When Hermione woke up she couldn't remember falling asleep at all, and she was pretty sure she did not have a blanket last night. Had Draco been thoughtful enough to make sure she wasn't cold at night? It seemed hard to believe. A glance at her watch told her she was far too late for breakfast and if she didn't hurry she'd be late for class too. She could perfectly imagine the disapproving look McGonagall would wear if she was late for the first Transfiguration class of the year, so she dressed hurriedly. She dashed into their kitchenette, wondering if it was stocked or not, only to be met with the sight of Draco sitting at the kitchen table reading the paper, perfectly at ease.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Would you have woken me up before leaving to class?"

He lifted his eyes from the Prophet, one eyebrow raised. "I'm not an alarm clock, Granger."

"You're such a selfish bastard, Malfoy," she said, seething, because she didn't sleep enough and his smug look pissed her off.

"I can assure you my lineage is quite impeccable." He remained calm, which only grated on her nerves more. She glared at him, but when she noticed his amused smirk she knew he would be far more annoyed by her lack of response than by any insult she could possibly come up with, so she held her tongue and fixed herself some breakfast.

"That's it?" he asked her. "I was expecting a couple of more ill-thought insults, at least."

She smiled sweetly. "I don't know what you're talking about. Could you pass me the milk, please?"

He was thrown off-beat for a moment, staring at her as if he was waiting for the evil plan she no doubt had in mind, but at last he must have concluded he was in no danger and he passed her the milk.

"Thank you."

He narrowed his eyes at her distrustingly, but kept his mouth shut. After another look at her watch, Hermione made a distressed little sound and quickly took three more bites of her toast before dashing of to grab her bag.

"Are you just going to sit there?" she asked Draco who still was in the kitchen. "We'll be late for class, and professor McGonagall said that—"

"Relax, Granger. It's too early in the morning for you to be an uptight bitch. We have plenty of time anyway."

"Suit yourself. I'm going."

"Blaise said we should head down to class together, at least in the beginning," Draco protested.

"Who's being uptight now?" she said mockingly.

He groaned, actually groaned, before standing up and grabbing his own bag. " Fine. Let's go then."

He ended up being right; they were five minutes early and had to wait in the hallway, gaped at by all passing students.

"I believe this is the part where I say I told you so," Draco drawled.

"I told you so, really? How very mature, Malfoy."

His hands were at her hips, then, dragging her towards him until she was forced to put her hands on his chest to keep herself from falling. He leaned closer towards her, until his mouth was right next to her ear.

"Please refrain from calling me by my last name in public, darling. Have you forgotten what my mother told us already?"

She was so startled by his sudden proximity, by his scent invading her senses and the feel of his chest under her hands, that she couldn't find any words in her otherwise very articulate mind.

"Unappropriate behavior between students!" Peeves shouted at full voice, flying low over them and cackling. "Warn the Headmistress!"

Hermione stepped back at the same time that Draco did, both with flaming cheeks.

"No need for that, Peeves, I'm already here," McGonagall said dryly, having just turned the corner.

If the ground could have swallowed her whole, Hermione would have been exceedingly grateful. Unfortunately, while Hogwarts might play many tricks, swallowing students was not one of them. McGonagall fixed the Malfoys with a calculating stare, seemingly reconsidering what she had previously thought about them, and Hermione wondered whether it was for the better or not. Draco stepped forwards and grabbed her hand, apparently having decided it was for the better, and said: "My apologies, Professor. Peeves made it sound far worse than it was, I assure you."

"Yes, he has a tendency to do that. I know Horace has you working together, but please don't feel obliged to do the same in my class. In you go!"

They entered the class, quickly followed by the other eighth years. Harry and Ron took their habitual places by her side, the latter immediately whispering:

"Why was Peeves singing about you and Malfoy?"

Hermione, having barely recovered her normal facial colour, blushed all over again. "He must have heard about the fact that we're married," she answered without meeting his eyes.

Never had she been so relieved when class started and prevented them from talking, and that was saying a lot considering she was Hermione Granger.


Three days into the schoolyear and Hermione could feel her mood rapidly deteriorating. She had always been able to trust in lessons and homework to keep her occupied and focused, but after all that happened the past year she had a hard time seeing the importance of it all. Not to mention most of what she was taught she already knew.

There was so much anger in her, anger at a system that kept all these prejudices in place and a Ministry that did nothing to oppose it. Angry at a war that had caused far too many good people to die. Hermione's first instinct when upset was to seek respite in solitude, and she avoided her friends to the point where she ate most of her meals in the kitchen in her and Malfoy's dorms.

"People are starting to notice you're not coming to the Great Hall," Draco said on Thursday. "Keep that up and McGonagall is bound to scold you."

Hermione shrugged, dejectedly staring at her now empty plate.

"Granger? What's the matter?"

"Why do you care?"

"Well, I do have to live with you, and the sight of your long face is hardly good for my mood."

"There was a time when you took great pleasure in seeing me like this," she bit out, and he looked taken aback by the venom in her tone.

"Yes, when I was a stupid kid with a chip on my shoulder," he responded harshly. "But I'm fairly sure that I have done nothing to warrant your anger since we've been married."

Hermione sighed deeply. "You're right, I'm sorry," she said monotonely. "Don't mind me, I'm feeling a little down."

"That's a bit of an understatement."

"Look, just ignore me, okay? I'll go to the Great Hall tomorrow."

She thought this was clearly the end of the conversation, but Draco remained where he was, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

"What?" she snapped.

"Is this because of me?" he rushed out. "Because of the marriage, I mean?"

She looked at him, then, really looked at him, but all she could see in his face was concern and... was that shame? Huh. Wat a curious man.

"No, Draco. Contrary to what you seem to think, not everything is about you," she said, with a teasing quirk to her lips.

"Then what—"

"Everything. Nothing. The war, I guess? It's weird to be back. So much happened, and now we're all back at school pretending everything is normal."

He pulled out a chair and sat down at the table next to her. "I know. It feels unreal. Some days I wake up convinced the end of the war was a dream and I'll have to face the Carrows once again."

"It must have been horrible," said Hermione.

He shrugged dejectedly. "Most would say I had it fairly easy, compared to some of the other students. But I've heard far too many people scream in pain—" he shot her a meaningful look— "And the feeling I remember most vividly, the one I hated most, was the feeling of helplessness that was always present."

She nodded in understanding. "I can imagine it would have been very confusing for you. Those people were supposed to be on your side, yet what they did was in no way understandable or right."

"I'd stopped thinking of it as my side from the moment I realized the Dark Lord set me up to fail in sixth year. All I wanted was to survive, for my family to be safe, and I hoped it would all be over soon." There was a tinge of desperation in his voice when he spoke next, and Hermione realized she had never seen him quite so unguarded. "I'm not a brave man, Hermione. Not like your friends tend to be. When I saw others getting hurt, I looked away and prayed I wouldn't be next."

"That's a pretty normal reaction when you find yourself in a dangerous situation, Draco."

"Longbottom didn't. Ginny didn't. A lot of people chose to do something about it, but I..." he trailed off, unsure of what to say next. He was surprised she hadn't left in disgust yet.

Hermione lent forwards and touched the back of his hand with her fingertips. "It was different for you, Draco. For the Weasleys, Harry, Neville and me, what was wrong and what was right appeared to be pretty obvious. I have since come to realize that the world is far less black and white than I used to think, but still. You were raised to believe Voldemort's ideals were the right ones, and why would a child doubt what his parents tell him? Ron and Ginny certainly didn't. What matters is what you believe now, and the work you do to overcome your prejudices."

He sighed deeply. "I was still a coward," he said.

"We can't all be foolish heroes," she said with a smile. "The world would fall to pieces in no time."

This had the desired effect. Draco chuckled, his posture relaxing a bit.

"Anyone ever tell you you see too much good in people?"

"Nothing wrong with that," she answered. "Unless of course you intend to use it against me, somehow."

"I promise I'll try to keep my Slytherin tendencies to a minimum," he said solemnly, turning his hand so he could squeeze her fingers briefly.

"How very kind of you. I know we haven't really talked about this, about us," Hermione said carefully. "But maybe we should. You're not as bad as I thought your were, Draco Malfoy. We might be stuck together for five years, but we might be able to make it work. Instead of sulking in our corner, we could try and make this marriage as agreeable as possible considering it's you and me. Our friends are already learning to get along, so why shouldn't we?"

He looked perplexed at her words, but he nodded slowly. "I believe that would be our best course, yes. I have no desire to spend five years at odds with my wife."

"Good," she said with a tremulous smile. "Thanks for listening to my whining."

"Don't make a habit out of it."

"I promise nothing."


The next day, Draco noticed Hermione studying Ancient Runes in their living room. Recalling their conversation of the other day, and how she had been brave enough to breach the subject, he figured it was his turn to make an effort. He sat down next to her, ready to make his own homework.

"I don't have my book here," he said by way of explanation. "Can I use yours?"

"Sure," she said, staring at him strangely. "We can share."

"Excellent. How did you translate that third rune? It's a bit ambiguous, don't you think?"

He acted as though them working together was the most normal thing in the world, and Hermione had to bite her tongue not to ask him what he thought he was doing. But no, this was good, this was him trying, and asking too many questions might chase him away.

So she answered his question, and discovered to her surprise that he was just as interested in discussions about academic subjects, even the most minute details. She'd never had a friend as studious as she was, or as eager to learn, and to find out that her once enemy ended up being the perfect study-partner was ironic yet heartening; if she had to spend five years married to an almost stranger, she'd rather have it be someone she could have stimulating conversations with.


That night, Draco Malfoy surprised her once again. She woke up at four in the morning, disoriënted and bleary-eyed, wondering what on earth had awoken her at this ungodly hour, when she heard the distressed noises Draco was making. She was alert at once, observing his pained expression and the way his entire body was tense.

"Stop it, stop it," he muttered. "You can't—"

Should she wake him up or not? Unsure as to how to proceed, she whispered his name.

"Draco? Draco, it's alright. It's just a bad dream, you're safe," she said, before instinctively reaching out and putting her hand on his forehead. He stilled at her touch. "It's over, Draco. We're all safe now."

"Granger?" he mumbled. Hermione didn't know if he was awake or not.

"Yeah, it's me. Are you okay?"

He opened his eyes and looked at her. She made to withdraw her hand from his face, but he grabbed her wrist. "Don't. Feels good."

Still half-asleep then, Hermione thought with a little smile. "Do you want to talk about it?"

He grunted, his eyes fixated on her face, and then he reached out his hand and stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers. Hermione froze, her eyes wide. "Thank you for being nice," Draco said sleepily. "I don't know why you bother, but thanks."

His hand dropped back to the bed, his eyes closed and within seconds he was fast asleep. Hermione remained awake for a long time, her mind a jumbled mess of thoughts. Once again, she had little choice but to conclude that she may have been entirely wrong about the man currently sharing her bed.


The following morning, a Saturday, found Hermione very curious and unsure on how to act around Draco. Would he remember? She doubted it, and even if he did, she was convinced it would only make him act meaner to compensate.

"While I can comprehend that you find me far more agreeable to look at than the men you usually surround yourself with, if you don't stop staring at me like that I will hex you," Draco snapped.

Hermione averted eyes, embarassed that he had caught her watching him. "How did you sleep?" she asked.

"What's it to you?" he asked, but by the look in his eyes she could tell he was trying to remember if anything had happened.

"I was just being polite."

He kept his gaze fixed on her until she was so uncomfortable she had a hard time not running out of the room. "Who's staring now?"

He smirked. "Not as funny when you're the one on the receiving end, huh?"

She rolled her eyes. "Do you ever react like a normal person when someone makes a polite inquiry?"

"Are you going to nag about this all day?"

"You're a lot nicer when you're sleepy," she muttered, low enough that he couldn't make out the words.

"What?" he asked sharply.

"Nothing."

"You're a terrible liar," he said. The harshness in his voice reminded her too much of the little bully he once was, and she reacted in anger.

"You talk when you sleep."

This had obviously what he had been afraid of. He stilled, his hands holding the knife so tightly his knuckles turned white. "No, I don't."

"You're the one saying I'm such a terrible liar. So tell me, Draco, do I look like I'm lying?"

"What did I say then?" There was something like fear in his voice, and Hermione remembered that this was a man who absolutely hated showing vulnerability to others. The one time he did, even if it was in his sleep, and she was about to use it against him?

Guilt made her look down at the table, and she contemplated saying sorry but knew he wouldn't take it well.

"Nothing much. Nothing I could understand, at any rate."

Unfortunately, she hadn't become a better liar in the few minutes of their conversation, and she knew that he knew she was lying. The question then, was whether he would call her out on it or accept the way out she just gave him.

After what appeared to be a very long time, he gave a stiff nod. "In that case, I suppose I should apologize for disturbing your sleep."

He did this sometimes, Hermione had noticed, fell back on formality when he was uncomfortable, even towards her.

"It's really no problem," she said it anyway, even though she was aware that he didn't mean it, not really.

"I'll be off, then," said Draco. "Don't forget we have the Slug-party tonight. Make sure you look presentable, Malfoys always do."

He was gone before she could answer, and she was left on her own with the feeling of annoyance at his petty insult. That might be for the best, though, as tonight they would have to look the part of the happy young couple in front of a great number of people, and them being in the middle of a fight wouldn't exactly help matters.

Hermione sighed deeply. She really was in no mood for a party.