Disclaimer: I own nothing HP related.

This will be a multi-chapter story. Please, feel free to let me know what you think.

Chapter 1

"Damn it!" Hermione Granger gasped as the antiseptic touched the gash on her left hand.

"Please, Granger, feel free to keep it down," Draco Malfoy sneered from across their shared common room. "I'm trying to study."

Hermione glared at him, wishing she had her wand. It would have been the perfect time to hex him. She bit her lip to keep another painful groan from escaping. She heard a thump as Malfoy slammed his book closed and let it fall to the floor.

"What did you do to yourself?" he inquired, crouching next to her as he reached for the hand that she now pulled away. One pale blonde eyebrow quirked at her. If she wanted to be immature, he'd let her. Standing back up, Draco straightened his robes and prepared to walk away.

"Weasley product," Hermione told him. Draco slowly turned back to face her. "Fred sent it to me to test out. I think it bit me," she added, examining the cut that still bled a bit.

"Stupid weasels," Draco muttered, returning to her side. Picking up a fresh towel, he held his hand out for her own. Hesitantly, Hermione allowed him to touch her, wincing only when the soft cotton hit the wound. "Why are you doing this the hard way? I find magic works on this kind of injury."

A blush crept up her neck. "I'll admit, I hadn't thought of it," Hermione replied sheepishly. She felt the tap of his wand against her skin and the cut vanished into nothingness. Draco's hand was cool against her own as he toweled away the mess left by the antiseptic and blood. A few seconds later he dropped her hand.

They sat in an awkward silence, both fidgeting, mouths opening and closing as thoughts formulated and were dropped.

"Why did you do that for me?" she finally asked, staring down at her hands.

He gave her a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. "Can't stand blood," was the only answer he gave her. Draco chanced a quick look at the bushy-haired bookworm sitting next to him.

She was smiling.

At him.

"Sure, okay," she replied, the smile still gracing her features. The light from the fire danced in her brown eyes, making them twinkle. They reminded him of the fairy lights that annoyed him so greatly at Christmastime. This time, however, when it was her eyes, he wasn't nearly as perturbed by them.

"Just...don't let it go to your head, Granger," he retorted. "Merlin knows that hair of yours is big enough. If your ego inflates anymore you won't be able to walk through doorways."

Hermione glared at him. "I guess you'll just have to teach me how to get around with a swollen head."

She expected to be hexed or jinxed or cursed. Instead, Draco Malfoy laughed. With her, not at her. "Touche, Granger," was all he said.

A weight lifted off her shoulders at that moment, making the next round of silence infinitely less awkward.

This time Draco spoke first. "Why are you helping those identical weasels, anyhow?"

Hermione's head whipped around, her hair nearly poking him in the eye. "Why do you feel the need to always call them that? Would it really kill you to be nice?"

"Yes, I fear, and I'm too young to die," Draco affectedly replied, a hand falling across over his heart. The petulant scowl on his face reminded Hermione of a five year old.

"Well, you're being nice to me right now," she pointed out. "And as far as I can tell you're still alive."

Draco rose, striding over to the staircase that would lead to his room. "I'll just quit while I'm ahead then," he glanced back over his shoulder at her. Hermione looked clearly defeated. "Good night."

It had been several months since the pair had been thrust together as Head Boy and Head Girl. The first two months were filled with tension and biting insults, which then diffused into long bouts of ignoring the other's presence entirely. This phase was new. Never before had civilized conversation occurred between them, much less Draco Malfoy deigning to touch a mudblood.

"Figures," she said, stopping him in his tracks.

"What was that?" he asked, turning around to face her.

"I said it figures that Draco Malfoy would be a quitter," she stated, a self satisfied grin quirking up her lips. The young witch watched as the Slytherin prince's features hardened like stone.

His lips curled into the familiar Malfoy sneer as he spoke. "You know nothing about me," Draco told her. "Don't for a second think that just because you're book smart you've got me figured out."

She wasn't going to back down to Draco Malfoy. "You do everything you do because your daddy tells you what to think and how to feel. You've got this need, don't you, to prove yourself to him? You don't have to be him. Be your own person, Draco. One Lucius Malfoy is more than this world needs."

Draco flinched as his father's name rolled off her tongue. His father the Death Eater, the man who ingrained in his only son that pure blood was all that mattered in the world, the man who threatened to yank his son from school so soon after the war because his pride was still all that mattered to him.

"He didn't want me to come back," Draco spoke so softly that Hermione had to strain to hear. She didn't dare speak for fear that he would stop. "The place is still overrun with mudbloods and halfbloods, and my father...my stupid father, still holds onto his ways."

His anger was palpable as he continued to speak. "I don't want to be him. Not anymore," Draco declared. "I'm done with him."

Hermione carefully placed her hand on Draco's arm, hoping a soothing touch would calm him. He didn't pull away, he didn't recoil from her touch. "I guess I was wrong then," she said.

His gray eyes glistened when he looked at her. "I don't care about that," he mumbled, playing with a loose thread at the cuff of his robes. Draco felt a cold spot on his arm at the absence of Hermione's hand. A small part of him missed that contact.

"I'm sorry, Draco," Hermione whispered. This time she stood to leave him in peace, but his hand caught the bottom hem of her robes, effectively stopping her in her tracks.

"I can admit that I've been a real prat to you over the last few years," he told her. "Can't say you really deserved any of it, either."

"It's fine, really," she replied, hoping he'd release his grip on her so she could leave.

Draco shook his head, not one hair moving from its perfectly set place. "It's not alright, Hermione," he shouted, standing to face her. His hand grasped her wrist, begging her silently not to move, not to look away from him. "I've never asked anyone to forgive me before. Never thought I needed it, that I was above people's forgiveness. I've hexed you, called you horrible names, was an absolute chicken while you fought valiantly."

Her free arm wrapped itself around his backside, pulling him as best as she could into a hug. He released her wrist, feeling it repeat the other arm's movement. It took a few seconds before he thought to reciprocate her actions.

"I can't believe you let me do that," Hermione said, letting out a slight giggle. "Feeling the need to launder now?"

Draco pulled away from her, but smiled. "It might be easier to just jump in the shower fully dressed."