"So!" Dawlish was saying, now a professor of Hogwarts instead of an auror, "we won't be having any theory lessons, that Is something I expect you to do in your own time, by simply reading the text book you should have all bought. Today we'll be practising the patronus charm; you never know when you'll run into a dementor or lethifold. Now this is typically beyond N.E.W.T level; but what with…recent events and all," his eyes flickered to Draco with a look of sheer distaste, his tone falling from its happy timbre to a displeased grimace, before picking up once more as Draco shifted his weight uncomfortably. "We thought it best to have the first lesson back demonstrating the charm so you can practise it in your own time before we move on to actual N.E.W.T level spells." Members of Dumbledore's Army threw furtive looks to each other during his explaination, hiding smirks and curious glances at the Slytherins; looking wholly unimpressed.

"Now, you'll want to move the desks to the back of the room and tuck your bags underneath so we can get started with some room." Dawlish said, pulling out his wand as Dean and Seamus shared a glance that spoke of showing off. Padma held a small painted on smile, and a sudden swell of pride began to rise within Hermione. Harry had done well. He'd done very well. They clambered out of their chairs, stuffing their books and quills back into their bags as Dawlish got ready to rearrange the room for them. They separated to either side of the room; the Slytherins keeping away from the other houses as the desks suddenly whipped up into the air, crashing together as they stacked against the walls with a heavy bang. Satisfied, Dawlish readied his wand again, ready to educate.

"What you'll need to do for the-"

"Expecto Patronum." Dean said, as if bored; his corporeal Patronus slipping to his feet ready to play. Seamus snickered, his fox joining Deans' patronus as the Patil twins copied. Dawlish seemed to be gaping, taken back by so many corporeal patronuses in the room. Shrugging, Hermione let her otter free, feeling lighter as it swam about her. Drifting, her eyes caught sight of the astonished Slytherins on the other side of the room; Draco's face a mixture of jealousy, rage, and shame.

"How?" Dawlish was gasping, watching the silvery creatures slip about his classroom as they tussled with one another, "These are corporeal, they're not…"

"Dumbledore's Army," Dean supplied with a shrug, and Draco began to sneer furiously to Hermione's shock.

"Dumbledore taught you this?" Dawlish asked, completely forgetting he was supposed to be teaching a lesson.

"No, Harry did."

"Harry…Harry Potter?"

"Yep." Dean answered, attempting to keep his amusement at bay as Dawlish looked to self implode.

"When?" He finally asked, as the Slytherins kept their eyes transfixed on the silvery creatures in front of them, quiet and jealous, their robes illuminated as Seamus's fox strutted past them.

"Fifth year," Hermione cut in as Dean opened his mouth to answer, "But Harry had had to learn it in our third year when Sirius Black had escaped and everyone thought he'd want to kill Harry, making the dementors came to Hogwarts."

"Yeah, and Potter was so afraid of them he would pass out!" Draco finally snarled to the glee of the Slytherins, their low chuckles somehow darkening the room as Daphne looked slightly uncomfortable in comparison to Pansy's delight.

"You thought he was afraid of them?" Hermione asked him in disbelief, blinking at him with surprise as the room fell silent, her otter coming to swim about her waist; the guardian was sensing her need. Draco looked confused, his wintery features scrunching up as he struggled with a retort.

"He'd pass out." He said weakly and Hermione stepped towards him with a look of astonishment.

"He had his parents murdered in front of him when he was a baby. The dementors would make him relive that memory. He would watch his mother be murdered over and over again when they were around. That's why he reacted like that. It's how dementors function." She told him coldly, feeling guilty she'd just revealed the real reason for Harry's fainting moments to the class. Despite her emotions, watching Draco's face fall for his actions in the years previous was still…satisfying. Her emotions conflicted within her as Draco paled, and the class began to twitter amongst themselves, Dawlish sensing he was losing control of the class.

"Very good Miss Granger for knowing how dementors affect you, five points to Gryffindor." Dawlish broke in with a nervous laughter, Hermione's eyes still boring into Draco's panicked, and alarmed ones. "Now, if those of you who can cast the patronus would be so kind, help those who can't after I explain what to do." Dawlish asked, as the atmosphere began to tense again, the guilt beginning to truly boil within Hermione at her giving away information that did not belong to her. She hoped Harry would forgive her, and she tore her gaze away from Draco as Dawlish finished explaining the charm to the Slytherins.

"Now, it's well known that Death Eaters can't perform patronuses, so I expect nothing of you Mr Malfoy," Dawlish said as Hermione raised her brows at his sheer unprofessionalism, "the rest of you, I expect something." He finished, as Draco sneered furiously.

The rest of the class was silent, save for the gentle encouragement to think of the happiest memory they had and focus on it, again and again, watching as they attempted it futilely.

:: :: ::

"Come in! Come in! Find a partner that isn't of your own house and find a seat, I expect we'll have one group of three so I'll make an exception!" Professor Miller was half singing, his bright eyed face excited as he flicked his wand making the door swing open to welcome them all in. They groaned, half ignoring his instructions and sitting where they wanted as Hermione flicked her eyes to Draco, only to find him staring at her pointedly.

"We're the heads Granger. Best make an example." He smirked, grabbing her elbow gently; although it looked rough to the rest of the class, and pulling her into the seat beside him as the professor looked at the pair of them with pleasure.

"Excellent! Our first partners! Ten points to both Slytherin and Gryffindor!" He chirped, as Pansy threw her looks of daggers and Parvarti looked at her questioningly. She shook her head with a slight shrug, inwardly pleased at Draco's initiative, and watched as awkward unions with the rest of the class began to happen.

:: :: ::

"No! Not like that! It's a slight flick of the wrist, and a twist, not so…dramatic as that." She sighed, reaching for his wand hand and placing her own over it in order to guide him through the movement; the way she'd helped Harry and Ron so many times before in the past. The way he was attempting to conjure cutlery from the buttons they'd been given was more likely to set something on fire; something more of Dean's expertise. Draco froze, slowly turning his head to look at her, a platinum brow rose, his expression disbelieving.

"What do you think you're doing?" He asked her dragging out each syllable carefully, making her cower back into the seat and blink in surprise.

"Helping." She answered blankly and hopefully, as Draco's upper lip began to curl.

"Take your hand off mine immediately and explain how patronising me is helping." He demanded, and Hermione took her hand off his as if she'd been slapped, throwing him a filthy look as she did so.

"You're getting the movement wrong; I was going to guide you through it." She defended as both Draco's brows rose this time.

"Oh, and so over exaggerating the movement will help, not slow me down or anything. It's patronising, I need to learn it myself, not have someone baby me through it or I'll make mistakes with it in the future. You might have got away with this with Potter and Weasel, but not with me." He snapped mockingly, and Hermione scowled furiously at him.

"Suit yourself." She shrugged, and to spite him, conjured the cutlery set they'd been tasked to do with no faults.

"Excellent work Miss Granger! Ten points to Gryffindor!" Professor Miller said elated, clapping his hands together. Draco glared.

:: :: ::

They'd gathered, tense and strained at the door of charms, waiting anxiously for Flitwick to let them in. The emotional strain of working with each other had begun to sink in, making them nervous and jittery, as if they were about to attack each other. Flitwick had opened his door only to step back in alarm; their expressions of agony evident. He'd squeaked, and summoned them in, asking them to find a seat; only to stumble backwards this time from the sheer force of their collected sighs of relief. It was how Hermione had found herself sitting next to Parvarti; Padma and Hannah behind her, watching as Pansy cooed over Draco the opposite side of the room.

Her lips were at his ear, her hand on his knee as her other one went to the wood of the stool at his back; possessive. She was whispering something, and Draco seemed to smile lazily, as if he wasn't quite paying attention to what she was saying, but more-so to the intimacy he was recieving in the middle of a class. Hermione bristled, smothering the jealousy she felt before Parvarti could comment. Pansy was fawning over him, and Flitwick seemed to be completely ignorant to their inappropriate display. The jealousy boiled and burnt her insides, curling them up into a charred crisp.

"You ok?"

She started writing, the tip of her quill snapping as she pressed a little too hard, and she tipped her head to the side to meet the overly concerned gaze of Parvarti. The Indian girls hair was beautifully coiffed as usual, a dark plum colour over her currently parted lips, and Hermione sighed inwardly, almost jealously.

"Yeh, I'm…I'm ok, I was just thinking; it's so strange being back in lessons, no Harry, no Ron…" She lied, and Parvarti's eyes misted over immediately, her lip quivering. Shame and guilt fought a war in Hermione's chest, as she reached out to take the girls hand in sympathy. "I'm sorry," She whispered as Parvarti shook her head, closing her eyes and fighting back tears.

"No no don't be, it's ok." Parvarti breathed, squeezing Hermione's hand.

"I…I was also thinking about holding a party in the eighth year dorm, for our younger friends from our houses. Some sort of celebratory party for being back at Hogwarts." She whispered, still holding Parvarti's hand in her own as the girl began to perk up a little. A light tap on her shoulder made her turn, the overly excited face of Hannah greeted her.

"If you need help getting butterbeer then I'm your girl, I can get us a few crates." She whispered, understanding the secrecy needed. Hermione's eyes widened a little as Parvarti stifled a startled laugh into a cough.

"That would be great Hannah, if you can get some for a week from now that would be ideal." Hermione replied, keeping her surprise smothered as Parvarti began to choke slightly beside her. She thumped the girls back whilst giving Hannah a warm smile; wondering what on earth she was doing.

:: :: ::

He'd kissed her.

He'd actually kissed Hermione Granger.

It wasn't anything at all like he'd expected; anything he'd ever foreseen himself doing. Kissing the Gryffindor princess. He smirked, unaware of Pansy encroaching on his personal space, her hand now his back rest, her lips nudging ever so close to his ear.

She'd been like drinking pure nectar, she'd been softer, better than he'd ever imagined. He'd spent some time imagining how she'd taste, how she'd feel. The actual event had eclipsed anything he could have dreamed, even if it wasn't the way he'd planned. He stiffened slightly; snarling to the parchment in front of him as he remembered the drunken kiss he'd watched her share earlier that night. Nothing had prepared him for the jealousy he'd felt. Watching him smother her with his mouth, her small form curved under him as he devoured her.

Now she was holding the Patil girls hand, speaking to Abbott, moving those delicious lips carefully and precisely. Merlin he wanted to kiss her again.

Being so close to her earlier in transfigurations had only set his nerves alight, wanting to embrace her; press her against the hard wood of the desk. He'd needed to touch her somehow so much that when she'd tried to help he'd snapped, realising that he'd force himself upon her again, and that wouldn't do well to reveal just yet.

He'd wait.

Wait until they were alone.

Then he'd kiss her.

"Draaaacoooo! Are you even listening?" Pansy complained into his ear as he smirked at his plan.

"Yes Pans," he responded, barely paying attention.

:: :: ::

"For fucks sake, I'm not going to spill my heart out to you!" He snapped, his top lip bent in a snarl, the venom in his grimace slow and painful as Hermione stood her ground against him. Steeling herself for the blizzard he was about to unleash. "What do you expect from me anyway?" He continued, now pacing between the sofa and coffee table like a wolf stalking prey, his eyes set to the floor.

"You've been snapping at me all day; in transfigurations, at lunch, at the prefect meeting, even now! What has gotten into you!?" She retorted, crossing her arms over her chest and scowling at him, even though he wasn't about to turn his head and look at her. He snarled again, contorting his features into an expression of genuine pain, he glowered at the floor.

"Pansy." He mumbled, cold fury dripping from his every word, freezing the air with the lone syllable.

"Pansy." Hermione repeated, stepping forward and throwing herself on to the sofa, relaxing into its leather softness, completely unruffled by the spiteful Slytherins name being brought into to the game. The anger she'd felt earlier watching her paw over him, the way he'd smirked and smiled, bringing up her own rage. She poured water on it the best she could; sensing sarcasm instead.

"Yes, Pansy." He stopped his pacing, turning to face her, his cheeks tinged with the slightest hints of pink.

"…and what has the almighty Parkinson done to ruffle the feathers of the never flustered Malfoy?" She asked him sarcastically, a smile playing on the corners of her mouth, a playful sparkle to her eyes.

"Crabbe." He replied, his voice suddenly monotone, as if all the emotion in the world had ceased to exist.

"Ah."

"Apparently, I look retarded without Crabbe and Goyle, I'll never have the same influence over Nott and Zabini, and I should try looking for another pair of lackeys; not…attempt to make friends." He said, running his hand through his platinum locks, his face tormented, and his other hand falling into his suit pocket, as if it were somewhere for him to hide. "She's so…she's so fucking thick." He said unexpectedly, as Hermione's eyebrows rose, she was not expecting such a criticism of the woman who had literally hung onto him for so many years.

"Oh." She found herself saying, as if to encourage him on, he glanced at her briefly, before staring out the window, lost in his rant once more.

"She understands nothing; literally nothing. You tell her about the magical theory in potions and she completely glosses over, even though we have an essay every bloody year about it, and it's basic, basic stuff. She's just absolutely…but you mention power, galleons, and who you're going to meet on the weekend? She's all over that. Me, with my money, my surname and Crabbe and Goyle to back me up? I don't think her knickers were ever dry when she was around me." He said as Hermione attempted to not let her jaw drop; the arrogant sentence had to be ignored, lest he stop pouring out what was on his mind. "Now Goyle is in Azkaban, and Crabbe…" He swallowed, and Hermione leant forward a little, resting her elbows on her knees as Draco's hands went to his head once more, his features ruined by a look of sheer grief.

"What about Crabbe?" She said gently, and Draco threw her a furious look; the force of which pushing her backwards into the sofa again, forcing her eyes to open and take in the sheer force of his wrath.

"Like you know what it's like to lose someone close to you!" He hissed; and rage exploded within her. She stood up sharply, and Draco stepped back, completely surprised by her sudden movement. Her fists clenched, and she snarled at him with rage.

"Oh, I don't?" She began her voice trembling with her murderous anger, dripping with cold fury, "I guess I don't, it's not like I ever felt anything like friendship with Lupin, or his wife Tonks, or Fred Weasley, or Lavender Brown. I never loved my parents either, so I guess it's totally ok they're gone too. It's not like I burst into tears in potions over them or anything!" She snapped sarcastically; watching as Draco's silvery eyes widened, his skin greying as he paled.

"The Weasley's lost a somebody?" He breathed as Hermione snapped back, stunned.

"You…you didn't know?" She asked him, all anger melting away like the snow under a spring sun.

"…I'm not exactly on speaking terms with the Weasley's." He reminded her, and she blushed feeling slightly ashamed.

"During the final battle, he was killed by an explosion." She told him, as Draco nodded, looking as though things were slowly falling into place.

"Your parents?"

"I had to…I had to wipe their memories, make them believe they never had a daughter or they would be…look, it's irrelevant, I just had to make them safe any way I could." She snapped, feeling the pain well up in her heart forcing it to swell like a balloon. Draco was nodding, his skin a deathly pallor made to look as though a little life lingered under the surface by the flickering torch lights.

"I feel guilty about Crabbe," He admitted eventually, as the pair stood observing one another carefully. "I feel guilty. I feel like I should have known he would have been alright with killing. I feel like I should have expected him to try a curse he'd never tried before, but only just learnt a week ago. I feel like I should have…I should have known bringing him to the room of requirement would have sent him into such a blood lust he'd have…" He sighed, and moved to sit next to Hermione on the sofa, as she lowered herself back once more; sensing the atmosphere had changed.

"It feels fucking awful knowing that you ordered someone around for the entirety of their school life, and they had the capability of something you never could. It's not a good thing; but…the more I think about it, I don't miss him. I should. I should miss him. I feel guilty about it. I should be grieving, but I haven't, I don't, I can't Hermione. He was excited at the prospect of killing you three. Excited. It's…" He swallowed again, and Hermione felt the overwhelming urge to run her hands through his hair for him as he went to rest his head in his palms.

Her hand rose, and rested on the nape of his neck, her fingers running up and down the base of his skull, his silky moonlight white hair falling over her fingertips as he turned to look at her. He shifted, removing his head from his hands and reaching out towards her as excitement flared up in the pit of her stomach. His long fingers cupped her face, his thumbs stroking her cheeks. Leaning forward, he looked at her intensely, his mind made up completely. A gentle pressure pulled her forward to meet him, and she found her lips had parted expectantly.

He kissed her again; slowly, the softness of his lips pressed up against hers, securing her in place. They remained joined for several minutes, slowly moving their lips together, searchingly, soothingly. It was a soul fixing kiss, one that seemed to melt every crack on Hermione's heart, and put it back together again flawlessly. Heat swelled up underneath her skin, pulsating with every beat of her newly mended heart as he pulled away, moving to rest an arm about her shoulders.

"Grief is shit." He said to her, as she smiled weakly.

"Yep."