Yawning, Hermione lazily lifted a hand to cover her mouth as she quietly pottered about in the kitchen of the common room she shared with Malfoy. She hadn't slept well – nothing new – and woke early as a result. Muttering, the witch checked the time and noticed it was barely six in the morning. With an internal eye roll, Hermione ignored the kettle and went instead to the fridge. It was far too early to have a cup of tea, especially since the kettle boiling would wake up the Slytherin. As it was still summer, the natural light was beginning to stream in and Hermione was able to see well. She reached for the milk, deciding to have cereal. As she closed the fridge door, Hermione startled so badly she released the milk bottle.

"Shit!"

The bottle shattered on the stone ground, showering her bare feet with small shards of glass and milk. Flinching, Hermione jumped back, watching as small indents of blood seeped through minor cuts on her feet. She yelped as her upper arms were clenched almost roughly, her eyes shooting straight to the culprit's. He was silent as he lifted her up from the broken glass she'd stumbled back onto, placing the witch onto the counter table. Ignoring Hermione's raised eyebrow, and the questions in her eyes, Draco turned his back to her and muttered a spell, watching as the mess he'd incidentally created were swept up. When he turned back to Hermione, she was already attending to her feet, healing them. Draco couldn't help but sigh silently in relief. He didn't think he could handle touching her again, having her blood touching him. He already felt guilt for merely watching as she stepped into the glass in the first place, felt guilt for feeling hunger as her blood dripped to the floor.

"What're you doing up, Malfoy? I didn't hear you."

Draco didn't look at Hermione, as she thought he would, when she queried him. Instead he turned away, switching the kettle on. His familiarity with Muggle appliances surprised the witch. As Draco opened a cupboard door, pulling out two mugs, his jaw clenched and unclenched. His adam's apple bobbled, and it was a moment before he could reply. When he did, his voice was low and tight.

"I heard you. So I woke up. I didn't mean to disturb you."

Her feet healed, Hermione rubbed her thumb over the skin before dropping her legs to dangle from the counter. She had about given up on Malfoy replying when he surprised her once again. Her eyes narrowed on the side profile of his face, watching his throat. He had struggled to speak normally yesterday, and it seemed today was to be the same.

"Ah, I see. I'm sorry then, I tried to be quiet for you but clearly not well."

There was a small silence that was interrupted only by the kettle boiling. Draco turned slightly and looked at the older witch's face, his eyes cloaked.

"You know that wasn't it."

Hermione paused, before giving a small nod, conceding to his statement. She shouldn't have been surprised he heard her. She watched as he turned away from her – something that gave her the sensation of déjà vu, something she brushed off – and poured the water into both mugs. Her eyes dropped to his fingers, watching as he stirred and drained the tea bags. Before he could turn and ask her the question she was sure would be on the tip of his tongue, Hermione spoke up.

"I take two sweeteners and a bit of milk. Not milky though."

She watched the wizard give a curt nod, sliding from the counter to seat herself at the table in the room. From her 'observations', she could see that Draco was painfully polite. He'd bring her mug to her without a word. Frowning at the new aspect of the Slytherin's personality, Hermione wished she could be.. Well, Hermione. She wanted to grill him, force him to tell her everything. Everything to do with Dumbledore, Snape, McGonagall, Voldemort, Death Eaters, Greyback.. His mother. But it wasn't the time. She'd have to wait. But not for her tea, which was promptly planted in front of her. Hermione glanced up, but murmured her thanks to Malfoy's retreating back.

Reaching the kitchen counter, Draco picked up the new milk bottle and deposited it back into the fridge. Closing the door, he picked up his own tea – plain and black – and leant back, his hip bones uncomfortably jarring against the hard wood. He ignored the discomfort, blowing onto his tea. His eyes were on the witch, taking in her appearance this morning. Her hair was unruly, messily falling out of the bun Hermione must have put in last night. Her eyes were tired, faint smudges underneath. She'd not slept well. She still smelled of parchments and jasmine. Draco's eyes dropped from Hermione's face to her chest, reading the message on her loose t-shirt. Something obscure about bacon. He imagined it most likely belonged to her Muggle father as the shirt was too loose and ill fitting to have belonged to a woman. His eyes dropping lower, he saw that she wore a plaid baggy pyjama bottoms and her feet were bare. She looked normal. It was refreshing for him to see, even if it was Hermione Granger. But even with the normalcy, Draco could see that the witch sat at the table, sipping her tea, was different. And the thought reminded him of yesterday. Yes. She was harder. You could see it in her eyes.

She'd grown up too early, and seen things that seventeen year old girls should never have to see. It used to be once that by murmuring the word Mudblood, you'd have her bottom lip wobbling. He doubted she'd do the same now. And it wasn't just her personality, her attitude, that'd changed. He couldn't help it. Her body had changed. She'd lost weight. She was never plump, but she had been a young seventeen year old girl who was average. She'd also grown. He wasn't sure how he could tell, because she was still short. He guessed she was around 5'6 now, so maybe a couple inches worth of growth. She hadn't been curvy before, but with her weight lost, she had a more pronounced waist. When he'd touched her earlier, he could feel the muscles in her arms. She was fit, and he guessed that her naked body would be more athletic than soft. Thinking of Hermione naked, Draco's cheeks flushed slightly before he continued with his thoughts. He'd say her breasts had filled out more too, but overall, not that much of a change physically. It was more of.. Sense. Hermione Granger wasn't the same person as she was a year ago. But then, he didn't think anyone was.

Dropping his eyes to his mug, he gulped down the hot liquid. Letting out a breath, he placed it in the sink to be washed later. As he went to leave the room, he paused by the table for an instant. When the witch looked up at him, Draco avoided her eyes and simply left.

Hermione watched as the wizard stepped into his room, closing the door behind him. Mere minutes later, she heard the shower switching on. Wrapping her hands around the still hot mug, the brunette thought of Malfoy. She was completely aware that he thoroughly checked her out, but it had felt so clinical, she hadn't felt flattered. Or uncomfortable. It had just been an odd sensation. And she'd checked him out as well, so it was fair all the way around. Tit for tat, as her father would say. Remembering the phrases, Hermione smiled faintly. It wasn't a happy smile. Forcibly shaking the thought from her mind, she instead focused on Malfoy. He'd been wearing plain black cotton sweat pants, and a worn grey t-shirt. They didn't look like he slept in them, however, and Hermione gathered that he slept either in his underwear or in the nude. With his new politeness, she would have placed her bets that he slept in his pants. How odd it was that he wore cotton. It didn't even look expensive. Hearing the whine of the shower being switched off, Hermione finished off her tea and popped it into the sink beside Malfoy's mug and headed off to her room. She'd have a shower, and knuckle down on her coursework. Checking the time once again, she noticed it was only six thirty am. She still had plenty of time to spare, time that would be going into her education. It wasn't like Malfoy was going to cause havoc anyways.

Her quill flicking as she completed the final sentence, Hermione set it aside and scanned the essay she'd just finished for her Potions class. Snape was no longer a teacher of Hogwarts, but that didn't mean she could relax. His replacement was just as dedicated to his position, professional and hardworking. Hermione liked that – she needed to be tasked to stop her brain overloading with everything else. Satisfied with herself on the essay, the young witch blew on the ink lightly and rolled the parchment once the ink was dry, tying it with a thin piece of ribbon before slipping it into her messenger school bag. Hearing movements, Hermione checked the time and found it to be seven thirty three am. The Halls would be open now, for breakfast. Did she want to go down? She still hadn't spoken to Ron, Ginny, her other friends yet – the past couple of days had been so busy with the classes. And with Malfoy.

Her shoulders tensed up as she automatically thought to the fight with Harry, and she scowled. When would she get past that? Forcing herself to relax, the brunette walked over to her chest and opened it, surveying her clothes. Though she could be more relaxed in her clothes choice, Hermione wanted to look like she was a student. She wanted to fit in. This would be her last year of doing so.

Stripping off her pyjama bottoms and her dad's t-shirt, Hermione unceremoniously shoved them under her pillows without folding before striding back to the open chest. Despite being clad in only her simple cotton knickers and bra, Hermione held no sign of inhibition. Her summer had been spent with Ron and Harry, running from here to there, being forced to think of nothing but survival. It had changed the way she thought, the way she felt, the way she viewed the world. She wasn't ashamed of her body, toned from her excursions. If anything, she was proud. It proved that she wasn't just there to be a book to the 'Chosen One' and his 'sidekick'. She worked damn hard, harder than her two best friends, and her body was proof.

The moment Dumbledore had died, Hermione was forced to change. She had to become a rock for so many people. Harry, Ron, Hagrid.. McGonagall. She grew a second skin that seemed to have settled on her permanently, forced her brain to go blank to prevent herself from going crazy with the things she'd seen. She shed her fear of the unknown, and forced herself to walk through life with confidence until it felt natural. She wasn't a seventeen year old girl who'd stay a step behind Harry, stepping forward only to help him, forced to be content staying in his shadow. She was responsible for her own future, and she wasn't going to give anyone else a chance to take it from her. Pushed by her internal pep talk, Hermione was determined to make the day a good one. She'd go to the Halls, sit with her friends and have a conversation. She wasn't going to let Harry ruin this for her.

Bending at the waist, ignoring her back's complaint, the witch pulled out an assortment of clothes and dumped them on the bed. Picking up a pleated charcoal skirt, she stepped into it and pulled it up her slender legs, buttoning it at her waist. Twisting it so it sat on her right, she smoothed the material and tugged slightly so it'd cover her knees. Picking up a white blouse, Hermione muttered at the crease. Usually she'd iron it out, but she didn't have the patience today. Muttering a small charm, she watched as the heavy creases magically disappeared and smiled. She loved magic sometimes. Slipping into the material, she buttoned it from bottom to top, only leaving the top two free. It didn't reveal anything but her neck, so she had nothing to worry about. Picking up her Gryffindor tie, she looped it around her neck and efficiently tied it. Running her thumb over the material, Hermione once again curved her lips into a small smile. She had always loved the colours, red and gold. Strong and vibrant. Dropping her hand, she picked up a dark grey sweater, pulling the v-neck gap over her head. Tucking her tie underneath, Hermione smoothed it over her body. It was a bit too loose on her now. Tonight, she'd have to remember to resize everything to be more form fitting.

Planting her rump on her bed, the witch slipped her feet into natural coloured tights, standing to pull the thin material over her hips. Sliding her feet into her plain black Mary Jane shoes, Hermione wriggled to get it to fit properly before standing in front of her body length mirror to check out her appearance. She looked.. Acceptable.

Except for her hair. Her brows creased as her eyes roved over her barnet critically. Pulling it out of the messy bun she'd put in last night, Hermione muttered as she realized she'd forgotten to shower. She was clean, so it wasn't a hygiene issue. It was just her hair. It was wild, like a lion's mane. Her only consolation was that as she'd grown in the summer, her hair had changed. It wasn't as bushy or coarse as it used to be. It was smoother now, and ended naturally in ringlet-like curls. Running her hands through her hair, Hermione fluffed it up to be bouncy, shaking her head to free some curls. Brushing aside her now too long fringe, the witch muttered and watched as it was trimmed. Now you could see her eyebrows. She used to be embarrassed of them. They'd been almost as bushy as her hair. As an early birthday gift, Molly Weasley had treated her to a make-over – and this had included her eyebrows. Hermione was glad she had conceded to the older witch, because she had to admit that she looked much better for it. Her eyebrows were delicately arched, drawing attention to her big eyes and cheekbones. At the time, she had felt ashamed over her vanity. But now, she revelled in it. She'd be bloody proud of her appearance if she wanted to!

With a small laugh, Hermione turned away and picked up her school bag.

Entering the Halls, Hermione ignored the brief pause of conversation and strode to over to Gryffindor table. She smiled as numerous people called out their greetings, lifting her fingers to wave lightly at some. She could see two redheads sitting opposite each other, the colour of their hair varying. They seemed to be in an intense conversation – they hadn't noticed her yet. Stepping over the bench, Hermione sat down beside the male Weasley and popped her bag under her legs.

"Morning."

Both Ron and Ginny Weasley shut up immediately, turning their gaze to her. The female Weasley forced a smile to her lips as she murmured a greeting in response. Ron, however, didn't bother with the pleasantries.

"Merlin! When did you get here?"

Hermione raised an eyebrow as she reached out, picking a piece of toast.

"Just now, Ronald."

Ron flushed, flashing a look at Ginny. The silence was getting awkward now, and Hermione rolled her eyes, ignoring the Weasleys' surprised looks. They still couldn't get completely used to their friend's change. Ginny spoke up, her voice soft.

"We were just speaking about.. Quidditch. I'm going to apply to be on the team. Ron doesn't think it's a good idea –"

"Of course it's not a bloody good idea-!"

"Ron! Katie Bell, Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet are on the team. And I know Demelza Robins is thinking about applying as well. So don't you dare say girls can't do it. I can do it, and you know it!"

Hermione smiled as Ginny cut off Ron, pushing onto him her side of the argument they've clearly had before. Switching her eyes from Ron's scowl to Ginny's determined expression, Hermione's smile faded. The younger girl was no longer shy, and she knew that Molly's hair was going grey prematurely over stress. Ginny knew her own mind already, and from what Hermione read in her letters, she wasn't letting anyone try to change it. It made Hermione both proud and sad as she watched the girl animatedly argue with her brother. Hearing Ron growl, Hermione laid her palm onto his thigh and turned to face him, speaking when he went silent.

"Ronald, you won't change her mind. You know better than anyone just how capable Ginny is."

After a moment's silence, Ron sulked. Ginny's face broke into a vibrant smile, flashing Hermione a thankful look. Hermione couldn't help but smile back, pleased that her opinion still mattered to the Weasleys. With a small sigh, Hermione brought up the one person she was sure they were actually talking about before she walked in.

"So.. Where's Harry?"

The following silence proved her right. They knew. Having finished her toast, Hermione stood up, her bag on her shoulders.

"I thought so. I'll see you guys around."

As Hermione walked away, she couldn't help but let her mind linger on Ginny's expression. She'd looked away from her, an unreadable expression in her eyes. What had that look meant? Hearing her name, the witch turned her head and stilled, waiting for Ron to catch up with her. Once he was alongside her, Hermione stepped forward, forcing the redhead to follow her pace. They were silent for several minutes before Ron stopped, his fingers gripping her wrist. Glancing around, he found the hallway empty.

"Mione, are you sure?"

She knew what he was referring to – how could she not? – and gave a short nod. He didn't know the real reason, and like with Harry, she wasn't going to tell him. When the wizard sighed, his eyes roving over the witch's face, Hermione returned the look. He'd shot up over the summer. Taller than Harry, Ronald Weasley was about 5'10. His hair was shaggy, and Ron had developed a habit of raking his hair back from his face – it reminded her of Harry. The colour had darkened, going from almost carrot-like to near auburn. It was close to Ginny's current colour, dark auburn. The Weasley freckles were prominent on Ron's face – heavier after their summer, exposed to the sun. Like her, he'd lost weight. Like her, his body was athletic. He was wiry, his skin hardened from exposure. The only thing that hadn't changed were his eyes. Though clouded, they still held optimism. They gave Hermione hope. Her expression softened, and she lifted her hand, palming his cheek. Ron turned his head slightly, pressing a kiss against the inside of her hand. With a sigh, Hermione stepped closer and spoke quietly, intimately.

"It was the right thing to do, Ronald."

"You're not going to tell me, are you?"

"No, I'm not."

With a small nod, Ron stepped back. He opened his mouth as though he were going to say something further but closed it. With a shrug, the Weasley forced a smile to his lips as he lifted a hand to his best friend's shoulder. He squeezed lightly, before he turned away. The gesture almost brought tears to her eyes. Her relationship with Ron had changed, and this time, it was his choice. As she watched his retreating back, Hermione couldn't help but speak out.

"I still love you, you know."

She watched as the tall wizard turned his head, flashing an open smile in her direction. As she heard his quiet response, Hermione's lips curved, a bittersweet smile, and she turned away to head toward her first class.

"I love you too."

Thank you very much for reading :)

Beccorsola XxX