A/N: Thanks to those of you who are still here, reading this! I appreciate all of you and I'm glad you're still invested in the story. Hopefully you all enjoy this chapter!

The hospital wing felt like it was forever away as Hermione rushed through the deserted corridors, Ginny and Harry keeping pace behind her. They were talking quietly together, but she couldn't focus on what they were saying in the haze of worry clouding her thoughts. Her eyes were suspiciously wet, but she blinked away the moisture and forced herself to try to calm down - it wouldn't do anyone any good to have her fall apart as soon as she arrived.

How dare he get hurt? He had no right to make her feel this scared for him, not after everything he'd done to her, not after he'd proven that it had all been a game to play with her emotions. Yet, here she was, rushing to check on him and make sure that he would be okay. And Ron, too, of course, but there was an element of anger there towards the red-head for running off to do something so incredibly stupid.

Finally, she strode through the doors to the hospital wing and paused, uncertain where to go. "This way," Harry instructed, passing her to lead the way towards the left.

As Hermione caught sight of the two idiots lying on the hospital beds, her breath caught in her throat. They both looked like they had been through a war and had barely survived. Ron's arm was twisted in an unnatural way, and his face was paler than usual - at least the parts of it that weren't covered in smears of drying blood. Much of his clothing was ripped, and she could see bruises through the openings in the fabric. Malfoy was in a similar condition, she saw, eyeing his injuries worriedly. His glowing hair was matted with dried blood that had dripped onto his cheek and his face was mottled with bruises. He had a couple other cuts and gashes, some still oozing blood, though all his bones seemed to still be intact.

"What happened?" Hermione demanded, stunned at the sight in front of her.

"Nothing," Ron muttered sullenly. Malfoy just pressed his lips together and stayed silent.

"Where's Madame Pomfrey?" Hermione demanded, approaching her friend. "Someone needs to see to all this…" she gestured weakly at Ron, deliberately staying turned away from Malfoy she he couldn't see her worry.

"She was healing the worst of it when I came to get you," Harry piped up. "They look way better than they did when I found them dueling."

"'Cept for my arm, I'm feeling loads better," Ron claimed. "And I'm sure she'll be back soon."

"Good." Hermione crossed her arms in front of her chest to keep from punching him. "Never do something so stupid again, promise?" It came out as more of a threat than a question. "He's not worth it."

Ron opened his mouth to say something - probably to argue that he would do the same thing again no matter the consequences, when Malfoy's drawl cut him off. "And you're worth all this, Granger? Just for a little papercut?"

"What happened to our agreement?" Hermione demanded, still not facing him and doing her best to ignore his taunts. "Thought you weren't going to speak to me anymore."

"That was before your Weasel of a boyfriend attacked me!"

Slowly, Hermione turned to face him, and stalked a couple paces towards him. Something crossed his face as she approached, an emotion that made him seem softer before it was replaced by his normal look of disdain. "Why was I wasting my time worrying about you?" she muttered, more to herself than to him. "Clearly you're just as horrible as ever. Leave Ron alone - he was only trying to help."

That same soft look reappeared. "You were worried about me?" His tone was more vulnerable, more like how Hermione remembered him when things were good between them. The question hung between them and the air felt charged with electricity as he waited for Hermione to answer. When the silence had stretched on long enough that it was clear she wasn't going to say anything, he sighed and leaned his head back on his pillow. "Get lost, Granger. I need my beauty rest." However, his words didn't seem to have their usual acerbic bite to them and there seemed to be a slight smile to his lips as she left him to ask if she could get Ron anything. However, she couldn't stop thinking about his reaction to her words, and that little smile plagued her all not long, leaving her tossing and turning.

…

The next morning, Draco woke up in the hospital wing, his body feeling like a giant bruise. Everywhere hurt, and even breathing was painful. Madame Pomfrey had done a lot on his worst injuries - which he was pretty sure were accidents because the Weasel didn't know how to use his wand properly - but the smaller bruises she left to 'teach him a lesson,' (in her words). It just turned out that he had an awful lot of little bruises, and he was going to be stiff and sore for a couple days. A small smirk crossed his lips at the thought that the Weasel would be feeling the same, or worse. Draco had more than held his own in the duel, even if he had been attacked from behind without warning.

A glance over to his left assured him that Weasley had already left the hospital wing, so with a wince, Draco stood, paused to let the pain subside, and started walking to his common room. A proper shower would help him feel better, he was sure.

As he made his way through the corridors, his thoughts drifted back towards Granger and the look on her face as she had burst into the hospital wing. Her eyes panicked, her brow furrowed, her lips parted slightly as she panted for breath, and her hair flying in a bushy cloud around her head as she searched for him. Then, later, when she had admitted to being worried for him… he almost had told her right then and there that he'd made a huge mistake. That he regretted losing her over some stupid bet to impress his vapid, shallow admirers. Honestly, he hadn't thought it was possible that she could still care about him after what he'd done to her. Seeing that look in her eyes, though…maybe it wasn't too late. Maybe he could apologize, maybe he could fix things somehow.

Suddenly, he stopped abruptly in the empty corridor and let out a bark of harsh laughter. Who was he kidding? She was Hermione Granger, muggle-born and member of the Golden Trio, and he was Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius Malfoy and heir to his pureblood line. Even if he wanted something more with her and she forgave him, it was impossible. Their worlds were too different.

The portrait hole swung open as he muttered the password, the knight too busy whispering in the lady's ear to really notice Draco and his bedraggled state.

Much to his confusion, Granger was sitting in a plush armchair, a stack of books piled up on the small end table beside her. "Don't you have class?" he asked in surprise, before remembering that he had spent a significant portion of the day in the infirmary and classes were likely done for the day.

"Aren't we supposed to be ignoring each other?" Granger asked tartly, but he didn't miss her looking him up and down, her brow puckered in worry. "That truce certainly didn't last very long."

"That was before your-" he forced himself to be polite, since he really wasn't interested in starting an argument right now, "-friend ambushed me."

He had the minor satisfaction of seeing her redden slightly. "Ron's sorry," she mumbled.

Draco shook his head. "No, he's not." When she didn't argue, he let out a forced chuckle. "I didn't think he'd have the guts to do it. I respect that - defending your friends." Even as the words left his mouth, Draco found himself horrified at what he was saying. Was he really defending a Weasley? Especially one that had attacked and sent him to the hospital wing?

Glancing up, he met Granger's gaze. She was looking just as shocked as he felt on the inside. "How hard did Ron hit you?" she asked slowly. Then, more quickly, "How many of me do you see?"

Despite himself, Draco let out another chuckle - this one genuine. He dragged his weary body over to the sofa and collapsed on it with a muffled groan. "I'm fine, Granger."

"Then you won't have a problem cleaning the blood off the carpet and furniture?" she asked sweetly, quickly moving the subject away from his uncharacteristic defense of the Weasel, which he appreciated.

"It's all dried," he retorted, glancing down at the dark stains on his robe.

"Should be easy, then." Granger turned a page in her book that Draco was positive she wasn't focused enough to actually be reading. "But I don't want to be sitting on flecks of dried blood for the rest of the term."

For a while, a companionable silence stretched between them as she resumed her reading and Draco let his body rest from the trip up several flights of stairs and down long hallways. It was nice to be around someone who didn't have to talk incessantly all the time, he mused, thinking of Pansy's inability to shut her mouth for more than a couple seconds at a time.

Sitting up, Draco gathered all his courage and pride around himself like an invisible shield, and steeled himself for what was going to be an uncomfortable conversation. "Granger," he started quietly, then louder, he asked, "Hermione?" He hadn't used her name in weeks, not since the truth had come out, and he saw he visibly flinch at the sound. However, she didn't hex him or tell him to shut up, so he took that as a good sign. "Would you ever forgive me?" The words hung in the air, and Draco hated how vulnerable and pathetic they sounded. He was a Pureblood, competent wizard - he shouldn't be begging for forgiveness from anyone. Still, he couldn't help but hold his breath waiting for her response.

Finally, after a tense silence, she sighed. "I don't know," she admitted. "What you did…I don't know. I thought you had changed, once."

"I think I might have," Draco forced out, despite his pureblood heritage yelling at him to keep silent "You see, there was this witch who gave me a second chance one time, and I may have messed it up slightly, but I'm different now. I've changed." Have you? His inner voice mocked him, making him question what he was telling Hermione.

"Really?" Hermione raised a skeptical eyebrow and put her book aside. "At what part did you change?" She stood up and took a step towards him. "The part where you set me up to look like a lovesick, naive idiot to win a bet for your friends? Or was it the part where you yelled at me and threw my book across the room? Oh no, it probably was the part where you dueled Ron and both got sent to the hospital wing!" With each sentence, she took another step towards him until she was standing directly in front of him. He stood too, putting them only inches apart and allowing him to look down into her furious, pain-filled eyes. "Well?" she demanded, a quaver to her voice.

"It was that night in the tower," he replied softly, his voice hoarse and his eyes unfocused as he remembered one of their first meetings. "In the starlight. I asked you if you thought I could change, and you said yes. Since then, I've been different. And that bet, it was tearing me apart. I felt trapped - stuck between losing something that might actually be good, and becoming an outcast from my family and house. Maybe I chose wrong." Suddenly, his eyes snapped back into focus and he remembered who he was talking to. His lips turned up into a sneer more as a force of habit than out of desire, and he felt his defenses rising after his moment of unguarded honesty. "But, I guess it's too late now, isn't it?" he asked bitterly. "I made my choice, and we both have to live with the consequences." He brushed past her and made his way, stiffly, up the stairs leading to his room.

"Draco," Hermione's soft voice sounded after him, and he paused, relishing the sound of his name on her lips again. However, he refused to turn around and show her even more vulnerability than he had already revealed this evening. What he had shared...he already regretted it, but he had gotten carried away with her eyes pouring into his, her face only inches from his chest.

"What?" he demanded tersely.

"Prove to me you've actually changed. Maybe...maybe then I can forgive you."

He didn't reply, just opened the door to his room and strode in. A little flame of hope had sprung up inside of him, and he resented it. He resented that she could make him feel so much with so few words, that he had somehow given her this power over him. No one should be able to make him feel this torn.

A crumpled piece of fabric in the corner of the room caught his eye, and he picked up the scarf that he had given to Hermione and she had thrown back in his face. Smoothing it carefully out, he considered it for a moment, remembering the pleasure he had felt at seeing her wear something of his. Then, with a snarl of frustration at the confused tangle of emotions, he balled it back up and hurled it angrily back in the corner before flopping on his bed, heedless of the state of his robes.

…

The day of the Ravenclaw-Slytherin game arrived a couple days after her and Malfoy's intense heart-to-heart in the common room, and Hermione tried to decide on whether or not she should attend the game. True, she and Draco, (she really needed to settle on what to call him now that they were sort of speaking again), had only shared a few words here and there since his abrupt exit after their conversation, but she felt closer to him than she had since he revealed that their whole relationship was a lie. Of course, she was still hurt and angry and nowhere near forgiving him anytime soon, but seeing the more vulnerable side of him had given her hope that maybe he was capable of changing, and that maybe some of it had been real for him too.

Essentially, she was a confused tangle of emotions ranging from the desire to throttle him to the urge to kiss him.

However, seeing real emotion in his eyes as he'd looked down at her and said that he may have made a mistake...that had made Hermione want to reach out to him, to tell him that it wasn't too late to fix things. She had stopped herself, thankfully. With the way she was feeling about him, one conversation wasn't enough to tell him that everything was going to be fine. He owed her proof.

Still, part of her wanted to reach out to him, and watching him play Quidditch was meaningful to him. He had never said as much, but she saw the passion in his eyes as he talked about the sport. That was why, despite her misgivings, she found herself trodding through the crisp spring morning towards the Quidditch pitch among the crowd of Ravenclaws. There were clusters of Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs scattered through the crowd, but Ravenclass and Slytherin colours dominated.

To her surprise and amusement, nearly every Slytherin sported the same glowing, green hair that she had given Draco, creating a strange luminous effect in their section of the stands. Draco's hair had faded significantly by this point, and was nearly back to its typical white-blonde shade. It made him stand out among the glowing green of the rest of his team as they flew warm-up laps around the pitch.

Hermione found herself a seat at the edge of the Ravenclass section, next to some second-year boys who were enthusiastically raving about one of their team's star beaters. Her position was at the edge of the field, far enough away from the Slytherin section that no one there would hassle her, but close enough to a set of goal-posts that she wouldn't miss all the action.

The game went quickly - Ravenclaw had a weaker team this year, since many of their best players last year had been seventh-years and were no longer at the school. It was just enough of a challenge for Slytherin that they had to pay attention to the game, but their glowing fan section amused themselves more by taunting the Ravenclaw players than by actually paying attention to the game.

"What is she doing here?" A high, girlish voice caught Hermione's attention and she flinched, but gave no other reaction to having heard. Maybe if she ignored them, they would go away.

"Guess she hopes that she can go crawling back to him. Too bad he doesn't want anything to do with filth like her." Blaise's voice was also unmistakable.

Pansy agreed eagerly. "He told me she means nothing to him - too bad she can't leave him alone. It's pathetic, really."

The words cut deep, as they were meant to. In a silent fury of pain and heartache, Hermione stood and started to make her way out, her head down. Coming to the game had been a mistake. The rational part of her knew that what Malfoy said to his friends shouldn't matter, but it still did. She just didn't know which version of him to trust - the part of him that told her he'd changed and that he regretted treating her badly, or the part of him that would say she meant nothing to him.

Not watching where she was going, she bumped into a hard, slightly sweaty body. "Sorry," she apologized immediately, before looking up into Draco's grey eyes. They flickered from her to where Blaise and Pansy stood, a ways behind her. His mouth tightened.

"Ignore them," he told her.

"Why should I?" Everything they say is true, she wanted to add.

"Draco," Pansy called over the general chattering of the crowd, "come and celebrate. Don't you think you should let her slink away in peace? It's only polite."

"I'll talk to you later," Draco mumbled, looking slightly ashamed.

Hermione snorted. "Doesn't seem likely." She flounced off, leaving him to his friends, angry that she had made an effort to let him show her that he'd made a mistake, and he'd chosen his friends again. Maybe he wasn't worth her time and forgiveness. At this point, she was done. If he wanted to make things better between them, he was on his own.

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