Something about him was different, there was no question about it. If she'd had any doubts before, they were now no longer. A switch inside her had been flipped as she'd stood wrapped in his arms. The realization that Draco Malfoy was not the same sneering, vulgar, malignant boy that she'd met her first year. For the life of her she could not figure out what had possessed her to do so, but she had asked him for comfort and, even stranger, he had given it.

However, both the kiss and the hug went unmentioned in the weeks to come. They had mutually and, incidentally, silently agreed to leave it in the past. Their attention turned instead to more important matters and they began McGonagall's requested planning with five weeks' time still remaining. Long hours of discussion were spent in the library between their time dedicated to completing mountains of homework and papers.

Hermione found herself in an odd yet, surprisingly, not entirely loathsome position. She couldn't have explained how it had transpired- most especially because of all that they had been through- but as they shared copious amounts of time together the most curious thing happened: they bonded. A hodgepodge mix of stress, responsibility, deadlines, and working while hungry had formulated an environment that magnetized humor as a means of relieving tension and she soon discovered that Draco had been hiding one of his best attributes. Aside from their usual brusque competition of wit, he had a sort of twisted sense of humor that, while mildly crude in its nature, was one that she found thoroughly entertaining.

She did not, of course, share this information with him. For one thing, she needed to maintain some semblance of dignity. For another, if she was correct, the only thing he enjoyed more than teasing her was complimenting himself. She wasn't about to let his ego inflate any more than necessary. Which left her more often than not holding back fits of laughter in an attempt to mask how amused she truly was.

Another secret skill Draco had been keeping locked away was his artistic proficiency. On a particularly late evening they were drawing up some rudimentary sketches of décor possibilities to implement in the great hall. They were sat at a table in the prefects' study lounge in the library as Hermione put the finishing touches on a simple depiction of the great hall. The picture was going to be used as a layout reference to determine where the best places to put decorations were, how to set up the tables, and so forth.

"That's your best attempt?" he'd asked her with an obvious snort and judgmental glance when she finished her picture. If there was one skill he had never been hiding, and still sorely lacked, it was discretion.

"I mean, it's a rough drawing," said Hermione, trying to defend her cursory attempt.

"You've got that right," he said, bemusedly. She folded her arms and looked indignantly over at him.

"Alright, you do it then."

He grabbed a quill and within minutes had drawn up a much better and more helpful sketch than she had managed. She stuck out her lip and huffed when he held up the finished product.

"Come on, Granger. I didn't mean to insult your artwork. It's lovely, really. I mean, just look at your attention to detail." He pointed a finger past her uneven, boxy tables to an inkblot in the center of her parchment. "You even added yourself, how cute. You know, you've really managed to capture the essence of your bushy hair-"

He gave a devilish smirk as she picked up a textbook and smacked him. Then he feigned mortal injury, howling and clutching at his arm and she fought the urge to smile, shooting her best unamused frown his way. What a drama queen. She cleared her throat and hastily shoved her unrefined drawing to the corner of the table, hoping he didn't notice.

"Now then, for the decorations…" They carried on into the evening talking about tapestries, table settings, and centerpieces.

Though they'd had a rough start, Hermione found herself feeling quite fortunate. New Malfoy was reasonably easy and lighthearted to work with, dedicated, and entertaining- something she couldn't have said the same of for the other would-have-been head boy candidates. Incidentally, something she didn't know she could say for him either. She was still unsure of how things had turned out so well for her.

Not only had she gotten lucky in the head boy department, but she was also growing increasingly more grateful for her skilled group of prefects. Sometime during the holidays, the McMillan triplets had gotten their hands on Weasley products. Merlin have mercy, and they thought they'd had their hands full before. The three Hufflepuff first years didn't seem to care much that all Weasley products were explicitly banned. With magical firecrackers and dungbombs in hand, they seemed to hit their stride, maxing out their mischief-causing potential, much to everyone's chagrin.

Even an entire team of prefects was barely enough to keep the three troublemakers under a reasonable amount of control. Poor Hannah Abbot and the other Hufflepuff prefects worked twice as hard within their own dormitory, often bringing back horror stories to share at meetings of firecrackers hidden under the common room's seat cushions, quills that dodged your hand if you tried to pick them up, and butterbeer candies that you couldn't stop eating.

Between her ever growing list of duties to the school as head girl and the piles of homework that seemed to multiply before her eyes, Hermione kept so busy that it wasn't until she actually sat herself down one day and consciously put her mind to it did she think about Ron. Even then, it hadn't been until she was nearly forced to do so. She sat on her bed, staring warily at a letter from him she'd received with the breakfast mail rush, uncertain of whether or not to open it. Which was she more terrified of it reading, that he was breaking up with her or the opposite?

Her heart began to ache as she relived her most recent memory of him, his outline fading away to grey surroundings as he turned his back on her and walked away. The memory still filled her with fear.

The problem wasn't that he had gotten so angry about the kiss or even the pain of him leaving her out in the cold. The worst part was knowing that he didn't trust her, and apparently never truly had.

Her mind turned to the biting, jealous remarks he'd shot at Harry and her on the night he'd left them to hunt Horcruxes on their own. She'd written those off, convinced that Ron hadn't actually meant anything he'd said and instead attributed it to the locket's dark influence… but now she was doubting that to be entirely true. She turned her thoughts to what he'd said before walking away from her.

"I should have known from the beginning. You were never interested in me."

"I thought that one day when you cheated on me…"

He'd been so convinced, so certain that she'd just been using him for their entire relationship when she couldn't think of a single thing she'd done to make him think that way. And the way he'd put it, like even before she'd given a him a reason to be suspicious, he had been expecting her be unfaithful. How was she supposed to continue a relationship that didn't have any trust?

She gave a sideway glance to the foreboding envelope sitting on her bedside table and another question formulated amongst her wild thoughts.

Was there even a relationship left?

Ginny and Harry seemed to think so, given the comments they'd made at breakfast the morning after the whole debacle. But even if they were right, and even if she believed them, did she really want him back? There was no denying that she missed him, but the damage had already been done. She knew that he didn't trust her, and now that she'd given him a tiny reason to confirm his fears, she worried how paranoid he would be if they somehow managed to make it through the whole bloody mess.

She sighed heavily. Of course, it was no use to continue speculating, or she'd be doing it for eternity. As Harry had said, Ron was going to do what he was going to do. She picked up the envelope gingerly, as if handling a live grenade, and tore into it gently. She would just have to read it and go from there.

She was almost disappointed at the tiny piece of parchment she pulled from the envelope a second later. The message was short and read:

Hermione,

I've arranged to come visit Hogwarts on the afternoon of
the 18th of January. If you would, I'd like to meet with you
so we can talk about us.

Please send an owl with your thoughts.
I hope to see you then.

Ron

In some respects, she wished he would have told her outright how he felt. Then she wouldn't have to wait until his visit. But perhaps, like her, he didn't quite know what his feelings were either. It simply couldn't be avoided: they would have to talk. With no reason to turn down his invitation, she wrote a short note detailing her agreement and a meeting place and took advantage of her free period the next morning to send if off at the owlery.

The days passed quickly despite her fear that they would not. She had always been good at setting aside her thoughts and feelings when work needed to be done and that weekend held no exception. She managed to complete a 36-inch-parchment paper for History of Magic with 8 inches spare as well as several other extraneous assignments. She also finished rereading her Ancient runes textbook and checked it off on her study schedule. One of her study goals for the semester was rereading a list comprised of all her textbooks and a dozen or so supplemental works in preparation for the end of the year tests and was already halfway done with her list. It pleased her greatly to know that if she continued at her current rate she would be able to complete the list three times. It was impossible to be too prepared.

If only that were the case in my non-academic endeavors, she would lament. In the emotional sector of her life, it seemed like no matter how much effort she put in, she could never be prepared enough. She was painstakingly aware the entire morning before her meeting with Ron of how horrendously ill-prepared she was to sort out their whole mess.

After potions, her last class of the day, she meandered down to the entrance hall and across the grounds, out towards the spot she had recommended they meet. A force within her seemed to pull her back towards the castle, but she trudged onwards. It would do her no good to run from her problems. Still, her insides churned nervously as she made her way steadily down a hill to where his figure sat outlined on a rock. When her steps were near enough to be heard, he turned and watched as she warily approached and took a seat on a rock adjacent his.

For an awkward few moments, neither one said anything and Hermione avoided the familiar set of blue eyes that searched her.

Then Ron started in a hoarse voice, "Hermione, I'm," he paused briefly to clear his throat. "I wanted to say that I'm sorry. For starters anyways."

She turned hesitantly to look at him. He looked tired. His face was paler than usual with faint circles under his eyes causing his drawn expression to look even more severe.

"It was wrong of me not to tell anyone where you were. I was bang out of order that night. Had I known you were in any sort of trouble, and I swear I didn't, I wouldn't have acted the way I did." He looked at her expectantly, but she said nothing, keeping her expressions indecipherable.

"I er, wanted us to talk about us."

He seemed to squeeze the last word out with extreme caution as if it were a fragile delicate thing, which, of course, it was. She nodded, signaling for him to continue. Anticipation was quickening her heartbeat as thoughts shot around violently in her head. She wasn't ready to speak just yet, not until she heard what he had to say.

"Well, I've been thinking long and hard on it, and I reckon that we should probably… take a break… for a while…" He gave her an inspecting look, scanning her for any semblance of emotion.

The confusing mass of emotions she'd been fighting with all week seemed to dissolve into one and the relief that spread through her told her all that she needed to know. Jumbled thoughts ordered themselves and the writhing unease in her stomach quieted. It had been impossible to admit with so many unknowns surrounding their conversation, but she'd been struggling to come to terms with what she knew was the right move going forward. She couldn't take him back. She wasn't ready.

"I would have to agree with you," she said, breaking her silence. "We jumped into our relationship too hastily. There was so much madness going on around us at the time and we never actually stopping to consider the future." She paused and then chuckled at the thought that came to her. "Maybe that was part of our problem, because for a while there we didn't even know if there would be a future." She looked over and saw him nodding silently.

"Hermione, I especially wanted to apologize for getting so jealous." He looked at her with deep sincerity. "I mean, you know my past. I'm the sixth bloody child in a family of seven, the last boy before Ginny was born… It doesn't take a genius to realize that my parents didn't want me. At least, they didn't want me to be a boy. I've just grown to expect everyone to treat me like I'm second rate. I know it's not right and it's certainly no excuse for what I said to you and I am, truthfully, ashamed. I realize now that there's a whole lot of stuff I need to work through before I'm finally worthy of you," he concluded with a crooked, loving smile. An embarrassed grin spread across her face.

It was incredibly reassuring to hear his confession. Of course, she had known his doubts. In fourth year, even he and Harry's special bond had broken due to Ron's jealousy. They'd managed to get over it in the end, but Hermione knew that Ron still hurt a little every now and again when people referred to him as Harry Potter's friend or as the brother of any one of his siblings. His identity struggle was an issue she had always felt he desperately needed to sort through. An issue she had long been expecting she would have to expose him to but, at the same time, one she wasn't sure she had the heart to. It was incredibly relieving to hear now that he was aware of the problems he had to work through and was now consciously attempting to do so without her influence.

"Don't be silly, Ron. You've always been so good, both to me and for me," she said truthfully. "I think that some time to reevaluate and recuperate is what we both need right now. Maybe someday in the future we can talk about an "us" seriously again, but for now, we just need some time and space to work these things out. I need someone who can trust me to tell the truth and to do what's right by them. I can't be in a relationship without trust."

A strange peacefulness settled over her when she looked at him and a wave of understanding passed between them.

They sat quietly until Ron broke the silence with a laugh. "If it makes you feel any better, Harry chewed me out something awful when he saw me again. I won't deny that I deserved every bit of it, but Merlin pants, the way he was defending you. It was almost like he'd forgotten we've all been best mates since first year. He should know I'd swear allegiance to Slytherin house before I'd intentionally let either one of you get hurt," he noted seriously and then paused. "Reckon he's gone and exposed himself now though. He's playing favorites and I'm not it."

Hermione was about to worry that jealousy was getting the better of him again when she detected the fake hurt in his voice and saw the crooked grin on his face.

"Hardly," she huffed. "I don't let him get on with all that quidditch nonsense around me. Not to mention, I make sure he washes his hands before meals and gets to bed at a good hour. You're definitely the "fun" one between the two of us."

They both laughed but in an instant, Ron's face turned serious again as he asked another question. "So there's really nothing going on between you and that slimy ferret?" She couldn't suppress the scornful laugh that forced its way out.

"No, Ronald. We're just friends, if that. More like colleagues. Colleagues who shared a stupid drunken kiss at two in the morning after a full day of non-stop work." Unmistakable relief spread across Ron's face.

As they got up and began walking back towards the castle, a question formed in the back of her own mind and began pressing its way forward.

"Ron?"

"Yeah?" he said, a shadow of worry darting across his face.

"Can you promised me that we won't let anything get in the way of our friendship? I mean, you and Harry both mean so much to me… I simply can't bear the thought of us being broken apart."

His expression softened. "Neither can I." He held his hand firmly out to her. "I promise."

"Not even a slimy ferret like Malfoy?" she tested jokingly with raised brows.

"Don't push it," he shot at her. "But I promise, nothing." She grinned, taking his hand, and they shook on it.

"Not even a slimy ferret like Malfoy."