AN: I own nothing, but that's a tad bit obvious, I do believe.
It all could have ended differently. It all could have gone right, he could have ended up with her. But no. The one person in his life that had gained his respect was also his enemy by nature. And he despised it, every second he despised that he was unable to tell her, even look at her without the chance of his secret obsession being discovered. So, he had switched to the obvious route: mockery, ridicule, and insults. It pained him to hurt her, but it was the only time she would look at him.
If he were brave, he wouldn't be afraid to admit his feelings for her. But he wasn't. And to add to his cowardness was also a selfishness so deep he would insult the one he loves for a moment's eye contact. It was ridiculous. Yet he couldn't bring himself to stop doing it.
So, you can see why he was shocked when she approached him in the November of their sixth year, demanding to know what was wrong. Of all the times he had spent observing her, almost in a stalkerish manner, he had never noticed how observant she was. Though he was able to mask his feelings for her, something had to give. And that something just had to be perhaps the biggest secret he had every kept, right next to his secret love for her: the Mission given to him by the Dark Lord.
Ah, yes, the Dark Lord. That's a whole new matter. Though skilled at Occlumency, every time he was in Voldemort's presence, he couldn't help but feel as if he knew. He knew that he loved her, and would do anything for her. What puzzled him was why he wasn't dead, for surely the Dark Lord wouldn't allow a Blood Traitor to remain in his little social club. But the reasons were discovered once the Mission was assigned to him; he was to kill Dumbledore. Suddenly, everything became clear to him. He was dead. Either way, he was dead. The most obvious way he was to die would be his defeat against Dumbledore. But if he succeeded, Lord Voldemort would most certainly have him killed for loving a Mudblood. The only reason he was alive so far was for his purpose in the Mission, although Snape could do it himself. But Snape was proving a reliable source of information from that crafty little group that called themselves the Order of the Phoenix. Snape was a piece that couldn't be removed from the game board just yet. And who else could play but the wonderful little pawn Draco who was at the very place Dumbledore dwelled for three-quarters of the year?
So Draco, deeply depressed with his inevitable future, went along with his Mission. He didn't give many insults to her anymore. What was the point? He was already a dead man. He had bloodshot eyes, and a paler complexion than usual. Snape offered to help him on many occasions, but Draco refused whenever these incidents occurred. This was his battle to fight. If he died along the way, ah well. Better to die fighting that being killed for loving what could never love him back.
But she did love him back. And so true was her love, she stormed up to him, commanding him to follow her to the ever-so-famous bathroom of Moaning Myrtle, where privacy was always insured. After checking the stall to make certain that the ghost wasn't occupying the lavatory, Hermione sat down on the floor under the sink, and told Draco to spill.
Surprised, Draco sunk down opposite her, but hesitated. How could he tell her? True, he was dead no matter what he did, but did he really want to bring her into the mess that was now his reality? Did he want to endanger her, too?
Hermione seemed to sense his uncertainty, so she talked instead. She told him how she was worried about Harry, how he was taking private lessons from Dumbledore, learning all about Voldemort. She explained how the Dark Lord had horcruxes, and even went into deeper detail, describing what they were, and how they were formed. But she also talked of her daily life. She told of Ron and his girlfriend, Lavender, and how she despised it, not because she loved Ron, but because she feels as if she'd lost a friend. She described her life as a Muggle, explaining the characters that were her parents and sister. Truth be told, she had no idea why she was telling Draco all of this, especially the vital information on Voldemort. But it felt right, and she usually followed her heart.
Once done talking, she stared at Draco for a bit. His bloodshot eyes hadn't missed her watchful gaze. His pale complexion hadn't gone unmissed. But she also noticed something that not even he himself knew: his loneliness. His friends were nothing more than cronies, and his closest thing to a role model was his horrible excuse for a father. It was sad. It was sickening. Something had to be done. So here they were, sitting on the wet tiles of the girls' bathroom, staring at each other.
But it wasn't awkward. In fact, it was rather the opposite. Hermione waited patiently for Draco to begin the sure-to-be long tale of his sorrows, but for now, she was content with simply staring at him, and he, at her.
After a few minutes, Draco's mind was made up; he would tell her. After all, she had told him everything. Draco decided to start all the way back, way at the beginning. He told of how his father was always a negative influence in his life, and of how he was constantly pressured to do things he despised doing. He told of how he had always felt looked down upon, a disappointment to his family, since he placed behind a Mudblood. He described how wrong it felt that he had to pretend to hate all the Muggleborns of the school, simply because they were different. He explained how he was always jealous of Harry Potter. He expressed his image of an ideal world. His eyes lit up with hope for the future, but died down again when he told of his Mission and his unavoidable fate. So, he decided to put his heart on his sleeve. He told of how he liked a girl, and of how she didn't return his feelings. For the first time since he had started talking, Hermione spoke.
"How do you know?"
"How do I know what?" Draco asked, startled.
"How do you know that she doesn't return your feelings?" Hermione implored.
Draco was speechless. He had just assumed that she hadn't loved him. He was rude to her, ridiculed her, and rarely spoke to her. Why would she love him?
"I dunno," was his genius response.
"Well," Hermione continued, "you should tell her. Tell her you love her. How else will you know how she feels?"
Again, Draco was astounded. Suddenly, the gravity of the situation fell on him. He was, alone, in the bathroom, with Hermione Granger, the love of his life, with nothing, absolutely nothing, to lose. It was so unreal that he started to laugh. He laughed so hard, tears started to stream down his cheeks. He hadn't laughed so hard in ages. And it felt so good.
He had expected her to be annoyed with him, but, surprisingly, she laughed as well. Soon, they were both clutching their sides and gasping for air.
And then, for an instant, their eyes connected, and he knew. She loved him. It was so clear, he was surprised it took him this long to figure it out. So he did the obvious thing: he leaned forward, bringing his lips to hers, and wasn't at all surprised when she kissed him back. Before long, they were completely snogging, without a care in the world. For the first time since Draco was given his Mission, he was worry free and happy.
They only broke apart only because of the annoying need humans have for air, and sat there, gasping. Hermione smiled, and Draco even gave a chuckle. They sat there for a bit, catching their breath. After a lengthy pause, Hermione was the first to speak.
"I can help you, you know," she whispered, "I can help you with your Mission. Of course, I won't let you kill Dumbledore, but I'll help you get out of it. You know, get you over to the good side."
Draco nodded, but looked down. He didn't believe her. No one, not even the brightest witch of his class, could help him.
Hermione sensed his unbelief, so she took his hand. He looked up into her beautiful chocolate eyes, and saw warmth and kindness there.
"They'll believe you, Draco, and I'll support you all the way. There's always another way out, a third option. We just have to find it, and you have to be brave enough to take it."
Yes, be brave. Be brave, even though you're in Slytherin. It was easy for her to say. But he sensed the truth in her words. Braveness wasn't a trait; it wasn't something passed down from parent to offspring. It wasn't inherited. It wasn't earned. But everyone, even the lowest of the low, the most selfish and cowardly person of all, can be brave, if only they choose to be. His mother once told him he could be whatever he wanted to be. He hadn't believed her at the time. But now he died. And right now, he wanted to be brave.
He took in a shaky breath, but held her gaze. "Okay," he whispered. And that was all Hermione needed. Standing up, she offered her hand to Draco, and he took it without the slightest hesitation. He was on the right track now, and how better to follow than Miss Hermione Granger.