This is a new fan fiction I decided to write tonight. I have a basic plot figured out, but chances are it will probably change somewhere down the road. I was really unsuccessful with my other stories and never finished them. But I am determined to finish this one, no matter how long it takes. Basically this is a story about Draco and Hermione, both of whom share a common mourning, though they do not know it. They meet one fateful night and their whole lives are turned upside down, when they end up confiding in each other, things that even their closest friends don't know about them. I hope you enjoy it and I hope you all review it.

Disclaimer; I own nothing to do with the harry potter stories, only J.K Rowling owns them and I will love her forever for bringing him into my life.

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Foreword

Draco Malfoy. In many people's eyes he has basically one level and that level is extremely shallow. On the outside he appears to value his looks, his money and his status above all else. He seems at his best when he is surrounded by beautiful girls and being admired for his infamy. He is arrogant and proud and enemy to the boy-who-lived and anyone associated with him.

Hermione Granger. A typical bookworm. She is friends to the most popular boy in school, Harry Potter, yet she has never let this go to her head. In fact she hates even the miniscule amount of attention that being associated to the boy-who-lived brings her. She prefers being by herself with only the company of a good book.

Chapter 1

Draco Malfoy stared into his bedroom mirror. It was silver and had a frame that had been wrought into the shape of a serpent. It was a typical slytherin item, designed to tell people that he was part of the dark arts house and proud of it. He examined his reflection. He was handsome and knew it, his sleek; ice blonde hair gelled perfectly back off his pointed face and his silver eyes twinkling with arrogance and pride. In his opinion – and nearly every girl in the schools - he was the best looking lad at Hogwarts.

It was eight o'clock in the morning and he was getting ready to go to breakfast, all he had to do was sling on his coat, brush his teeth and he would be ready to leave. Reluctantly – for he adored looking at himself – he turned away from the mirror, and picked his leather jacket up off the bed. It had an emerald green trim to it, for although he was permitted to wear non-school uniform – being in seventh year – he still wanted the world to know that he was a Slytherin, not that anyone needed reminding. He was – with the obvious exception of the dark lord himself – the most infamous Slytherin there had ever been. He slung the jacket on and walked into his own, private, bathroom. He loved being a seventh year. It meant that he was head boy and got his own private bedroom and bathroom. He had loathed having to share with four other boys for the past six years. He did his teeth, took one last glance in the mirror and left his room.

The head boy and girl got their own private quarters. He was the head boy- obviously – and the head girl – much to his disgust – was the Gryffindor mudblood, Hermione Granger. He loathed everything about her, from her filthy blood, to her weird friendships with the blood traitor Ron Weasley and the brat-who-lived Harry Potter. He had to admit that he hardly ever saw Hermione, for when she was in their own private flat – for that was what it really was – she usually kept herself locked in her room. But he still hated the fact that she was so near to him.

The head boy and girl got the best rooms in the castle – apart from the teachers. It was like a two bedroom flat, with a living room, a small kitchen – though this was hardly ever used, as they usually ate in the great hall with everyone else – a decent sized bedroom each, and their own little bathrooms. It was set at the top of a tower, overlooking the black lake and it was the only reason that any of the students ever wanted to become head boy or girl.

Draco glanced casually over at Hermione's bedroom door as he walked through the living room, but he knew better that to expect her to be in there. She was a very weird girl and got up at five every morning to go and do a few hours studying in the library before breakfast. He had made the mistake of questioning her bizarre morning routine in their first week of being head boy and girl. He had asked her if she was alright in the head, after he she had woken him up by tripping over her own feet, when she had been leaving one morning. He had got up to see what she was doing and found her, fully dressed with an armful of books in her hands, making her way out of the portrait hole. He regretted questioning her immediately, because – as he soon learnt – Hermione was not a morning person, though she still insisted on forcing herself up, and in a bad morning mood, she had thrown a very heavy encyclopedia of toadstools at him, which missed him by inches, but put a large dent in the wall next to him. After that he left her to her strange routines and tried to go back to sleep whenever she tripped over outside his door or dropped one of her brick sized books on her own foot. For there was something else about Hermione that he had never noticed before - never having had such close contact with her – which was that she was extremely clumsy.

Draco pushed open the portrait and stepped out into the hall. He made his way down the tower steps until he came out into a corridor. He strutted along it, loving the admiring glances he got from every girl he passed and eventually came to the great hall. It was already packed full of students eating breakfast and chatting happily together. He walked proudly over to the Slytherin table, and was greeted enthusiastically by everyone there. He sat down next to Pansy Parkinson, who immediately dropped her knife and fork, which she was using to eat her bacon and eggs and turned to face him, her pug-like face beaming.

"Morning, Draco," she purred, eyeing him up and down, "Did you sleep well?"

Malfoy grinned. He knew that Pansy fancied the pants off him and he loved it. He would never lower himself enough to go out with her, but he adored teasing her, giving her false hope every now and again that she might stand a chance with someone as brilliant as himself.

"I slept brilliantly, Pans," he said, his voice silky. He saw her melt when he used her nickname, "And you?"

"Great," she said quickly, gathering herself, "The hail was a bit noisy, but I fell asleep in the end."

Malfoy smiled, though he really couldn't care less if she didn't get a wink of sleep. He pulled a bowl towards him and filled it was porridge, pouring a generous amount of maple syrup onto it and tucking in.

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Hermione was late. She knew she was. She had fallen asleep in the library and had only just woken up. If she wanted to make it to the great hall in time to get some breakfast, she would have to run. She sprinted down the hall, skidding around the last corner, just in time to collide with Ron and Harry who were just leaving the hall.

"Hermione," Harry gasped, grabbing her before she hit the floor, "Are you alright?"

"Fine," she panted, holding the stitch in her side, "Sorry."

"What happened to you? We saved you a place at breakfast, but you never showed up," demanded Ron, eyeing her with unflattering eagerness.

Hermione groaned quietly under her breath. She knew perfectly well that Ron had a thing for her, but the times when she had liked him back had long gone. She didn't want to become the next Lavender, thrashing around with Ron in public with everyone staring; she had higher standards than that.

"Sorry," she said again, "I fell asleep in the library. Have I missed breakfast?"

"Yes," said Harry, "But we saved you some," he produced two pieces of jammy toast out of nowhere.

"Thanks," said Hermione greatfully, taking the pieces and taking a large bite.

"Careful Granger, you don't want to make that backside any bigger."

Hermione spun around. Draco Malfoy was leaning in the Great Hall doorway, looking smugly at her.

"Shut up, Malfoy," said Ron fiercely, "Hermione has a fantastic figure."

"Yeah, for an elephant," sneered Malfoy, reveling in the hurt expression on Hermione's face.

"Grow up," she snapped, turning around and stalking off, her face burning with embarrassment. She loathed him, she absolutely loathed him. From his smug face to his foul attitude. She could hear him sniggering until she turned the corner and strode off, Harry and Ron jogging along behind her; struggling to keep up with her brisk march. They caught up with her when they reached their first class of the day; transfiguration. They tried to engage her in conversation, telling her that she needed to just ignore Malfoy and that he was a nasty piece of work who just needed a good slap. But she refused to be engaged and stood in silence, her face like thunder, until they were called into the lesson.

When Professor McGonagall started talking, Hermione's mind was a million miles away. She knew she shouldn't have given Malfoy the satisfaction of getting to her like that, but she knew why he had. Everything had been a hundred times harder since she had come back from Australia at the end of the summer holidays. She had told no one that she was going, not even Ron or Harry, and she had told no one what had transpired there, and she had no plans to. She didn't want anyone to know, because if she spoke it aloud then it was make it true and unchangeable, but if she never spoke about it, then she could just about convince herself that it wasn't true and that everything was fine; for she could not bring herself to accept that her parents really were dead.

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So that was the first chapter. It does get better, I promise. Please review and I'll update tomorrow evening if I've finished by then. Please review and I hope you enjoyed it.

XXX