It was a cold, rainy February day, and Hermione sat on the steps of the castle with tears streaming down her cheeks. The rain fell on her face, the droplets mixing with her tears and making it difficult to tell that she was crying. She continued to sit there, watching the rain and letting her tears flow, and some part of her heard footsteps coming up the corridor, though she didn't care enough to really notice. "Granger, what the bloody hell are you doing out here?" came a voice. "Can't you see it's pouring rain?" Hermione turned the moment she realized who it was.
"Draco," she sniffled. "I just- I-I need some time alone." She glanced up at him with her big brown eyes, trying the best she could to hide her worry and tears. Draco, however, managed to notice her tears, and sat down next to her on the steps.
"Hermione," he said softly, concern in his voice. "Why are you crying Hermione?"
"I'm not crying, Draco, my face is just wet from the rain," Hermione replied. She knew that he would see right through the lie, but she didn't care anymore.
"You're lying, Hermione, I know something is wrong. I'm not an idiot like Potter."
Hermione looked up at Draco and broke down completely. She fell sobbing into his arms. "I miss them so much, Draco, they didn't deserve this! I-I…" She stopped there, her sobs making it impossible to continue what she was saying.
Draco held her and stroked her hair, trying his best to comfort the weeping girl. "Shhh, Hermione, it's okay. Who do you miss? Fred? Tonks? Who is it, Hermione?" His voice was soft as he spoke, not wanting to upset her more. This didn't seem to work.
"Neither of them, Draco, my parents! I miss my parents!" she replied, and began to sob even harder. Draco was at a loss for words. He had no idea what had happened to Hermione's parents, so he was unsure of what to say.
"I don't understand. Did your parents die in the war?" He felt bad for having to ask, but he figured if he could discern why she was crying, then maybe he could comfort her.
"No, I placed a memory charm on them so they wouldn't know they had a daughter, or about the magical world! I was afraid they would be tortured and killed otherwise! I had to do it. For them. I just had to!" She stayed in Draco's arms as she continued to cry.
Draco once again didn't know what to say, so he just held her in his arms. He wanted to keep her safe, tell her it would all be okay, but he wasn't so sure that it would be. He wanted to love her, to be there for her, but right now she didn't need someone to love her. She only needed someone to hold her, and he would be that someone. He would do whatever he could for her.
Draco ran his hands through Hermione's curls, now drenched with rain. She had begun to shiver, which didn't surprise him, considering she wore only a zipped up, ragged, pink hooded jacket and a pair of jeans. He searched for the right words to say to her.
"Hermione," he said finally, "what were your parents like? Are you like them?" Hermione was a bit taken aback by his question and broke loose from his hold to sit up. She sat across from him now, looking him in his piercing gray eyes.
"Draco," she replied, "do you know the old saying, 'The apple doesn't fall far from the tree?'" When Draco nodded in response, Hermione continued. "That was true for me. People always told me I have my father's eyes and laugh, and my mother's personality and smile, and you know what Draco? I loved it. I loved being their daughter, because people knew who I was thanks to them. But now they're gone, and I don't know who I am anymore. What happens to the apple when there are no more trees?"
Draco didn't answer right away. He thought for what felt like hours, but was merely minutes, before finally responding with, "It grows up into a tree of its own. It becomes who it was meant to be, not the combination of two different people. Hermione you will always miss your parents, and you know they loved you very much, but you can't define yourself based on who they are or were. You are a beautiful, smart, talented witch, and there is someone out there who loves your laugh because it's yours, not because it's your father's. Someone who loves every quirk and detail because it's who you are."
Hermione scoffed through her tears. "I'm not so sure that anyone will ever love me like that," she said. "I'm not saying that to gain sympathy, I really feel like a nobody, and no one will ever love me for that."
Draco smiled as he looked at her. "Are you sure, Hermione?" he asked, and pulled her close to him, kissing her ever so softly on the lips. "Because I know that I do."