Her full breath whooshed from her lungs as she spotted him, filthy but bright white, bleeding and broken on the destroyed Grand Staircase.

She had been trying to find Harry – both she and Ron, before he went to the Forbidden Forest like Voldemort had asked. Her heart clenched again at the thought, almost turning away from him. But something stopped her.

It was disturbing to see him. It was disturbing to see him in the way that he was – in the defeated, crumpled, torn, singed and bleeding mess. Draco Malfoy had always been a constant at Hogwarts – the bully, full of bravado and smugness and cold calculating poise. Aristocratic, as though he truly believed he was the Prince of Slytherin.

He was curious, Hermione thought, as she watched him through the small portion of stone banister that was still intact, a level down from him. All their school years together, and Hermione had always thought he truly was cold hearted. He was – she was sure. But … he protected Harry. In the Malfoy Manor, he protected Harry. It didn't fit. All of his actions leading up to that point … at least, of what Hermione saw. But, now, here – Malfoy looked empty, alone. She wasn't sure she had ever seen Malfoy alone when they had been schoolmates. Always with some cronie or another – Goyle, Crabbe, Zabini, Nott, Parkinson … two of their number had been killed, Hermione suddenly realised. One had been Crabbe – they had both watched him be engulfed by the flames from his own wand. The same flames that had almost claimed them all – almost claimed Malfoy and Goyle, too, had Harry and Ron not saved them. The second had been … had she been Malfoy's girlfriend? There had been a time when Pansy Parkinson had been his girlfriend, yes. And she, herself, had just watched the boy's Godfather die at the hands and teeth of Voldemort and Nagini.

She watched the young Malfoy a little more closely, then, watching as tears poured down his white, ghostly face. He was in pain – in pain as much as her own side. He was not like his brothers – not like his Father whom he idolised. Not like a Death Eater. Branded but disconnected. She found herself, ever the inquisitive, wanting to know everything. Wanting to know motivations, understand the man who sat there, desolate. Desperate to know why he'd done all the things he had done.

She wondered if his parents were alive. She wondered if hers were alive. She took a few more steps up the rubble-strewn staircase until she rounded the corner she had been hiding behind.

From her new position, she could see him shaking, his wand, which was not his own, cast to the side. Her own, since the very start of the horrible battle, had been clenched in her fingers, so hard that the wood had imprinted on her hand. And here Malfoy was, uncaring where his wand was, amidst hell. He didn't seem to care whether he died. He didn't look up when she sat a few stairs below him, turned, watching him.

He was bleeding profusely from a wound on his shoulder, dripping blood on the stair. He had another gash on his chest, the blood soaking into his dark suit, making it even darker. He appeared to have hit his head, too, and blood had made a section of his white-blonde hair a sickly looking pink.

He was clever. Bright minded and book-learned. Gifted beyond her in Potions, certainly. She admitted this, despite herself. Second in their year, second only, Hermione cringed internally, trying to be humble, second only to her. He knew healing spells. His diswant to cast them spoke more words to Hermione that she wanted them to. Tears filled her eyes as she hugged herself, biting her lip. She wanted him to speak, but she was scared – scared of this Malfoy, unlike any version of him she'd seen. The constant, steady, cruel Draco Malfoy who had taunted her, belittled her, called her horrific things. She wasn't sure she could hear anything but 'Mudblood' come from his lips.

Too many things had changed tonight.

The blood from his shoulder started to spill onto the next step down, and Hermione gasped. The sound made him look at her. She avoided his eyes.

"Let me help you," she told him, her voice stronger than she felt. He said nothing. Instead, he watched her, tears still rolling silently down his face. Carefully, she rose to her feet, and ascended towards him. Crouching at his side, she lifted her hand to touch his shoulder. He didn't flinch. She almost wanted him to. She pushed her sleeves back a little, before tearing his jacket a little more to better see his mutilated shoulder. It had been a powerful curse – she wondered vaguely, from which side?

Whispering every healing spell she knew under her breath, the gash finally knitted together, looking angry, white and marked forever. She let out a breath she had been holding, being so close to him, before cleaning his blood from the floor – there really had been a lot of blood. She sat, and still, he said nothing. He was still watching her, though, with those silver-grey, unnatural looking eyes. Shakily, she drew her knees up towards her chest, still sitting there beside Draco Malfoy, a boy who had watched his own aunt torture her – carve 'mudblood' into her arm with an enchanted knifeblade. She held her left forearm subconsciously.

"Why?" He spoke suddenly, softly, painfully. She recoiled a little. Her lips opened unconsciously, even though she knew she had nothing to say. He nodded subtley, almost imperceptibly, in acceptance to the answer she hadn't even given. He had drawn his own conclusions – Hermione desperately wanted to know what they were, so much that it scared her. He had turned from her, again, and Hermione turned her terrified eyes back to him. His tears hadn't stopped. She had hoped they had been caused by pain from injury, but it was clear it was much more than that.

"Your parents ..." she whispered. Malfoy locked eyes with her, fear alight in fiercely silver eyes. She had never truly looked into them. He didn't know whether they were alive, it was clear. She didn't either. He realised she didn't, he was still petrified. She bit her lip, unable to look away from his eyes, caught by his agony.

Tears spilled from her eyes at the prolonged contact, and he watched her curiously. Whether he realised it was for his pain that she was crying, she didn't know. He opened his mouth, as if to speak. Closing it, he watched her a little longer, touching his healed shoulder. Eventually, he found his words, and croaked them. "I've been wrong my whole life." Hermione didn't speak, her heart clenching at his words. She half wanted him to continue, half wanted him to sneer. But he continued. Taking a shuddering breath, and looking at his feet, he breathed, "I was taught that … that the Pureblood families were sacred. That muggles and muggle-borns were filthy. That the only way to stop our sacred blood from being diluted and polluted with filthy blood was to bring the Dark Lord to power. That he would treat us like the Royalty we apparently are.

"I don't feel like a fucking Prince, Granger. Do I look like one?" He choked, as if he were about to be sick. He swallowed painfully. "He was going to kill me. Kill Father. Make me watch while he – Mother, I … He wanted to take his time with Mother. I did what he wanted. Anything to save my Mother. Anything to repent my Father. I tried. But I'm weak. Pathetic. I couldn't do it – I couldn't kill Dumbledore. I couldn't kill anyone." He hung his head, sobbing.

Hermione bit her lip, hard, tears flowing freely down her cheeks. Her cheeks flushed in anger and pity for him. "It is not weak to be incapable of murder, Malfoy."

He shook his head with it still hung, before looking up at her, enraged. "Don't you dare give me your Gryffindor, self-righteous bullshit, Granger. It is weak to be incapable of protecting your own damn family."

Her eyes searched his for as long as he let her, before he dropped his head again in defeat, breathing heavily. She spoke gently, this time. "You didn't make your choices, Malfoy. You didn't choose your side. It was chosen for you before you were even born. You are not weak for not living up to those choices." He was crying again.

"You don't get it," he cried. She placed her hand on his arm, and, again, he didn't flinch. "You don't get it," he said with more strength as he looked at her again. And she didn't. She probably never would. The shame that Malfoy displayed was impossible to look at.

He looked down at her hand on his arm, and caught sight of the angry, red brand his aunt had viciously carved into her arm as she had tortured her in front of him. He looked as if he was about to be sick again, and Hermione began to draw away her arm. But he stopped her, a cool hand on hers. She couldn't make eye contact with him in his almost intimate act. He turned her hand over, so that the underside of her arm was under his gaze. A finger ran across the still-tender skin, the blade having magical properties that she had been unable to research and therefore had been unable to heal properly.

"It won't heal," he told her gently, knowing what she had been thinking. He hesitated, before pulling up the sleeve of his suit and shirt, revealing to her his dark mark. He watched her as she looked down at it, painfully. She realised she had wished he hadn't had one – that she truly believed he wouldn't. It wasn't like the other dark marks she had seen, though. "Aunt decided mine needed amending," he explained. As black as the mark was, Hermione was still able to read the word 'traitor' carved across it.

"Because you protected us?" Hermione asked, tears welling in her eyes again.

He didn't answer her, though, as he ran his finger across her arm once more, before withdrawing his hands from her. It was as though he'd remembered himself. She took stock of him, noticing his bleeding chest again. She pushed his jacket to the side, and opened his shirt a few buttons so that she could see the flesh-wound. Muttering a spell again, the skin fused once more with barely a mark. Her fingers found his buttons again, but he gently pushed her hands away. His own fingers deftly clothed himself again, and he shook his head. "I don't deserve your help."

"Thankfully," she commented, a little coolly, "I decide who deserves my help, Malfoy. Not you." He watched her, as if her words were alien to him. "You're clever enough to perform these on yourself," she explained. "I couldn't let you ..."

Malfoy broke eye contact with her. "Thank you," he told her. Hermione's chest tightened painfully at those words coming from Draco Malfoy's mouth. Before she could reply, he had pulled himself up, limping a little. Retrieving his mothers wand, he turned back to her. "I hope ..." he swallowed, battling with himself. "I hope to see you again, Granger. On a better day than this."

Hermione looked up at him tearfully, more tears streaming down her cheeks. With those words alone, she knew he was better than his beliefs. That his beliefs were changing. She couldn't help but smile at him through her tears. He smirked a little back, and then turned to walk away. But she called after him, "Don't let the choices you didn't make break you, Draco."

He stopped walking for a second, silently, before half turning back. "Don't let yours get you killed." He made eye contact again, his eyes full of meaning. "The world needs people like you, Granger." He swallowed painfully again, before rushing away.

She sat silently where he had left her, drips of blood still present where he had been, chest constricted in pain, until Ron found her. His worried eyes told her they had been unable to find Harry, and she took both of his hands in hers, closing her eyes, hoping he hadn't done what they feared. Hoping they all got out of this alive. Hoping they all got out of this alive.

-break-

A/N: So, despite being a Draco/Hermione fan for years, this is my first attempt at them. Technically it isn't exactly a pairing, although there's an undercurrent from Draco (as, I feel, there always has been). But I always think that jumping into it with them is completely unnatural and jarring.

I also feel like Hermione was always supposed to be with Ron for a time, so their kiss did, of course, happen at the Battle. I'm still a believer in 'EWE', though. Screw them getting married.

I haven't decided whether this will be a one-shot, multi-chapter, or a series. Let me know what you guys think. Also let me know what you thought of the story.

Thank you sincerely for reading.

Eutony x