Hello, everyone! *nervous giggle*

I truly hope you enjoy the story and relish in the beautiful imperfection which we know as the term "Dramione" :) If you would like to enjoy reading the way I usually do, I would suggest to put this song (I'll put it at the end of the A/N) on repeat, and let it set the tone of the chapter. Thank you so much for coming here, and even if you didn't bother to read this (which I completely understand-I usually skip these parts of the fanfics too) I still love and appreciate the fact that you bothered to keep HP alive by reading this.

I'm not gonna beg for reviews. If you feel like you have something you'd like to share with anyone who wishes to read your thoughts (like me! :D), by all means, feel free to do so. But my ultimate goal is not to feel good about myself; it's to make YOU appreciate the English language and relish in the wonderful world of fantasy. English is not my first language, and though I do speak fluently, if some lame grammatical error occurs, anyone is free to let me know.

Phew, sorry, this took longer than I thought. Anyway, I send hugs, kisses, (to everyone)and Airheads (to all those who haven't had a bite of the "sugar upon sugar" substance.) Oh, screw it. Airheads to everybody ;)

-The reason why this Fanfic is rated T-

The only reason I felt the need to rate it T because of the language. The expected PG 13 (for teens and up) version of cussing will be present. No sexual scenes, I can promise that; only hot and heavy snogging. If you don't want to read something full of shitty talk, you should've stopped reading six words ago.

-You have been warned.-

Theme Song of the Story (TSS): Fearless - Olivia Holt

PROLOUGE

HERMIONE

If my eyes were able to burn worse than this, it would probably light on fire. Now I understand why Harry stuck to his glasses. No matter how many times they fall off, contact lens are constant pains in my ass that I cannot get rid of, for reasons I still can't believe. Don't get me wrong, my eyes are just as perfect as they were a week ago, but seven days ago, McGonagall decided that green coloured contacts are going to help my disguise. I remember our conversation as if it just happened a few minutes ago.

I was walking down Diagon Alley (completely unaware of the crowd that was surrounding me) while my head was buried in a book that I thought might help with my new job, being a retired/soon to be Auror. As I grasped onto a bag full of things I categorized as helpful material, to my surprise, I bumped into a fairly thin lady, with very fragile glasses, and a perpetual look on her face that made it clear she had a problem with something and she was going to fix it. "Miss Granger?" McGonagall clarified. "May I propose we have a butterbeer and talk?" It was one of those questions you can't say no to, so I nodded and started to follow her, with my curiosity increasing at every bumpy step I took on the cobblestones.

We sat down at a place I wasn't even aware of until now, and ordered two butterbeers. To be honest, I would've been by far more thankful for coffee this early in the morning, but I decided that since McGonagall and I came here to talk, it didn't matter what I was having for a drink. I looked up at her, hoping she wouldn't wait until I finish my butterbeer to start explaining why she would waste her money on one of her previous students, but from the delighted look on her face while drinking, I was convinced that would not be the case.

After a humongous inner conflict with myself, I decided I shouldn't bother to start conversation; that should be her job. So, to do something while waiting for the professor to be satisfied with her thirst, I settled for looking around. This place was quite cosy, and it seemed quite un-wizard like in my opinion. It seemed… human, really. The couches were a nice, dark shade of chocolate brown, and the walls were coffee coloured, while most of the tables were either glass or were painted black. It had nothing magical in it. It was as if we were in the shop next to the entrance of Diagon Alley. Has McGonagall chosen this place so we can't have any eavesdroppers?

"Miss Granger, I need you on the same page with me before I start talking. Are you familiar with the fact that Draco Malfoy was going to kill Dumbledore three years ago?" I nodded, trying hard not to show emotion on my face. "The staff and I agreed," she continued, "that we can't just leave him wondering about the school. Who knows what Voldemort's followers have planned for the poor boy next?"

Poor boy!? You've got to be joking! Yes, Malfoy spared Dumbledore's and Harry's life, and for that my dislike for him has decreased from the level of pure hate to just hate, but that definitely doesn't mean that I will ever forgive him for all those terrible ways he treated us. Punching him in the face once was nice, but that was, number one, seven years ago, and number two, it will never add up to what he deserves as a person, if anyone could call him that. True, I've never truly met Draco Malfoy without him being cornered by his friends or family members, probably forcing him to act out because of peer pressure, but my microscopic hopes of Slytherins having a drop of good in them, nicely evaporated over the years—mostly thanks to Malfoy.

"Professor, I'm completely filled in on what happened. With all due respect, I might actually know more. Harry and I are as close as friends can get, and he tells me everything. Even things he doesn't like to talk about. I know what Malfoy did, and I completely agree with you and the staff about not having him wandering around the corridors because he decided to repeat his seventh year, but I still don't understand what you want me here for. You know neither Ron, Harry, or I will be going back to Hogwarts this year, or any other year. Maybe it is a terrible mistake, but we all need a break from a stressful life, no matter what level of stress it is exactly. Also, as far as I know, we have been informed that we may come back and attend our eighth year whenever we please, so I don't even feel the least bit guilty for neglecting to do so in the past three years.

"And I'm sorry Professor, but I have other important things to worry about than a student that might be a spy in the school this year. So if all we came here for is to drink butterbeer and inform me about Dumbledore's death and its minor details, well, thank you, but I already know them. Professor McGonagall, I really don't mean to offend you, but I have to go." While I was talking I picked up my stuff, and I tried to avoid McGonagall's eyes as much as possible.

As I stood up after my clearly offending speech, (which I am not proud of) I saw the professor's face and I froze. She had tears in her eyes. In the history of Hogwarts there was not one student who managed or dared to cause Minerva McGonagall to tears. The shock that ran through me forced me to sit back down and listen to whatever she had to say. But as I scrutinized her worried face, it became clear to me that she wasn't crying because I hurt her feelings, (I was stupid enough to think so for a second that that might be the case) she was crying because she was under a lot of stress, and she was anxious about something.

"Professor I—"

"It's alright. Y—you don't know. I—I shouldn't have stalled. I'm just so… concerned for you. But I really can't think of any other option other than this. Miss Granger… when I said the staff and I agreed on something, I didn't just mean that we agreed on Mr Malfoy's… situation. What I didn't mention was that we need someone to—to keep an eye on him. Someone we know we can trust. We need… we need…" Now she was in the state of a complete melt down. She had tears running down her cheeks, which were the size of the largest marbles imaginable, and her eyes became red and puffy.

I knew it was completely absurd for a student to comfort a teacher, but I didn't really have a choice. I stood up from my seat that felt like I've been glued to, and walked over to hug her. She accepted with no awkwardness whatsoever, but by now I also figured out what the staff needed. They needed a spy for Malfoy, and they needed a student.

"You need me," I stated. She looked up from a tissue she picked up from the table. Seems like she is too sad to even use magic, I thought. How tragic. The person who should be depressed is me, even though I understand her reasons of worry and I appreciate it in a certain level, it is her fault I will have to be a secret spy on Malfoy. But how on earth am I going to do that? I'm a Gryffindor, for heaven's sake! Even if I tried I wouldn't be able to make out a word he says, and that would be on the corridor. Are they so willing that they'd let me sneak in to the Slytherins' common room?

"Yes, Miss Granger," McGonagall replied to my statement. "I bet now you have numerous questions, which I promise I shall answer, but for now, please respect that I am too—"

"Professor McGonagall! Tell me! I deserve to know what is going on! I understand that you believe in my knowledge more than necessary, which I truly do appreciate, but how do you expect me to help you, when I'm supposed to be getting ready for my first job interview, while I need to figure out what the rest of the unfound Death Eaters' plans are, and still help you keep an eye on Draco. Do not tell me you want me to use the Time Turner again, because I will be seen. And, also, how do you expect me to eavesdrop on Malfoy, when I'm not even in the same house as he is? I understand you mentioned earlier that you need someone you can trust, so due to obvious reasons you can't choose a Slytherin, but Professor, how am I any help? This, to me, seems like Mission Impossible!"

"The what?"

"Please, Professor, don't pretend like you didn't hear anything I just said."

I couldn't believe myself. I just couldn't understand what overcame me. I am the good girl, who would've been Head Girl her last year. I'm the girl that always hands in her homework two weeks before it is necessary, and I always—ALWAYS—respect teachers. At the moment I'm arguing with McGonagall as if she were Draco Malfoy herself.

"Miss Granger, I understand your distress. My cowardice should not take part of the information that is needed to be provided to you." She took a shaky deep breath. "Yes, we do need someone to watch over Mr Malfoy, and everyone agreed that you would be most beneficial. As an answer to your earlier question, no, we will not be using a Time Turner; to be honest we are not exactly using much magic at all." She looked deeply into my eyes before she continued. "We are moving you into Slytherin for your seventh year in Hogwarts, Miss Granger. We will apply some Polyjuice Potion, provided by Professor Slughorn, which will be just enough to change your hair texture and colour, and to make it last for ten entire hours.

"Now, I've done some my… research," she pronounced the word as if it tasted sour, "and it seems that you will have to wear contact lens to complete your disguise. Professor Slughorn, sadly, couldn't make the potion strong enough to last ten hours if it involved changing your eye colour as well. We will provide your new robes and books for you, because, yes, I was well aware that you were planning on becoming Aurors with Mr Potter and Mr Weasley. The staff that I trust, the ones that are involved with the Mr Malfoy situation, and I will all pretend as if you were a new student here, and also will spread the word that you, yourself, went with the two boys for the interview, and inevitably got the job.

"Miss Granger, I know it is asking a lot for you to give up helping the boys in person and completing an entirely different task, but please, I am asking you as nicely as an elderly woman as myself possibly can, do this for the school. Do it for the first years. Do it for your friends."

She looked up at me with pleading eyes and a sort of fire of revenge was burning in them. She didn't just care about the school's safety. She also cared about Dumbledore; everyone else feels the same way, including me.

The word friends rang in my ears as if I were in a room that was brand new; no paintings on the wall, no pictures.

I knew I had no choice.

Next TSS: Domino - Jessie J

Oh, and in case you haven't noticed, this is FANfiction. Meaning, the original story doesn't belong to me. J.K. Rowling invented it; I'm just perfecting it ;)

(No, just kidding. Perfection DOESN'T exist. A little FYI, just in case you missed it.)