I want all that is not mine, I want him, but we're not right.
The first time Hermione realizes that there might be something more to Draco Malfoy, she is lying on the floor of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, surrounded by Amycus and Alecto Carrow.
"Draco," Alecto looked to her right, smiling at the blond boy in black, "Teach this mudblood a lesson." Alecto looked to her brother, "I really have no clue as to why Headmaster Snape wanted her to be head girl, there are plenty of pure girls who would be much better at the job, if you ask me. But of course, no one ever asks me."
Draco took a shaky breath, that's the first thing Hermione noticed as he walked to stand over her, each leg on one side of her shaking abdomen. He crouched down, sneering in her face, but she saw something else in the slits of silver that were his eyes. He brought his lips to her ear, "I'm sorry."
He pulled back a bit farther, speaking louder, for the sake of the Carrow siblings, "I can't believe this is finally happening. After all these years I will finally show Granger where she belongs." The first spell that hit her smacked her like a train, collapsing her lungs and never letting up on the squeeze. Her eyes slammed shut and her back arched. She would have cried had there been enough air in her lungs.
The spell stopped, but the pain did not.
She tried to breath.
She couldn't.
"Now, now, Draco," Amycus circled around the pair of students on the ground, "You're not done, are you?"
Draco lowered himself down again, hiding the wince that he knew was inevitable, "Of course not, Professor."
Another spell.
This time the pain washed over Hermione and she could cry. She felt the bones in her face being crushed, blood popping to the surface and showing as bruises. She felt her ankle twist and twist and twist until it finally broke. She turned her head to the side, allowing bile to flow through her lips slowly, as though any more effort and she would have produced her stomach.
Draco stopped the spell and stood up. As an afterthought he turned his head as he walked away and spat on Hermione's crippled figure, "Mudblood."
Hermione lowered herself into the bathtub as gently as she could. The water was scalding and, had she been in better shape, she would have shot out of the boiling heat. Instead she gritted her teeth and fought through the sting and stabs.
She wanted to cry, to scream, to shout. But she knew the importance of her post at Hogwarts. If all three of the trio were gone, they would be blind when, and if, they had to infiltrate.
The three friends knew that Hermione would be a main target, but it was better than sending Ron or Harry in. Hermione subdued herself to martyrdom.
When the water had run cold and her eyes had run dry, Hermione pulled herself up, wincing as her newly healed ankle touched the floor.
A hand snaked around her waist. Any touch felt like heaven. She pushed back into the strong, sturdy pillar of muscle behind her. She laid her head back on his chest. He didn't say a thing and neither did she.
This had been happening for the past two months since the term had started.
Neither of them would talk as they held each other, caressed one another, kissed and touched. Words didn't need to be said. They both knew what they were there for.
Love, even if it was love manufactured from lust.
Every time she turned to face him, he'd push her curls out of her face and outline her jaw. He could never get over the beauty of brown eyes. And she could never get over the touch that was so gentle. She'd grab his hands and look down at them and wonder how they had done such horrible things.
Tonight was different, though.
"Today," Draco whispered against her cheek, pulling her into an embrace that she'd never experienced before, "Today..it was-."
"You don't have to explain."
"But, 'Mione,"
The breath was sucked out of her lungs. Never before had he used her name, let alone a nickname. She bit her tongue, pushing back into him, pulling at his shirt in an attempt to bring him closer, to meld his body into hers.
Draco got the message. He didn't need to speak anymore.
The kisses were soft, passionate, not as hungry as the usual pulls and tugs and ripping of clothes.
It was different.
And that was when Hermione knew, in her heart of hearts, that Draco Malfoy wasn't a murderer. He wasn't the sly, deadly man he showed to everyone. It was then that Hermione truly saw the blond for what he was; a scared little boy looking for comfort in a world full of cold marble.
The war was over. The Order was triumphant. And Draco Malfoy was dead.
And even though Hermione's heart was still beating and her lungs were still pulling in air, she was just as dead. She smiled, held Ron's hand, made love to him like she was expected. But it was never the same as it had been with the boy she never knew she loved.