and Goyle were quite dense, though it pained her to be that cruel. She often thought that the two should wear velcro shoes, so that they might save some brainpower for simple algebra rather than using it all towards the complexities of tying laces. A blush crept over her face. "Ahem... and why did you come to me? Do you need some help with studying?"

"No."

The corner of his mouth pulled up. Hermione admitted to herself that Draco was a rather attractive individual. His features were delicate, slightly feminine. Minus his determined chin, and thin lips, Draco could win more than one drag show in the right attire. She felt herself smile at the way her thoughts were turning. His body was well made, very much the type that could catch a girl's eye. A little more than average height and naturally lean, Draco had a very graceful air to him. "So..." she said, breaking the silence.

He turned to her, his silver eyes rather piercing in the dim light in her room. "I don't think my motives should be known quite yet."

"And that's supposed to reassure me, Malfoy?" She ran a hand through her hair, trying to somewhat tame the wild curls that fell past her shoulders. She was nervous. With her hands busy he might not notice.

"No." He moved towards her silently, his body quite close to hers. She shivered at his closeness.

"Hm. You're not planning on taking advantage of me, are you?" Hermione could not control the unconscious swallow that suddenly came.

Draco chuckled. "You're not exactly my type, Hermione."

"What is it? The fact that I'm a Gryffindor?" she asked, frowning up at him. "Or a Mudblood?"

His grin widened, but his eyes did not get that malicious gleam that was always familiar to them. "No," he said. "It's definitely the vagina."