Disclaimer: All canon characters, plots and situations from the Harry Potter series belong to JK Rowling. I make no profit from this story.

Beta love: Beta love? That doesn't even begin to cut it. Huge thanks to Emeraudedeux who was my Alpha/Beta of sorts working her magic with her glamouring charms making my first attempt at fluff, smut, angst and surpassing 1800 words a reality. A pretty polished reality. You are a goddess. Huge thanks to the amazing thewaterfalcon for her love and brit picking. Huge thanks to my friends and cheerleaders and "best beta friends foreva" Searching for Light CosmoswithChaos. You ladies are made of magic and I adore you to the moon and back.

A/N: This was written as a birthday OS for Madam B Snape by me but on a different profile I shared with some friends. I wanted to clean it up and add to it a bit so I am changing it from a OS to a drabble style chapter fic. I'm thinking maybe 8 chapters at around 1200- 2000 words each. There will be lemons and adult situations so keep that in mind before reading.

A small note on Midnight Show for those of you who saw this notification and hoped it was a chapter update on that- I have not abandoned it. It's in the works and will be updated soon with weekly updates in October ending on Halloween. Or at least that's the goal.

Triggers: This chapter mentions discrimination, violence, and PTSD

This song was inspired by James Bay's song of the same name. I also do not own this song as I am not James Bay.

And here we go with my first Dramione… be gentle you terrifying little fandom, you.

Chapter 1

April 2002

It had been almost five years since the Battle of Hogwarts, and Hermione's life was recovering from that of a different aftermath - her relationship with Ron Weasley. They had tried their hand at romance after the war and mutually came to the conclusion that they were better as friends and felt more like family. The split was oddly amicable the spring prior, and only after the holiday season when Ron began to bring new flame Susan Bones over for family dinners at The Burrow did the pang of jealousy reveal itself.

In hindsight, four months later, it was silly and misdirected. She wasn't jealous of Susan, but Ron. She wanted to find love too, but in the meantime, she would throw herself into her work and focus on her job at the Ministry. She had been promoted within the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, and that's what brought her to Diagon Alley today, to pick up a book she had ordered from Flourish and Blotts about Grindylows to help with a case she had been working on. She had decided to pick it up herself because she loved perusing the tomes, and it always took her back to her youth to wander around the shops.

After about three hours scanning the racks and skimming through new books, she left with four more publications than she had planned, placing them in her hand bag with an undetectable extending charm before making her way down the road. As she began to wander, a commotion disturbed her peripheral vision. There, in an alley near Gringotts, was a man with silver blonde hair being attacked by five men. Not having been in a fight for some time, she still saw the injustice of a five to one brawl. By the time she recognised the victim on the ground, she was already shouting hexes, wand drawn as the wide eyes of all six men met her own.

"Hermione Granger?"

"The war heroine herself. What do you care what happens to this good for nothing Death Eater scum? Serves him right for all he's done," two of the assaulting men spat out.

Hermione gaped at the lot. "And what, may I ask, is it that he's done? He is still a person, you barbaric ape. Hasn't enough time passed that any one of us can stroll the streets of Wizarding London without being harassed or attacked? Or was he committing a crime?"

Hermione hadn't seen Draco Malfoy in the flesh in a few years. There was the odd benefit or gala here and there, but for the most part, the crowd who aligned with Lord Voldemort during the war kept to themselves. Between that and small spurts of giving back to the wizarding community to prove their status as non evil villains and criminals, their encounters were few and far between. It was as if the tables had turned and that blood prejudice had shifted.

Blood purists were now seen as outcasts by the majority of the population. The Malfoys, along with other known reformed Death Eaters, were involved in the rebuilding of Hogwarts. Socialites like Narcissa Malfoy, the Greengrasses and the Parkinsons threw benefits and galas to raise money and awareness to help show support for the side of the light and prove they were in fact reformed, but none of that seemed to make a difference. She had seen stories written about Draco, but being on the other side of Rita Skeeter's quill, she could see right through all of the bullshite. Deep down, she felt sorry for her childhood nemesis. He had basically vanished with only the sporadic article and photograph indicating he had been spotted in Muggle France appearing few and far between.

After the other men explained that, quite frankly, they just didn't like the sight of the Slytherin man outside of Gringotts and that that had been what provoked the attack, a couple things happened. Hermione set off several stinging hexes, the men scurried, and Draco Malfoy got up to dust himself off and flash her his signature scowl.

"Granger, the last thing I need is your help. In fact, I'm surprised the Gryffindor princess dare even glance in my general direction, let alone put yourself at dire risk just to be in the same vicinity as me."

"Malfoy! You're bleeding."

He looked down at his shirt, observing while trying to keep his composure. He had been able to get in a few blows after being attacked. Pity, those arseholes dirtied his favorite oxford. "I don't even think that's mine."

"No, Draco. Your face."

He touched his cheek bone and then looked at his crimson stained fingertips, surprised. His adrenaline must have kicked in, and he cared not nor felt not an ounce of pain - until he saw the blood. Draco never did like the sight of blood. It may have had something to do with his sixth year. You know, swimming in a pool of your own and nearly dying because of it has a tendency to do something to a person. It was more than that, though. It became a panic inducing phobia at even the small sight of his own blood. He had gotten oddly accustomed to seeing other people's wounds and injuries because of his involvement in the war. It was almost as though he was desensitized. But his own blood - no matter how small the amount - threw him into shock, instantly aware of his own mortality.

He paled and broke into a sweat instantly, hyperventilating a bit as he raised his head to make eye contact with Hermione. Her gaze softened as she read the trauma all over his face. She had seen and dealt with Harry's anxiety and Posttraumatic Stress Disorder symptoms after the war, so she knew the signs.

"Draco, let's clean you up. My flat is just a short, two minute walk. May I?" She paused, observing him carefully. "Please? Let me help you."

If he hadn't been knee deep in his own anxiety, he would have probably made a snide comment, like as a Malfoy, the last thing he needed was her help. That wasn't the case, and his vision was clouded as his feet followed her in hopes that by doing so, it would make this feeling go away. The part of his brain that was still coherent was glad they were walking and not apparating. Not only was he not in the right mindset, but he wanted to be aware of his surroundings to the best of his ability if he needed to flee

xxx

By the time he was standing in her kitchen, his mind had cleared and his body began to calm. As was habit for the muggleborn witch, upon arrival, she had filled and started boiling the kettle for tea. She directed her old school mate to sit at the small oak table in the center of her kitchen where she could tend to his wounds. As she was finishing up, the pot began to whistle, and she poured them each a cup, placing his before him and cleared her throat at the still silence hanging in the air.

Now that the task at hand had ended, an aura of awkwardness seemed to surround them. What was customary in such a situation? Draco reflected on how the tea was comforting, and her company wasn't as annoying and swotty as he would have previously assumed. He eyed her curiously while debating when it wouldn't be considered impolite to leave after her kindness and hospitality. They mindlessly made conversation on the walk over and while she healed him, but now that there was no end goal in sight, the tension grew along with the silence.

After she put every tool and potion back where they were stored, she joined her tea and guest at the table, feeling her nerves bubble at the surface. She was certain that her babbling to fill the silence and ease the tension would only help it build but her eyes gazed around her flat until they fell upon her fridge and the magnets holding two tickets.

"Um… So, Malfoy?" She blushed as she rambled. "I have these tickets that I bought ages ago for the ballet next week. It's Cinderella at the Royal Opera House in Muggle London. You don't have to, of course, but I felt like it may be a nice change of pace to be able to walk around without being harassed or assaulted just for existing. I am rambling and probably sound so foolish but I have them and we don't even need to speak. I could just give you the ticket, and we can ignore each other. I'd rather it not go to waste." She had been struggling to figure out what to do with the tickets for months. She had reserved them the winter just before her split with Ron in hopes that she could convince him to go and it would add the needed romance to their relationship. Over a year later, with that not being an option they just sat in her kitchen without a plan, nagging at her every time she entered the room. Offering one to Draco seemed like a "killing two birds with one stone" type of solution to both the spare ticket problem and the awkward silence conundrum.

"Breathe, Granger." The blonde chuckled as she exhaled almost comically. "That actually doesn't sound entirely horrid."

"I can show you an example of muggle dress so you don't feel totally uncomf—"

"That won't be necessary." He raised his hand to stop her as he smirked at her. "Where do you think I disappeared to? I've been staying at my family's home in Paris. It was an adjustment at first, but I go to Muggle cities often. It's nice to just be a person in the crowd without a target on my back from time to time. The question is," he chuckled into his tea, "do you have anything nice enough for the ballet?"

"Hey," she scoffed, rolling her eyes. "I will have you know I have plenty of options that are more than satisfactory."

"We'll see, Granger. Owl me the details. Accompanying you is the least I can do for your help and healing today. Consider it my way of expressing my gratitude." He took one last sip of tea as he rose from his seat. Placing it back down, he adjusted his robes and continued as he moved towards the door. "I'm staying at the Manor while I'm in town - still deciding if I'll return to France. I bleed less, but I don't often have a good cuppa and moderately sufficient company."

And then he was gone.

While Hermione cleared the table and washed the dishes by hand, as she often did as her own odd form of meditation, she scrutinised every moment of the evening. Was stopping and helping even a good idea? And why mention the ballet? Why on Earth did she think that was the appropriate way to fill the silence? How would that be less awkward than an unexpected cup of tea? What good could come from seeing shows in evening clothes with Draco Malfoy?