Hey, my name's Helen, and this is a D/H ficcy for any of those who didn't read the summary.

I personally think this is one of my better attempts, but whatever.

Rated because of my evil cursing habits that not everyone will love me for. (Of course, it's just that hard not to love me... lol.)

Anyway, I had leftover lasagne for breakfast today, so I rock, and that's why you should review. Cool? Yes, very cool. Lol, you're better off ignoring me if you haven't figured it out already.

"Danielle, what ever happened to trying not to trip on the jump-rope?" I sighed, dabbing my daughter's scratched knee with some soap and water.

"Ouch," she said almost matter-of-factly, wrinkling her five-year-old eyebrows down at her knee. "Mommy, the soap stings."

"I know, I know," I responded, picking up a Band-Aid from next to me on the kitchen floor. "It'll stop soon, though." I paused, unwrapping the Band-Aid. "Anyway, we've got a sparkly Band-Aid. How's that?" I wagged the Band-Aid in the air before placing it gently on her knee.

"I like sparkly Band-Aids," she told me, forgetting that she said the same thing every time she scraped herself.

"I thought so," I answered, getting up to wash my hands as she stayed seated in her kitchen chair. I stared out the window above the kitchen sink, over-looking the sidewalk and little street we lived on. Some girls about Danielle's age were playing hopscotch, and a little boy was playing with them, as well. I smiled to myself, noticing his clumsy steps not unlike mine had been when I'd been little.

I know that boy, I thought to myself, biting my tongue down between my teeth in thought. Sarah's kid, isn't he? I paused, watching him for another moment. Yes, he most certainly is. My mind wandered to the boy's hair color, definitely one of the most random things I could think of. Nevertheless, it was one of the palest blondes I had ever seen, matchingnicely the edible part of a banana. I'd only ever seen that blond one other time before, on the head of a boy I'd known in my school years.

He'd been more stubborn than anyone else I'd ever known, first fighting harder than ever for his father, and then, in the last few months I'd known him, fighting against Lucius. I could remember clearly the way his gray eyes had flashed angrily the day he'd been told his mother had been murdered by his father.

That had been the first day I'd ever truly talked to him…

"Draco," I called as we left the Great Hall after dinner, the announcement about his mother having just been made. His head turned swiftly around to face me, his eyes narrowing once he'd realized I'd been speaking.

"Go away, Mudblood," he'd muttered just as I came within earshot, making me stop for a moment, but continue following him.

"Draco, I'm really sorry," I told him, following him up the staircase.

"Fuck off," he responded. "I don't care what a Mudblood has to say."

"Both my parents were killed in a car crash three months ago," I explained briefly, making him suddenly turn around to face me.

His facial expression was unreadable, falling somewhere between sorrow and annoyance. As if deciding something to himself, though, he shook his head slightly and continued up the stairs.

I sighed at the memory, brushing a wisp of hair away from my face. Draco had talked to me the next day about my parents very briefly, but nonetheless, they had been all the words he had said for the entire following week.

"Mommy?" Danielle asked me, making my mind snap back into reality. "What are you thinking about?" I smiled weakly before answering.

"Danielle…" I began, but I lost my answer in thought. Hadn't I named her after Draco?

"Mommy?"

"I'm just thinking about the people I used to know when I'd been at Hogwarts," I answered swiftly after a moment, looking out the window again. Surprisingly, a cloaked figure was slowly making his way down the sidewalk, his black cloak sharply contrasting with the bright, sunny day.

I narrowed my eyes as the figure knocked on our door, but still tried to tuck my unruly hair back into its bun as I went to answer it. "Hullo?" I asked, swinging the wooden door open to come face-to-face with a head of pale blond hair and gray eyes.

"You're Hermione, then," he muttered, scanning the living room and door to the kitchen behind me.

"Draco?" He narrowed his eyes at the name, as if it was reminding him of harsh memories.

"Have you got a problem with it?" It was a statement, not a question, so I just stepped aside to let him in. "Didn't think so." His voice was raspy, his eyes moving like darts around me, and his hair evidently unwashed, but I pretended like I didn't notice the change, simply seating him in my living room.

"Water?" I asked once he'd beenseaten, back arched forward in concentration, on our couch.

"Please."

&

"Who was it?" Danielle asked just as I opened the kitchen door.

"Old school friend," I asked, barely aware that I had called Draco and I "old friends."

"Are they still here?" she questioned, running out of the room to meet Draco once I'd nodded.

"What's your name?" I could hear her ask through the door, making me chuckle softly.

&

"I see you've met Danielle," I began, announcing my presence as I walked back into the living room, holding the cup of water. Draco nodded shortly, his eyes flashing angrily.

"Who is he?" he suddenly asked, keeping his eyes focused on my daughter. I could see she was getting edgy under his glare, so I went to sit next to her protectively.

"Who's who?" I questioned in return, wrapping my arm around Danielle as she huddled up next to me.

"The father." His voice was annoyed, as if it was supposed to be obvious.

I paused, straightening my back and pursing my lips proudly, ready for any outbreak he might have at my response. "Ron. Ron Weasley."

"Hermione Weasley," he muttered under his breath, running his tongue across the front of his teeth. "Well, I'm off then." He set his glass on the table in front of him, beginning to get up.

"Wait." My eyes were narrowed. "I need to talk to you." Looking down at my daughter, I added, "Danielle, go make Ken and Barbie fall in love again."

"What do you?" he asked me once Danielle was out of earshot.

"What's wrong?" I tried to search his eyes for some sort of emotion, but, as expected, his entire face was a cold, stone statue.

"Nothing," he muttered, turning to leave again.

"Then why are you down here?"

"I was passing by. Why do you think?" His eyes were flashing even moreangrily. He sighed, running his hands through his hair and thinking. "I'm leaving tonight."

"Where to?"

"Off the face of this earth." His voice was casual and simple, but I could sense a feeling of regret in the back of his throat. "Dark Lord hates me for not killing your Dumbledore seven years ago. Can't hide forever, I guess."

"It'd be cowardice if you had, Draco," I stated reasonably, furrowing my eyebrows up at him.

"Cowardice if I hadn't." He put his hands in his pockets, looking up at he ceiling, before continuing. "Doesn't exactly matter now, does it, though? What does it mean, if I was a coward or not, when I'm counting down the hours till I die? Nothing that I do or ever have done matters anymore. No one will cry at my funeral. No one will care. Hell, no one will probably even be there.

"I came here, Hermione, to tell you something, but no matter what, I can see you're going to forget me again in a month or two. I just don't matter here anymore."

"Draco," I began, but he put up a hand to silence me.

"I love you, Hermione. Half of why I didn't kill Dumbledore was because you liked the old fool. I should have, though. You obviously don't give a damn to what I do or don't do. I'm just a distant object in your world. I'm not blind." He looked at me harder than he ever had before, his gray eyes searching my face. "Goodbye, I guess."

He looked at me another moment before walking out the door, leaving me to stare at it for at least five minutes before muttering, "I love you, too."