It happened in the middle of sixth year, before they all found out that Draco had been commanded to kill Dumbledore. It happened when she was feeling vulnerable and unattractive because of Ron, and he secretly knew he was soon to become a murderer. On that April afternoon, they both needed each other, and sometimes it was hard for them both to remember how they had actually gotten close enough to really look at each other and kiss…
That hadn't been a real life though. It was over, any happiness or comfort they'd once felt in each other's arms. He'd tried to kill Dumbledore and she was a Muggleborn. Whatever that kiss had meant, it could hide the facts. This was war.
And yet when the war finally ended, with both Harry and Voldemort finishing each other out, her eyes sought only to find his, and she collapsed into his arms, not Ron's. There was no happiness there, Harry was gone and she was only beginning to feel the pain, but there was a sense of belonging, a sense of rightness here in Draco's arms, a sense that this was more than just blood or house rivalry or even the war; this was love.