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Hermione ran.

She ran as soon as she walked through those doors, when her friends were out of sight.

Why did Harry almost kiss her? He couldn't like her that way. No one could. Not even Krum did. And now, her best friend for nearly seven years changed.

She was scared. She didn't know how to react to these changes. Maybe all this was just a trick, a bet, a plot to break her. This could all be a mistake or a misunderstanding or something. For all she knew, he could have been imagining Cho Chang or someone else in her place.

Tears flowed freely down Hermione's cheeks. She wiped them away quickly, ashamed that she was crying over Harry Potter. Sure, it was the famous Harry Potter, her best friend and the heartthrob of the female population at Hogwarts (as well as half the wizarding world), aside from Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini. But still, there was no way Harry Potter could make her cry. Then why was she crying?

Maybe she was crying because she knew it wasn't Harry's fault. She was the one who agreed to go for a walk. She was the one who didn't stop Harry from trying to kiss her, but instead, she was leaning closer as well. And she was the one who was crying because of it.

Maybe she was crying because she knew she secretly had a crush on Harry that totally got out of control. She truly did love him, but in a friendly way. She didn't know what she felt for Harry. It wasn't exactly a crush (much more than that), but definitely not love (much less). She didn't know if she lusted for him either. She didn't dream about him very much, after all, unless you counted day dreaming.

And yet, maybe she was crying because she just had to. Ever since her parents split apart, she knew she had been a bit more emotional. And with all the stress at school�being a role model was hard. And Professor Potter (who hated that name so much he made everyone except Snape call him James) was a difficult person to deal with, although he was friendly and resembled Harry so much. That was worse, actually. He would always remind her of Harry.

Hermione's shoes shuffled across the cobblestone floors as she made her way closer to her Head Dorm. Her feet made the only noise in the deserted hallways until she started sobbing lightly. She never heard the footsteps of other people approaching from behind her.

"Aw�if it isn't Mudblood Granger, crying all by herself!"

Hermione turned. She knew that voice. She faced the awful Slytherins, no longer sobbing, but her tears still shining on her face. She refused to whimper. The shame it would bring her. The more the Slytherins would mock her.

"And look, Pansy," said Blaise Zabini, answering to her taunt, "no boyfriends with her this time!"

Hermione looked down at her feet, unable to move away. Her hands absentmindedly fumbled behind her back, trying to comfort herself.

"What's the matter, Granger?" Millicent Bullstrode teased. "Pothead and Weasel finally break up with you? Or did they find comfort in each other? You never know what they can do in those Quidditch showers!"

The Slytherins cackled horribly. Hermione shed more tears. Their words stung her with every blow. It was terrible how just the slightest word about Harry (let alone one about him being gay) could set her off on another set of cries. And they were calling him her boyfriend! That made her cry more when she recollected the recent memory.

Goyle sniggered. "Aw�looks like we hit a soft spot, guys!"

"Well, Mudblood?" Crabbe mocked. "Aren't you going to say anything? Waiting for Potty to come save you like always?"

Hermione cried harder, refusing to sob out loud. She wouldn't give the Slytherins that much pleasure and amusement. Nothing would bring her down. She wasn't going to let them hurt her anymore, but she just couldn't stop them from trying.

She opened her mouth to try to make a smart comeback, but her voice was disabled. She couldn't find her voice. She was too pained to speak.

Blaise laughed. "Merlin, Granger, in classes you blabber on and on and you never shut up. What's the matter now? Cat got your tongue? Or is it just Potter?"

The bullies howled with laughter. Hermione stared up at them, all surrounding her in a circle. She saw them all as big blue shapes towering over her (much like some events in muggle cartoons she used to watch on the telly when she was younger), pointing fingers at her, their laughter echoing. Their laughing never stopped. She put her hands over her ears and shut her eyes tightly. The laughter pierced their way through her hands, and she still heard them as loud as ever. She felt like bursting of humiliation. She felt like screaming. She felt like-

"Hey!"

Hermione's eyes flew open at the familiar voice. Her hands flew off her ears, at last hearing the laughter coming to an end.

"Leave her alone, guys!"

Pansy smirked. "What's wrong, Draco? She's just a Mudblood, nothing important."

"Leave her be! She didn't do anything."

Goyle nudged Crabbe in the side. "Exactly! She just stood there. Huh, Crabbe?"

"'Course she did. She just let us laugh at her."

Malfoy glared. "I didn't ask you! Now just get out of here! It's nearly past curfew, and unless you want Slytherin to lose the House Cup, I suggest you head off to bed."

Pansy furrowed her eyebrows. "Come on, Draco. It's just a bit of fun."

"For who? Not Granger, obviously."

Hermione viewed the scene in front of her, confused. She wanted to just shrivel up and die. There was no way Draco Malfoy was standing up for her. This was all a dream, a joke, a nightmare.

"Chill out, man!" said Blaise, holding his hands up in defense. "We're sorry, alright?"

"Just get out!" Malfoy said sternly, his face serious, but above all, expressionless. And when Malfoy ordered something, there were no complaints. The Slytherins turned and sulked off to their common room in disappointment and betrayal.

Hermione fell to the floor, weak with sadness. She was on her knees, clutching her arms tightly and rocking herself back and forth. She looked down in shame that a Slytherin protected her, and she was the Gryffindor, supposedly brave.

She heard Malfoy come up behind her, crouching down. "Are you alright?"

"Huh?" Hermione turned toward him, shocked he was actually speaking to her civilly.

"Sorry about that. They're just goofing off. They're never really serious about these things."

Hermione wiped away another tear with the side of her hand, trying to avoid Malfoy's gaze.

She heard Malfoy sigh when she didn't answer. "C'mon, Granger," he said, "I'll walk you to the common room."

Malfoy watched as Hermione slowly stood. She was pretty even when she was crying. Sure, her eyes were red and slightly puffy, but she didn't look half as bad as most other girls did after they sobbed. He stood as well, close behind her as she stumbled to the Head Dorms.

Malfoy still stared at the crying figure, concerned. He had to admit he had a sort of a soft spot for this Muggleborn. Sure, it was mostly because of her beauty, no one could deny that, but still, there was a bit more to it.

She was the only one who dared to slap him. She was the only one who didn't let her muggle heritage be her weakness, at least after a while. She was the only Muggleborn who was able to defeat the dark lord without harm. She got more than a hundred percent in all her classes, even Potions, she always hung out with the popular Potter and Weasley without letting fame take over her, and she was the only witch Malfoy knew who didn't like flying in the slightest. And she was the one who brought all the people Voldemort killed back to life. Of course, Potter and Weasley helped too, way back in the middle of Sixth Year. But Malfoy knew this girl was special. She was different from all the others, even if her blood wasn't the purest.

Finally, Hermione and Malfoy made their way to the Portrait Hole.

Having a feeling that Hermione didn't want to talk much at the moment, Malfoy said the password.

"Shakespeare's Dragon."

"Thank you, sir," said the small girl in the portrait, sitting on the painted swing.

Malfoy nodded at her, letting Hermione step into the hole before him. He shut the door with a snap, following Hermione to the red couch.

Hermione sat down, still clutching her arms. She watched as Malfoy placed himself next to her. The warm fire gave off the only light, crackling pleasantly.

There was an awkward silence for a short while before Hermione spoke.

"Why?"

Malfoy turned to her. "Why what?"

Hermione continued looking at her lap. "Why did you ward off the others? Why didn't you let them keep taunting me?"

"Well, did you want them to do it?"

Hermione shook her head. "No. But�why did you stand up for me?" Now she looked up, staring into Malfoy's eyes.

Malfoy shrugged. "I guess I just couldn't stand watching someone get hurt when I could stop it."

"But�why'd you do it for me? After all, I'm just a stupid M-Mudblood."

Malfoy sighed. "You're not stupid. And I don't classify you as a�as a Mudblood."

Hermione stared. "You don't? But you're the one who called me that in the first place! And you hate me! Why on earth don't you classify me as one? You're a Slytherin. Don't you want to be like you always are, cruel and heartless and hateful to all Gryffindor Muggleborns, let alone Harry Potter's best friend�?"

Hermione looked down, realizing what she had just said about Harry. A tear trickled down her cheek.

Although Malfoy saw this, he ignored it. "Is that what you think of me?" he asked harshly. "Cold and heartless? Unable to be nice for once? I'm just trying to be a bit considerate, thanks for the gratitude!"

Hermione shed another tear. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I guess I'm just�in shock. I never thought you of all people would help me. Sorry."

An uncomfortable silence was in the air for a few seconds.

"Why don't you classify me as a Mudblood? You never said."

Malfoy stared into the fire. "I guess�I guess it's just because�because you may have muggle blood, but you're still able to do more than most Purebloods. You have the�ability of making the best out of nearly everything and being kind to so many people, even if they torment you. Don't think I haven't noticed you barely saying anything to me when I'm�arguing with your mates. And, personally, I don't think you have dirty blood with you acting like you do now."

Hermione looked at him silently. "Is that true?" Malfoy looked back at her. "Do you really think that?"

Malfoy nodded. "Yeah, I do."

Hermione surprised Malfoy then. She smiled and scooted closer to him (but far enough for both of their likings, of course). "Thank you."

Malfoy smiled, too, a true, genuine smile.

Hermione grinned wider. "You should smile more often. It's much better than that signature smirk you always do."

Malfoy shrugged and smiled politely. "You think so?"

Hermione nodded shyly.

After a few seconds of silence, Hermione spoke. "Malfoy?" He turned to see her hold her hand out. "I think�" she slightly brought her hand back, but then brought it back forward as she continued, "�I mean, I don't want to sound a bit random or anything, but�I think we should have a truce. You know, so we don't kill each other. And I could really use a fr-bodyguard right now." Hermione thought about saying that she could use a friend, as she didn't know what to consider Harry anymore, but she realized she didn't exactly want a friendship with Malfoy, just a non-hateful experience for their last year.

Malfoy again smiled politely and took her hand in his. "Alright. A truce it is." Hermione sighed, relieved. "But this doesn't mean I'm going to be all friendly to everyone else, alright? And we're civil, not best friends or anything."

Hermione nodded. "That'd be too much to ask, huh?"

"How'd you know?"

Hermione stared back into the fire.

"Granger?"

"Yeah?"

"I was wondering�what were my mates saying to you that made you so upset?"

Hermione took a while to answer, as she looked down as a tear fell from her eye. She nearly forgot about everything that happened, about Harry, the almost-kiss, the bullies.

Malfoy thought he said the wrong thing, and he was about to apologize when she answered quietly.

"It wasn't exactly all of their faults."

Malfoy furrowed his eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

Awkward silence.

Malfoy placed a hand on her shoulder. "Do you want to talk about it?"

More silence.

"It might help, you know, Granger."

Hermione sighed, another tear flowing down her cheek. "I know. But�I don't think I can talk to you about this right now. I don't exactly know for sure if I can trust you. No offence."

Malfoy pulled back his hand and shrugged. "None taken. I know it's hard for you to trust me. I won't push it."

Silence.

Hermione studied the fire. "I was crying before they got there."

"Why?"

"�That's what I can't tell you."

Malfoy nodded. "That's okay. I understand."

Hermione focused her eyes back on the fire before her. She let her imagination run wild, and soon the flames molded into pictures of her and Harry, looking deeply into each other's eyes, a rose in his hand. She let mind wander back to that time she and Harry almost kissed. She knew she wanted it. She knew she needed it. And yet she knew she didn't really think about it before today.

Malfoy also stared into the fire, listening to the popping and crackling embers as the extinguished themselves. He saw a picture in the flames himself, only it was the face of Hermione, beautiful and flawless, and yet still mysterious. He wanted her to trust him more than almost anything. He only had a crush on her, but he wanted to get to know the pretty girl next to him without Potter and Weasley always butting in.

The two sat on the couch for a few more minutes in silence before Hermione stood. "I'd better go back to bed. 'Night, Malfoy."

"'Night."

Hermione headed up to her room. She turned the golden handle of her door. She was about to go inside when Malfoy spoke.

"Granger?"

Hermione turned, not slowly, but not quickly either. "Yeah?"

"Don't listen to those guys, okay? But I doubt they'll bother you soon."

Hermione smiled at him. "Thanks for helping, Malfoy," she whispered loud enough for him to hear.

When she laid her head on her pillow, she immediately fell into a deep slumber. That night, she dreamt of fearsome kisses, bullies, and Malfoy swiping those awful Slytherins away from her like an angry cat.

Just downstairs, a certain Slytherin was thinking about his crush and trying to ignore his slowly growing feelings for her.

All the way in the Gryffindor dorms, a famous teenaged boy beat his head against the wall, cursing himself for his stupidity and cursing his now-alive father for passing down his relationship problems to him.