I do not own any of the characters listed in my stories. I don't own their world either... I just like to play in it. I hope you enjoy.

**This is a Dramione. Also, I don't always like happy endings. You've been warned!**

Hermione's POV

"Drat!" I heard the familiar mumbled curse coming from behind the shelves in the restricted section of Hogwarts library.

As I peered around the corner, I saw his normally perfect coif desheveled and usually stony expression contorted in what appeared to be confusion. Draco Malfoy was not a sight I was used to seeing in the library, and was certainly not someone that it was common to see in such a state of disarray. I tried to step back and leave him alone, but I knocked a book from one of the shelves with my elbow.

"Who's there?!" he yelled.

I stepped out from behind the shelf, and stared one of my mortal enemies in the eyes. If this was a mere 4 months ago, our cold stare might have been at wand point. The truth was simple: I still wanted Draco Malfoy to pay for his crimes with his life.

"Hermione," he put himself together quickly," I guess you must get a real thrill at seeing me struggle, huh? Tell all your friends that tosser Draco Malfoy can't even pass his alchemy NEWTS. Run along."

It was in that moment that i saw Draco's scroll. He had scribbled and scratched through most of his original writing. From the looks of the floor around him, it was his 4th or 5th scroll.

"May I see your scroll?" I asked.

He shoved it across the table at me; nearly knocking over the large stacks of books he was surrounded with. Across the top he has scrawled his thesis: Alkahests as a cure for muggle born illness and disease ie: cancer.

"Draco," I was shocked," are you trying to cure cancer? Why?"

"It's a muggle born disease, is it not? I was told that it was deadly. Like a slow acting version of the killing curse."

"But, why would you care about a muggle illness?" I asked again.

"I hear your lot still occasionally gets those types of plagues. Wretched, really. Drives wizards mad when they find out their life is getting cut short by a few hundred years." Draco's eyes were no longer focused on mine, but staring off into space welled with tears.

"Draco, how did you even hear about cancer? It isn't something that is openly discussed here. The last case of cancer in a a muggle born wizard was over 80 years ago, and he lived in a radio active zone because of his research on creating glowing dirigible apricots."

"I lived with a muggle family this summer. The mother died of cancer while I was there. Dreadful thing. Slowly consumed her. You couldn't even see it."

"You lived with a muggle family? Why on earth would his royal highness king of blood status live with us lowly muggles?"

"It wasn't exactly safe for me here was it? My father locked up, your lot hunting us down, and forced to pay reparations for crimes we didn't commit. My mother and I went to stay with the family of a woman she knew from her time at Hogwarts. They were dear people. A bit dim in the ways of magic, but that's to be expected."

"Draco, you were a death eater. A substantive threat to the ministry, and to muggle born wizards everywhere... and you have the nerve to want me to feel sorry for you?!"

I shoved his stacks of books to the floor, and ripped his scroll. Draco was backing away as I pushed forward. I had him backed against a shelf of books before he could get away.

"Look at it! Look at what you were a party to! You wretched little snake!" I shoved my scarred arm in his face," I am forever branded 'mudblood' by your lot." white hot tears rolled down my face.

Draco whispered something unintelligible.

"What?!" I shreiked at him.

"I'm.. I am... sorry." he choked out through tears," I thinkicanfixit." he mumbled.

"You what?" my wand was clutched tightly in one hand and my scarred forearm pushed against his throat tightly. I loosened my grip on his throat.

"I think I can fix it," he said again," Right now my alkahest isn't strong enough for something like cancer, but I think it would work on scars. Even magical ones. If you'll help me with my NEWTS; I'll help you with your scar."

"And if I choose not to help a filthy little traitor like yourself?" I asked, completely letting go of him.

"I'll still help you. It's the least thing I can do. Truly."

"Friday." I grumbled.

"Wha-what?" he questioned.

"Friday night. After dinner. Here. I will help you study for your NEWTS, and you will bring whatever brew you have concocted."

"It's a deal."

"No it's not. The very first time you don't take your studies seriously, or you spew nastiness from your mouth I will be done helping and you will continue to work to make this," I rubbed my forearm," up to me. Agreed?"

"Agreed."

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