A/N: Erm…well my muse had left me for a while. Who thought it would return to me in the form of a DHr fic? Well this is the first time I've written Malfoy, let alone a DHr fic, so I guess let me know whether I should bury my head in shame or not. Read and review as always!

Spoilers: None. Totally AU in the wake of DH anyway.

Summary: "But how could you love me?" Hermione asked. His admission had made her feel slightly soiled, as if she must have done something truly foul to capture the heart of Draco Malfoy.

Disclaimer: I sadly do not own Harry Potter.

When It's Time to Change, You've Got to Rearrange

…

"You can't say something like that!" The girl spluttered, looking very much at a loss. Her wild hair seemed to strangely match her frazzled reaction to the confession of the boy standing across from her.

"What? I can't tell you that I love you?" The question was petulant, commanding.

"No." She didn't mention that it was also because this was impossible, simply impossible. The imperious boy standing beside her could certainly not be serious. He had never spoken a civil word to her until this moment. As Head Boy and Head Girl, they were often required to patrol the corridors together at night and most nights these occasions passed with either silence between them or with a peppering of loathsome comments from his end. Hermione hadn't been aware that anything had changed between them since the moment 6 years ago when he had first insulted her muggle heritage. Nothing, she thought ruefully, except that she'd gained a somewhat thicker skin.

"Why ever not?"

"Because—because, it's only the most, horrid, retched thing that you have ever said to me Malfoy, and I'm not sure whether I can forgive you this time!" she said, anger boiling up in her as he stared at her, as haughty as ever. Did he expect her to be thankful? Admit to long suppressed feelings of lust for him and then madly snog him?

"Oh that's rich, Granger. You forgive me for spilling my guts out to you and defying everything I have ever known just to tell you how I feel. And as for the most 'retched' thing I have ever said to you, yes you're right—saying that I love you is far worse than calling you a mudblood and hexing your friends."

"You're insufferable! It's people like you—people who think that every nasty, heartless, cowardly thing they've ever done can be forgotten just because they're in love—who sicken me! You're still the same old Malfoy, and nothing that you've done thus far shows any change or remorse for how you've treated me and everyone else who's been unfortunate enough to encounter you. Besides, I'm not entirely convinced that you're serious. Perhaps Crabbe and Goyle are around the corner waiting to tackle me."

"What do you want from me, woman!? I'm a Slytherin! I'm a Malfoy! I can't just change. I can't even believe I told you this in the first place. I'm going mad, that must be it. You've driven me mad!" Draco fumbled, those two tell-tale spots of pink standing out livid on his high cheekbones. "And don't be silly," he added snappishly. "Do you think I would want those two oafs to be present as I embarrassed myself?"

"But how could you love me?" Hermione asked. His admission had made her feel slightly soiled, as if she must have done something truly foul to capture the heart of Draco Malfoy.

"Well I certainly have tried not to! Trust me, Granger, you're not an easy person to love. You're an insufferable know-it-all, a bushy-haired little beaver who writes so long and so hard with your quill that your nose is spattered with ink by the time you're done. One day I realized that your stupid brown eyes sparkle like butterbeer when you figure out the answer to a problem that's been nagging you. I never liked butterbeer" he added defiantly. "Slowly but surely you've taken over my mind and destroyed everything I've held dear. You're a muggleborn, yet I want you anyway. No, I love you anyway." He stood, staring at her thunderously, as if daring her to contradict the truth of his feelings once more.

Hermione quelled somewhat, not due to his unyielding gaze, but the undeniable truth in his words. She had no doubt that Malfoy had struggled with these feelings and lost. He had told her only as a last resort, because his traitorous thoughts had threatened to make him come undone at the seams. And now he expected her to bend to his wishes just as everyone and everything else in his privileged life had. Her natural pity for his lovesickness was tempered by rising anger. No girl wanted to be told by someone that they loved her despite their better judgment; that they loved her despite who and what she was.

"Malfoy," she said evenly, "have you ever once gotten off your pedestal and really examined the world we live in? If you really loved me, I think it would be because you loved all of me. I'm sure that you so badly wish to divorce me from my disgusting heritage so as to legitimize what you think you feel for me. I see only three options for you. One, the whole fabric of reality changes to encompass your feelings and allow you to simultaneously love a muggleborn even as you remain repulsed by the rest of the mudbloods. Two, I look past your debasement of everyone else that you think is below you and accept that I am the exception to your rule. Or three, you realize that you're an elitist, racist bastard and get about to changing that fact! Otherwise, your 'feelings' for me will always be a moot point!" Hermione paused and attempted to gather herself. "As options one and two are sadly impossible" she began dryly, "I suggest you try out number three. I've heard it works wonders."

Malfoy stood staring at this slip of a girl who had transformed into some sort of warrior goddess before his eyes. Perhaps he had fallen in love with her because she always knew how to deflate his ego, how to tell him the cold hard truth when no one else would dare. Looking her in the eye, Malfoy settled for the only answer he felt ready to give. "You're kinda hot when you're angry."

Hermione stuck up her nose and huffed bossily, although a faint blush could be detected on her cheeks. "Well, Malfoy, let's finish our rounds. I don't want to be up all night just because you chose a most inconvenient time to say…things."

Malfoy felt a small grin ghost his lips. It was a start.

…

Two Months Later

…

"Blimey" Ron said. "What's gotten into him?"

The trio had just passed a rather distressed Hufflepuff first year who had dropped her pile of books and was scrambling to retrieve them as the halls began to fill with students. Draco Malfoy, who had been walking by stopped and scooped several errant texts up in his arms. "Here you go you silly chit." The girl's bottom lip trembled as she realized that she had crossed the path of the most hated boy in school. Malfoy started in alarm as tears began running in earnest down her face.

"No, don't cry. Look…er…just don't carry so many books next time." The girl nodded, a look of surprise across her face, before she fled into the swell of students, perhaps fearing that his true wrath was only moments away.

Malfoy walked away, muttering although he spared a glance for the oncoming Gryffindors. "Hello Granger" he said brightly. "Potter…Weasley" he added a bit sourly.

Harry and Ron stood a bit shell shocked, not bothering to return his greeting, although Hermione spared a cheery wave. "Think he's hit his head?" Ron asked Harry in a bit of a stage whisper. "Perhaps he got in the way of a bad confundus charm. Those'll really addle your mind I suppose."

Harry shook his head. "I thought I'd seen it all."

Hermione alone remained unsurprised. In fact, if one looked closely, they might have seen a softening in her expression and a merry glow in her eyes that looked something like triumph. "No" she said. "I think he's just finally growing up."

…

The end.

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