A/N: Thank you to my new follows/favorites: Annabrea-Shaw, Musicluver225, & Sentariana! Modges - don't worry, Zacharias will get what he deserves eventually: I never liked him in the books, & it felt like he got off too easy then. It might not happen right away, but it will, I promise!

Here's chapter 10 - this one was hard to write, since I really do want to keep them in character as much as possible. JKR owns all, as always. Please R&R, & enjoy! :)

Draco had been doing homework for nearly two hours when Hermione stormed in, looking murderous.

"I'm going to kill him!" she said to no one in particular. She made for the girls' dormitories, wrenched the door open, and reemerged not a minute later, a quill and a roll of parchment clutched in her fist. She dropped into the seat across from Draco and began scribbling furiously, and although she didn't say another word out loud, he could hear her muttering things like "that insufferable prat" and "get what he deserves" under her breath.

"Um…Granger?"

"What?" she snapped, quill still skating across the parchment. Draco was impressed that she could continue writing even while throwing a glare in his direction.

"I was just going to ask if you'd eaten, no need to get your wand in a knot," he replied, trying to mask that this was not, in fact, what he'd originally intended to say.

"What? No, of course I haven't," she said impatiently. "I've been rather busy, in case you've forgotten."

"No, I haven't." He stared at her for a second, noting how frazzled she looked, and realized that the stubborn girl had no intention of eating when she was on the warpath about…whatever it was. So, he decided to take matters into his own hands. Within seconds, he'd called for a house-elf and ordered dinner for the both of them.

"Malfoy, what-"

"Granger, just shut up and eat," he commanded. "It's just leftovers from the Great Hall; it's not like I asked for anything special. I know how you are with your creature rights crusades. But that's neither here nor there – you need to eat, so eat."

"I…well, thanks," she said, a bit awkwardly. The conversation dead-ended for the time being as they tucked into their stew in silence.

"Yes, I did need that," Hermione admitted once she'd finished. "I…well, that was…rather thoughtful of you." Draco didn't know how to respond to that, so he changed the subject instead.

"Who are you writing to?"

"Harry."

"Potter?"

"Yes, Harry Potter. You know any others?" she asked.

"No, I don't. What does writing to Potter have to do with your earlier tirade?"

"I need to talk to him about Snape," she said.

"Snape?"

"Yes, Snape," she snapped. "Now, are you just going to keep repeating everything I say like a bloody parrot, or is there a point to this conversation?"

"Yes, Granger, there is a point to this conversation," he retorted. "I want to know what the hell happened on the Quidditch pitch this afternoon, and what it has to do with Snape." It wasn't the way he'd intended to ask, but her vague responses were getting irritating.

"Smith just as good as called you a Death Eater," Hermione said bluntly.

"And?" Draco asked, raising his eyebrows and doing his best to look nonchalant.

"Oh, don't even try to pull that act on me, Draco Malfoy," Hermione hissed angrily. "I saw your face when he said it. We both know it's not true, and I intend to make him pay for what he said."

"What do you mean, it's not true?" Draco asked sharply. "Of course it is – or have you forgotten this?" He unbuttoned his left cuff and roughly shoved up the sleeve, revealing the ugly black mark on his pale skin. It had faded somewhat since Voldemort's death, but it would never go away completely.

"Was," Hermione corrected.

"What?"

"Was," she repeated. "It was true, at one time – but it's not anymore."

"And how are you so sure of that?"

"Because you saved my life," she said quietly.

"Granger, I stood back and watched while my aunt tortured you. How does doing nothing constitute saving your life?" Hermione sighed.

"Listen – I know I said all this already at your trial, but I feel like I need to tell you face-to-face. Doing nothing is the best – the only thing you could've done in that situation; if you'd tried anything else, your dear aunt would've killed you in a heartbeat, and probably the rest of us as well. You'd already chosen not to give us away when you knew perfectly well who we were, and the fact that you're regretting not having done anything else proves you have a conscience – which, last I checked, wasn't exactly Voldemort's top choice when choosing his followers. If you truly were a Death Eater, Dumbledore would've died at your hand, and you wouldn't have thought twice about a Mudblood being put in her place."

"Don't," he practically snarled at her. "Don't call yourself that."

"And why not?" she glared. "I know what I am; I know what some people think of me." She tugged the collar of her shirt down a little to expose the thin scar Bellatrix's knife had left running across her neck. "I know what some people think of me," she repeated, "and I'm not going to deny it – it may be a disgusting word, but I'm proud of where I come from. But it's just a label, and this is just a scar – I don't let either define me. The question is, can you say the same?" She met his eyes, her gaze piercing.

"But it's different," he protested. "For as many people who'd throw you to the dogs, you've got ten times as many worshipping the very ground you walk upon – to them, you're Gryffindor's princess, the Wizarding world's queen."

"And they're just as ridiculous," Hermione scoffed. "'The Wizarding world's queen' – honestly. The people who call me things like that don't know me any more than those who call me 'Mudblood' do – they give me titles based on who they think I am. To Harry, the Weasleys, my family, my friends – the people who know me best – I'm just Hermione."

"Because you're all those things just by being you," Draco countered. "The majority of the Wizarding world adores you, Granger, and for good reason – you're the essence of what it means to be good. They call you those things because they love you."

"Tell me – what was I to you, last Easter?" Hermione asked.

"My eternal tormentor," he said quietly. "I'd watched so many people tortured, so many people die on that very same floor – but none of them affected me half as badly as you did. Because you weren't just another victim – you were Granger…someone I knew," he finished lamely.

"But you've proven my point, then," Hermione said with a small smile. "Even to you, someone I've never gotten along with, I was just 'Granger', nothing more."

"Are you suggesting I'm one of the people who 'know you best'?" Draco asked with a slight smirk.

"No…but you certainly know me better than the hundreds of nameless faces I've seen almost faint at just the thought of being in the same room as me," Hermione said. "And that's what I'm trying to say, really – our history isn't the greatest, but I've still spent a large chunk of my Hogwarts career in your company. To say we're close would be a lie, but I know you well enough that I noticed the slight changes in your behavior as you got older. You're not the person you were before the war, but not too many people know that – I think it's time they knew the truth."

"Granger," Draco said, "in case you missed the memo, I was a Slytherin – we don't exactly sit around having tell-all pajama parties, it's not our style."

"I'm not asking you to," Hermione said. "I'm asking your permission to tell Snape's story."

"What does Snape's story have to do with anything? And why do you need my permission to tell it?" Draco looked utterly bemused.

"To answer your first question, everything – Snape's story has everything to do with it, because it proves that people can change for good. As to the second, I ask you because I know you two were close, in a way – I already asked his portrait, of course, but I felt like asking you was the right thing to do."

"He doesn't have a portrait," Draco replied.

"Yes, he does, actually. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn't, since he abandoned the post, but Harry insisted once he knew what Snape had done."

"Which I don't really recall, to be honest. I know Potter spouted it off at the end of the battle, but I was a bit preoccupied by my mother's fussing over me to catch all the details – something about his mum?"

"Yes," Hermione confirmed quietly, "but I'll let you hear it later – I think Harry should be the one to tell it, since he's the only one who's actually seen Snape's memories. We'll probably have to wait till the Halloween feast, since that's the first chance everyone will be together-"

"Whoa, wait a minute," Draco interrupted. "You want to tell the whole school?"

"Yes, Draco, that's the point," she sniffed. "They need to know that it's not acceptable to treat you like garbage." He was silent for a long minute, then:

"You called me Draco." He sounded nonplussed.

"Well, that is your name, isn't it?" Hermione asked, amused.

"Well, yes…but I don't think I've ever heard you use it before," he said slowly. He paused again. "Granger…why are you doing this?"

"Labels," she said simply. "Everyone knows there's a person under mine; they need to know there's someone under yours, too." She hastily added a postscript to her letter, sealed it, and stood. "I know there is, and if it's alright with you, I'd like to get to know him better – a fresh start, if you will," she said, repeating the words she'd said to Blaise the night they'd arrived. Just as she'd done with the Italian, she held out her hand to Draco. For a minute, he seemed uncertain.

"No ulterior motives," she smiled, successfully reading his silence. "Promise." Seeming to accept this, he shook the offered hand.

"Alright then, Granger. A fresh start. I still don't quite understand why you're doing this, but…I appreciate it." She nodded and rose to leave, turning back to him only when she'd reached the door.

"You're welcome – and Draco? My name's Hermione." Without another word, she left the common room, leaving Draco alone with his thoughts.