A/N: Revised 8/1/17. I corrected some typos and made a couple of changes for consistency in the coming chapters.

This chapter has a flashback to Hogwarts and how Draco begins realize he is developing feelings for Hermione. It is a nice long chapter – a bonus for you! I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it!

Big kudos and thanks go out to my beta, CindyBarnard! Check out her fics if you haven't already. She is an amazing author as well as beta!

I have to give Green Eyed Lana Lee credit - subterfuge is a perfect word for Draco to use. Thank you!

Disclaimer: I own nothing - all characters belong to JK Rowling as well any references to her plot, etc. I am very thankful she lets us take her characters out to play!

I make get nothing monetary from writing but get nice, warm, fuzzies from reviews, favorites and followers! Thank you!

Reminder: This story has a MA rating and this chapter has a little M to it.

Chapter 9

Draco settles into his oversized leather chair with his new book Black Hawk Down, by Mark Bowden; he finds reading about muggle wars and conflicts fascinating. Granted, when he first saw the book, he was not sure how a bird of prey was involved in it all, assuming it was some sort of dark omen since the bird was black; now he chuckles at himself and begins reading.

He is so engrossed in it that he doesn't register the sound of tapping on his window, when the noise escapes his subconscious and he actually registers it, he snaps his book together with a loud thump and irritated, slings it on the sofa table. He groans, thinking it's another missive from his father about him shirking his duties to the Malfoy family, it's either berating him (being an Auror is beneath you), or it will be about him breeding, (you should already be married to one of the sacred 28 and have produced an heir to carry on the Malfoy legacy), blah, blah, blah.

Frustrated, he stands up and stretches and walks to his window where a small impatient owl is glaring at him. Once he opens the window, the minuscule bird jumps in all a flutter, dancing and hopping around; this odd little creature seems familiar, but he is not sure why. He finally wrestles the little beast into submission and takes the letter while tossing it a treat and shooing it back outside. He opens it and is pleasantly surprised that it is from Hermione; his memory from Hogwarts clicks into place, it is that foul little snit of an owl that belongs to the Weasel.

He is overcome with emotion, surely she couldn't be back with him, she is more intelligent than that, but she has forgiven his own monstrosities, perhaps she has forgiven Weasley's now as well? He looks down at the letter that he unintentionally clenched in his hand; he lays it on the coffee table and smooths out the wrinkles he created, it will never be the same. He falls more into a maudlin state as he muses, an analogy for my life, I defile everything I touch.

He wants to drink until he is numb but already knows that alcohol doesn't work. He is not sure how he made his way to the small wet bar in the corner, glass in hand. He shakes his head wanting to throw it across the room and watch it shatter, but instead he places the delicate crystal his mother bought back in place in the cabinet. He hangs his head, defeated.

Draco returns to his chair and sinks into it as he takes several cleansing breaths to clear his head, he retrieves the letter and studies her delicate handwriting with all the loops and swirls and thinks it is almost as beautiful as she. Just holding her letter warms him and chases away the shadows in his soul.

Dear Draco,

There was a lease agreement waiting on me when I returned to the Burrow. Thank you for showing me my new flat today and for giving me a good reference with the landlord.

Draco laughs, wondering what she will do when she finds out he is her landlord.

Ginny, and probably Harry as well will be helping me move in after Christmas. I plan on throwing a housewarming party once I settle in and I hope you will come.

He realizes he was being ridiculous thinking she had gone back to Weasley, she lives at the Burrow, of course, the owl is there, and he shakes his head at his irrationality.

Thank you again so much for your help and not just today, you have no idea how much I appreciate all you have done.

I hope you are having a lovely evening.

My Warmest Regards,Hermione

Draco realizes he is grinning like an idiot again – as he usually does when it comes to Hermione – but he doesn't care. He actually laughs at the emotional whiplash he just went through for no reason, remembering what his mentalist told him about his negativity – he must not believe it, just dismiss it, and replace it with positive thoughts. At first, he thought it was idiotic and therefore was pleasantly shocked when it actually helped. He smirks at himself and his thoughts return to Hermione, she is happy and he is at least somewhat responsible for it; the thought fills him with warmth and peace. He thinks of sending her a note in return, but decides against it since she's seen his owl, and he wants to be sure she is moved in before he tells her he is her landlord. Draco's hoping she doesn't hold his subterfuge against him, he can imagine her thinking she is taking advantage of him or something similar.

He gets up and ambles over to his built-in book shelves and pulls down the book she was looking at earlier today. Draco flips to the kneazle page, wondering if there is some sort of spell to locate your familiar; probably not or she would have already done it. In the picture, the kneazle is pawing the page and he slides his fingers down it the way she did. He replaces the book and crosses the room and sits back down in his chair, leaning his head back as he closes his eyes, thinking about how she held onto him today. She feels so good in his arms, so right. It was all he could do not to kiss her this afternoon, especially after her forgiveness, which he still doesn't think he deserves. He can almost hear her say, Draco, I told you I forgave you already, and he smiles.

He lazes on his chair with his feet propped up, book forgotten. Touching his cheek where she kissed it, he wonders what her lips would feel like on his. He thinks about her curves that have so much more developed now than at Hogwarts. Her arse in those muggle pants she was wearing today. How her perky mounds looked in the purple jumper she was wearing. How he wants to touch her everywhere, with his hands and his mouth. What her mouth would feel like wrapped around his cock. What she would taste like. Fuck.

He's disgusted with himself; he feels so much more for Hermione than his lust fueled thoughts make it seem. Gods I want her, but for far more than a good shag. Well at least I have her friendship now, although that's more than I deserve.

She was here today, he likes to think he can still smell her, the his Amortentia, he takes a deep breath and gets lost in memories. During his awful sixth year, he had snuck back into Slughorn's classroom and bottled some up. When everything got too much he would draw his curtains on his bed and let the fragrance wash over him, a healing balm; he isn't sure he would have remained sane that year without it. He scoffs when he thinks of the night he discovered it was her; he'd been a bloody fool, arrogant and prideful, it was one of those things he apologized for today and hoped she realized it.

Flashback – Hogwarts 6th Year

His mind was on the vanishing cabinet, it still wasn't working properly. He felt sick; he knew he didn't have much time left before it ran out. His father is in Azkaban for who knows how long, and his mother's stuck at their home with that monster. His Dark Lord, he shudders, hoping she is safe. It had been a horrible summer, he had gone willingly to take the Dark Mark, even though he really had no choice. He had to redeem his father and protect his mother. Afterward his fucking psychotic Aunt Bella told him that he had been given an honour to be chosen for the special mission. He should not have been so arrogant in the past, to think he was special. Sure, I am special, so special that I have been given a fucking suicide mission and when I fail, I kill everyone I have ever loved. Well, maybe not everyone.

He thinks about the Amortentia vial he keeps near his heart in a special pocket inside his robes. He spends what little free time he has trying to inconspicuously sniff all the girls he knows. It is almost a game to him, something to keep his mind preoccupied. He's gone through all the Slytherins and Ravenclaw, so it must be a Hufflepuff. He cringes, that would be the only other possible house, but he knows very few girls from there. Perhaps it is someone he had met when he has been on the numerous vacations he has taken with his parents. He's stymied; if he is in love with the girl he should remember her. Oh for fuck's sake!

He is walking, well more like stomping, around the lake taking advantage of his free period outside instead of stuck in the Room of Requirement banging his head against the Vanishing Cabinet. He justifies he has to take a break or he would lose his mind; plus bloody Potter's been trailing him lately and it is driving him around a twist. He stops and sits down facing the lake watching the giant squid glide lazily through the water. He leans back against the tree, banging it a couple of times for good measure and he squeezes his eyes shut, just to rest a few moments.

He is not sure how long he has been there as he slowly awakens. He doesn't open his eyes because his whole being is surrounded by the smell of his Amortentia, vanilla, gardenia, parchment, and ink; for a moment he thinks he is dreaming, he hears a beautiful voice, softly saying his name like a caress. He is surprised, he had almost given up finding her here at Hogwarts, but he knew she was there; she had to be, where else would he find her? Well, she found him instead, his Amortentia, his sanity, his love. He hears her say his name again, ever so softly, lovingly, as a question "Malfoy?"

He wants to prolong seeing her, now that she is here, just a tiny bit longer in his dream before he sees what he knows to be her beautiful face. He finally answers her beseeching call, "yes" it is a question, it is an answer, it is the only answer he will give her. Always, whatever she wants, needs, desires, all of his being is hers. He almost adds "love," but bites his tongue before he does, he doesn't want to scare away his lovely Amortentia.

"I have been watching you this year, and I am worried about you, you do not seem to be yourself. I just…I just wanted to make sure you are okay." It comes out in a rush of words, but they are asked with caring behind them, he can hear that and sense her hesitancy.

He wishes he could tell her that she is being silly, that he is Draco Malfoy and everything is wonderful, but he could never lie to her, for once his pride won't allow the lie. Instead, he says, "it has been a hard year." He will not tell her more; will not sully her purity with his ugly duty to his ugly Dark Lord.

He can feel her move closer and settle down beside him, hip to hip, his left to her right, intimate, but not. Her small hand squeezes his and he squeezes back softly. She lets go quickly and he releases hers and it feels like he is missing part of himself. He feels her leaning toward him, his eyes still closed, and he turns his face toward her. He feels her breath on his face and his stomach erupts in butterflies, thinking she will kiss him, but instead she brushes his too long bangs out of his eyes and lays her hand against his cheek. Draco then nuzzles into her palm. She strokes his cheek, then the pads of her finger caress his jawline; she palms his cheek again. His body is buzzing from her touch; he feels cherished for the first time in his life. He can't help but turn into her palm and kiss it delicately, hearing her say, "Oh!" in almost a moan. Thankfully, her hand remains so he places his hand around hers slowly and moving it so that his lips touched all of her palm and fingers with soft kisses; moving to the inside of her wrist he flicks his tongue out once, then twice to taste her skin. He wants so much more of her and feels he is finally complete with his Amortentia. Soulmate? Is he hers? He needs to know, he must know.

He can wait no longer, he has to see her and find out. He opens his now stormy grey eyes and sees her molten chocolate ones, with flecks of pure gold and amber, full of care and compassion. He blinks a few times, then again, he can't believe who he is looking at and drops her hand as if it burned him. Those same beautiful eyes are now full of questions. He would have jumped back if he had not been leaning against a tree. This cannot be happening. This is fucking unbelievable. The fates have played the ultimate bloody prank. His body tenses and he feels a piece of his heart shatter.

She has leaned back away from him now; her hand withdrawn from his face and with it a blast of cold air, a sobering reminder of whom she is, of what she is. Her eyes now full of sadness, glassy possibly with tears, because of him. He wants to throw on his façade, to sneer and hurl cruel insults at her as he has always done. But he can't, or he won't, how could he now?

He is lost in his thoughts, understanding now why he has always dreams about her; his subconscious knew she was his Amortentia. He would wake feeling content and at peace, then he would realize why and be disgusted with himself.

He had been stunned last year. First with the papers saying she was dating Potter. He cursed himself when he felt relief when he found out that was not true. Then at the Yule Ball; Hermione had looked lovely all dressed up and ironically the one who saw her beauty under her swotty persona was Viktor Krum, the Bulgarian Seeker whom he had idolized. At the time, he was shocked that anyone, especially him, being from Durmstrang would go out with a mudblood. It made him think and he really saw her for the first time that night. Of course his subconscious has been taunting him with her for years. Last summer, his dreams seemed so prophetic he briefly believed they would be made study partners and then more.

He ponders how many times he has dreamed of, and his conscious thoughts had strayed to her, probably thousands. What it would be like to have discussions with her, someone who rivals his intelligence. To have her smile at him, like she does to those idiot friends of hers, to make her laugh, to kiss her…

"Draco?" Her soft voice a question and a caress that quickly snaps him out of his musings. She said his name, his given name, whispered like a prayer from her lips. He looks at her, surprised she is still there beside him, almost touching, her eyes showing nothing but concern for him. And he knows she has seen who he really is, a broken boy with the weight of the world on his shoulders… Does he still fancy himself in love with her, does she know? He blows out a breath. It does not matter what he feels, they are on opposite sides of a war and is possible neither will survive.

Another piece of his tattered heart shatters. He stares at her with longing, if only she had been born a pureblood, sorted into Slytherin with him. They could have ruled the world together, but no, not her with her Gryffindor bravery, he doesn't want her to be different than she is; he puts his head in his hands, wiping his face before looking at her again. The very thing that brought her here to me today is the thing that separates us. He continues to watch her, savoring this moment, memorizing every detail of her face and form, right now he wouldn't give a two fucks about her blood-status if he could just have her.

He has to leave before he corrupts her or corrupts himself. He has a job to do, kill Dumbledore or be killed, either will separate them forever.

She is wary now, crossing her arms protectively over her chest, wand in hand, but not pointed at him, just ready if she needs it. Good. She needs to stay on guard around him, a fucking Death Eater. Again he tries to put on his mask, but as she meets his eyes, brows furrowed in what he thinks is concern, it slips away, showing his true self, raw and bleeding, an open book to her.

She reaches for him and he is too weak to resist her, she lightly touches his cheek again and the feeling of completeness returns, he closes his eyes and breathes her in deeply, his Amortentia. She breaks his trance when she tells him, "Draco, please, let me help…"

He cuts her off when he grabs her wrist and practically shouts, "DON'T!"

She jumps back and tries to pull her hand away, but he quickly adds his other hand on top of hers and loosens his hold on her wrist as he softly pleads, "don't, please don't." She stops fighting him. He won't look at her again, he cannot, shutting his eyes tight he turns so that his mouth is on her palm and kisses it lightly once more.

"Thank you, Hermione." His heart aches at the sound of her name coming from his lips. He releases her and stands up, he can feel her eyes on him as he walks back to the castle, and he refuses to look back, his eyes burn. Quickly he rushes to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, a place where no one goes, where he completely breaks. He takes the vial of Amortentia and throws it against the wall where it breaks into a million pieces. He smells her again, his Hermione. His one salvation through all this is shattered. He grieves like he never has before, his only solace is the belief he will be dead soon anyway, he wails his new mantra, I will be dead soon, over and over until he sees the reflection of his nemesis and loses the little bit of control he had left.

END FLASHBACK

He dismisses the thoughts of the rest of that day as he does the rest of the year. He reminds himself what his Mentalist has told him, he did what he had to do to survive. He did not have evil intent. He regulates his breathing, wondering what would have been different if he had just asked Hermione for help. If he had admitted, even just to himself, he had always had feelings for her. That she alone proved that muggleborns were not inferior and belonged in their world. He imagines the scenario, Voldemort is alive and well and living in my family manor threatening to kill my mother and myself if I don't kill Dumbledore. He scoffs, sure that would have worked. Although maybe it would have, he did offer to protect us on the Astronomy Tower. If only I had not fixed the cabinet then Death Eaters could not have gotten into Hogwarts. No, they would have killed my mother before anyone could have gotten to her. This is an exercise in futility. An endless circle. He shakes off his thoughts of what a different life might have been.

He focuses on a more recent memory; the beginning of Auror training.

Naively he brewed Amortentia earlier in the week, knowing it would smell different now, and it was a bit, the smell of fresh rain and cut grass was also in the mix. He happened to arrive at training the same time as Potter, whom he had developed somewhat of a truce with since his trial. They greeted each other with a nod. He wanted to inundate him with questions about Hermione but kept his mouth shut. They walked into the training room and she was there, back to him, her hair beautifully wild, in ministry robes that hid the curves of her body that he had memorized the day they sat together by the lake. Potter calls to her and she turns to him, giving him a wave and a smile. He stops mid-step and notices there is something off about her, different. He noticed it at his trial as well, but at the time he assumed it was just because of the war. Now he knows that is not it at all. He resumes his stride and is standing next to her as she hugs Potter, then bumps him when they release each other because he is too close to her. She whispers so only he can hear, "Excuse me Draco." His face remains impassive, stoic even. "It's fine," he replies and he breathes her in, still his Amortentia, of course, she is his Juliet. His face remains his mask, he backs away a few steps as she looks at him with curiosity. He looks away and repositions himself as far away from her as he can be and still occupy the same room. His magic senses Weasley when he enters, feeling the anger and hate radiating off from him and pulsating in his direction. He refuses to acknowledge him and lower himself to his level. He watches Hermione and notices how the Weasel "claims" her. Throwing his arms around her as he kisses her roughly, bending her backward in such an awkward angle that when he releases her, she stumbles into Potter, who prevents her from falling. He gives her a concerned look and says something to her that Draco cannot hear and she vehemently shakes her head no.

That evening Draco slumps against his chair in a defeated posture. He mockingly laughs at himself for thinking he would be over what he had convinced himself was a crush on his school rival in his sixth-year brought on by stress and hormones. He knew he had always reacted strongly toward Hermione. He blamed it on hatred of her muggle-birth, her friendship with Potter and being constantly belittled by his father for her besting him in all their classes together. He even dated that beatiful French pureblood his mother had thrown at him in the summer to prove to himself those feelings were gone. Finally he admits he has been suppressing feelings for Hermione for years.

Draco thinks of how irrational Weasley had been all during training. He was a complete arsehole to everyone, taking every opportunity he had to rile him up before Shacklebolt reamed the git out one day. His needling and remarks were more covert after, except for the day Hermione intervened. He sighs, wishing she had been as quick to come to her own rescue.

Draco smiles, when he thinks about her blasting him today when he called her friend the Weaslette, it was good to see fire back in her chocolate eyes again, and that she felt comfortable enough with him to show it.