Hello! This is my first story, I hope you like it... So, yeah. Please review! I want to know what you think! Thanks!

Disclaimer: Sadly, Harry Potter and its characters are not mine and never will be. They belong to the wonderful, amazing, Jo Rowling.

Hermione Granger was shopping in Diagon Alley with her soon-to-be sister-in-law. Ginny had gone in to Quality Quidditch Supplies and Hermione, not really caring about the new broom, had gone in to Scrivenshaft for a new quill. She was just on her way back to Quality Quidditch Supplies when someone grabbed her and pulled her in to a small, unused alleyway. . "What the-!" she cried out.

"Shush, Granger! Someone will hear you." said a voice Hermione recognized, a voice she had loathed at school. she looked up to confirm it, and sure enough, there was that pale, pointed face and blonde hair. "Malfoy? What the hell? What do you want with me?"

"Gra- actually, do you mind if I call you Hermione?"

"Huh? Oh! Um, sure I guess..." said Hermione, taken aback by his question.

"All right, thanks... Hermione," said Draco, trying to get used to it. "Well, um, I'd like to, er, talk to you."

"So you decide the best way to go about it would be to grab me and pull me in to an alley."

"Oh, yeah. Sorry, I just sort of saw you and it was rather an impulse..." he said awkwardly.

"Wait. Did you, Malfoy, just apologize to me, Hermione Granger, a mudblood?" Hermione was incredulous.

"Oh, please don't call yourself that. And yes, I, Malfoy, just apologized to you." Hermione was shocked. Malfoy, the boy who had been so awful in school, was now apologizing to her and asking her not to call herself a 'mudblood'. "Are you sure you're not some secret long-lost brother of Malfoy's or an impersonator?"

"Yes. Listen, I'm really sorry about how I was to you when we were in school. I know that's not nearly enough, but I have changed in the years since, well, since everything."

Hermione still couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Oh god, I must be going mad. Or dreaming. Am I dreaming?"

"No, you're not. Listen, it's been five years since the war. And during that time, I've reflected on how I played a part in it. And I'm not proud."

"Ok, what are you going on about? Why did you want to talk to me?"

"Because... Well... Because... Because I think I love you."