DISCLAIMER:

I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER OR ANY OF THE CHARACTERS NOR DO I MAKE ANY MONEY FROM THIS STORY

Hey guys, I'm trying to stay on my posting schedule, so hopefully this chapter gets up on Sunday. If not, well, I tried. Okay chapter two, here we go!

Also, REALLY sorry if the narration flips from third to first person at any point. Still looking for a beta, so things will be a bit rocky for the first few chapters.

Okay, love you guys, here's the chapter.

What an interesting creature, Draco mused as he watched Hermione sway through the Great Hall doors. He wondered to himself if she had maybe caught him staring. She hasn't noticed in the last seven, eight years. Why start now?

Oh, yes. Draco had been watching the fiery Gryffindor since they were children. He as endlessly fascinated with her. Fighting literally to the death for what she believed in, yet sickeningly empathetic and compassionate. An insufferable know-it-all, yet she couldn't see past the end of her nose sometimes. She was a walking contradiction, and he couldn't bear to tear himself away. Even through the war, he had studied her from afar. Her echoing laughter, her bouncing curls, her honey-colored eyes were all that kept him sane through his "mission" from Voldemort. He was absolutely smitten.

Draco pushed away from the table, and left the Great Hall with the last of the stragglers, a grim scowl on his face as a warning to stay away. He slipped through cracks in the crowd, his lean figure slithering along the halls as the Slytherin Prince should. He arrived to class a bit early, or maybe the professor is running late this morning. Either way he settled into his desk, and enjoyed the few minutes he had by staring out the window. It was an uncommonly nice day, for Scotland in September. The sun was shining brightly, filtering through the branches of the trees and casting happy shadows about the classroom.

Draco found himself perplexed by his post-War predicament. He still wasn't quite sure how he hadn't ended up locked in Azkaban alongside his father. Perhaps they took pity on him, thinking it was just his father poisoning him with these ideals, that he was just a child, after all. They would be right. Without the constant stress for perfection (as much as any Dark wizard was perfect), without the incessant pressure, he finally felt that he could be himself. Sure, he wanted to be himself, but how? How would he walk the halls? What would he do if he wasn't scowling and snarling at every passing student? Who would he be if he weren't the arrogant, entitled, self-absorbed Malfoy he had always been? He thought a certain bushy-haired girl might have an answer, as she does for everything…

A sharp voice cut through his thoughts,

"Care to join us, Mister Malfoy? Or shall I mark you as absent?"

"My apologies, Professor Vector, won't happen again." He mumbled sheepishly, pulling out a roll of parchment and a quill.

"I would hope not," Professor Vector replied tersely, and returned to her lesson.

But Draco's thoughts still lingered outside the window, and he left class with a clean sheet of parchment.

Draco sat hidden in the Great Hall for lunch. He wanted to watch her again. Wanted to try to sort out his feeling by tracing the features of her face, by eyeing the lines of her body, studying her movements. He never had any plans to talk to her. No, a confrontation simply wouldn't do.

Even so, Draco found himself shuffling towards her when she swept in. What amazed him was not the involuntary moving of his body, but the strange knot of fear that had settled into his gut. Draco Malfoy, Slytherin Prince, resident playboy, was intimidated by a girl. How preposterous. It was absolutely laughable. In spite of his convictions, his heart hammered in his chest as he neared her. By the time she was close enough to touch, his palms were sweaty and he could feel his face flushing a most shameful shade of pink, but he tapped her shoulder anyways.

She turned to him with no lack of shock and awe illustrated on her face. His tongue suddenly felt too large. His head became filled with a buzzing static that made his ears ring. And he just knew that he was staring at her like a slack-jawed Neanderthal.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" She was irritated, he could tell by the way she spat out his name, as if was a boogie flavored Bertie Bott. His brow furrowed. What did he want? Why had he walked over here?

His mouth worked furiously, trying to find some kind of excuse.

"I, er…Uh, I wanted to…talk to you? For a moment?" Oh, Gods, now you've done it. Now you really do have to talk to her. Nice job, you fucking dolt.

Hermione had been caught off guard, what could Malfoy possibly have to say to me?, and was only a little frightened of what this could mean. Should she speak with him? He had tormented her for years. And now he stands in front of her, looking sincere, and a bit frightened himself, asking to talk to her?

"I…I s'pose we could step into the hall…for a moment…"

Draco fought a grin, and an ugly bubble of hope, as he followed her out. She's going to talk to me! I can't believe that she would talk to me. Alone, even! Oh, shit, what am I going to say?

They found a quiet alcove, away from any prying eyes, and Hermione spun to face him, her moth set in a defiant little line. Draco had to admit, it was adorable.

"Well, what did you want?"

He flushed, and stumbled over his words as he tried to find them.

"Well, I, uh, wanted to apologize?"

He saw her eyes soften just a smidge, and took this as encouragement.

"Yeah, I wanted to apologize for being such a prat all these years. You didn't deserve it, and I was so twisted up in my father's beliefs, and trying to impress him, I wasn't sure of who I was or who I wanted to be. I'm still not very sure."

That last bit of honesty surprised even Draco, and he could practically feel the pity rolling off of her. It was shining in her eyes, and she couldn't help it even if she wanted. Malfoy, Draco Malfoy, was standing in front of her, being honest, being sweet, being sincere. He was apologizing! What am I supposed to say? Should I accept his apology? But if I do, how do I know that this isn't a set-up for some cruel joke? Best to do this graciously, then.

"Well, while I appreciate your candor, Malfoy, I don't think I can forgive you so easily. You can't honestly expect me to take anything you say seriously?"

Ouch, that stung, he thought, but he had to concede with her on that point.

"I can't say I blame you. But I can almost guarantee this will be the quietest year between us yet."

Her reply was only a breathy "I hope so" before she turned and walked away.

But something inside of him told Draco that this year would be anything but quiet.

The rest of the day was fairly normal. Nothing exciting happened during dinner, although Draco couldn't seem to tear his eyes off of Hermione, and he trudged to his dorm with a strange mixture of feelings fighting in his chest. I shouldn't be so hypnotized by her. Wait, why? What's stopping you? Her blood status? As if that matters anymore. Your father isn't around to beat you for it, Aunt Bella won't even see the light of day for the rest of her life. There's literally nothing standing in your way. So what are you fighting?

Even worse than the confusion he was facing, was the inherent shame he felt for being attracted to her. He had tormented her through all their years at school, made fun of her in the dungeons with Crabbe and Goyle, he had even told his father about her and her infuriating ways. For years, he had been dead-set on hating her, and making her life as miserable as all Mudbloods had made his. But now, now he knew the truth. Her blood meant nothing. It ran through her veins just like his, and he had learned that fateful night with his Aunt that it was just as red as his own. Maybe the source of his shame was knowing that even when his father beat him, yelling all manner of filth about Mudbloods, he didn't hate her. It was residual shame, physically beaten into his core. And there was no reversing that.

Draco climbed into bed, and stared at the ceiling into the early hours of the morning, thinking of Hermione and all her witchy ways.

Hermione woke the next morning, feeling refreshed and still perturbed by yesterday's events. It was perfectly understandable, when someone like Malfoy apologized to someone like her. But it left her with an unending feeling of doubt and confusion, not to mention the questions. Oh, Gods, the questions. Did he really mean it? I wonder how hes going to change now that his father isn't around. Do you think he'll try to be friends with me? Why does the thought of that make my heart beat so fast? I'm not interested in Malfoy. Can't be. No, no possible way. Although, he is incredibly attractive. Oh, stop it! He's a total arse! He treats you like mud on the bottom of his expensively hemmed pants. Yeah, but it might be different this year. He said so himself. Without his father around, maybe…Maybe? Maybe WHAT?! Maybe you could date him? You'd love that wouldn't you, you traitor. Traitor? Me? Who, or rather what, would I be betraying? It's not like Harry and Ron are here to hassle him, or me for that matter. This is my last year at Hogwarts. My last year to make an impression. Well, then, damn it, I'm going to make an impression. One that won't be forgotten soon.

And just like that, Hermione Granger decided that she no longer wanted to be Hermione Granger. Things were going to start changing, and what better place to start than her hair? She stared in the mirror for a long minute, before raising her wand, and magically shearing her bushy curls off at the shoulder. A thinning spell here, and a quick brush there, and she barely even recognized herself. There, that's a nice start. What once was an unruly mass, now resembled actual hair. Hermione had to stare at herself for a moment, she touched the ends gingerly, as if trying to make sure it was real. After a few incredulous blinks, she shrugged off the initial shock and was quite happy with it.

Taking a second glance at her uniform, she thought, go big or go home, and started in. She rolled up her sleeves to the elbow, unbuttoned the top three buttons, pulled her skirt up a bit so it seemed more high-waisted and showed more leg, and forewent her sweater entirely. She did a small turn in the mirror, and let the anxiety set in. She had never shown so much skin before, or at least, not at Hogwarts. And especially not after the war. She could see the scars that striped her legs, the long thin lines that were lighter than the rest of her skin. Her face hardened as she lazily traced one at the top of her thigh. I refuse to continue to let my past dictate my future. I am not sorry for who I am, and I certainly don't pity myself for what I went through. These scars are scars of courage, of strength, and sacrifice. They may define my character, but they will NOT define my life. She very resolutely nodded to herself, and slipped into her school robe, leaving it open of course, and defiantly stomped off towards breakfast.

Okay, things are picking up a bit now, plot-wise. I hope you guys all enjoyed the new chapter. Please please R&R it makes me a better writer.

As for my posting schedule, its all weekends. Any new chapter will be posted Fri-Sun, even if the chapter is done on Tuesday, it wont be posted until Friday. This is mostly because my fiance is on Steam for most of the night, which, as any writer knows, is the best time for inspiration to strike. That and I need ample time to make sure that I feel the chapter has a finished feel to it, but I like them to end at a natural point, and sometimes that means writing more, sometimes it means editing the chapter I already have written. Either way, all updates are on weekends.

Ok I really don't have much more to add.

Have a good weekend, readers!

STILL LOOKING FOR A BETA, PM IF YOU'RE INTERESTED