I'm 99% sure that this will remain a one shot.

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The night sky lit up as spells flew and fires burned around the expansive Hogwarts campus. Draco Malfoy stood atop the Astronomy Tower searching for his parents when he saw the duel commence. Hermione Granger, the muggleborn witch he had teased and tormented for six years, fought her heart out against his uncle, Rodolphus Lestrange. Draco remained in the shadows as curses were hurled, more than one of them being the Killing Curse. Hermione deflected each spell with the poise and intelligence that the Dark Lord didn't believe she deserved.
He moved ever so slightly, the floor beneath him squeaking under his shoe. It distracted Hermione momentarily, just long enough for Rodolphus to send a curse that flung her back to the tower's edge. Believing she had fallen to her death, his uncle triumphantly left. Draco pressed himself against a wall to avoid detection, and didn't move again until his uncle was gone.

"Help!" he heard her call out.

Without a second thought, he raced to where she had fallen and leaned over the railing. Her small hands clutched the wired railing, desperate tears clouding her eyes. Draco reached down, attempting to get a grip on her, but couldn't make the connection.

"Grab my hand, Granger," he instructed, extending the limb to her.

Hermione looked up, fear her only expression. "I can't," she said, choking back a sob.

He leaned further down, willing his arm to somehow lengthen. "Take my hand," he said again. "Let go of the bar and take my hand. I won't let you fall."

In response, she shook her head before looking down at the ground so far below her.

"Hermione, please," he said softly.

Stunned, she slowly began to unwrap the fingers of her left hand from the bar and stretched her arm to reach him. Her body swung in the air. Their hands met, and Draco released a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding. "I've got you," he assured her.

"Please don't let go," she whispered, letting it become a chant as he attempted to pull her up.

Their hands were sweaty, her fingers were beginning to slacken. "Don't you dare let go of me, Hermione," he yelled. "Don't you even think about letting go. I've got you. You're going to be fine. I just need you to hold on and help me pull you up."

Try as she might, her right hand was beginning to lose its grip on the railing just as her left hand was beginning to slip out of Draco's. He fought the hardest he ever had in his life to hold on, but she fell.

"Hermione!" he yelled as she screamed, falling to the Earth.

Draco awoke in a cold sweat, panting heavily. He wiped a hand over his face, feeling the moisture that gathered in the corners of his eyes. It was the first time in a year since he'd cried, and it was over a mudblood in a dream. It was a stupid dream, but it had rattled the young wizard more than he wanted to admit.

Hermione Granger was the poster girl, the reason the war had begun. Purebloods were superior to all, half bloods were tolerable, and mudbloods needed to be eliminated all together. It didn't help her cause that she was Harry Potter's best friend, the brains behind his entire operation. Earlier that day, Draco had watched as the young witch was tortured for information by his Aunt Bellatrix in his own home. He heard her screams, watched as she tried to fight the Cruciatus curse, and saw the blood that dripped from her neck and arm after his aunt carved the word "mudblood" into her pale skin.

The blood looked no different from his. It was crimson, viscous; not a trace of filth flowed trough her veins. He had breathed a sigh of relief when Dobby, the Malfoys' former house elf, appeared and rescued her and the other prisoners.

She was safe just a little while longer.

For months, he wondered what had become of the Golden Trio. He'd heard talk of Horcruxes, though he was unsure as to what they were. But they were important, crucial to Voldemort's success. And Harry had already begun destroying them. Draco could sense the moments of unease in his father's voice when he told his wife of the plans to launch an attack on the Hogwarts castle.

"He'll expect Draco to be there," Narcissa said in a hushed, scared tone. Draco leaned closer to the door of his father's study to better hear their conversation. Lucius confirmed her fears. "He's just a boy."

"As is Potter," Lucius drawled. "If Potter and that, heaven forbid, Weasley boy can fight a war, so can Draco."

He had heard enough, and backed away from the door. The day after tomorrow he would be returning to school. This would be his final exam, and failure would result in his death. On shaky legs he returned to his room. In less than two days, he would fight for the Dark, for a cause he could no longer force himself to believe in.

Black robes and a silver mask sat on his desk, and Draco quickly tossed them into his closet. He changed into pajamas and climbed into bed, but sleep wouldn't come. He feared the dream about Granger would becoming recurring, and he couldn't have that. His head needed to be clear as he went into battle. Thoughts of the muggleborn witch couldn't distract him, not when he was fighting for his life.

Not when she wouldn't be thinking of him too.

The scene before him was straight out of his dream. He'd never been one to put much stock in Divination or fate, but now his nightmare was playing out before him. He thought Granger stupid to separate herself from the battle to duel one of the most dangerous Death Eaters. As much as he wanted to jump out of the shadows to curse Rodolphus, he knew it would mean his death as well as Granger's.

Just as he had in Draco's dream, his uncle cursed Hermione, sending her over the railing. His feet carried him to her where she dangled perilously over the edge. She was looking down at the dark ground below as a battle raged and curses flew.

"Granger, take my hand," he commanded, reaching toward her.

"Malfoy?" she gasped, staring wide eyed at him so far above her. In any other instance, she would have laughed at the irony. But not now, not as fear gripped her.

"Give me your hand. I'll pull you up," he told her, willing her to do as he commanded.

Her hands tightened around the base of the railing. "Forget it, Malfoy," she replied bitingly. "You'll probably just fling me off the tower once I let go."

Draco shook his head and leaned down further. "Don't be stupid, Granger. I'm not going to hurt you," he assured her. "Take my hand. Please...Hermione."

She stared up, shocked that he had spoken her name. One by one, her fingers loosened and she stretched up to meet his hand. Draco breathed a deep sigh of relief when their hands clasped. He pulled up on her arm, not caring for the moment that it would hurt her. She used her feet to push herself up the side of the tower as he pulled. When she was close enough to the top, he looped an arm under her armpit and hauled her completely over the railing.

Hermione's legs shook with adrenaline and exhaustion, and she clung to Draco's robes. Small sobs escaped her lips. Draco's arms wound around her to support her small frame.

"You're alright," he murmured, holding her closer than he should have. "You're okay."

"I shouldn't have left the Great Hall," she sobbed, the front of his robes a mix of dirt and tears. "I saw him sneak out just as Harry and You Know Who entered, and I thought I could handle it."

His hand ran up her back and cupped her neck. She looked up with scared eyes. "It was stupid," he agreed.

"I don't know what I would have done if..." She couldn't finish the thought. It was too fresh in her mind still to discuss it.

His hand massaged her neck. "I've spent the last two months wondering what happened to you...and your friends," he said. "Ever since that night at the Manor." He let his hand fall away from her neck and reached for her left arm that was pinned between their bodies. He haphazardly pushed up her sleeve to reveal the dirty word carved into her skin. She shuddered, whether from the night air or his touch, Draco was unsure. He hoped it was his touch.

"I don't know which night was worse," she commented, trying to look away from the scarred skin.

She tried to pull her arm away, but he held her wrist tightly. With the same hand, he directed her chin so she would look at him. "This," he said, indicating the word on her arm, "you are not a mudblood." Hermione gasped softly as a tender look entered his eyes. "Hermione," he whispered her name.

"Yes?"

Draco sighed and let go of her chin and arm, letting his arm wrap around her waist once more. A blush colored his cheeks as he told her about his dream. "Do you believe in fate?" he asked when he finished his tale.

Hermione shook her head. "I don't know," she responded. Her heart beat faster as he looked so intently at her.

Draco nodded. "I think I do know," he decided. He lifted a hand to caress her cheek before slowly dipping his head. Hermione's eyes closed half a second before his did, and he let his lips brush tentatively across hers. The kiss was chaste and hesitant, Draco fearful that she would hate him for his actions. But as he tried to pull away, Hermione dislodged one arm from between their bodies, and cupped the back of his neck to hold him in place.

"What's going to happen now?" she asked, a twinge of fear in her voice as she pulled away.

Draco rested his forehead against hers and breathed in deeply. "I go to Azkaban," he replied sadly.

Defiantly, Hermione shook her head and embraced him fiercely. "You saved me," she murmured, her breath tickling his ear. "I promise I'll do what I can to keep you out of that place."

He wanted to believe her. She was a member of the Golden Trio, and her words had weight in the wizarding world. It was possible that she could save him from his fate too. He hoped she could save him from it.

Footsteps clambered up the stairs as voices shouted out Hermione's name. Reluctantly, they pulled apart. She moved around him towards the door, but he stopped her with a tug on the arm. Their lips met one last time before the intruders could interrupt them.

"Goodbye, Hermione," he said softly.

"I'll see you soon," she promised.

And he did. His trial was held two months later in front of the Wizengamot. Scores of wizards and witches dressed in purple robes filled the tiered seats before him. A bailiff led him to the defendant's table, his hands shackled in front of him. Dark circles marred the underskin of his eyes and he felt weightless from the improper nutrition he received in Azkaban.

Hermione was the first witness to be called. She was grilled about their relationship - the years of taunts, teases, thrown hexes - before they moved on to her capture and the final battle. Calmly she explained the ways he'd saved her. She gave details of her battle with Rodolphus Lestrange and the way Draco pulled her back over the rail.

Harry was also called to the stand, but Draco paid him no mind. Hermione was seated off to the side, so he could see her from the corner of his eye. His full attention rested on the witch until Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Minister of Magic, stood up to pass his verdict.

"In light of the testimony we have heard today, we find the defendant not guilty. Mr. Malfoy, I hope to hear only good things about you from now on."

It wasn't until the bailiff released his chains that he breathed again, the words playing through his mind repeatedly. The Wizengamot filed out of the court, as did most of the spectators. He flexed his wrists, rubbing his thumb over the flesh of his wrists. His head was bent low as he reached Hermione.

"You saved me," he murmured, looking her in the eye. Tears blurred her brown eyes, but she smiled.

"I'm just sorry we couldn't do anything sooner," she replied modestly, blushing a light shade of
pink.

He reached for her hand and noticed the way her eyes darted toward Harry, who stood by the door. Draco started to retract his hand, but Hermione took it, lacing their fingers together.

"I don't care," she murmured, feeling his lips against her own one more time.