Hellooooo there! Welcome to my first fic in probably 8+ years! I recently got back into reading FF and, I don't know, I guess I am feeling inspired to write! I'm a little rusty so please review, and let me know what I can work on for future chapters! I have sooo many ideas for this story. Thank you for taking the time to come read this!

Her breath hitched as his lips came closer, brushing the edge of her ear.

"Tell me your name."

She let out a small gasp, feeling the electricity sizzle down her spine from the feather-light feel of his lips, but gently shook her head, "I can't," she whispered back, her voice breathless.

"Then tell me why," he replied, catching her chin in his fingers. His molten silver eyes met the caramel brown hiding behind her ornate mask. She once again shook her head no, a hint of pleading in her eyes.

"Forget about my name, forget about why we are doing this or who I am. Just kiss me and be done with it." She snarked, though her voice betrayed her feigned bravery, as it was barely above a whisper.

For a moment he just stared into her eyes, searching for something to say or an answer of any kind. His heart felt as though it was going to pound right out of his chest, and onto the floor by her feet. He met her eyes once more, and in an instant, his lips crashed into hers.

3 Months Prior

Hermione sat in the library, quill in hand and several books splayed across the table. She had been at this for hours, trying to get ahead on a few bits of homework so that she would have less to do over the weekend. She was looking forward to Hogsmeade with Harry and then holing up in her room with a few good novels she'd had her eye on. She shifted in her seat, sore after sitting for so long. She was in her favorite spot in the library. It was secluded, behind rows of muggle books towards the back of the many grand shelves. It had a beautiful view of the Black Lake that Hermione had come to love seeing draped in a blanket of snow.

She'd found this spot in Fourth Year after a disagreement with Ronald over Merlin only knows, and had simply needed a bit of seclusion. It was rather difficult to come by at this school, after all. She had glided past the empty tables in the front, nearest to Madam Pince's desk, but instead of going right towards the more popular wing of the library, she hung a quick left and continued farther into the depths. The desks were far more sporadic on this end of the library, as opposed to the other where the desks were nearly pushed edge to edge. She had found that a bit curious, but was relieved to find a hidden desk in front of a sun-filled window. After a quick Scourgify to clear the lingering dust, she had plopped down and made herself at home.

Now there she was, 4 years, one war, and enough pain for a lifetime later, pouring over books in her favorite spot. No one bothered her back here and she thought it was perhaps one of the best things she'd ever found at Hogwarts.

That was until she heard giggling and whispering coming from behind one of the shelves that shielded her. Her head snapped up from her notes, slightly startled to hear someone in these sections. As soon as she looked up, she knew what was going on. After she heard a quiet moan come from behind the shelves, she set her quill down and closed her eyes, rubbing the bridge of her nose. She had been staring at those damned books for far too long.

'Okay, Hermione. You're Head Girl, Hermione. Do you simply exit, or do you break them up and deduct points? Obviously, you break them up, Hermione.' she mused to herself, listening to the building situation happening in front of her.

She gave another heavy sigh before standing up, stretching a bit and storming over there. "Excuse me, what are you two doing?"

Draco watched her from his own personal sanctuary, grinning a bit as she stormed over to confront the rowdy Ravenclaws. She didn't know that he occasionally he found himself here, hidden by shadows of the nearly unused portion of the library. Honestly, he found himself a bit creepy at times, watching her from the shadows like some kind of weirdo. But, he also knew that that wasn't his intention.

The first time he had stumbled upon her secret spot, it was entirely by accident. He had been in a mood and wanted nothing to do with a single person in the whole bloody school. He had stormed to the very back of the library, searching the rows for a table that seemed far enough away from everyone else. He found one, hidden almost entirely in the dark and decided to flop down in the chair with a huff. He had sat there for several minutes, brewing in his own anger until movement caught his eye. It was Hermione, a stern look on her face. He watched her unpack her bag, her movements methodical, though it was clear she was upset. He could hear her lightly sniffling. His heart had wrenched in his chest.

He had made his way back only a few times before suddenly it was a bit more of a habit. He sat here for comfort, and he wished he had a more valid excuse, but that was just it. She was simply fascinating. The way he could see her mind turning when she was deep into her work. Or, when something was on her mind and she absolutely could not concentrate, she would stare out the window, biting her lip while deep in thought about whatever that complex, know-it-all's brain thinks of. How she always sat down and immediately tied her long, wavy hair back, with a few small strands slipping out to frame her face. The way the sun would stream in through the window, framing her in a golden light, showing him once again that she was an angel on earth. He couldn't deny that he was mesmerized by her.

He grabbed his book bag and slipped away while she was deducting points from the stricken fifth-years. He chuckled to himself and shook his head, making his way around the halls of the castle. He couldn't wait to see if she would tell him about it later.

Hermione sighed and went back to her table to gather her things. She had only taken 10 points apiece and given the Ravenclaws a stern warning. She hoped to never be interrupted by something so stupid again. 'Halfway to shagging, right here in the library? Who in the hell would even come up with such a thing?' She shook her head to herself as she exited the library and made her way down to her dorm.

As much as she wanted to act as though it completely disgusted her, a part of her felt a pang of jealousy. She had been lonely. Harry and Ron had both opted out of finishing out their last year at Hogwarts, instead choosing to enter into an Auror training program after the War had ended. Hermione had been severely disappointed, as she didn't want anything other than to finish her schooling. She had been offered a variety of positions after the war but had turned them all down. She craved for something to focus on besides the dark years they had narrowly escaped. To even think of it pricked her skin with goosebumps and sent shivers down her spine.

It was one thing, learning that she was going to be going to Hogwarts for the very first time without her friends. But it was entirely another when Ron, after two months of training, decided to drop out.

/"Blimey, 'Mione! It's not like we don't have a pile of galleons sitting in our vaults! With the rewards we received after the war, we never have to work again!" he let out a dry laugh and ran his hands through his unruly red hair.

"That's not the point, Ronald! You're a war hero, you're supposed to be a role model! Who drops out of Auror training after TWO months?"

He snorted, "Do you really think that's the first thing on my mind right now? I deserve to relax a bit, doncha think? I don't need to bury myself in the stress of training-"

He was cut off as Hermione let out a shrill screech, her frustration getting the best of her. "You are unbelievable, Ron! Harry and I were there, too, remember? No, of course, you don't. You only ever think of yourself, you always have!" she bellowed, her fists clenched at her sides. She gritted her teeth, willing herself to speak evenly. "This is a mistake you're making, an absolutely horrible, idiotic one, and I will not stand by and watch you throw a career away for your 15 minutes of fame." Her eyes met his and his indifferent expression made her want to hex him into oblivion.

Without another word she turned on her heel and left, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing the tears slip down her cheeks./

Two days after that argument, she had come back to their apartment only to find Ron roughly shagging a random girl on their kitchen island. All she could do is cough out a dry laugh and turn on her heel, slamming the door behind her. She didn't miss the opportunity to whisper a semi-permanent sticking charm as she walked away. It served them both right to be stuck together for a while.

She didn't miss being with Ron, as he had infuriated her more than anything else. He was constantly talking about the war, always the first to agree to an interview or give out an autograph. She had grown tired of watching him while his 'fans' fawned all over him. He would smile and whisper in their ears to make them giggle and blush. It was rather sickening, and she could only assume that was where Ronald had found his new shag. She had gotten over the pain of losing her first love rather quickly, though it left her wondering if she had ever really been in love with him at all.

She continued to ponder that thought as she approached the portrait that led to her dorm. She was Head Girl, so she had access to a Private Dorm, although she did have to share part of the space with the Head Boy. She gently shut the portrait door behind her and slipped her bag off of her shoulder, hanging it on the coat rack that sat just inside the room.

It was a large room, with a recessed living area in the center, furnished with an ornate mahogany table surrounded by two plush couches, both in a silvery-blue shade. On each side of the room were two doors leading to their respective private dorm rooms. Towards the back, there were two desks pushed edge-to-edge as well as a single filing cabinet. Each desk was paired with a soft wing-backed chair, though one was a deep burgundy while the other was emerald with strands of silver throughout. There was a small set of cabinets and a sink to the left of the portrait door. Hermione used it often to do her few dishes the muggle way. She found it rather therapeutic, and it was one less thing for the poor House Elves to do.

"You're back early," Draco called, coming from the door of the bath to the right of the desks. His pale blonde hair looked almost like liquid silver as he ran his hands through the damp longer bits in the front. He wore a plain, long-sleeved white t-shirt and black sweatpants, clearly fresh from a shower. He circled around and sat in his chair, a smirk playing on his lips.

'Quite a muggle outfit...Gods, he looks good.' she mused, but quickly shoved the thought from her mind. "Yes, I am, I had to get out of the damned library," She replied with a small sigh, making her way across the room to her own desk. She flopped down in the plush wine-colored chair and kicked off her shoes under her desk.

"Too much Herbology homework for you, Granger?" He asked, laughter playing in his voice.

"No, I've been done with that for three days," she dismissed, waving her hand lazily. She sat up and tucked a foot under her, gathering a few forms from her desk drawer and willing herself to not glance up at him. "Do you have any incidents to write up today?" she asked, gesturing to her own before dipping her quill gently into her ink and starting on them.

He shook his head but leaned forward to try to peek at what she was writing. "What did you run into today?"

Hermione tossed her head back and laughed, setting her quill down and kicking back in her chair. Boy, did she had a story for him.

"So there I was,-"

"In the library." Draco finished for her, chuckling.

She scowled at him, but she was smiling. She knew that at least half of her stories started this way. "Yes, in the library."

"What did you run into today?" Draco asked, hoping she would sit and talk to him for a bit. His eyes drank in every lovely feature on her face. Her low bun had rogue curls slipping from the elastic, and several had escaped completely, framing her delicate face. Her warm whiskey eyes met his, sending his heart alive in his chest. A slow smile bloomed across her full, soft pink lips. She threw her head back against the chair, chuckling as she launched into her story of the sexually deviant Ravenclaws.

That sat together for an hour, talking and laughing about things that had happened during their days, what they had eaten and even shared a bit of gossip they had overheard. Eventually, Hermione began to yawn and told him goodnight, climbing out of her chair with a long stretch. He watched her disappear through the door of her room, shutting it softly behind her. His heart felt as though it had been fluttering non-stop since the moment that she had walked through the portrait. They were progressing in their- dare he say?- friendship. He was simply happy that they were even speaking to each other. For the first three weeks of school, she didn't speak a single word to him until he finally had an outburst.

/ They were sitting in silence, her quill steadily scratching at the paperwork she was filling out. She was so diligent, no matter what it was. He was supposed to also be filling out his Incident Reports, but he couldn't concentrate. His leg jiggled nervously as he observed her, meticulously filling out every detail. He watched her for a few more moments before he finally threw his hands up, "Bloody hell, speak to me, woman!"

She looked up at him and blinked her big, doe-eyes in shock. She leaned back, burning holes into him with her stare, her face entirely blank.

His heart raced and he blanched, "I-I'm so sorry, I didn't mean t-" He was cut off as a laugh bubbled out of Hermione. Her chuckle turned into true laughter, which turned into both of them howling, doubled-over. They laughed like this for a few moments before calming down a bit, each wiping tears from their eyes .

"Well, Malfoy," she said, laughter still dancing in her voice, "Now that you've gotten my attention, what the hell do you want to talk about so badly?"/

He chuckled at the memory, shaking his head as he made his way to his room. Hermione had changed a fair bit since the war. In school, she had always been prim, proper, rigid, some might even say snobbish. Of course, she was still strict with her studies, ready to prove how right she always was, and incredibly bossy, but she also was more down-to-earth, a bit more casual. She had started cursing a bit more, which always made Draco laugh. It was his personal opinion that maybe she had decided that there were just a couple things more important than being the absolute best at everything, although even without trying she undeniably was. Maybe for Hermione, being forgiving was more important. Maybe cherishing your loved ones was more important. Maybe simply living life in the moment, and being grateful for being alive at all, was more knew the his priorities had most certainly changed after the war. He didn't know exactly what it was that had clicked for Hermione Granger, but he did know that if anyone deserved to live the rest of their lives in a state of total bliss, it was her.

He slid into the cold covers and sighed, letting his exhaustion overtake him. All he could see as he slipped into his world of dreams were caramel colored eyes and peony pink lips.

Hermione tucked the loose bits of hair behind her ears as she moved to her closet, throwing on soft, blue pajama shorts and a ridiculously oversized t-shirt featuring one of her dad's all-time favorite bands, Pink Floyd.

She climbed into her bed and pulled the covers up around her chin. She felt exhausted but tossed and turned for over an hour. Her mind was racing. How could seeing two stupid fifth-years trying to get it on in public bring so many things bubbling to the surface? She thought of Ron, plowing into some girl he had met on the street like there was no tomorrow. The image was seared into her mind, the sound of flesh rapidly hitting flesh, how he didn't even stop when she walked through the door. She had been so angry in the beginning. Perhaps if it had been a celebrity, once in a lifetime shag. Or someone they knew from school that Ron at least knew and had a connection with, but the fact that he had discarded her for some random meaningless girl that stroked his ego? That had been the deepest hurt.

She also thought of how easy it had been for her to walk away from a relationship that she had longed for since she was 13. She knew the answer but couldn't dare bring herself to admit it. She had spent more and more time with Draco, at first to be civil but now it was simply because she adored being around him. He was incredibly intelligent, more than able to hold a conversation with her about a variety of subjects. He was deep, funny, and surprisingly sensitive. Sometimes she thought he was the complete antithesis of Ronald, and she thought maybe that was why she enjoyed Draco's company so much.

She chuckled to herself, thinking of his outburst not long after they had come back to Hogwarts. The day she had found out that Draco Malfoy was to be Head Boy, she had decided that she would be absolutely silent. She would not be the one to break first, she would not beg, nor expect Draco Malfoy to even acknowledge her existence. He had tried saying good morning, asking her about studies, even tried giving her a muffin he had taken from breakfast. She saw him getting antsy after the first week, the second he was clearly a bundle of nerves. By the third week, when he finally broke, he was a vibrating tangle of anxiousness in human form. But once he had finally broken the dam, and they had started speaking, it came oddly comfortably.

After the war, Draco had come to Harry on behalf of his Mother. He had asked Harry to find it in his heart to vouch for himself and Narcissa, for helping Harry in the Forbidden Forest. Draco had looked awful, his white hair dirty, face skeletal, clothes torn in places and clearly unwashed. His voice was weak, his eyes rimmed a bright red, as though he had spent days crying. He looked like a broken boy, the shell of a man. Draco offered to testify on Harry's side, at any of the numerous trials that had been scheduled to start any day. Harry had agreed with much reluctance, knowing that Lucius Malfoy was going to be one of the trials. Draco acknowledged that he would, indeed, testify against his own father if necessary, to save him and his mother. He scribbled down on a spare bit of parchment where he could be found by owl and had left in a hurry.

Hermione's heart had ached for him many times as she watched him testify at different trials. But none had prepared her for watching him testify against his own father.

/"Tell me, young Mr. Malfoy, at what age did your father start grooming you to be a follower of Lord Voldemort?" an old, plump wizard asked, scrunching his nose to lift his glasses further up his nose.

Draco shifted in his seat, a thousand sets of eyes boring into him. He looked like he had cleaned up for the trial, though he was missing the polish and grace that he had exuded through all of their years at Hogwarts. His silvery-white hair was clean, as were his clothes, but his face was still sunken, and his eyes did not glitter with malicious laughter, no smirk dancing across his face. He still looked scared, broken, defeated, just as he had that first night he had come to Harry.

"My entire life, really." Draco responded quietly to the Wizengamot. His voice betrayed any semblance of calm or bravery that anyone may have assumed he had. He cleared his throat and squared his shoulders, trying to make himself more appear more confident.

"What would you say were the key points he thought ought to be of utmost importance?"

Draco took a moment and drug in a deep breath before speaking, "Personally, I don't believe that anything he taught me to be of importance or value. However, he thought that blood purity, the Dark Lord, and bringing honor to the Malfoy name were the only things worth instilling in me."

"Honor to the Malfoy name, you say?" countered the round wizard. "What was it that your father considered bringing Honor to your family, Mr. Malfoy?"

"To be a Death Eater, and right hand to Voldemort himself," Draco replied evenly.

"When was the first time you witnessed a meeting of Death Eaters, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco shifted in his seat again, fear flickering across his face. "Perhaps around eight years old."

"And the first time you saw Lord Voldemort in person?"

"The summer after he had returned, I was 15. It was at Malfoy Manor." Draco was speaking with chilling calmness, but it was clear he was clenching his teeth.

"If it had not been for your father, do you feel as though you would have participated in these close relations with Voldemort?"

"Objection!" cried a pinched-faced, dark-haired witch towards the upper wing of the Wizengamot. "Relevance? Where is this line of questioning even go-"

"Order, order!" exclaimed the Chief Warlock, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I wish to hear where this is leading. Go on, Mr. Malfoy,"

Draco cleared his throat once more, before turning his eyes away from the Wizengamot, and settling on the caged man to his left, long white hair matted and dirty, restrained and silenced. His father was already staring at him, rage boiling in his icy eyes. "Absolutely not, in no way shape or form. I hated every moment of my life from the time I was 13, being forced to listen to sickening stories of the Dark Lord's previous reign and how important it was to get him back, being told that blood purity," Draco practically spat the words towards his father, his voice gaining a bit of strength, "meant we were above others, being beaten and shamed by this man, because I couldn't beat out the most brilliant girl in school."

Hermione felt her eyes start to burn with fresh tears. His father had beaten him because she was first in their year?

"Being told that I would have to take the Mark," his voice quivered now. Hermione's eyes shot to his face and saw tears slipping down his porcelain cheeks, "and carry out any and all orders that I was given. I was a child, being threatened with the death of myself and my family if I didn't kill the Headmaster that I had secretly admired since the first time I set foot in a school I loved, and was being told to destroy. I had to watch my mother beg you, " Draco was practically shouting now, his pale skin flushed, tears streaming down his cheeks. "She begged you to not allow that to happen to me, to your only child, your only son! You did it gladly. You're the coward!" Draco collapsed back in his chair, sobs wracking his body. A second sob filled the air. There was Narcissa Malfoy, hidden behind reporters and other various onlookers. She let out a wail and collapsed to the floor, murmuring words no body could understand. Herminone thought it sounded like was say "failure" over and over again into her handkerchief.

For a moment all that could be heard were the sounds of the two remaining Malfoys as their life shattered before them.

"No further questions," whispered the presiding wizard.

Hermione turned her eyes to the eldest Malfoy, who remained in his cage, silenced. His face was dry, not even a speck of remorse on his face./

Hermione's heart ached even more for Draco now. He had offered up so much information at all of the various trials, and had shown so much remorse, that he was acquitted of all charges, though he had volunteered to do community service. She feared for him, that the families of the Death Eaters he had exposed would come after him. But, she knew her fear was baseless, as most of the people still alive and out of Azkaban were not interested in causing more violence. Every that remained was a victim in some way. She was grateful that she knew Draco now. He was better. Still a smart-ass, egotistical git. But he was so much more than that as well.

She slid down into her covers and let sleep drift in her mind. One more day, and then she could see Harry in Hogsmeade.

Sooo that's chapter one! What do you guys think? Please let me know! 3

- DQ