DISCLAIMER- I don't own Harry Potter, if I did I wouldn't be writing this.

I found it hard to figure out whose POV to do this from, eventually deciding on Draco, but I couldn't resist putting in a bit of Hermione at the start!

Hermione

I glanced nervously at the clock. It was 5.45. My brain whirred, deliberating whether or not to go and meet Malfoy. Could it be some kind of sick scheme? I didn't think so, for he had asked me to meet him in a very open public area, at a time when the Quidditch pitches would be surrounded by students. But then again...

Ten minutes to six. If I was going to go I would have to decide now. Irrationally, I decided to flip a coin. This is so not like me, I thought, I don't use coins to make decisions like this.

I pulled a sickle out of my pocket and flipped it, feeling stupid.

Heads I go, tails I stay.

I carefully moved my hand to reveal tails facing up. I gave a sigh of relief and sat down on the huge four poster bed. The ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner seemed deafening. Five minutes to six. Four minutes to six. I thought of Malfoy, waiting for no-one. It would be rude not to at least show up. I could defend myself if it was a trick. I had punched him before and could easily do it again, not to mention the number of defensive spells I knew. I shoved my wand in my pocket and hurried towards the pitches.

Draco

I glanced at my watch. It was quite an attractive watch, a family heirloom with a black leather strap and a solid gold rim around the face which was covered by crystal rather than glass.

Six O'Clock. Would she come? What would I even say to her if she did?

Before I could come up with a solution, she suddenly appeared before me.

"Well," she said awkwardly, seeming a little out of breath, as if she had rushed, "Here I am".

"Yeah, you came," I replied, sounding even more ill at ease, "Do you mind going somewhere a little... quieter to talk?"

She looked at me warily and, after deliberation, nodded.

I walked to a small area of grass that was covered in flowers and concealed by a cluster of evergreen trees. She followed in silence and copied my actions when I sat down cross-legged.

She looked at me with unease, twisting a branch in her hand, while I tried to think of something semi-appropriate to say. It felt so weird, sitting here alone with a mudblood and not hating her guts.

"Why didn't you fight with me earlier?" I finally blurted out.

"Er- well I-" Hermione stuttered, blushing, "I'd really rather not say, it could abruptly end this bizarre politeness of yours."

I had to smile at the last part. Even I was confused by my emotions; I didn't quite know how to act. I was usually so sure of myself.

"Just spit it out, "I encouraged, trying to make my eyes look warm but not knowing how. They had been icy for far too long.

My attempts must have had some effect, as she slowly whispered, "When I insult you – well your family in particular - it seems to . . . to hurt you".

I felt a ripple of shock. Not just at the fact that she was right, but also at my own reaction. A mudblood understood me? Why wasn't I laughing and making snide comments about her appearance?

"And why do you think it h- I mean it does that do me?" I replied, not wanting to admit my own weakness out loud.

She studied my face carefully before saying, "I think you're worried about them. Because of – of everything that's going on."

She was spot on. Smarter than I gave her credit for. After a long moment she cautiously asked, "Am I right?"

I nodded. In normal circumstances I would have replied "No, you're wrong, how does that feel? You filthy know-it-all of a mudblood," but sitting in this hidden place with Hermione Granger, finding myself to be incapable of disliking her, the circumstances were hardly normal.

Then I found myself pouring out my soul, telling her all the things I had kept bottled up since the return of the Dark Lord- my fear that my father would be put in Azkaban or worse, my fear that he would be killed, my frustration in having no choice in my future – I was destined to be a death eater.

I didn't mention the part about not really minding having to be a death eater; frankly, I didn't see why wizards had to stay in hiding from their inferiors. Still, it would be good to be able to choose what I did with my life.

Still, she listened attentively, almost like she actually cared what I had to say. I felt strange, talking to Hermione Granger about the things I could tell no-one else.

When it started to get dark I suggested heading back up to the castle, which we did, going in opposite directions. She was a few yards away from me when I called to her.

"Granger?"

"Yeah?" she called back, seeming a lot more comfortable talking to me than before.

"Tomorrow, same time, same place?"

"Okay," she replied, giving me a small smile.

Hope you enjoyed that, tell me what you think!

Did I overuse the word mudblood? I couldn't think of any substitutes!

And let me know if I stayed true to the characters! I hate it when the characters are all changed.