Hermione pulled the blanket closer and turned more fully toward the fire. The heat warmed her face, hovering over cheekbones and leaving her back colder in contrast. The corners of the Common Room remained in shadow but her trembling fingers were illuminated as she smoothed out the edges of a pillow.

A letter sat untouched on the table across from her with quill and ink beside it. It was going to be a message to Harry, expressing her romantic dilemma and asking for his blessing, but she knew the anger with which he would read it and so Hermione couldn't begin. Once the words were written she would be unable to take them back, somehow upon writing them the entire situation would seem more real and immediate. Until that moment her flirtation with Draco had stayed between the two and her growing inner tumult remained secret even from the boy himself.

Crossing her legs a few more times, Hermione sighed heavily and leaned forward. Her fingers grasped the quill, trembling only slightly, as she dipped it into the ink. A feeling of foolishness was taking hold, making her angry and determined. I did not survive Voldemort, death eaters, and loss just to chicken out on one tiny letter, she scolded as she forcefully placed quill to paper. Forming Harry's name and the opening salutations, she began.

I know I haven't written in a while and I'm sorry, but things have been so busy! Hogwarts changed, and trying to live in such a small, damaged community is harder than I thought. But we can do it.

Hermione stopped then, uncertain if the mention of Hogwarts was appropriate, but with a shrug she figured it would do no harm to mention realities. Besides, if he can't handle that, he certainly can't take Draco she grinned mirthlessly.

I'm hoping things on your end are better. Maybe I can visit over spring break??

Hermione just wished that when Harry saw her again he would see someone worth being his friend, not the emotionally fragile, physically bloated being she had become.

I have something to confess, and I don't want you to freak out. At least not until you've read the entire letter and then talked to me. Keep that in mind please …

I'm falling in love with Draco Malfoy, and he feels the same way.

Hermione couldn't help but giggle when she realized it was true, she was in love with Draco and he loved her back. It wasn't all a dream; the reality was that someone loved her, someone as wonderful as Draco. It really shouldn't matter what anyone thought. Sighing, Hermione reminded herself that it was one thing to determinedly ignore the world's censure, another to ignore a friend's disapproval, and that Harry would disapprove seemed almost certain. So I need to convince him, Hermione straightened her shoulders and sat straighter.

He really has changed Harry. He believes in our cause and he still can't forgive himself for his murders, both for when he was on Voldemort's side and after he switched over. He's lost his parents and no one here will talk to him, former Slytherins and others alike, yet he only resents himself for that. He's almost too self-chastising if you ask me and you know how deeply I believe in lengthy repentance for their sins.

Rubbing her face, Hermione leaned back once more. That last part was only true until she had written it on parchment, and then the floodgates of doubt opened once more. It was as if all her positive sentiments towards Draco's redemption had poured out of her and was now replaced with uncertainty. Could Draco really atone for all he had done? For the torture he had inflicted, for the actions he had allowed his father to commit? Her jaw clenched just remembering the cold, dead eyes of Malfoy senior, or the brutality of his aunt. Draco never did formerly apologize, nor had she asked for that. They never discussed what he owed society, what he owed her, and it made her uneasy. She loved him, she did, but it scared her for its irrationality.

Hermione stared longingly at the hissing flames of the fireplace and her hands itched to crumple up the paper and toss it into the heat. It would disintegrate quickly, become dust and Harry would remain blissfully ignorant. With their strange, unnamed relationship still so tenuous, Hermione could just walk away, if what she had written remained unrevealed, she could simply turn her back. She could go back to hating him, resenting what he represented, keep the last shreds of her heart safe behind a barricade, she was too vulnerable in this.

But in the end Hermione Granger was a realist, and she knew that the fluttering of her heart and the twisting of her stomach meant it would never be as easy as that. She could toss the letter; she could walk out of this room, but the second she was in Draco's presence she would go back to his arms and his warm mouth. It was completely irrational, so unlike her, yet she admitted that it seemed uncontrollable. And do you really want to control it? A whispered voice debated. When Hermione really thought about Draco's tender glances and fragile soul, she knew he was what she wanted. Such a teenage desire and it thrilled her that this spark of normalcy had returned to a young woman grown old too early. Turning back to her letter, and pushing back her doubts once more, she finished with new found confidence.

He's not perfect, I won't pretend that, but who really is. Besides, he's good for me. I'm so lost here and alone without my best friends, it hurts, as I'm sure it hurts you, and Draco soothes that, so I can't deny these feelings any longer.

As of now we've kept this secret, we're so uncertain of it all ourselves, and I wanted to tell you first so you didn't find out some other way. It actually kind of crept up on me, first we were friends and then … yeah. I really want you to understand that he's not the Draco you knew, that this is what I want and need. Please don't be angry with me, please stand by me when this goes public. God the press is going to go crazy, and I'm sure nobody's going to be thrilled.

End on a different note, she reminded herself. Harry always did react better when his attention was diverted, Hermione chuckled.

Speaking of the press, are they as ruthless over where you are?

Lots of love,

Hermione

Satisfied Hermione put the quill back in the ink well and folded the letter. She refused to check it for spelling errors as she usually did, if she opened it up again she'd never send it. The parchment weighed far more than was realistic; so much of the future depended on the reception of this paper and the words hidden within its folds. It seemed ironic that after all the battles, Hermione almost feared the harmless looking object in her hands more.