Hi all! I'm back with another Dramione fic! This is my first one that isn't a soulmate!AU so I'm excited to see what you guys think! Also I'm going to sign up for AO3 soon under the same username, just in case I double post it's not someone plagiarizing me!

Do you have a date to the Yule Ball?

Hermione had been sitting staring at the small piece of parchment in front of her for about five minutes. Harry and Ron were still in bed sleeping, and on a snowy Sunday morning she didn't blame them. She might have done the same if she didn't have to study for an Ancient Runes test. She was about halfway done with her breakfast when a piece of parchment floated over to her and landed beside her plate. She had done a survey of the other students in the room, trying to work out who had written it. But there were far too many people to pick out anyone suspicious.

She was hesitant to write back. For one she did have a date to the ball. It was only a week away and Viktor Krum had asked her two weeks in advance. She was excited to go. She knew no one would be able to believe that one of the most famous Quidditch players in the world had his eye on little old Hermione Granger. She wanted to run around the school and scream it from her lungs. Someone wanted her! But something told her to keep it quiet. Even from Harry and Ron.

Her instinct told her to ignore the note. She did, after all, already have a date. But she couldn't bring herself to look away from it. What if someone else wanted her too? A secret admirer. The thought made her stomach do a summersault. Maybe Viktor wasn't the only one who noticed her as a young woman.

She had been attempting to analyze the note for any kind of hint of the writer's identity. The handwriting, the parchment, the ink, something. But nothing stuck out to her. She supposed she had no choice if she really wanted to know who this mystery person was. Hermione reached into her satchel and grabbed a spare piece of parchment and ink and scribbled out a quick Yes. Nothing more. With a quick charm the note floated up in the air above her head and was sent off. She did her best to follow it, see who it would be delivered to. But after dancing around in the air in circles and zig zags she lost it. Whoever had written her the note must have known her well enough to figure she'd try to figure them out.

Hermione slumped down slightly and anxiously stirred her porridge, looking up every minute or so in hopes another note would come her way. But perhaps that was it. It was a simple answer to a simple question. What else was there to say? She was just about to pack up her things and go to the library to study when another small piece of parchment fluttered down in front of her. She flipped it over eagerly.

Well whoever he is he's a lucky man. Perhaps you'll save me a dance?

Her brows shot up. Someone was interested in her. She wanted to jump up on the table and demand the writer step forward and identify themselves. But of course, she wouldn't. She tapped her quill against her chin as she thought. Was she being selfish or greedy? She already had a date, one who seemed fascinated by her. Hermione was sure that Viktor would find her in the library and ask to sit with her while she studied before she got the chance to leave. He'd done so three times since he asked her. He had said once he liked watching her think.

She had a man who was interested in her. So why was her stomach rolling over giddily at the thought of another? Hermione felt guilty and found her face feeling hot. Of course, Viktor didn't need to know. After all, she didn't plan on ditching him for someone who wasn't signing their notes. Plus they seemed respectful of the fact she already had a date. What was one dance? That is, if she was able to figure out who was asking her.

She scribbled her reply quickly and it was soon flying in the air. Perhaps I will if you tell me who you are. Hermione waited and waited for a reply that didn't come. After fifteen minutes with nothing but cold porridge and a spoiled appetite she hitched her satchel up on her shoulder and began to march out of the Great Hall. It was safe to say she was frustrated. The idea of a secret admirer had been exciting at first. But now she found it simply annoying. Perhaps Viktor watching her study was exactly the distraction she needed. As she walked she planned on asking Ginny to do something with her before the weekend ended, in case she needed further distraction.

You look lovely when you read. I like watching the gears turn in your big beautiful brain.

It had been about a day and a half since she had received the first letter. Studying with Viktor had taken her mind off things quite well. She asked him a bit about life in Bulgaria and he was fascinated with her stories from the Muggle world. When she told him about roller skating he asked her if she thought they'd have such a thing back in his home country. She was enjoying having someone's undivided attention. And she enjoyed how he looked at her with undeniable admiration.

Later that day Ginny had stolen some butterbeer and snacks from the kitchen and they made themselves a little picnic in the astronomy tower. She ended up telling her about the notes, and even brought them with her to show Ginny and asked if she recognized the handwriting. Hermione was undeniably disappointed when she didn't.

"Are you going to save them a dance?" Ginny asked curiously.

Hermione shrugged her shoulders. "Maybe. I don't know. I don't even know who they are, how am I supposed to know if they're worth a dance?"

"Maybe that's all the fun of it," she replied before they began to guess who they were for fun.

She'd been reading up about the history of the Tri Wizard Tournament when the new note arrived. The first task was the day before the ball and as it came closer and closer Hermione was more and more worried. Harry was ill prepared and they both knew it. Ron was being too much of a sour git to realize his best friend was in a great deal of danger. Harry seemed to prefer to ignore it all together. All she could think to do was read up on tasks from the past to make her feel better.

Hermione was just reading about a short wave of rule reform in the 1940's after the third champion death when the note landed exactly in the place she was reading. Her heart stopped for a moment and she found herself pushing the book away from her. The annoyance she'd felt the day before was suddenly gone and, against her wishes, her face was engulfed in blush. They thought she was lovely. They thought her brain was beautiful. They'd been paying attention to her.

Her face felt as if it were on fire as she began to write out her reply. You could get a better view if you came and sat with me. It wasn't like her to use such a flirty tone, and she did admittedly feel a bit sheepish as she sent her note flying through the shelves to its recipient. But she wanted to know who this admirer was badly. She wanted to feel special, and if a few simple words written on a scrap paper were enough to make her feel special she couldn't imagine what it would be like to be in their presence.

Yes, she was going to the ball with Viktor. Even if the writer were to sit in front of her that instant she still would. But that didn't mean she was tied to him by any means. She was a young woman, she hadn't even had her first kiss yet. She was not about to put all her eggs in one basket at the age of fourteen. Especially when that basket normally lived in Bulgaria.

She didn't plan on telling Harry or Ron about the notes. At least not yet. They didn't even know about Viktor. Hermione just didn't think she'd be able to bear the shock on their faces when she said his name. And though she was sure they'd be happy for her she knew that their surprise that someone of such a high caliber would be interested in her would hurt. So she planned on being far away when they had their reaction so that by the time she had a chance to talk to them they'd get over it.

It wasn't too long before a piece of parchment came fluttering around the corner. She jumped up and eagerly snatched it from the air before spreading it in front of her. I don't think you'd be so happy to find out who I am. And since you already have a date I'm perfectly content with admiring you from afar.

Hermione frowned at the paper. Why wouldn't she be happy? She pondered on the thought for a moment. Perhaps it was someone she didn't exactly get along with. That could easily be most students from Slytherin house. Most of them were not happy about Harry's name being pulled from the Goblet of Fire, and by extension likely not happy with her. Or maybe one of Viktor's friends who felt guilty going behind his back. Or one of the hundreds of students wearing those mean badges about her best friend.

She mulled the possibilities over for a minute or two before writing back. I really should be the judge of that, shouldn't I? Perhaps I'm not as judgmental as you think. Perhaps I'll give you a chance. As it flew out of sight she knew there was no way she could focus on her reading anymore. She felt herself practically vibrating in her seat as she anxiously awaited her reply. She wished Ginny were there to keep her company while she waited and maybe even help her write back. She was uneducated in the romance department, and though Ginny had equally little experience she read romance novels at night and would know what to do better.

The next reply came quicker than all the others and Hermione could feel a large goofy grin on her face when it came flying towards her. Normally I'd let you make the decision yourself. But I know you well enough to know you wouldn't be happy. I'd be more upset than I'd care to admit if your rejection was harsh.

Well now she was thoroughly frustrated. I know you well enough. What the hell did that mean? Was this someone she was friends with? Maybe that was why they thought she wouldn't be happy; it could be one of her friends. Or perhaps someone who was in a lot of her classes and had ample opportunity to observe her. Either way she felt herself beginning to get annoyed and scribbled out her reply with a quickness. Why are you even writing me if you won't tell me who you are?

While she waited for the next note she laid all the ones she had received out in front of her. Hermione found herself admiring their handwriting of all things. It was a neat cursive and looked as if they'd all been written with care. She grazed her finger across some of the letters and thought about the possibility that her secret admirer was someone she didn't get along with. Perhaps even someone that had been unkind to her. Hermione liked to think she was a forgiving person, was there anyone she wouldn't be able to? Her mind went straight to Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle but it only made her giggle. The thought of them ogling at her from across a classroom was right out of a joke told by Fred and George.

Before she knew it the next note landed on top of all the others. Because I'll never be able to say it to your face, but I still needed you to know I think you're exceptional. I have a feeling you don't get told so often.

She felt her heart ache. No, she didn't get told often. By teachers, yes, about her grades. But never about her. Her personality, her sense of humor, her looks. It's as if all she was good for was her brain. Hermione hadn't realized how much that hurt until she was suddenly desperate to meet the one of two people who saw her as a woman.

Before writing out her next note she collected all her belongings and put the book she was reading back on the shelf. The only thing she kept out was her quill and parchment. What if I didn't reject you? Wouldn't it be worth it? Wouldn't you be happy I knew how you felt?

Hermione got to her feet and with a quick wave of her wand the note was flying in the air with her in hot pursuit. The note weaved in and out of the different aisles in the library, but she was quick to follow. She wracked her brain for a spell that would bring it directly to her secret admirer, but she figured in order to do so correctly she'd need to know the spell they used to evade her. Whoever they were they were smart. She liked that about them.

Her thoughts came to a halt when she slammed into something, someone, after being too focused on the note to notice someone was in her path. Both she and the note collided with Draco Malfoy, her reeling back and the note falling pathetically on the floor. When she looked up she expected to see an expression of disgust written across his face. He did, after all, just touch her. A mudblood. But when her eyes reached his face she found him looking down curiously at the note. She reached down and snatched it up and stuffed it into her pocket before he got the chance. The last thing Draco Malfoy needed to know was that she had a secret admirer.

His usual smirk spread on his face, "Writing love notes, eh Granger?"

She felt her face flush bright red and only hoped he didn't notice. Or at least wouldn't say anything. "No," she snapped back, "I was just, er, practicing."

He raised a blonde eyebrow at her. "You? Practicing first year spells? That's likely."

Her grip on her bag strap tightened. "Well you have no way of knowing what spell I'd cast, do you?" she replied, "Maybe it was something very complicated."

"Well that I believe," he said with a short laugh. "I doubt you'd pass up the opportunity to show off to the whole school how smart you are."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Shove off, Malfoy," she said as she brushed passed him. "I've got better things to do than stand here and let you pick me apart."

She expected him to reply with some sort of comeback, as he always did, even follow her to do so. But he didn't. She even turned back once she was out of the library to see if he was following her from afar. But no, she was alone. She found it odd that he let her go so easy.

Though as she made her way back to the common room to get ready for once again pester Harry about his preparation for the first task she thought that maybe it wasn't so odd. Malfoy was still a prat, of course. But the more she thought about it the more she began to realize that ever since she punched him at the end of last year he'd, arguably, left her alone. He still teased her, of course. That much was clear by the conversation they'd just had. And of course he was still awful to Harry and Ron. But he hadn't called her a mudblood once since she hit him, something that was once a weekly occurrence.

She chastised herself for dwelling on such a small interaction when she quite literally had love notes in her bag. Hermione went straight to the Gryffindor tower to tell Ginny about the newest development between her and her admirer and ask her for help on how to move forward.

Weasley is an idiot. Don't listen to him.

Ron was an idiot. Had it really taken him four years of friendship to realize that she was a girl? One that he could even have fun on a date with, at that. She'd practically been fuming out both ears when she picked up her belongings and relocated to the Ravenclaw table to finish the rest of her studying with Luna Lovegood. Was she Luna's biggest fan? No. But she was always kind and would never say the horrible things to her that Ron did.

It became very clear to her almost immediately after sitting down that she would not be able to focus on the chapter of her Potions book she'd been reading. She'd been staring angrily at the pages, a stare fiery enough to make the pages ignite, when a piece of parchment with now familiar handwriting dropped into her view. Blush engulfed her face and she read it about five times. They'd been sitting close enough to her to hear her conversation with Ron. The thought made her heart race.

The dreamy voice of Luna brought her back to reality. "Did Ron write to you to apologize?"

The thought made Hermione laugh. "Ron? Apologize? That's not likely." She hesitated for a moment before sliding the note over to Luna. She was an odd one, sure, but she didn't seem like the judgmental type. "It's not from him. I have a… secret admirer, I suppose."

"How charming," Luna replied with a smile. "You've no idea who they are?"

Hermione shook her head, the undeniable feeling of disappointment bubbling in her chest. "I'd like to know. But they don't think it's a good idea. They think I won't be happy and reject them."

She'd been carrying around every note her mystery writer had sent to her in an envelope inside her satchel. Hermione took them out gingerly and laid them out in the order she'd received them in front of Luna for her to read. As she did Hermione couldn't help but feel a bit vulnerable and she found her face feeling warm once more. Showing Ginny had been one thing, she was her best friend besides Ron and Harry. She didn't know Luna as well. But maybe a fresh pair of eyes was all she needed.

"Perhaps they're right," Luna mused. "Perhaps you meet them and they're someone you don't get along with. Someone you hate, even. How would you feel?"

Hermione hesitated. "I'd feel weird, I suppose. I don't know, it's hard to say when I have no clue how much I supposedly don't like this person."

"Well who in school do you hate the most?"

"Pansy Parkinson." The answer was easy.

Luna laughed and Hermione wondered if she was just as awful to her. She seemed to understand Hermione's answer. "Well how would you react if the person writing these notes was Pansy?"

She snorted in response. "I'd think it was some kind of cruel joke."

Luna hummed. "Well perhaps that's the response they're scared of."

Hermione frowned and pondered the thought. Maybe she was a bit more judgmental than she'd care to admit. Maybe her secret admirer did have a reason to be nervous. She couldn't help but feel a bit guilty. What if this person was someone she truly didn't get along with? What if she'd said unkind words to them since receiving their letters without knowing? She pondered this for a moment before carefully writing out her reply.

Of course Ron's an idiot. But thank you. I've been thinking about what you've said and I'm sorry if I've given you the impression I don't think of you kindly. Even if I do, if we were to meet I'd keep an open mind and listen to what you had to say before making any kind of decision. You have my word. Either way I'll still save you a dance.

With Luna's approval she sent the note flying. This time she knew better than to try and follow it. "You don't have any idea who it is?" Luna asked her.

Hermione shook her head. "Not really, no." she hesitated before she spoke next, unsure if it would sound ridiculous to say out loud. "For a moment last night I thought it was Malfoy. It sounds crazy, I know. But he was in the library yesterday when I was getting the notes, and I practically knocked him over I ran into him so hard and he didn't really have much to say. He hasn't called me a mudblood in half a year."

Luna's eyes lit. "Well I've got good news," she said as she began to dig through her bad. "Draco's my partner for the Herbology project. I've got some of his notes with me, which means I've got his handwriting."

Hermione's heart and stomach began to sink as Luna began to compare Malfoy's handwriting to the notes. She watched a smile spread on the girls face before she slid them across the table at her. Hermione's hands were shaking slightly as she took them. She read over both sets of notes over and over and over again, the realization creeping on her as slowly as a snail. Perhaps it was so ridiculous that her brain was refusing to admit it. Or perhaps she was afraid of it being true. Either way when she felt herself growing ill.

The handwriting was definitely his. There was no denying it. But why? How? What had changed in him? Only last year he was calling her the most awful slurs. And now he was calling her lovely and her brain beautiful. She felt as if she could throw up.

Luna reached over and took his notes back, stuffing them back into her bag. "I think this is the reaction he was afraid of."

Hermione wiped her expression clean, suddenly afraid that Malfoy would see the horror on her face. Luna was right. She'd done exactly what he'd been hoping to avoid. She thought about how there must have been something genuine in her notes. Draco Malfoy would never risk his reputation by writing Hermione Granger love notes for a simple joke. He surely would have had to mean it to take such a risk.

She then realized that if he truly meant what he was writing to her that the feelings must not have been sitting with him easily. Say he did fancy her, say there truly were feelings there. She imagined they didn't sit with him easily. He had the Malfoy name to live up to, plus a rotten group of Slytherin friends, all of which thought poorly of her kind. He was risking everything by writing to her. The thought made her sick once more, this time out of her own guilt.

"Heads up," Luna said.

She hardly had time to wonder what she meant before a note landed in front of her again. A note from Draco Malfoy. Hermione dared to peek over her shoulder in his direction only to find his body language gave no indication as to what he was doing. Pansy was sat next to him with the same dreamy expression she wore whenever he was around, and he looked just as uninterested as usual. She watched him spin his quill between two fingers while Blaise said something to him, staring down at his parchment. The same parchment he was using to write to her.

Hermione swallowed the lump in her throat and turned back around to read the newest note. I know that your word is good, I do. I just worry that I'll be the exception. I worry that you, Potter, and Weasley would have a good laugh at my expense and I don't think I'd be able to bear it. But I'll think about it. It would be exceptional to be yours, even if only for one song.

Hermione didn't have it in her to reply. She didn't have it in her to tell him that she'd figured him out. That would scare him away before she got the opportunity to figure out how she wanted to go about things. And she didn't have it in her to write back pretending as if she still didn't know. Draco Malfoy wanted to be hers. Her head was spinning. She muttered an excuse to Luna before collecting her things and fleeing from the Great Hall.

Her first instinct was to tell someone and ask for advice. But that felt wrong. He was taking a risk writing her in such a way. For whatever reason he trusted her with his heart enough. Despite everything he'd done to her in the years previous she found herself unable to betray him in such a way. Not before she got the chance to talk to him, that is. Hermione didn't know what else to do besides go up to her dormitory and jump in a hot shower to drown out her thoughts and the sound of her crying.

The day of the ball Hermione could barely contain herself. She was about ready to burst with the secret of her date. The morning and afternoon dragged on painfully long and she floated through it dreamily. Harry and Ron teased her all through breakfast and lunch and continued to question if she truly had a date. Normally she'd be angry and might storm out of the Great Hall. But she caught Viktor's eye and she could tell, though his expression wasn't as much of a giveaway as hers, that he was also excited. She daydreamed about what he might wear later that evening and did her very best to avoid looking at the Slytherin table.

It had been two days since she found out Malfoy was the one writing to her and she still hadn't a clue how to feel about it. Though no one had gone home for the holidays, classes were still off for the winter break, which decreased her time in his presence greatly. He was undeniably handsome, the thought had been in the back of her mind ever since they met. However his looks were usually overcast by his poisonous tongue.

She knew he was being genuine in his notes to her. He truly had no reason not to be, the more she thought about it. She still hadn't worked out if she'd be able to move past everything they'd been through and attempt what he was likely hoping for. She knew she wouldn't be able to if they didn't have some sort of conversation about everything that had happened.

So she took a page out of Harry's book and decided not to think about it until the last possible second. It became much easier to do so once it was time to get ready. She decided to wait to get started until most of the girls she shared the dorm with were practically done. Hermione sat on her bed staring at a book but not absorbing any of the words while they whispered around her. Everyone thought she'd made up that she had a date. She couldn't wait to prove them wrong.

Lavender Brown was the last to leave before her. She lingered by the door while Hermione began to take out the little makeup she had. "Hey." she said simply.

"Hey," Hermione replied.

"I, er…" Lavender's face turned pink. "My owl was trying to nest in your closet the other day, I went in just to get him out, I swear. But I saw your dress. It's beautiful Hermione. I'm sure whoever you're going with will love it."

Hermione's face engulfed in flames. Lavender was her roommate she knew the least. They were just very different people, simple as that. Lavender studied just enough to pass and liked to spend her free time practicing hair and makeup and looking at fashion magazines. She was nice enough but Hermione never thought of her as a girl with much substance. She once again wondered if she was more judgmental than she liked to think. "Thanks Lavender," she replied. "Well, you always look beautiful. But especially tonight."

And she did. Her curly hair had been straightened and she was in a silk dress thats color matched her name. A bashful smile spread on her face and she tucked her hair behind her ear. "Thanks, Hermione. I'll see you down there?"

"Yeah, definitely."

She had the radio on while she got ready for the ball which helped to distract her from her nerves. Charmed makeup and hair supplies flew around her head and got her ready all on her own. Thank god for magic, she thought, or else she would look like a clown. She slipped into her dress with ease and soon she was heading down to the Great Hall.

She felt so nervous that she thought she might throw up. But the smile that erupted on Viktor's face, and the shock on everyone else's, made her feel like someone. She felt special and wanted and desirable. Plus she had a feeling Ron would be a bit pissed, which made her feel even better.

The night was going perfectly. Viktor was a wonderful dancer and was able to pick her up and twirl her around as if she were light as a feather. He told her repeatedly how beautiful she was and introduced her to some of his friends. Viktor even asked her if Harry was okay after the first task from the day before and seemed genuinely concerned about the answer. "Any friend of yours is a friend of mine" he told her and she could tell he meant it.

But as much fun as she was having she was distracted. Her gaze was constantly wandering to a familiar head of blonde hair. It seemed that he had ended up going with Pansy by the way she was glued to his arm the entire evening. She found her mouth tasting sour every time she looked over at the two dancing. The fact that he didn't seem too happy about it didn't help much. Hermione was jealous of the object of Draco Malfoy's attention. Imagine that. A part of her wished he would man up and march over to her and say whatever it was he had to say to her. But that was selfish, of course. It wasn't that easy. Whatever it was that they ended up being she knew it would no longer ever be easy.

But despite the back of her mind being stuck on a certain Slytherin she managed to have loads of fun. That is until Ron Weasley got his knickers in a twist. Fraternizing with the enemy?! She couldn't believe him. She wanted to tell him right then and there that Draco Malfoy had been sending her love notes just to see the look on his face, but she resisted. She felt like she'd be betraying his trust.

"You ruin everything Ronald Weasley!" she shouted at him as he retreated up the stairs. "You always do!"

"Yeah?" he asked, turning back to face her just as he reached the top of the stairs. "Maybe if you didn't settle for the first guy who paid you any mind you'd see my point."

Rage consumed her. "Settle?!" she demanded. "Settle! No, Ronald, settling would have been going with you! I hate you!"

He didn't seem to say anything so he turned his back and left her there, Harry flashing her an apologetic look before doing the same. She wanted to scream. She wanted to run after them and strangle Ron. She wanted to find Viktor and tell everything that'd just happened. But she suddenly found she didn't have any energy. So instead she just collapsed right there on the stairs, hiding her face in her hands as she proceeded to cry off all her makeup.

She didn't care if anyone saw her, which she was sure some people did. She just knew her pity party wouldn't be able to wait for her to make it up to her room and have it in privacy. So she kicked off her shoes and started to get comfortable.

She wasn't sure how long she'd been there crying alone. It could have been a minute. It could have been an hour. She was lost in her own pitiful thoughts and only snapped out of them at the feeling of something being placed in her lap. Hermione uncovered her face and stared down at a black silk handkerchief that had been carefully placed across her knees, and her heart stopped for a moment when she looked up and saw Draco Malfoy standing in front of her. He looked thoroughly uncomfortable and didn't say anything as she gaped up at him. After what felt like forever she managed to collect herself and dabbed at her face gently with the handkerchief. She went to give it back to him but he held his hand up in protest.

"You seem like you need it more than me," he said simply.

Hermione sniffled. "Yeah, well, thanks."

Draco shifted his weight from one leg to the other. Since when did she refer to him as Draco? "I heard what Weasley said to you." he cleared his throat, shoving his hands deep in his pockets. She'd never seen him look so uncertain. She almost missed the smugness and arrogance he usually wore. "He's a right foul git. But I suppose Gryffindor's full of them so not many good friends to pick from."

She raised an eyebrow at him, eyes once more welling up with tears. "Full of foul gits, huh? I suppose that includes me, then."

"Uh…"

Hermione got to her feet and threw the handkerchief at him, but it floated lamely to the floor in between his feet. "I know, Draco." Hermione hissed at him through clenched teeth. She tried to keep her voice low but it was hard to do when she was so damned angry. At him, at Ron, at Harry, at the whole bloody school. "I know you've been writing the notes. And this isn't exactly how I imagined you approaching me tonight. So if you don't mind I'm going to bed before this night is any more ruined."

She turned her back on him and hardly bothered to hide the fact that she reached up to wipe tears from her face. She felt like the biggest fool in the school. And she was for thinking that Draco Malfoy could ever fancy her. For ever thinking he could even change enough for such a thing to be possible. The worst part? The idea began to become appealing to her. She had daydreamed about him more times than she'd ever care to admit since she figured him out. Wondered what it would be like for him to hold her while they dance. To look at her with kindness. He was undeniably handsome, especially on the rare occasion when a genuine expression was on his face. She had imagined what it would be like for his handsome face to look at her with a smile. The thought had made her stomach erupt with butterflies. Now it only made an ugly sob escape her.

Hermione had made it out of sight of the Great Hall and was about to descend the moving staircases to make the trek up to Gryffindor tower when a hand wrapped around her arm and stopped her from going any further. She turned around and the look on Draco's face made her heart skip a beat. His gray eyes, the color of the sky on the rainy days she loved, were wide and looked at her with what she thought was concern. His blonde eyebrows were knit together, a crease in his forehead settled between them.

His grip on her arm softened once she was facing him and she found herself hoping he wouldn't let go. For a passing minute or so they stared at each other and she began to wonder if either of them had the courage to speak. He broke their gaze first, clearing his throat and allowing his hand to slide down her arm. His hand lingered by hers and she felt clear disappointment when his touch was gone. "This is… hard for me," was all he said.

Hermione nodded, her hair that had become loose from dancing bouncing around her cheeks. "I can imagine that."

"I could be disowned if things… got out of hand." Draco leaned against the staircase railing, still two steps below her. "But, curiously, a part of me doesn't seem to care. As much as I try to make it."

"What about the part of you that thinks I'm a dirty mudblood?" she asked. There wasn't a trace of malice in her voice, it was a genuine question. "What's happened to that?"

He winced when she said the word and he seemed unable to meet her eyes for a moment, his gaze wandering to the various moving portraits around them. "It's gone," Draco said, his voice low. "I'm… regretful of what I said. To lots of people, but mostly you."

Her instincts told her not to believe him. But he seemed just about as uncomfortable thinking about his language the two years previous as she had been hearing it. A moment of courage came over her and she took his hand in hers. "I forgive you."

A short, humorless laugh escaped him. "You shouldn't. Not that easily."

Her brows came together and she dropped his hand. He looked down at his empty palm and then back at her. "It's my decision who I do and do not forgive. Just like it's my decision to make whether someone is or isn't worth my time. You don't get to take that away from me just because you feel guilty."

"Perhaps you forgive too easily." he seemed sad to say it.

Anger began to bubble up inside her again. "And perhaps you don't know what's best for me," she snapped. "Perhaps you're too preoccupied by feeling sorry for yourself to think maybe I was excited to see what it would be like to give you a chance."

His eyebrows shot up high on his forehead and he didn't say anything at first. She'd left Draco Malfoy speechless. A small grin of satisfaction spread on her face. He blinked a few times and seemed to collect himself. "You were?"

"Yes," she said as if it were obvious. It was to her. She meant what she said in her notes back to him. She'd only stopped writing because she didn't know what to say, not from disinterest. "I'm not an idiot. I know what you were risking to write to me in such a way in the first place. It would be stupid to do such a thing if you didn't mean it. I wanted to hear it from you, in your voice, not on paper."

This time it was he who grabbed her hand before stepping up to be on the same level as her. She wasn't sure when it had happened but at some point he'd grown to be a whole head taller than her. "I'm terrified of how I feel when I look at you. But lately, since term started, I haven't been able to look away. I don't know how I let anyone make me believe you could be anything less than remarkable."

She found herself wanting to defend him. "You were raised that way. You're still a child. It's not your fault."

He shrugged his thin shoulders. "I suppose not. And I still despise your friends, that hasn't changed. But it's upsetting to see them take you for granted. It makes me angry with them, but with myself for treating you worse."

"I'm not angry at you," she admitted. And it was true. At some point in the last day or two her resentment for him seemed to have melted away. It had to for her to wish he was holding more than her hand. "If I'm not angry you shouldn't be either."

He didn't seem to know how to reply, and when he spoke he completely avoided replying. "How I feel for you is risky. For me, yes. I could lose my entire family and make them hate me forever. But for you too." he turned her palm upward to face him in his hand and looked down as he traced a finger along her skin instead of looking at her. "My family is connected to… people you shouldn't be known by. And I don't want to think about what they'd want to do, or actually do, if they were to find out. The more you allow me into your life after tonight the worse it would be."

She didn't want to look deeper into what he was saying, but the articles she'd read about Lucius Malfoy circled in her head. How he'd narrowly escaped Azkaban on a Death Eater charge by claiming Imperious. Perhaps what people had been speculating for years, that it had been a lie, were entirely true. "I'm a big girl," she replied, "You worry about yourself and I'll worry about me."

A smile spread on his face, one that was genuine but held a hint of sadness. When his gray eyes met her once more she found herself wanting him to kiss her. She knew he wouldn't, not out in the open like that. Speaking to her kindly and holding her hand was risky enough. "I want you to feel the way I do about you."

"I could," she said with certainty. "I will if you're not too scared to let me."

"I wouldn't be able to treat you how you deserve," he argued. "No one could no. I would never be able to show you off, as much as I might like."

She placed her spare hand on his shoulder and gave him a light squeeze. "It's not for you to decide what I deserve," Hermione reminded him. "Because I think someone who cares for me enough to risk everything is deserving of my time and affection."

She swore he blushed as he mulled over what she said, his thumb gently running across the creases in her palm. His touch left sparks trailing in its wake. She wondered what it would be like to be fully engulfed in his embrace. She might just spontaneously combust. "Will you meet me in the Astronomy Tower tomorrow after dinner? I want to know every little thing about you. And I want you to know me. Not who you think I am or who I'm supposed to be."

Her stomach began to perform a complex circus act inside her and she was sure her face flushed as dark as the Gryffindor colors. "I would like nothing more."

The genuine smile she'd been anxious to see spread on his face and when he looked at her so kindly she found it was the most special all night. She found that the entire school gaping at her in surprise at both her appearance and her date were nothing in comparison. She could already tell being the object of Draco Malfoy's affection would be a magic entirely of its own.

He leaned down and placed a soft kiss on her forehead, and she was sure there'd be scorch marks when she looked in the mirror later. She wanted him to kiss her so badly she thought she'd go mad if he didn't that instant. But the touch of his lips paralyzed her and all she could simply do was watch as he smiled at her one last time. "Have a good night, Hermione," he told her, before giving her hand one last squeeze before heading in the opposite direction towards the Slytherin common room.