She waited for quite some time before she was certain that everyone else was gone. The change room was dark, save for the light pouring in through an open window, landing on Draco's bare back. He was hunched over on a bench, elbows resting on his knees, hiding his face in his hands. He was still wearing his Quidditch pants, gloves, and boots, bathed lightly in sweat.

Hermione edged in closer, nearly invisible in the dark.

"Why did you let go?" she asked in barely more than a whisper.

He looked up sharply, his pale features slightly shadowed. She moved closer to the light, and his eyes widened.

"What the hell do you think you're doing here?" he snarled, standing up.

"I saw it," she continued fiercely, accusingly. "I saw it in your hand. How could you just let go of it like that?"

"Get out, Granger," Draco spat. "Go back to your tower. Your boyfriends will miss you at their victory party."

"Tell me," she begged, knowing how irrational this whole confrontation was. She took a few steps forward. "Just tell me why – "

"Go away, mudblood," he said warningly, his voice rising.

"Draco . . ."

"I SAID GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!"

"NO!"

He started at her retaliation. He had not expected her to lash back so violently.

"Why do you care?" he demanded. He didn't look angry so much as he looked wary of her. "What the hell are you doing here anyway, Granger?"

She opened and closed her mouth, unsure of where to start. "I don't know," she admitted, looking down at the ground between them. "You grabbed the snitch first. You should have won, even I can say that. Then I saw Lucius, and I – "

"Do not speak to me about my father," Draco hissed, cutting her off. She flinched at the venom in his tone. "You have no right to even start on him, do you hear me?"

Her eyes flashed. "Draco Malfoy, don't you dare tell me where to draw the line," she snapped. "Of all the people I have met in my life, you have crossed that line more times than I can count! You stomp on everyone else to make yourself some kind of god, but you can't even look your father in the eye or stand up straight when next to him. You lash out at anyone who is different from you because Daddy tells you it's the right thing to do, but all it does is alienate you and turn you into the enemy."

He gaped at her.

"You know why I'm here, right now, talking to you? You know why I followed you down here?" she went on, her fists trembling at her side. "Because when I saw let go of the snitch, I thought I saw someone who could use a friend. It was stupid and I wish to God I hadn't come here, but I did, and here I am."

"You . . . you really are mad . . ." he said in amazement, shaking his head at her. She stared back levelly, though her cheeks were flushed.

For a long time their gazes held, each trying to stare down the other. Hermione nearly gave up, prepared to turn and abandon this whole absurd endeavour when suddenly Draco's expression fell wide open. Closing his eyes, he sighed heavily and sat down back down. He seemed to be inwardly debating something, and Hermione held her breath for fear of ruining the moment. When he spoke at long last, his words were hesitant.

"When I was six, I begged my father to take me with him to Gringotts. I used to have this . . . ridiculous notion that I wanted to be a banker one day. I thought it would be fun to work with the goblins," he confessed, smiling bitterly. Hermione smiled back softly, carefully sitting down next to him. The idea that Draco Malfoy had ever been a whimsical child was almost as unnerving as it was endearing. "Anyway . . . naturally, he made me carry some of his things. Said some bullshit about it building character. Really, I think he just wanted me to be useful for a change. I remember I could barely see anything – I had all these papers and folders stacked up in my arms. He kept marching ahead, not realizing that I was falling behind."

The image was already bringing tears to Hermione's eyes. Draco wasn't looking at her, staring at the floor between his knees as if reading the memory off a page in a book.

"I wanted to call out for him to wait, to come back and help, but I had this scarf over my face to keep warm – it was winter. I started to run, but I slipped on some ice and fell down. I sprained my ankle and started crying, but my father was so far ahead that he didn't even notice. The papers scattered everywhere, in the snow and mud, getting completely ruined. Eventually he realized I wasn't behind him, and he started calling me, telling me to hurry up. I was scrambling to pick everything up in time to catch up, which only made things worse. After a while I wasn't even crying from pain. I was frustrated, and desperate not to keep him waiting. He threatened to leave without me if I took too long.

"It just . . . it feels like I'm still there," he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Still trying to keep up. Trying to prove that I can be his son, the perfect son who never makes mistakes. Only I do. Every single day."

He suddenly turned to face her. "You know why I let go of the snitch, Granger?"

She blinked, hastily wiping the tears away. He had caught her off guard, addressing her so abruptly. "Why?"

"Because," he said, gritting his teeth. "I fucking hate that game."

Hermione stared at him, her mouth a perfectly shaped 'O'.

"I hate it. I never wanted to join, other than to get back at Potter. And, I suppose, to please my father," he admitted, his lip curling in revulsion. "He was a star player on his team back when he was in school here. It was just . . . natural, I suppose, that I should be too."

She began say something placating, but he held up his hand and shook his head. "If you start talking now, I'm just going to stand up and walk away," he explained. "I need to speak, Granger. Please . . . don't spoil it."

She nodded and fell silent. He took a deep breath before going on.

"I had always told myself that everything would be all right if I could just catch the snitch. Merlin knows I had failed at everything else. I wasn't smart enough, popular enough, charming enough. I've been expecting some giant reward for all the effort I put into a stupid game that I can barely stand. I thought maybe I would look down and see my father looking back at me. Maybe there would be something other than disappointment on his face. Maybe he would actually be proud of me, for once in my whole goddamn life."

Hermione winced at the crack in his voice. He stopped and gathered himself again, clenching his fists to stop them from shaking.

"And when I had it . . . when I actually had it in my hand . . . it was so small, so cheap. I couldn't believe how much I had been fighting for it, wanting it, praying to somehow be able to touch it, just once, just for him. And he didn't see it. All this time, all the lectures and insults, the pressure he's been putting on me to win, to be the very best . . . and the bastard wasn't even watching."

Hermione exhaled slowly, unsteadily. She was crying again.

"I just got very sick of it all. I couldn't take it anymore," he finished, finally lifting his gaze to meet hers.

"I understand. I really do," she told him, fighting the urge to take his hand. "And . . . and I wish I could say something else."

He snorted. "It's probably best that you don't. I'm sure I will regret this later."

"I hope not."

He narrowed his eyes slightly. "You're not going to try and hug me, are you?"

Hermione managed a small sound, something between a laugh and a sob. "I suppose that would be somewhat inappropriate," she confessed, shaking her head.

"And weird."

"That too."

Before the silence that followed could turn awkward, they both stood up.

"Well," Hermione coughed. "I should get going."

He nodded, also clearing his throat. "Yeah. Right."

She offered a tentative smile before turning around, heading for the door.

Something warm latched onto her wrist, stopping her in her tracks. She whirled around, startled. Draco looked down at his hand on her arm, looking about as surprised as she felt.

"I, uh . . ." he stammered, frowning at himself. Hermione's eyes darted back and forward between his hold on her and his uncomfortable expression. "I just wanted to . . ."

A small grin tugged at the corners of her mouth. "You're not going to try and hug me, are you?" she asked teasingly.

He flushed and quickly released her, looking distinctly self-conscious. She almost wished she hadn't said anything.

"Thank you," he managed to say. "For . . . you know."

Her grin broadened a little. "You're welcome."

He suddenly scowled at her. "If you tell anyone about this, I'll kill you. You know that, right?"

She nodded seriously. "Of course."

"Right. Good."

"Bye."

"Bye."

Hermione was half way across the room before she suddenly came darting back. Before he could react, she threw her arms around him and planted a light kiss on his cheek.

By the time Draco managed to snap his jaw shut again, she had already skipped out the door.

FIN