A few hours after Voldemort's Death

"Look over there" Hermione's whisper was more of a rasp. Whether it was from crying or screaming or yelling spells she couldn't be sure. Ginny's head followed the small shaking hand that pointed towards a far, mostly deserted corner of the Great Hall. From the seat they had found at the old staff table, it was a challenge to look past the teeming mass of injured, celebrating, and mourning people. She could barely see the distinctive head of Draco Malfoy standing stock still, completely isolated. People were moving around him as if he were a piece of furniture, nearly knocking into him occasionally, then jumping away with mild fear. Ginny shrugged, not sure why Hermione was pointing him out.

"He looks…sad, don't you think?" Hermione's voice was softer this time, still holding the hard rasp of a woman who had watched friends die not two hours ago. Ginny nodded. She hadn't quite figured out how to speak after the initial relief of Harry surviving; she still had not allowed the fact of Fred's death to sink into her heart. "I think I saw his parents leave." Hermione frowned, thinking out loud. "Why didn't he?"

"He fought for our side, in the last part." Neville had walked up to them without their noticing. He stood in front of the girls, reaching out to hold one of Ginny's hands without a word and carefully picking the dust and blood from her hair.

He looked at Hermione and she could see the dirt on his face and the requisite grief in his solemnity, but his eyes shone with something she had only ever seen in Harry's eyes after previous battles. Hermione privately thought the glory looked more natural on Neville. "Before his parents left. He switched sides, didn't really tell anyone either. Just started fighting." He shrugged and lowered his voice. "I watched him kill Goyle's father."

The horror of killing a good friend's father sat in the space between the three of them, and Hermione fought the urge to resume the weeping she had been doing off and on all night.

"So, is he alone?" Hermione asked Neville.

Ginny had leaned forward onto his body, her eyes closed as he continued to gently pet her head. It was the most secure she had felt in days. Neville frowned and nodded slowly.

Mostly to herself, Hermione added, "No one here wants him." She looked at Ginny and Neville, and scanned her eyes across the crowd, watching families and couples and friends consoling and congratulating each other in turn. Then there was Draco Malfoy, who had seemed so alone for the last few years, still alone. Bringing her attention back to her company, she nodded to Neville to take her seat and let Ginny rest on him more comfortably. If anyone could get sleep right now they should.

Gathering what tiny grain of courage was still left in her and mostly relying on the total numbness of her body and mind to carry her towards a strange choice, Hermione walked unnoticed across the crowded hall to the man who looked far more like a lost child.

She noticed as she neared him that his eyes were glued to the floor a few feet in front of him. She would have to do her best not to startle him. "Malfoy" she whispered as she drew closer. His head snapped up and his mouth opened, surely in impulse to say something full of prejudice and anger, but nothing came out. "Hey." She acknowledged him again. If smiling hadn't taken a massive effort, she would have given him one. "Look…" she made her voice as gentle as possible, "I swear I'll never tell anyone we talked." He nodded almost imperceptibly. "But…are you okay?" His mouth opened again, his expression even more indignant, but again there was only silence. Hermione was near enough to reach out to him now, and neither one could believe it when she did. Her hand was on his shoulder, soft the way a mother's is, just reminding him that other people existed, and that he did too.

"Neville told me you fought for us." Malfoy blinked. He pressed his lips together, prepared to be defensive but she started to run her hand down his shoulder and arm. "I mean it. I won't tell anyone if you don't want me too." She whispered. "But…thank you." His head fell to his chest as if her words had allowed him to stop pretending quite so hard. Hermione moved her hand to his cheek and lifted his face up. "Are you alright? You're not hurt, are you?" He shook his head a tiny amount. "Good." She looked deeply into his eyes, "I'm very glad."

Releasing his face, she walked away painfully aware of how strange that had been, and even more conscious of how important it had been for both of them. She thought that maybe…just maybe if a former Death Eater and the muggle-born friend of Harry Potter could tentatively forgive one another, then the Wizarding World might recover from this war after all.

A few weeks later

Hermione was exhausted. She had plenty to mourn, and plenty to fix.

As ever, she was worried about Harry. She wasn't sure how he would deal with losing Lupin and Dobby, nevermind the others he would blame himself for.. She knew he would have to wrestle now to determine his real feelings about Dumbledore and Snape. She had a suspicion that she couldn't voice as well: that losing Voldemort would be painful in a way, considering the man had been not only in Harry's head, but also been his obsession for years now.

And then there was Ron. He was lost in a haze of grief for Fred. Any romance they had been building up to had collapsed into her nursing him and his family towards a semblance of mental health and wellbeing. It didn't look probable any time soon. She was worried about all the Weasleys, her second family. Mrs. Weasley in particular, who wasn't leaving her bedroom. The house was a broken heart without her, and a mess besides.

Hermione tried to remember to worry about herself occasionally as well. She worried that her parents' spell would never be broken, though she was hesitant to attempt it when everyone was still in pieces. She worried about Hogwarts and about the future of all the students whose lives and educations were interrupted by the last year, including herself. And the tiny voice that lived somewhere near her temples and gave her headaches told her to worry that now that there was no homework to help with or crucial riddles from Dumbledore to solve her friends wouldn't want her around as much. She blamed this particular anxiety for her recent tendency to forget and lose things.

This is how she found herself washing every dish in the Burrow kitchen the muggle way. Unable to remember the spell and unwilling to do the work she used to relish of looking it up and learning it all over again, she had found soap and a sponge underneath a pile of hand-knitted kitchen towels. The towels were unfortunately next to a box of old toys that, after inspection, were clearly early inventions by Fred and George. Hermione had wasted ten minutes sitting on the kitchen floor weeping before pulling herself up. The soreness of her body in that moment reminded her how herculean simple tasks are when you feel like this; and they all felt like this.

As she scrubbed and rinsed, Hermione stared out of the window and let herself get lost in the strange paradise that was the Burrow's yard. Shining grass and tall weeds mingled with brooms and muggle gadgets, capturing too well the portrait of a family that had deserted itself.

She looked around, unsure as to where they all were, but since no one had come into the kitchen when she was sobbing a few moments ago, she felt assured that she was alone on the first floor. She stopped scrubbing the enormous, strange, rose-shaped bowl in her hands, but did not drop it. Closing her eyes, she breathed deeply and whispered the spell she had learned to help her pass the painful days of last year in a tent with Harry. Then she let herself float to somewhere else. Anywhere else.

Hermione found herself in her old room. The Gryffindor girls' dorm was as comfortable as ever. Here, for some reason, Hermione could block out everything reality was throwing at them. There was the warm, subtle lighting of dusk coming in through the window, and the scarlet curtains moved a little from a breeze after she pushed the panes of glass open. She could smell the fresh…was that fall? Yes. Fall air that was dry and just a little chilly. Oh good. She loved Autumn. Autumn meant school and books and friends. Friends. Why was she alone right now? She could use a friend with her here.

Hermione panicked, finding she couldn't bring her friends into her daydream without tinting it with the grief and devastation that she was trying to escape from-however briefly.

Okay. No friends. I can have a whole fantasy by myself. She decided to wander the castle, and did so, at the lightning speed of her brain. There were the magical staircases.

She tried to imagine the feeling of them as they flew through the air, the rush she got in her stomach, and the spell obliged what she couldn't manufacture alone.

She finally found herself in the Great Hall, and was thrilled to find it set for a regular school day dinner. With relief, she saw it was about half full of students she didn't recognize; nothing to recognize, no need to try to remember if they were alive or not. She thought about sitting and eating, but didn't want to waste her time there. She thought about the library, but the best things about a library weren't transferable to a daydream, however vivid her imagination or the little bit of magic that she could imbue to make it stronger. Instead, she turned a sharp left into the Hall.

Oh. There he was. Why him…?

This time, Draco Malfoy stood upright, his expression assured and cocky as usual. He was leaning against the wall and looking at the crowd of students that apparently couldn't see him. Without turning to acknowledge that she had entered his corner alcove, he spoke first. "They don't know. See?" Hermione didn't know what he was talking about. She looked at the crowd again. Draco stood away from the wall and looked at her, his eyelids heavy, his eyes intense. "They don't know about the war." He tilted his head towards the Slytherin table. "They're all normal. No fucked-up parents, no abuse. They don't even have to learn that there's no difference between you and me."

Hermione was surprised by his words for a moment- before she reminded herself that she was creating this. She forced herself to remember that it wasn't real, but dived back into it, her fingers growing pruned from the still significant pile of dishes.

As she brought herself back to her mind, she found herself no longer in the Great Hall. She was in the library after all. She nearly laughed at herself for being so predictable. Focusing on her memory, she could almost smell the old parchment. She adjusted to the dark and quiet space. But where…? Oh, there he was. She found him in one of the old armchairs that were almost always filled with students. She had never preferred them, finding them poor places to get any real studying done, but of course he would make himself as comfortable as possible. Finding herself wanting to talk to him more, she went around the chair, setting herself on the table across from him. She wiggled around and swung her legs, enjoying the feeling of sitting up on a table, something she would never do in real life at a library, but this was just for her. This thought reminded her that she had control of the conversation.

"Do you they know about you, Malfoy?" He looked up from his nondescript book and finally noticed her sitting directly in front of him, her head tilted, her hair falling to one side. "Do they know that you overcame all of that to become good?"

"They don't need to." He said, expressionless. "They know about you." Hermione blushed. Could you blush in a dream?

He stood, setting his book aside, and walked over to her, close enough now to put his hand on her knee, though he didn't. Despite herself, his sudden proximity made her breath catch. "What are you doing, Malfoy?"

Hermione blinked and looked down at the strangely-shaped mug in her hands, realizing she had been washing it for quite awhile. She wasn't making him do this, she thought, though she remained unconvinced. She thought maybe she should stop and focus...

Malfoy's smirk shocked Hermione. She didn't do that…did she? "It's not just you in here, Granger."

Hermione dropped the mug. The ceramic shattered into large chunks and shards in the sink.

"What are you talking about?"

"I like this spell." He put his hands in his robe pockets as if to begin a long explanation that would require him to pace around the room, but his feet stayed in place. "Because it's new magic. Everyone thinks only old magic is powerful, but people have created new spells with intricacies and possibilities that ancient wizards didn't think possible." Hermione really didn't like being lectured at by any man her own age, but especially Malfoy; she resented the fact that she actually had no idea what he was talking about. Which also meant… "I'm not reading your mind, Hermione. And you're not reading mine. We're just…in the same place."

"But how did we both get here, at the same time? With no one else around?"

She thought it might be a trick of the light but, yes, Malfoy did smile for a moment. "First, we cast the spell around the same time. I don't know about you, but I'm biding my time between watching my friends and their parents on trial." She reached out, and found that she could briefly hold his arm, sending her apologies for his situation silently. "Second, we chose the same basic place. Hogwarts." He looked around them. "Sort of surprising, after all that happened, that we would have the same choice, but there it is. Did you feel…safe here?"

Hermione had released his arm. She took her time with his question, then gave a sigh that was almost a laugh. "Safe? No. I wouldn't say that. I felt…full. Fulfilled. Really myself…" She allowed herself a happy moment of nostalgia. "Is this where you felt safe, Malfoy?"

There it was again. That blink-and-you-miss-it smile. And the smallest nod in the world. "Finally, I think you will notice that you are in control of some things and I am of other things. I don't quite understand this part of the spell, but I know that you found me in the Great Hall, but I was already there, and created the students." Hermione nodded. "Then I was suddenly in the Library. I didn't choose to be here and you weren't here either, at first. So you must have brought me here."

"Which is why you weren't surprised to see me."

"Right."

"So…what happens next? Are you in control?"

Malfoy's smirk was famous. She had seen it for years, watched it be the precursor to slurs against her and horrible things said against her friends. She had never, ever seen it used for good. But then Malfoy put one hand on either side of her knees and leaned into her, smirking all the way. She couldn't think or breathe and she wasn't sure now of what was real or not. "I can be…" his voice was deeper and harder now, "if you like."

Hermione thought her insides might be mush. She reminded herself that it was a dream, that no one would know, that it was a strange reaction to a spell she obviously wouldn't use again, that it was her secret.

The shiver in her spine made her nod her head and that was all he needed. He brought one hand up to her chin to lift her face up to his. Then he wrapped that arm around her waist and pulled her smoothly off of the table, so that she stood against him. She could feel his body, the sharp angles of the muscles underneath his fitted robes, his strong legs, his slender hips. Keeping her chin up because that was where he had placed it, she learned everything she could about his body without looking down or using her hands. Her eyes found his and found them to be the deep grey of the frozen lake or the beautiful gray clouds in sunsets that got drowned out by the brighter pinks and oranges. Uninhibited, her hands found his hair, and it was as baby-soft as she expected it to be. As she ran her hands through it and pulled gently, he let out a small groan. She ran her hands down to his neck, and on impulse ran them down to follow the bone of his clavicle and press her hand on the hard expanse of chest.

He had apparently waited for her to finish her exploration, because as soon as her hands were stilled on his chest, he took his turn. He took one finger and ran it down her cheek, then over to her lips, where he let it linger. She was surprised that he didn't do…more with his hands, but then his arms were around her waist again, his fingers pressing almost painfully into her back, which just made her feel a warmth across her cheeks. He didn't take his eyes from hers as he pressed his body closer, and she could feel a certain hardness she hadn't noticed before. Forced by the closeness to move her hands, she put them around his neck. Then, be it magical or through sheer force of imagination, or maybe it wasn't her decision at all, she willed him to kiss her.

He did. His lips were tentative for a split second, but she pressed against them, pulling on his neck to bring him down to her. His hands pressed into her hips as he lightly bit her bottom lip, a silent plea for her lips to open. They kissed like this until she carefully slid her tongue into his mouth and found him warm and sweet. He smiled (or smirked? She couldn't tell when his mouth was on hers) and then took command and kissed her with a depth and ferocity that she didn't know he had. She felt dizzy; she felt like she might be on fire; she felt that if he stopped holding her up she would fall and never get up.

When his lips fell to her neck, biting and kissing, he moaned again, quiet and dark. Hermione pressed her hips into Malfoy, wanting that hardness against her own warmth that suddenly felt empty. She needed friction. She needed him to never stop doing that, except that she also needed his lips on hers again. She ran her fingernails down his back and he shivered. She smiled (or smirked? Could you learn that by touch?) at his reaction to her. As he pulled his lips away from her neck he used his thumbs to press on the vulnerable space underneath her hip bones and her moan eclipsed his. It was definitely a smirk he gave before running his hands down her back and bum and finally kissing her again, deeply. And then he was gone.

Hermione was left, clothes rumpled, usually wild hair even more mussed, and quite unsatisfied, in an empty library that lived only in her mind.

Hermione finished the dishes and made dinner. She brought the soup and sandwiches to the people she knew would eat it, and brought half-servings to those who wouldn't. Harry, Ginny, and Mr. Weasley made it to the table that night, and that was pretty good nowadays. Hermione tried very hard not to think back to her interesting afternoon or get irritated at its ending. She reminded herself that the daydream had been just that and had to be a brief and temporary respite. She needed to be here, for her friends, for herself. There was so much healing to be done.

Scandalous (as it would be) and arousing (as it already was) fantasies would have to wait. Hermione wasn't even sure that dream-Malfoy was telling the truth. It sounded exactly like the kind of thing her mind would make up to give her an excuse to…do things she usually wouldn't.

The owl pecking at the window made Hermione shake her head and return to reality.

Granger,

Let me make it up to you. Same time tomorrow. You choose where.

-DM

A/N: Just a fun one-shot that popped in my head. Hope you liked it. I'd love a review! :)

UPDATE: Originally this was a fun one-shot, but folks told me they wanted more and I'm easy to persuade. Leave me a review and let me know what you think!