Chapter One

Dramione

One.

A gleaming snowflake soars past Hermione's face.

Two. Three.

A particularly large and fluffy piece of snow lands on her nose, sending shivers up her spine. Hermione lets out a breathy giggle into the frigid air as she steps away from the edge of the Owlery. Winding her scarf tighter around her neck, Hermione starts down the steps to Hogwarts, trailing her hand along the outside of the tower.

As she walks, Hermione continues to count the snowflakes that whip through the air, trying to ignore the cold seeping through her woolen mittens. Four. Five. One flashed by her face, white as Draco's hair.

Draco.

She shook her head, hair falling in her face, and banished any thoughts she had of the Slytherin boy. What would Harry say? What would Ron say?

It was after Voldemort had been killed, after all that madness. This was their last year of school at Hogwarts—and after that, she would probably stay to become a teacher or at least help with classes. She didn't want to ruin her perfectly good relationships by bringing up that troublemaker. That devilishly handsome, witty, irksome troublemaker.

After all, she had Ron to keep her company. She'd finally won him over, and he wasn't going anywhere. But… Ron's attention leapt from thing to thing. He'd soon be with another girl, if he wasn't already. Hermione stumbled at the thought, her boots slipping on the ice.

She fell on her butt, ice seeping through her wool skirt. Yelping, Hermione fumbled to get a grip on the icy railing—

And speak of the devil, there he was.

Draco sneered down at her, but after years in the same school as him, Hermione realized that he was only acting for the two goons behind him, Crabbe and Goyle. Underneath that evil smirk was a little boy. A boy who was scared of being weak, so instead of being welcoming he armored himself with barbs.

But Malfoy's goons, who normally followed him everywhere, were nowhere to be found. He extended his hand to the girl frozen on the steps of the Owlery Tower.

Hermione, after a moment's hesitation, took his hand and stood, quivering, on the steps of the tower. Her boots still slid, but this time she was ready and lunged for the railing. Malfoy stood there, his eyes sad.

She shook her head at him. "What's wrong now? It's not like you to be in an awful mood."

He stared at her. "What are you going to tell them?" Hermione opened her mouth, but no words came out. "What are you going to tell them about us? How you pretended to go to the girls' dorms to study, but came to hang out with me in the catacombs?"

Hermione shook her head again—twice, three times. She couldn't tell them. It would break their hearts, their stupid, fragile hearts… Ron still thought she loved him, and even though it took her so long to win him over, she wasn't satisfied. Her heart, which had belonged to Ron for so long during their childhood, had changed. And that's why she hadn't told her friends about Malfoy—she was waiting for her heart to change again, so she wouldn't have to deal with…whatever this was.

Draco slid past her, his face set in stone—but Hermione felt his hand ever-so-slightly brush the back of her hair, the curls entangling his hand like they didn't want to let him go. She knew what it meant, what that tiny gesture was. I'll wait for you, he seemed to say. But I'll tell them myself if I have to.

Hermione shuddered, turning around and rewrapping her scarf. Inwardly, she screamed. I don't want to lose my friendships! I'm too selfish, Draco! Too selfish!

Outwardly, all she did was stand up and continue down the steps, her feet connecting more solidly—and loudly—with the stone than before. He was so frustrating. Gloriously beautiful, kind, and sad, but also so damn frustrating.

As she reached the landing that led inside, Hermione kicked the snow off her boots. She ducked inside the doorway, shutting the heavy slab of wood and metal behind her, and brushed the snow off her coat. Still stomping, Hermione continued through the hallways and up the moving staircases until she, at last, faced the Fat Lady.

The painted woman giggled at the sight of her. "Spending some time with ruffians, I see," she teased. Hermione wordlessly raised her wand, and a glimmer of fire spread along the tip. The Fat Lady blanched, and swung open the door. Hermione stepped inside without a second glance.

Ron wouldn't be in today. No, it was Fred's birthday—he and his whole family were at the graveyard today. Paying their respects, Hermione thought, almost bitterly. They wouldn't let her come. Not because of how tense she and Ron had been lately—no, because that was the only thing the whole Weasley family could rally around, and they wanted to keep that little bit to themselves.

She didn't blame them, not really. But she wanted to visit too. And sitting around in the common room, waiting for Harry to get back from meeting with Ginny—or whoever he was dating on the side—and Ron from the cemetery was nerve-racking to be honest.

Hermione trudged upstairs to the empty girls' dormitory, throwing her coat and boots on the ground next to her bed. After quickly changing into clothes that were not freezing and magicking a cup of tea onto her bedside table, Hermione snuggled into her covers and pulled a book out from under the bed.

This one wasn't a schoolbook—it was a tale of knights and warrior princesses, a medieval woman's rights tale that set Hermione on the edge of her chair. She just couldn't read it fast enough. But, entertaining as it was, her eyes just slipped over the words, not registering anything. Hermione had to set the book down, and without anything else to do, she laid on her side and tried to review her homework.

But all she could think about was Draco's unspoken message. I'll tell them for the both of us, was what he seemed to say. Hermione pulled the covers over her head, trying to block it out. Why can't I have both? She asked herself. Is it so bad to want three friends?

Of course, Hermione had other friends. The all-female study group that met on Wednesdays. The Hufflepuff girl in her Transfiguration class. She even stopped to have conversations with the ghosts that wandered Hogwarts' hallways—when she wasn't running late for class, that is.

But Harry and Ron had been through so much with her… surely they'd trust her enough to be with Malfoy. Not this awkward friendship they had, but to run her hands through his hair, to talk to him openly in the hallways…

…To look at him in the eye and feel no self-pity or guilt, to breathe in the scent of his cloak, to fight off any girls that dared approach him…

Oh gods, Hermione shook her head, as if clearing cobwebs. Now I sound possessive.

Unable to read, study, or sleep, Hermione got out of bed in defeat and went downstairs to the common room.

It was much warmer down by the couch—whether from the fireplace or the red-faced Harry Potter, she couldn't be sure. Hermione sat down beside him without a moment's hesitation. "Everything alright?"

Harry growled, a deep sound from the back of his throat. "Ginny says that she doesn't want to be with me anymore."

"What?!" Hermione exclaimed. "Why in the world would she say that?"

Harry slammed his fist on the wooden coffee table, making Hermione jump. "She says she won't be seen with a cheating, cocky git. And here I was, thinking that all was right with the world."

Hermione slowly slid her gaze over to Harry, her hands fingering a book on the table. "You did cheat on her, Harry." When he opened his mouth to speak, she held up a hand. "Seven girls. Remilda first, I think. Then Cho, Ally, Fern, Catherine… who were the others?"

"It doesn't matter now," Harry whispered, his anger giving way to defeat. "She'll never take me back—not now, not ever."

Hermione shook her head. And boys said that she was dramatic. "I've learned that a box of chocolates does wonders," she patted his back, recalling the time when Ron's new owl had torn one of Hermione's books to shreds. Not only had the redhead replaced the book, he had also bought a box of chocolates. I'll actually be a little sad when our relationship finally breaks, she lamented. I was happy with Ron, for a while.

But not as happy as I will be with Draco.

Harry groaned, and she took her hand off of him as he stood. "Let me sober up with a shower, and I'll be right back," he muttered. Of course he's drinking again, Hermione thought, her face pinching like she'd eaten something sour. No wonder Ginny threw him out.

She watched The Man Who Lived walk up to the boys dormitory, and sighed. He was crushed now—how would he be when she told him about Draco? Furious? Or just as broken? I think I would prefer to see him mad than dejected, Hermione thought.

Hermione absentmindedly started flipping through the pages of the book she had been fingering earlier. A while later, Harry comes down and sits next to her, leaning on one side of the couch. He looked absolutely beat, so when he fell asleep some time later, Hermione didn't dare wake him.

It had to be hours later when the door to the Gryffindor common room finally banged open. Ron, with puffy eyes and a black jacket, stumbled through the door. By the smell of him, he had obviously just been drinking—and sleeping—with someone else.

She shook her head, ignoring Harry as he stood up to greet his pal. One of the reasons I should be in the Slytherin labrinths right now, sitting with Draco, Hermione thought. Sitting with Draco, so she didn't have to see her 'boyfriend' cheating on her.

Ron headed upstairs to get changed, and soon after all three of them were crowded around the fireplace. Most of the Gryffindors were on winter break at home, or at Hogsmead for a field trip, but the trio had decided to stay behind and just rest for a week.

Damn it, Hermione realized. This is the perfect chance to explain to them. Draco'll glare at me for a month if I don't tell them now.

Hermione slowly turned to face her two companions, and opened her mouth. Ron and Harry, sensing she had something to say, turned towards her as well. No words came out. But Hermione had read all about these moments, where people prolong the truth and it just gets worse. So she forced it all out.

"I've been seeing Draco."

Ron and Harry exchanged glances. "Yeah, we see 'im all the time," Ron said. "He's ruddy everywhere."

Hermione shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. "I mean I'm with him, you stupid git!"

Ron's mouth fell open, but Harry just sat back. His eyes flashed with distrust and sadness, but also a resignation. Ron, however, was just mad.

"I can't flipping believe you're going out with him! Do you know what that right-foul git has done to us? What he's done to you, for that matter!"

"Then how come, after all he's put us through, I love him more than I do you, Ron?!" Hermione nearly screeched at him. "How come every bloody time you come back from school, you smell like beer and another girl?!"

Ron and Harry gaped. Even when Ron had first dated Lavender, even when Ron had ruined the Winter Ball for her, even when Harry had done any number of stupid things, Hermione had never screamed like this. Or cursed like this, for that matter.

"I finally work up the nerve to tell you, and I get no reward at all, except now that you'll frown at me whenever I head towards the catacombs or scoot away from you when you try to snog me!" Hermione yelled. "I want to be with the man I love, not the one I used to love, the one that's now putting me through all this shit!"

She stood, her sweater vest moving with each heaving breath. Harry reached to grab her arm, but she just pulled away and ran out the door. She didn't dare stop at the staircases in fear of them coming after her, so instead Hermione just kept going. Running down, down, down the moving steps, not caring where she ended up as long as it was away from them and their broken feelings—their broken trust.

Hermione ran through the conversation in her head, balking at her foul language. Had she really said shit? That was a new low, especially for her. Panting, Hermione stopped at the next flat ground and took heaving breaths. When she was done, Hermione looked up and was shocked to find she had ran all the way down to the catacombs.

She strode down the hall, her steps out of time and wobbly. Hermione ignored the painting on the wall that led to the Slytherin common room, and instead knocked on the wall just around the frame. Instantly, a Slytherin first-year opened the door. When he beheld her in all her sweaty glory, he grimace and made to shut the painting. Hermione stuck out her foot, catching it just in time and wincing from the pain of the door being shut on her toes.

Prying the door back open, she said, "I'm here for Draco."

When the first-year did nothing but watch her warily, she added, "I'm his flipping girlfriend."

At least, she hoped she was.

The first-year ran back from the door, and she could hear murmurs from the common room before Draco stepped into her field of vision, grand in his dark green cape and tie. He took one look at her face, exhausted, sorrowful, and so, so despicably angry, and led her down into the catacombs.

"What happened?" Draco asked, his voice soft.

"I told them," Hermione spit on the floor. "I did what you said, and it all went to hell."

And so she recounted her experience that may have just ended the two greatest friendships she had ever had. Draco pulled her close and let her cry, cry out all of the pain and the sad. When she was done, Hermione kicked the wall until both her feet hurt. Then she curled up on the ground next to Draco, her head in his lap.

"I did all of that," she finished. "And I don't even know what this relationship is."

Draco smiled, that sad smile that he only gave to her—only trusted her with. "Well, I thought you liked me."
"I do like you," Hermione said. "I like you…a lot. I just don't know if you think we're friends, or—or something more, like…" her voice trailed off, begging him to finish her sentence so it wouldn't be so awkward.

Draco pulled her in tight. "Hermione, you are the smartest, most beautiful, most empathetic girl at this school. You think I would tell you to send your world to hell if it meant I wouldn't be with you?"

She looked up just in time to see him lean in and kiss her.

Hermione's kisses with Ron had always been passionate—heck, they had their first when they were in a basilisk chamber—but this was something… more. Something that reached deeper inside of her, pulling out not just lust but happiness and regret that she hadn't told her friends sooner. If they were still her friends.

But here, with Draco, tucked away in their warm—but damp—nook, she could breathe, and cry, and smile, and—

Hermione let out a laugh as Draco pulled her closer, the first laugh since this whole drama had started. Sure, she let out giggles at jokes and at the snow, when it landed on her and sent shivers down her spine—much like Draco was doing now—but those weren't real laughs, they weren't full joy. Right now, Hermione loved that her world had fallen to hell, and that she could spend time with the one person who understood the chaos lurking behind the books.

You're snogging with the enemy, Hermione imagined Ron saying. He had said something like that before, at the Winter Ball when she had been dancing with Victor Krum. She wasn't going to let Ron ruin this relationship as well, so Hermione banished thoughts of him from her brain and turned her mind to Draco.

She didn't return to the Gryffindor common room until late that evening.