AN: 8th year redeemed Draco trope, with a sexual twist. This story contains mature, smutty content and crude language. This is strictly a Dramione fic but there will be platonic Drarry moments, which I've never really written before, as well as slight Ron Weasley bashing I think. I can't actually tell if I'm Ron-bashing. I love Ron and everything but he's easy to imagine as a terrible boyfriend, at least a terrible boyfriend for Hermione. You've been officially advised.

Finders Keepers
Chapter One
-o-

March 13th, 1999

It'd been a long, grueling couple of terms so far at Hogwarts. It was hard for Draco to imagine that around this time two years ago he was practically on the brink of death. His health had been beyond deteriorated, not only from the lack of sleep and severe anxiety over his looming task, the weight of guilt but also because Harry Potter had managed to hit him with a curse that he'd never even heard of before. Yes, although he'd been healed to good as new after (except for the scarring), he'd still always remember the day his forever arch-rival had almost succeeded in killing him. What was ever more ironic was that same, wily git willingly saved his life on the day of the big battle and he'd spoken for Draco at his trial preceding the war.

Draco still, honestly couldn't believe it all. It seemed so surreal – he should have been locked away in Azkaban with Lucius. Regardless he was very grateful to be there, grateful to continue his education alive and well. He'd even told Potter so when he somehow worked up the nerve to apologize before the winter holiday. He'd completely caught him off guard; said thank you, that is was him, Harry, who'd saved his life and that Draco was now in his debt. The sable-haired Gryffindor looked genuinely shocked for a second – mouth hung ajar in befuddlement, his round glasses almost falling off as he'd awkwardly stumbled and adjusted them. He'd even grinned as he would to one of his own friends and actually shook Draco's hand. It was a strange feeling, and an unfamiliar but much needed catharsis washed over and renewed the both of them.

Draco was sat in a chair at his usual table in the back of the library, contemplating all of this for a moment as he readied himself to work on his Transfiguration essay. True, he hadn't spoken to Potter much since then but he'd assumed that over Christmas, the war-hero had told his faithful comrades of Draco's uncharacteristic show of appreciation, his apology. Not that he would ever actually want to be friends with him and his lot but even still, it felt nice to be a little less hated.

That day Potter had also revealed that it hadn't even been him, per say, that'd saved his life for it was Hermione Granger who'd requested they fly back on their brooms to rescue Draco from the fiendfyre in the now, unusable Room of Hidden Things. Draco wasn't surprised, of course. That was simply in the witch's nature – a trait he'd never possessed for he was always a slithering coward, through and through, although he didn't want to cower away any longer. He'd grown since then. Seriously, he'd thought the world had gone topsy-turvy, for in no other universe would he have ever had the bollocks, nor the sense to let go of his hatred towards the famed Wizard Who Lived.

Well, it'd turned out that particular wizard had let go of his hatred for Draco, at least enough to show up to support him at his trial. Yes, Granger had been there too alongside him. The both of them had stood up and vouched for his bravery, yet Draco wasn't sure that's what it'd ever been. He'd never felt brave, in those instances. He'd felt absolutely terrified, felt he was a blithering fool but he was glad that somehow his actions in those moments at the manor on Easter had bought them all more time.

Speak of the proverbial devils – there Potter was now, striding across the way with his scruffy, weasel sidekick, Ron Weasley. Potter had a large tome in his hands as they headed over to the table in the aisle beside Draco's and settled in. They never seemed to notice him, for behind the shelves and amongst the stacks of books Draco was well-hidden, secluded. He wasn't about to go over and say hello or anything, especially since he still felt a mild contempt for Weasley, no matter what they'd been through, or had witnessed together. He remained working on his essay instead but couldn't help but hear just about every bit of the Gryffindor's conversation.

"Like I said, we're not staying for long, just need to make some notes and then we'll get on our way," Harry uttered to Ron quietly, lazily as he opened the book and trifled through the pages for what he was looking for. Draco squinted between the shelves and peeped Weasley restlessly staring around the library, making sure no one was listening in. It appeared he had something on his mind, something he wanted to talk about with his best mate. Ron didn't see Draco and the Slytherin tried to get back to his essay. The probability of the red-head having anything remotely interesting to say was slim.

"Look Harry, I've been thinking…"

Harry glanced wearily at his friend's ears as they immediately turned bright pink. Ron was never good at putting into words how he felt. "Yes?"

Ron took a deep breath, "Well, I'm pretty sure I'm going to cut things off with Hermione," Harry stopped what he was writing and looked Ron in his eyes.

"That's what you really want?" he queried, his brows raised skeptically.

"It's just that Hermione is sort of, you know she's been really distant, I mean you saw how it was at Christmas," he waved his hands in the air for good measure, "And we both know that I did not have a great birthday… I don't know Harry. I think she's planning on breaking up with me soon anyway so, maybe it's just time to…" he trailed of sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck and shrugging.

"Don't tell me you just want to break it off with her before she gets the chance to," sniped Harry, but he'd seen this coming. It'd been bound to happen, one way or another. Hermione and Ron just… didn't fit, so to say. It wasn't for lack of trying, but between the heated disagreements, hurtful words thrown around and the bouts of screaming that'd occasionally transpired… it'd been really bad. Ron hadn't been the same since Fred and all – none of them had. Hermione and Ron had never been further away from each other.

"No! Of course not," Ron's face deepened beet red, "Listen I don't exactly want it but I don't feel like I have a choice at this point Harry," he sighed dejectedly. "We used to be good for each other, before the war, during the war but… not now, not anymore." Ron seemed like he might cry and Harry nodded sadly, knowingly.

"Shh!" came the sudden hushing of the wiry old scholar in the portrait behind them, "No idle chit-chatting,"

"Oh stuff it," Ron mumbled, but ceased their discussion nonetheless and let Harry finish up his note-taking.

Draco had been more surprised than he'd have expected, hearing about the woes of the Golden Trio. He could see right through the Weasel's shite. The fact that he wanted to be the one to break up with Granger before she did was positively priceless. 'After everything, really, some Gryffindor he is,' Draco thought. 'The bloke can't even take a proper blow,' he re-dipped his quill and pressed it to his parchment, etching down a few inches.

He kind of understood it though; after years of surveying their friendship from afar, Granger and Weasley – as a couple – didn't make much sense. Everyone knew of their supposed feelings for each other, it was rather obvious to anyone with eyes, yet if one were to really take a good hard look, they'd see that the two were not made for each other… Once upon a time, Draco would be laughing at their expense but not now, not after what he'd seen his deranged aunt do to Granger, after all of it. In spite of himself he felt particularly bad for them, but these things happen and from what he'd just heard it was probably for the best.

After a painstaking forty minutes Harry began putting away his things and grabbed the book he'd borrowed to return to the shelf. "You comin' Ron?" asked Harry, humor in his tone. Ron had fallen asleep with his head in his arms over the desk. He perked up, yawned and made to follow. "One thing I can say, is at least you and Hermione will stay friends,"

"How are you so sure?"

"Because I doubt she'd want to leave this all on a lousy note, don't you think?"

"I hope that's true, Harry. I wouldn't want us to go on with our lives, constantly hating each other. It just wouldn't be right,"

That'd been the last of what Draco could make out before the rag-tag duo disappeared beyond his vicinity. He let out a breath he didn't realize he'd held in. Without the nuisance that was Potter and Weasley's presences he could better relax and work more efficiently. It was like a cloud that'd been over his head had finally dissipated to clear skies.

Once he was satisfied with the first draft of his essay he gathered his belongings and swung his black bag over his shoulder. As Draco went to pass by where the Gryffindors had sat, something askew caught his eye and he stopped. There on the chair that Weasley had previously occupied was quite clearly, one of the prat's texts. Draco picked it up, "Ah," it was the Charms book Flitwick assigned them that year. It might be a rather kind thing for him to do, if he'd returned this to Weasley despite their differences. It could be his one and only opportunity to ice over old wounds, perhaps. Not that Draco wanted to be friends with him, he had to reiterate to himself.

Curiosity won over Draco and he casually skimmed the pages inside, seeing if Weasley had written any interesting notes in the margins, or doodles maybe. He'd only been planning to look for a tiny second, assuming there'd be nothing to even find when a piece of parchment, no a photograph, fell out from the middle and onto the tops of his shiny, black shoes. Draco blinked down at it for a moment, unable to comprehend but then bent forward to grasp it.

When he saw the subject of the picture, the nature, the variety of it, he couldn't lift his jaw back up from the floor. Without his usual cool air of indifference Draco found himself hastily looking around for any rubberneckers but thankfully no one near seemed to be paying him any mind. His feet moved of their own accord; he was hiding with purpose this time, hunched standing behind the stacks where the portrait of the old scholar was hanging (though Draco made sure the man's unwelcome eyes were unaware of just what he'd found).

The temperature of Draco's body rose higher and higher as he drank in every detail; he felt his cheeks, his skin grow unfathomably hot. The contraband shook between his quaking fingers, his thighs lightly trembling beneath him as a searing blaze ignited the blood inside his stiffening groin.

Hermione Granger, the overachieving, bossy little swot he'd known half his life – and now decorated war-heroine – was in a moving photograph. However, this wasn't your typical photo, no. Oh by gods, this was so much more, unreasonably so. It was unfair, just how good, how delectable Granger looked half-naked.

Inconspicuously, Draco peered around again to see if anyone was watching. The last thing he needed was to get caught mucking about anywhere with this. He took one last, long look at it, biting his lip libidinously. He was afraid he might never get to see it again, but stowed it safely in the inside-pocket of his cloak and grabbed Weasley's book.

The students his age that'd returned after the war were now considered eighth years. The eighth years were granted the privilege to remain within their respective houses, yet were each given their own residences, all located somewhere around the four common rooms. Each living quarter was rather large; there was the bedchamber, a study area with a fireplace, couch and desk, and a fully functional washroom in every single one. They were allowed to decorate it however they wished as well, which was a nice touch. It was almost as if they had their own flats, except for the lack of a kitchen. That was one accommodation they were not permitted, something that Draco had wished for since he hated showing his face in the Great Hall.

Once in his private living quarters, Draco threw his bag on the desk and went straight to his room where he sat down on the bed and pulled out the explicit, moving photograph of Granger.

Well, it wasn't necessarily explicit. Actually, the witch had great taste. She was dressed up all 1940's pin-up style. Yes, he'd seen glimpses of lingerie like this before – this kind was extra saucy, with her gartered thigh-highs and darker-hued ensemble. She had on a sheer, black brassiere that gave him a generous view of the pretty nipples beneath. Her breasts were on the smaller side but so full and perky. He liked that. The usual owl's nest that took home upon her head was tamed, brushed down neatly into a long, sleek mane with the front pinned up and out of her face. Granger twirled herself about flirtatiously in the tiny, high-waist skirt she sported. As she turned, the sensual, slender curve of her back formed a prominent dip that led up to her round, bouncy bum and Draco couldn't be sure if the once so innocent girl (in his eyes) was even wearing any knickers. He could see the smile of her arse cheeks peeking out from under the skirt, could see how soft she looked.

Draco let out a shuddering breath, almost choking for air as he ran a hand through his hair. Slytherin's pants, he was bothered. He knew what he had to do but damnit he didn't want to surrender this beauteous bit – it was his. He'd found it, after all. What if he'd kept it forever and no one ever knew... but no that wasn't the way to go about this. He'd get in trouble for having it sooner or later and he'd do better at holding onto his dignity if he'd returned the picture of Granger. It was going to be an all-around uncomfortable situation for everyone involved but still, Draco would try to make this as painless as possible.

It was kind of hysterical to him… in his earlier years he would have taken this photo and come up with a despicable plan to humiliate his school-yard enemies. He wouldn't do something like that now, of course. Not only would he violate his probation if he did anything hazardous during his time here back at Hogwarts but Draco considered bullying and petty drama beneath him now. It wasn't worth it, and doing horrible, mean things to people for practically no reason just didn't sit right with him anymore. It'd make him sick to do something like that to Granger, after the Drawing Room floor, her blood, after… after this photograph.

He gazed back down to Hermione's warm, coquettish smile, her charming eyes and adorable dusting of freckles and Draco Malfoy found himself one-hundred percent, completely and utterly smitten. He'd be lying if he said that all these years he'd really genuinely hated her. It just wasn't the truth. It hadn't been hate, no. He'd harbored a secret, livid envy of her, for she'd surpassed him and everyone else in all things pedantic. The attention she'd got for her grades, for her consistent participation and well-roundedness had made him highly disgruntled. If the facts of the matter weren't enough already, the handful of Crucios his father had bestowed to Draco for being beaten by a muggleborn at every turn had been some of his favorite memories.

So because of all that, Draco had lashed out at Granger whenever he'd had the chance, though naturally, she always had something smart to say to try to get him to shove off. Not to mention she'd been Potter's best lass, another reason he'd had to despise her.

He definitely, definitely didn't despise her anymore, and Draco wondered wistfully just exactly what she thought of him now – probably nothing very good. It pained him to think on that for too long. At least before the holiday, he'd apologized to Potter, had thanked him. Draco hoped he was right about him telling his companions about their amiable encounter during the break and that Granger might take it all into consideration when he decided to return what was rightfully hers. Weasley certainly didn't deserve that picture anymore, right? Draco felt the bastard was a fool, for fucking up what he'd had with the witch. How could he let someone like that go? She was so above his league it was tragic, in Draco's opinion.

Draco didn't want to approach Weasley with this, it wouldn't end up well, he knew it… and this photograph frankly wasn't any of Potter's business, so he wasn't going to either of them. There was only one choice here. Although exceedingly hesitant about the idea, Draco was unmistakably interested to see what Hermione Granger would do, what she would say and how she would act, once he'd handed her back a piece of herself she'd thought only one pair of eyes would see.

-o-

AN: Look, I hope this fic isn't completely terrible and that you've enjoyed it so far. Let me know what you think in a review! This is yet another WIP (I'm notorious for this) but expect another chapter within the next week or so. Thank you so much for reading my mediocre fanfiction, you rule! Cheers :0)