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Linked by Philyra912
 Books » Harry Potter Rated: T, English, Romance, Draco M., Hermione G., Words: 61k+, Favs: 4k+, Follows: 920, Published: Jun 18, 2005 Updated: Jan 5, 2006
 2,542 Chapter 19: Late Nights and Nightmares
Special Author's Note: You will all undoubtedly notice that I have removed all of the review responses from Linked. This is because I have heard from more than one reliable reviewer that has begun to delete stories in which the author personally responds to the reviews. Though I think this rule is absolute CRAP (please see my profile to hear the extended version of this rant), I do not want my story deleted, so I am complying. I will be happy to respond to reviews through e-mail, so if you write a review and would like a response, give me your e-mail address and I'll write back to you. Yes, I'm bummed. Sorry I'm being whiny. You now have permission to continue on to the non-whiny actual chapter:)
A/N: YAY for 500 reviews! I really am speechless. Thank you all so much for your constant support and helpful comments. I don't know what I would do without you! Special thanks to saddlebum for being the 500th reviewer!
Thanks goes to Lorett for being the world's best beta and all-around sounding board!
As for the chapter, I really don't have much to say today. Just sit back and enjoy, especially the last scene, because I'm rather fond of it. On to the chapter!
Chapter 18: Late Nights and Nightmares
Draco sat on his bed and stared across the room at his desk, scowling ferociously at it. Well, not at it, per se, but at the journal that lay on top of it. He had managed to resist the urge to read it again all night, but now, with the next three weeks' homework lying completed on his trunk and all other avenues of distraction exhausted, it beckoned to him with all the pull of a siren's song (and Draco, having once born witness to such a song during a family holiday to the Aegean Sea, did not make such a comparison lightly.)
He knew it must be quite late; he hadn't left the library until well after curfew, which was the only rule he had so far discovered that Hermione Granger didn't hold in very high regard. After returning to his dormitory, he'd spent several hours doing everything in his power to avoid reading the journal, hoping that sleep would overtake him before he had given into his desire to do so. All that carefully orchestrated avoidance had led him to this moment, (one of the most pathetic of his life, he mused with detachment) in which he was sitting on a bed and sending death glares at an inanimate object that, unfortunately, could no more cower in fear before his gaze than get up and dance the foxtrot with his inkwell.
He did not want to read the journal, but he also didn't want to not want to. Why should he fear to read it if he really believed it had no bearing on his current situation? Currently, the portion of his brain that was devoted to the desperate rationalization that allowed him to lead the life he did without going stark raving mad was attempting to come up with a reasonable answer to that question, thus far without success. Draco scowled some more.
After a few minutes of this, he finally gave up, cursing colorfully about his lack of willpower, and crossed the room. Snatching the journal off the desk, he stalked back over to his bed and began to read.
It took him a few moments to find the correct passage again. Once he had, he began skimming the pages, telling himself that he was looking for mentions of the cure, and rolling his eyes at what a horrible liar his inner voice seemed to be. While he did run across more notes regarding the research, they proved as fruitless as every otherone they had happened upon thus far. Finally, he found what he had really been looking for; another passage written in that almost frantic, uncharacteristically-haphazard scrawl.
I begin to wonder if I'm as mad as Edward has always accused me of being. Today, while we worked in the lab, I looked up to find him staring at me, and I would swear on everything I have ever held dear that what he was feeling in that instant was quite the opposite of hatred. It was gone before I could blink, but it was real, I know it was. It is utterly ridiculous; I've never given him any reason to feel anything toward me but envy and hatred. It makes no sense, and what makes less sense is that I want him to feel that way. I know that soon I won't be able to hide it from him anymore, and then what will I do? Admit that I'm falling in love with a big-headed, holier-than-thou, absolutely insufferable git with the filthy blood of Muggles running in his veins? And what if he admits it back? What if I want him to? I certainly can't have that. No, I must find a cure, and it must be very, very soon . . .
