A/N - Hello my lovelies.

Slightly late, but at least it's here :) Heatwaves in Britain aren't exactly conducive to writing angsty fanfiction, but thank god for thunderstorms!

Hope you all like it. I'm actually happy with it, which is rare for me to feel about things I write. Let me know!

If there was a way to make it work.

If.

Was there a way to make it work?

All Draco had been able to think about since the last night when Weasley boy had turned up was his parting exchange with Hermione. Unable to sleep and intending to go for a night time stroll to clear his head, Draco had been taken aback to see the redhead and Hermione chatting in front of the fire. Irritated and jealous too. But mostly curious.

He hadn't understood the majority of what he'd heard – so Potter and the Weasel had found some fancy artifacts, so what? Why were they off treasure hunting anyway? Draco thought they'd been trying to save the world. But then when conversation turned to Theo, and moments later when it moved onto him, he understood perfectly.

She'd said so herself, he'd heard her. If there was some way to make it work with him, she would try it.

It was the tiny pinprick of light at the end of a very long tunnel, although Draco was afraid that the walls were closing in. What could he do? How could he make it work? Granger had summed them up perfectly well when she'd said "impossible." They were impossible. They were opposite ends of the spectrum, black and white, night and day, fire and ice. The list of problems Draco could think of off the top of his head was so endless it made him dizzy.

And yet… how he wanted to bottle up the problems to be dealt with another day and just try it.

All day, all he thought about was her. He didn't see much of her lately, not since she'd taken to hiding from him, but the glimpses he caught were more than enough. Though for a couple of days he'd been laying low himself, taking to sleeping on the couch in the Slytherin common room so he wouldn't have to be so tantalisingly close yet ridiculously cut off from Granger, he was suddenly filled with an almost painful desire to seek her out and tell her that there was a way for them, and he could make it work.

It was making him feel almost dizzy. But in spite of this confusion, he could feel his mind seeking out potential pathways that he and Granger could take.

They could keep it secret until the end of the war. They could run away. He could defect. He could visit his vault in Gringotts, take out as much of his fortune as he could and then fall off the map with Granger, and they could live comfortably.

There were ways, he realised now, but all along he'd just been too stubborn or selfish or scared to take them. But he needed to step up now, for Granger. Except… he still wasn't sure he was ready.

By that evening, Draco's head was throbbing and he couldn't bear to be left alone to think anymore. There was only one thing for it.

He practically flew down to the Slytherin Common Room, which, as usual these days, was empty when he arrived, what with all the students who had dropped out now gone and those who remained too scared and depressed to do much socialising.

Scanning the room, Draco could not see Blaise anywhere, so ran to the stairs leading down to the boys' dorms and knocked on the seventh years' door. There was no answer, so Draco stuck his head around it but there was no-one inside. Groaning, he retreated back out into the common room and looked around again, in case he'd missed his friend – not that it was likely given that the room wasn't exactly packed.

"Are you looking for Blaise?"

The quiet voice came from a chair in the corner next to a crystal chess table on a tall glass stand. Draco turned around to see Pansy sat there, staring at the board and idly moving around a pawn.

"Oh, hi Pansy," Draco replied, as politely as he could manage.

The last he'd really heard of her had been that story of Blaise's about the little lap dance she'd given Theo. He'd made it quite clear that she was seducing everything with a pulse because she was trying to get over him. He felt frozen by how awkward this was, but also he felt a twinge of guilt. Did he just hurt every woman in his life? His mother, Pansy, Hermione… He didn't exactly have a great track record.

"He's in a detention with McGonagall. He Transfigured some ropes into snakes like he was supposed to but then he set them on a Hufflepuff. He should be back by about half nine," Pansy was saying now, still fiddling with the chess pieces and not looking at Draco.

"Ah, right. Sounds like Blaise."

He smiled weakly and then wondered whether he should wait here or back in his dorm.

"Aren't you going to sit down?" Pansy asked glumly.

It seemed he'd be waiting here. He sat in a chair on the other side of the chess board.

"How's life?" he asked her.

She looked at him for the first time since the start of the conversation.

"Oh, you know, how it's supposed to be. Long. Boring. Stressful. Yours?"

"Pretty much the same."

In the silence that followed, Draco tried to process how un-Pansylike Pansy was being. Something was wrong with her. He felt like he knew what. He looked at the knight that she was now playing with.

"You play? Chess, I mean?" he said.

Pansy shook her head. "Don't know all the rules. The pieces are quite interesting though."

She raised the knight close to her eye and began to examine it. Draco still felt incredibly uncomfortable.

"I'm not too bad at chess, you know. I could teach you, if you wanted?"

"Don't trouble yourself," Pansy replied with a weak smile.

There was a very long pause before either of them spoke again, where Draco wanted to leave but couldn't bring himself in case it hurt Pansy, but could see that his presence in general was hurting her too. He was just trying to weigh up which was the lesser of two evils when Pansy suddenly put down the glass pieces, placed her hands in her lap and spoke.

"I know what you think of me, Draco."

Draco's eyebrows knitted together. "What do you mean?"

"I know what you – and the rest of the school – have heard about me. I know everyone thinks I'm some kind of slut with no moral compass. I know they think I'm desperate and pathetic and ridiculous. I know everyone laughs about me behind my back. I know you think I'm a mess," she said softly.

"I don't think you're a mess," Draco replied.

"It's ok that you do-"

"No, I don't," he insisted. "I won't lie. I don't think you're the most stable of people, especially not lately. But you aren't a mess. You're just confused and sad and lost, and a lot of that is my fault for how I treated you. I'm sorry that I did what I did. I don't think you're a mess. I just feel sorry for you."

Pansy laughed humourlessly. "Somehow that's worse, Draco. For a long time I thought that you liked me, or maybe even loved me… but now all that's left is pity."

Not knowing what to say now, Draco stayed quiet.

"Have you heard of something called the five stages of grief?" Pansy said.

Draco shook his head.

"It's basically this idea that anyone facing a loss goes through five distinct stages of grief. And technically I guess you could call what I'm daoing grieving, although it isn't like you're actually dead."

Once more, Draco felt unbearably guilty.

"There's denial, which I did. Then there's anger –when I confronted Granger in the Great Hall, when I started slutting it up. Next is depression, and I guess you could say that's where I'm at now," she continued, and hearing her talk about her own downward spiral so candidly made Draco uneasy. "And the last stage is acceptance, but I don't think I'll be there for a little while."

Even though he wasn't exactly a mathematical genius, Draco was quick enough to work out Pansy's error.

"You said there were five stages. You've only told me four," he said.

"Ah," Pansy replied. She suddenly sat up very straight and looked him dead in the eye. "That's because the fourth stage is bargaining. You know, like 'Give me a chance, I can change,' and all that stuff."

"Pansy," Draco warned.

Pansy held up her hand and looked at him sadly. "I don't want to beg you, Draco. I don't do begging. Not… well, not with words at least."

And then her mouth was on his, and he couldn't even bring himself to push her off him because he was so shocked. She was kissing him, but he wasn't kissing her back; his lips were motionless against hers as they seemed to fight him for some kind of response.

She began murmuring against his lips.

"Please, Draco, please. We can just be this. I just want to be close to you again."

And it was her desperate whispering that allowed him to pull himself together and push her gently away.

"No."

That was all he said, soft yet firm, and Pansy bowed her head.

Draco grabbed her hand and squeezed it lightly.

"I'm sorry that I don't want you like you want me. And I'm sorry I did this to you. And this isn't pity – it's remorse," he said. "But I think I'm going to leave you alone for a while. Because I don't want to fuck you up any more than I have. You're still my friend Pansy, and you're a good person really."

Pansy managed a watery chuckle.

"Maybe just really deep down," Draco smiled. He kissed the top of her head, still feeling uncomfortable and terrible but somehow relieved because he'd finally told her what was going on.

And then he left, not bothering to wait for Blaise.

He hadn't planned to speak to Granger this evening but it was by happy coincidence that when he walked into the common room, she was walking out of the bathroom. She froze up when she saw him, and the room became silent until the portrait hole thudded softly shut behind Draco.

He had no idea what to say or what to do and neither did Granger, because she still hadn't moved. In fact, Draco didn't even think she'd blinked.

"I kissed Pansy."

Instantly he could have kicked himself that those words were the first that tumbled out of his mouth after a week of silence and what seemed like an eternity of complication, especially since those words had made Granger's eyes bulge and her mouth quiver.

"What?"

"I mean, rather… well, she kissed me, actually," Draco backtracked. "Just now. In the Slytherin common room."

Her eyes misting over with tears, Granger nodded and looked at the floor. "Well, it's probably for the best. I hope you two are very happy together."

And she started off towards her room, but Draco couldn't let her disappear now, thinking what she was thinking, not now that all of his troubled day's analysing was manifesting itself into ideas and propositions that were threatening to tumble out of his mouth whether or not Granger would be nearby to hear them, and it would be so much more convenient if she did.

"No, stop, it's not what you think… look, will you sit down for a minute? Please? There's a lot of things I want to say," he gabbled, grazing her shoulder as he stood like a sheepdog attempting to herd her away from her room.

There was a terrible moment of hesitation where Draco thought she might refuse, but then she turned around and sat down on the nearest couch. He dragged over a chair and sat too.

How the hell was he even supposed to begin this? He wished he had some kind of speech prepared. He took a deep breath.

"I wanted to tell you the truth. Lies, dishonesty, cover-ups… there's too many of them with us. They're poison. I want to tell you the truth about some things Granger, and the truth about everything from this point onwards. I want you to know that you can trust me."

She was looking at her hands, which were clasped and resting on her knees, her thumbs rolling around in circles. When she didn't respond, Draco ran a hand through his hair and carried on.

"I heard you last night. With Weasley."

Hermione looked up.

"How? I put a Silencing Charm on your door," she said.

"I don't often sleep very well. Sometimes I go for walks in the night because it helps. I saw him when I was setting off. I know it's rude to eavesdrop, but you were talking about Theo and then you were – well, I thought you were talking about me."

She paused, looking terrified, and then slowly nodded.

"And you said that if there was a way to make it work with me…" he began, afraid to finish in case she denied it. She didn't say anything.

"I thought you didn't want me after that thing in the library. And you've called it off so many times, you've run away from me. I thought you didn't want me, but then last night, to hear that you did… It fucked with my head. So I went to talk with my friend Blaise. He knows about… He knows enough about me and you to understand. But he wasn't there. Pansy was. She seemed sad, and I talked to her, and then she kissed me and I pushed her away.

"The thing with Pansy is that she makes me feel so worthless," he continued, looking at the floor. "She reminds me of what a terrible person I am, and how shit I can make people feel. When she kissed me, I felt that I don't want to ever make you feel like that, but then I realised that I already have. Hundreds of times. And whenever I remember that, I get scared, because I don't see how you could ever forget that or get past that and see me as I am now. That's why I get distant. Not because of your birth, or the fact that you're a Gryffindor or in the Order… It's selfish really. I push you away because I don't want to remember how bad I was."

He glanced up at her, but she wasn't looking at him. She didn't even seem to be taking in what he was saying. Was his rambling having any effect? He wasn't even finished. He pressed on anyway.

"I realised tonight that I… I want… no – I need you in my life, Granger."

With eyes still cloudy with tears, she glanced up at him through the curtain of her hair and he felt his face heat up and he couldn't meet her eye. He was bearing his soul here.

"No-one else. Not Pansy, not anybody. Just you. For a while, I didn't think I could do it. I know if word ever got out about us, I would lose my inheritance and my family would shun me, and I'd be hunted and killed for betrayal by Death Eaters. I know that you'd want me to switch my alliance, but it isn't that simple for me. Just the thought has me terrified. But you wouldn't understand," he added, his voice suddenly gaining a bitter edge. "You've never been alone in your whole life. You have Potter and Weasley and your family, and your little house full of heroes: Gryffindor, and then as if that wasn't enough you have the Order too. You don't know how it feels to be isolated."

"Yes I do," she said firmly, sitting bolt upright for the first time since they'd started speaking. "Why do you always think that you're right, and that you're the only person who's ever felt abandoned?"

Her anger had blossomed out of nowhere and there was fury in her eyes.

"I don't have Harry and Ron anymore, you know I don't. They're not here. My parents… well, they aren't around anymore," she said, her voice cracking. "I can't speak to anyone in my house about how I feel, not even Ginny, because there are things I'm not allowed to tell them. And don't think you're the only person who will feel consequences for what we've done. Do you think people will really understand and accept that Harry Potter's best friend slept with the son of a Death Eater in the middle of a war? This is fraternising with the enemy of the highest order."

For some reason she laughed suddenly at her own words, and then shook her head in disgust, probably at him for being so self-centred.

"I know how it feels to be alone. Because right now, I am. It's just me."

"But that's what I've been trying to tell you," Draco insisted, his speech gaining intensity. "You could have me, too."

"You don't mean that," she said indifferently.

"Yes, I do," he replied firmly, trying to convey with his eyes how serious he was. She could have, already did have, every single part of him, if only she wanted it. They could be alone together, and it wouldn't be so bad. "Haven't you been listening to a single word I've been saying? I've thought about this – I know what could potentially happen, I know the risks and the challenges and the consequences. And I'm telling you, I've considered them, and I still come back to the same conclusion: that I'm fucking terrified, but a world without you terrifies me even more."

Silence met this revelation, and Draco watched a myriad of emotions skitter over Hermione's face; hope, confusion, disbelief, happiness, worry… and then finally she settled on uncertainty.

"But… how? How can we do this? It sounds too hard to manage," she replied, sounding defeated.

"I don't have an answer to that. All I can think of to do is, well, to not think about it. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. When the war ends, we deal with it then. We don't tell people because it's dangerous. For both of us. We don't label this, because it's too hard to figure that out right now. We just get to be happy, for as long as we can, knowing that we want each other, and that that's ok," Draco suggested.

Still, Hermione looked uncertain. She bit her lip.

"Think about it, Hermione," he said softly, standing up and crossing the space between them, sitting next to her on the couch.

She gazed at him warily.

"Don't be sensible, Granger. Don't even think. Don't overanalyse. Don't worry. Let's just enjoy the relative safety of now. It's ok to give in."

He cupped her cheek, rubbing his thumb across it gently.

"No more lies, no more secrets… well, no more bad ones, anyway."

His forehead was resting on hers, and her breath hitched. Her eyes were wide and only an inch away from his own as he swallowed hard and looked at her beautiful brown irises, then at her lightly freckled nose, then resting at last on her lips.

"Just this."

Their lips met and they fell back together as easily as if they'd never been apart. The feeling of her hands in his white hair, her little nibbles on his lip, the way she was squeezing him tight as though she never wanted to let go – he'd missed it more than he could comprehend. Hell, even as he was touching her now he was desperate for more, to be closer, to practically melt into her warm skin, soft and smooth and creamy as butter.

In a haze of pulling and stumbling and desperate kissing they made their way to her bedroom, falling onto her bed with a soft thump and then clawing at each other's clothes, the final barriers to their reunion.

As their bodies moved together, perspiration beading up on their skin and moans and gasps torn from their lips, Draco felt that he'd never been happier, never felt more complete, than he was when Hermione was naked beneath him and was completely and utterly his in the rawest sense possible. She seemed to feel the same if the way she grabbed him and clung to him was any indication, marking him as hers with bruising kisses, bites and scratches, and the sting of pain that accompanied them felt as delightfully agonising as if she was burning into him with a red hot poker that read "Property of Granger."

When at last they lay, panting and exhausted, side by side on top of the crimson sheets, Draco did what felt natural and shuffled over to Hermione's side, curling around her and hooking his arm around her waist. Her skin was still damp and she smelled like vanilla, as always. To his great delight, she wiggled herself so that she was as close to him as she could manage, and placed her hand over the one Draco had on her waist. They were tessellated perfectly together. Draco wondered if any other girl would fit against him as exactly as Granger did. He doubted it.

He kissed her shoulder, brushing a strand of her hair off it, and he saw her smile briefly, though her eyes were closed. He nestled down next to her, too tired to think of moving.

After only moments, the slowing of Hermione's breathing indicated she was asleep, and soon after Draco felt himself drift off, a smile still spread across his face, and his body still wrapped around Hermione's as they slept together, in the purest way, for the first time.