A/N: Ok, so I decided to make this a 2 shot, this is pretty much the same thing, from Hermione's perspective. The dialogue is the same, but the introspection about it is different. This is for marie! hope it explains it reasonably well?

Disclaimer: Didn't own them an hour ago, don't own them now.

For Hermione, it was slow. The process of realizing that something was wrong, that something was off. It took her so long to place, and then, finally, she realized. Draco Malfoy, the bane of her existence, the Slytherin Prince, hater of everything she stood for… was no longer her bane. He no longer picked fights with her at Head Student meetings, or in the hallways, or anywhere at all. He barely even spoke to her now. Or to anyone at all, she noticed.

It shouldn't bother her. He was her enemy. She didn't - or shouldn't - care less about him. And yet, she did care. She wondered why he was so withdrawn, so… depressed. When they were close, forced together by responsibility, she felt the hopelessness radiating from him as if he were a dementor. She tried to rile him up, get him to fight with her, like they always used to do, but he didn't respond.

She shouldn't feel this. She shouldn't feel concern for her enemy. And yet, wasn't that what made her different from him? That she cared, not just about herself and her friends, but about everyone? She told herself this repeatedly, tried to believe it. It still felt wrong. Yet, she couldn't stop. She missed the prat.

She walked down to the first story, frowning at the open door. "Who left this door open?" she called, walking over to it. "Hello? Is someone out here? You're not allowed to be out this time of night!"

She poked her head out and looked around, almost missing him, almost. She stepped out, hands on her hips, always an authority figure, always bossy and in control. "Malfoy? You may be Head Boy, but you're not allowed outside this late, either."

He didn't reply.

"Malfoy?" Her eyes caught the movement, the ceaseless movement. A knife, tracing a vein in his arm. Her eyes widened, slightly. "What are you doing with that? Malfoy, answer me."

Then he looked at her. The pain in his eyes excruciating, indescribable, unfathomable. She stepped back, her eyes widened further.

"Draco?" she asked, unsure.

"Granger," his voice was strange, hollow. There was no hint of his usual drawl. The knife never paused. "I just – I can't do this."

"Do what?" she asked, eyes on the blade, trying to figure out how to get it away from him. No sudden moves, no drawing a wand, too risky, too risky. I miss the prat, her earlier thought echoed to her now, unwanted, unwelcome. If he did this, if he really did this, he would be gone. No more arguments, no more battles of wit. He would be gone.

"I can't repair the damage my father did to the Malfoy name, can't deal with my mother, can't live my pathetic little life any more, pretending that everything is okay, everything is fine."

"Draco…" she bit her lip, faltering. She had to talk him out of this. She couldn't bear him being gone. Her days would be meaningless. Be ignored by the boys as they talked about quidditch, do her homework, be ignored, work, work, sleep. Empty, hollow. Nothing to look forward to, nothing to change the routine. "It may seem rough now, but things will get better…"

"That's all you can offer? A cliché? You don't even know me, Granger. You don't know my family, what's happening behind the scenes. This won't get better, Granger. It would take a miracle."

The words stung, finally something the know-it-all didn't know. But she wouldn't give up. "Please, give me the knife. Whatever it is, it's not worth dying over."

He looked back at the knife, still in motion, ever in motion. Hermione fought back tears as she said, slowly, softly, "It takes courage to die. But it takes even more, to live."

"Too bad courage is a Gryffindor trait," he said, but the blade had stopped, she saw with much relief, even a little joy. I'm getting through to him.

"There's courage in all of us, Draco," she said, barely audible above the crashing water.

He turned his gaze back to the cascade of water, poring from the sky and the roof, but it wasn't a waterfall any more, it was less, just a drizzle of water. She moved closer to him, hesitantly.

"I don't know if I have enough courage to live, Hermione," he whispered, her given name falling easily from his lips, surprising her, sending a tingle down her spine.

She touched his arm, the one holding the knife. "Let me help you," she answered.

After a moment he turned his gaze back to her, his eyes still pained, yet obviously searching her own for something, a reason behind her words, perhaps, a reason behind her kindness. She did not feel pity. Merely concern. Concern for her sparring partner, her match in wits and intelligence, that was all, nothing more. Then why does it feel like more?

His eyes moved away from hers, seeking the blade once again. He lifted it away from her skin, and this time she did feel joy, she had gotten though to him, saved him from himself. He grasped it by the point, and looked back at her, and she smiled, a true smile that showed her joy, and on impulse she kissed him.

For a fraction of a second, they were both to surprised to do much, and then he kissed her back, passionate and long, and when they came up for air, Hermione was breathless, from the length of the kiss, but also the intensity, the need that she had felt in it, from them both. They rested their foreheads together, catching their breath.

"Hermione," Draco whispered.

"Mm?" she replied.

"Thank you," he said, and she could tell he really meant it.

For a minute they just stood like that, drinking in each other's presence. Then Draco pulled away, and threw the knife, the awful snake-like knife, towards the lake, and it landed, amazingly, with a 'plop' into the water.

Things would be alright. They would get better. They always did. Right?