A/N: This is my first FanFiction. Reviews are welcome! Don't be gentle. Thanks to D18LifeMusic for being my BetaReader. :) I corrected some words, apparently auto-correct happens with my brain as well as my phone.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, really.

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Autumn after the end.

The light breeze pushed and pulled the puddle water, leaves were drifting to and fro; the world felt empty. Eyes of those once filled with laughter and joy, seemed hallow in a way, like the questions asked had never been answered. Despite the outcome of the war, no one on the winning side felt as if they had won – so many were lost, so many had been killed and injury, so many had been tortured, and even yet many had done things they never wanted to.

-HG-

Too many nights had she gone without sleep. The house hadn't been quiet for awhile now. If it wasn't one person, it was the another, and it broke her heart. They were supposed to feel happy, like they had won – why didn't she feel like that? Without the others pain, she still suffered. The war had changed her, traumatized her in ways, and stole the last of her innocence from her. Although there was no way to change it now, Hermione couldn't stop thinking about it, all of it.

She sat on the windowsill of her makeshift bedroom at the Burrow. The sky was getting dark and the foreboding of another sleepless night began to make her feel restless. Ron, Harry, George, and the others had wandered off to the Ministry. Lavender and Ginny had also gone off to Diagon Alley to shop. Despite their nagging and persistent whines, she still stayed home. The only others at the Burrow were Mrs. Weasley and Draco Malfoy.

The girl could no longer sit and do nothing she was positively bored and hadn't yet received her things from her parents home. With no books, no Ginny nor Harry or Ron, she took off to find Mrs. Weasley for company. Unfortunately as she went down the flight of stairs she heard a distinctive snore coming from just inside Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's bedroom.

Sighing, she continued down the old flight of stairs and walked to kitchen. Hermione poured herself a glass of milk, gathered a handful of cookies, and walked towards the largest window in the home. She could feel the storm approaching and wanted to enjoy it.

Too bad her enjoyment didn't last long. She watched as Draco Malfoy stormed out of the Burrow and kick the dirt. Some things never changed and he proved that. He still acted like a spoiled-only-child-git. But as the rain grew closer and he continued to sit outside in the mud, Hermione couldn't let him be by himself. The last few weeks she heard his pain the loudest at night. Everyone else had put silencing charms to block sounds from coming into their rooms, except her. She had been left paranoid and had to pay by listening to everyone's cries and screams. Malfoy's was the loudest.

Putting her cookies into a napkin and into her pocket the girl walked outside and stood behind him for a minute. She knew he was a git, would call her nasty names, and just makes fun of her for trying to comfort him. The others would also make fun of her. He was her enemy, despite his help in the war, nothing could change their past. But she would always be the better person and who knows maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

She silently placed her hand on his shoulder, squeezing a little, and sat down beside him. The words were lost on her as she looked at his face. The war's effects were sketched across it.

-DM-

Narcissa's screams awoke him from his bed. He ran through the halls of the Manor. Pushing the nagging house elves out of his way. Searching her room, the tea room, he started to become frantic. Her piercing screams continued and led him to the dungeon. Why was she down there? Draco blasted through the door to find his mother tied to a table, his father standing by her side – wand pointed directly at her. She was under the Crucio curse.

'F-f-father', his dreamself choked out. His fathers cold as ice eyes turned to him.

'Draco,' he replied, 'why don't you finish the job? Kill your mother.'

He watched horrified that his father would even suggest such a thing. His mother had been supportive of his ranting and raving lunacies, she didn't deserve this.

'No! Stop this.' He may have been brought up to be cold and heartless, but his mother he loved. His father moved his wand away from his wife. Narcissa laid there, tears streaming down her put together face. As Draco stepped towards his mother others stepped out from the shadows. He stood frozen with anticipation.

'How DARE you tell me what to do, boy! Now that you have defied me, your filthy mother will suffer more.' Lucius was inches from his sons' face. The other men chuckled. Lucius turned back to his crying wife, wand pointed and shouted the imperious curse. After removing her binding, he made her bend over the table, with her eyes towards Draco.

Draco pulled out his wand but his father was faster. He pinned Draco to the wall, removing his wand and binding him against the stone.

He awoke with a jolt. This memory came to him every time he slept, in the form of a dream. He could not escape it. He would not be here, in the burrows, if it weren't for his father. That moment that Lucius made the young Malfoy watch the defilement and murder of his mother had scarred and altered his views on the world. The Order was not ideal but he would never – could never associate himself with Death Eaters again.

So here he was in the home of the Weasleys and the Burrows was a joke. There were rooms, stairs, and more rooms. How anyone lived here was beyond him. It was old and poorly furnished. He missed the Manor, his things – the finer things. But they wouldn't let him return home until the following year. Death Eater homes needed to thoroughly searched and examined.

Mafloy couldn't stand staying in his bedroom any longer. Everyone was gone besides Granger and Mrs. Weasley, getting out wouldn't be that horrible. He practically ran down the stairs and out the door. The fresh air nearly knocked him off of his feet. Draco hadn't left his room for more than two weeks. He hated everyone here and they hated him, it seemed pointless. He walked further away from the odd home and just stood there, taking it all in.

"This is unfair," he yelled to the sky. He kicked the ground below him, mud flying in directions and covering the bottom of his robes. The air was thick and the sky was darkening; a storm was approaching. The rain would feel welcoming.

Too many sleepless nights had left him feeling fragile and vulnerable. He didn't want their pity or sympathy, they had their own problems, not that he cared. He was a Malfoy, he didn't need blood traitor or mudblood help. He would survive, he just needed to stop being a little prat.

Draco sat in the mud, numb to the cold ground, numb to the world around him, numb to the small hand that had suddenly appeared on his shoulder. It wasn't until the hand squeezed lightly and she sat beside him before he noticed. He scowled and leaned away from her. Why was she even out here? They weren't friends, not even the war could make them friends, she was still a mudblood. Stupid girl, he thought to himself.

He watched her sit down beside him. They studied each other for a few minutes before looking away. She was still the same Granger he knew, but she seemed different. Maybe more confident, maybe older, or maybe less of a prude, he just couldn't place it. At least she wasn't talking to him, he could deal with her presence as long as she didn't speak.

They sat there, in silence, until the rain fell.

Chapter 2 Preview:

"Don't." He looked at her with confusion. 'Hadn't she been saving herself for him? Didn't shewant this? It had been seven long years and now she was denying him,' he thought.

"What? What's wrong? I thought… You… I… I thought you loved me?" He was angry and hurt. He didn't understand why she was denying him now.