Original work (the Harry Potter books) belongs to J.K. Rowling. What is written below is simply a lovely little fantasy of mine. Please do enjoy, and make sure to leave me a comment if you enjoyed it or have suggestions.

Hermione watched Draco leave the Heads' Common Room, and sighed in relief. He'd been dawdling for a full twenty minutes, and if she had had to wait any longer, she was going to rip her curly mane out.

Tonight was Friday, meaning that the Slytherin Quidditch Team had practice. Draco, as captain of the team, was required to get there early and stay there late. Thus, he was often out of the common room for two to three hours. Hermione loved it when the Slytherins had practice; not really because her and Draco fought a lot, as this problem had been resolved at the beginning of the year. They'd decided that their eighth year was one to be enjoyed and had come to a mutual agreement to stay out of each other's hair. No, Hermione enjoyed the peaceful Friday evenings for a different reason. A far more scandalous one.

She watched the door of the common room for a meticulous ten minutes, as once Draco had returned to retrieve the gloves he'd forgotten, and Hermione's secret had almost been exposed. After the tedious ten minutes, she crept across the common room to the opposite side, to a black door with silver embellishments. Draco's door.

Pulling out her wand, she hurriedly mumbled the incantations she'd created to bypass the wards on his door. With a satisfying click, Draco's door swung open to reveal his room. A waft of his delicious cologne hit Hermione's nose, and she sighed in pleasure. Creeping inside as though someone would jump out at any moment, she again waited to make sure Draco had not returned. Once she was thoroughly convinced she was by herself, she let out a strained chuckle and looked around.

His bed was overly large and cushioned with the fluffiest sheets Hermione had ever seen. She had no idea where he'd gotten them, as her own sheets were rather scratchy and uncomfortable. Pushed against the window, his oak desk was meticulously organized, in a manner that convinced Hermione that he shared her freaky desire for complete order. But over there, on the other side of the room, was the real reason Hermione had snuck in. His closet.

She snuck closer, careful not to disturb anything. His closet. She smiled at the thought. Pushing open the door, she gaped at the vast array of generally dark clothing, as she did every time she sneaked into his room. Rack after rack, filled with the most expensive, opulent garments, ranging from Slytherin green to misty grey. Although she was no fashionista, Hermione simply had to admire his lavish collection. Rummaging through his collection of cashmere and wool sweaters, she smiled at last when she saw it in the back of his closet. His green wool sweater was Hermione's favorite article of clothing of all time, as it emanated his heavenly musk and was as soft as a cloud. Hermione pulled it out and over her thin cotton shirt, and snuggled into it. This, the lovely sweater and slightly sweet Earl Grey Tea and the toasty fireplace and the overstuffed couches of the common room, this was Hermione's haven. Her safe place. Her home.

At the beginning of the year, Hermione had put her attraction to Draco down to a hormonal reaction from a teenage girl towards a good-looking, charismatic, handsome, athletic, muscular, caring, thoughtful, poetic, intelligent, all around fabulous teenage boy. However, after several weeks of her Friday night routine, Hermione had realized that she liked Draco, and if she dare say it, had a crush on him. She had immediately realized that nothing could be done about this: Draco had shown nothing but polite disinterest and the occasional awkwardness towards Hermione, and she doubted that he reciprocated her feelings. Additionally, Harry and Ron had no idea about this crush and would probably not take kindly to having been kept in the dark. Nowadays, they didn't harbor many feelings towards Draco, and aside from the occasional snarky remark, they didn't interact very much with him. The real problem lied not in others, but rather in Hermione herself and her courage. Or rather, her lack thereof. Some Gryffindor she was.

Pulling out a classic Jane Austen novel, she snuggled into the couch and began to read. So absorbed was she in the classy era of the nineteenth century that Hermione forgot to obsessively check the clock as she normally did. Finally, the sound of ragged breathing and the quiet click of the common room door roused Hermione from the book, and with sudden horror, she realized her predicament. She scrambled to pull up the wool blanket around her in a feeble attempt to save herself.

"Granger? You alright?" Draco asked, worry evident in his eyes. Hermione almost died, looking at the adorable expression on his face.

"Erm, yes, I'm fine. Alright. In order. Peachy keen. Top of the line. Just fabul-"

"Granger. You're beet red. I'm not that stupid, you know," he said with an ever-growing smirk on his face.

"No, no, no, no, I know you're not stupid. Stupid? Ha! Stupid?! No, no, n-"

"Granger."

"...Yes?"

"Shut up." The casual nature of the statement shocked Hermione, and her beloved novel tumbled to the floor. Oh no! Madam Pince was going to be absolutely livid! The book, which she'd lent to Hermione only after an earful about how the book was limited-edition, was a prized title of the Muggle section of the school library, and if anything happened to it, Madam Pince would never entrust her with a Hogwarts book ever again.

"Eeek!" She shrieked as she dived to the floor, grabbing the book right before it hit the ground. Blanket forgotten on the floor, she rocked the book back-and-forth, whispering to it that she'd never let it come to harm. Suddenly realizing how creepy she looked, she gave Draco an apologetic smile and attempted to go back to her room, when a strong, callused hand stopped her.

"Is that... my sweater?" Draco asked, his mouth barely two inches away from her ear. Hermione's eyes went wide as the reason for her earlier panic came crashing back to her and she started squirming in an attempt to get away.

"Granger!"

"Dra- Malfoy!"

"Were you about to say my name?"

"...Maybe."

"Hmmm.." *insert classic Malfoy smirk*

"Shut up." *insert classic Granger scowl*

"Nope! Anyways, why are you wearing my sweater?"

"..I confused it with mine?"

Draco snorted, and looked at her with disbelief, "You confused it with yours? You confused your red and gold sweater with my green and silver sweater? Again, Granger. I'm not stupid."

Something about the intensity of his gaze and the panic building up inside her burst open a dam in Hermione and suddenly, hot tears leaked out of her eyes. Just as fast as she had started crying, she found herself in a warm, comforting embrace.

"Don't cry, Gran- Hermione. It's okay. I'm sorry. It's okay Hermione. Let's talk this out," Draco soothed as he seated himself on the couch and pulled her into his lap. He pulled her into another hug, and unknowingly, began to rub soothing circles on her back with his thumb. She pulled back and stared into his eyes.

"Before I start, I'm sorry. Okay? Okay. I'm wearing your sweater because.. Draco, I really like you. Wow, okay. This feels cheesy, but whatever," she rambled on, not noticing the amused smile appearing on his face, "I've liked you since the beginning of the year, and it's completely fine if you don't reciprocate my feelings. No pressure or anything. But basically, I wear your sweater because it makes me feel close to you, and though this sounds cheesy, it makes me feel like I'm home. That's really all I hav-"

He stopped her with a gentle kiss on her lips. He smiled at her, and kissed her again, and again, and again, and again. And after the night was over, after he too confessed his feelings for her, after the fire had gone out, after a festive bottle of Butterbeer had been broken out, after all was said and done, he pulled her into an embrace and whispered a single sentence in her ear.

"I steal your sweaters too."