A/N: Hi all! Thank you for being patient! I'm very sorry it's taken so long for me to upload, but I think that it's best for me to take my time uploading, as with everyday uploads I've been finding myself becoming burnt out from trying to force things. I hope you guys can understand. So from now on, uploads will be every 2-4 days, if that's okay :)

I also had a review saying that my last chapter was an "AVPM allusion"; I'm not really sure what this is referring too as I haven't seen A Very Potter Musical, I've only heard the song Granger Danger. I have a feeling it's regarding the Star Wars part that I included, but I can assure you that is nothing to do with AVPM - it was a cute idea I thought up when I was messing on with some writing exercises, and since the story takes place in 1996, a very common thing for lots of kids in the 1990s and even the 2000s was quoting Star Wars. I feel like this fits Hermione well as I see her as a huge nerd and she definitely grew up with Star Wars before she even went to Hogwarts.

Okay, I think I've addressed everything; I hope you guys enjoy this chapter! Lots of love, CrazyAsACupcake

Hermione wakes up around two hours later to the sound of swearing; she's curled on her side, facing the sofa cushions, her arms tucked underneath her head with her fingers tangled in her hair. Her hair, which is a mess, but thankfully the Sleekeazy's meant it was slightly less of a mess than normal. Her eyes were blurry as she sat up, confusion hitting her full force as she tried to understand her surroundings, and when she sees Malfoy, his back to her, she starts, before remembering. She was in the Room of Requirement, with Draco Malfoy. She almost kissed him. He almost kissed her.

She watched him fiddle with the stereo on the table, cursing to himself as he pressed random buttons, slamming his hand against the top of it. "Come on, you stupid thing!" He hisses at it under his breath. The stereo is making a whirring noise of protest.

"You okay?" He spins round and sees her, with her bleary eyes and her red cheeks, her messy hair and her creased shirt, and a smile grows on his face.

"Morning," he grins, his heart pounding against his ribs. She smiles wearily back – obviously still tired – and reaches up to wipe her eyes with the heels of her hands. The silver of Malfoy's ring catches the dim light, shining softly, and Malfoy's eyes glint back as he looks down at his own hand. He smirks at her. "You've got some nerve, Granger."

"What are you-" She stares at him, brows drawn in confusion, before her eyes flicker down to her hand. "Oh," she laughs lightly, pulling the too-big ring from her finger and tossing it to him. He catches it easily and slips it back on.

"I never said you had to give it back." She opens her mouth to protest, leaning forwards and over the arm of the sofa to reach for his ring again. He pulls out of the way, holding his hand in the air near his head. "No, Granger, I never said you had to give it back, but you did, so I'm keeping it." With a last smirk at her pouting face, he turns back to the stereo, still pressing random buttons.

"What are you doing?" She leans her head on her hands, resting her elbows on the arm of the sofa as she stares at his back. He's removed his blazer at some point when she was asleep, and his dress shirt is just the right kind of tight, showing his lithe Seeker's body. She longs to reach out, run her hands up his waist, towards his chest, to wrap her arms around him and hold him close to her. She wants to latch on to him and never let go, to keep him safe from the terrors that were yet to come.

"I'm trying to figure this bloody thing out," he takes a step back and runs both hands through his hair, resting them at the base of his skull. His shirt stretches slightly, and a corner pulls from his trousers as he throws his hands in the air, glaring at the stereo. For a second, Hermione is transfixed on quick flash of his pale back, before he turns to her, arms dropped, shirt fallen back down. "It's a nightmare."

The stereo continues its sad whirs as she just stares at him.

"Granger?"

"Sorry, um…" Her eyes flicker away from his face, looking past him to the sorry machine on the table behind him. She leans forward, pointing at it. "That button…with the triangle that points upwards, and the line underneath." He turns back, pointing at the eject button near the CD tray. "No, the other one. The one above it."

He presses the button, and the cassette player pops open, the melancholy noise finally stopping. Gently, he removes the cassette, slipping it back into its case with a look of concentration that Hermione can't help smiling at. He looks over his shoulder at her, puzzled by her smile. "What?"

"Nothing… It's just-" It's cute to see you handling them with such care, like the slightest movement will break them. "It's funny, to see you with Muggle things."

"Well, Granger, it was funny to see you in first year with wizard things." She opens her mouth to protest and he leans towards her, his hands resting on the arm of the chair just outside where her elbows are resting. "And it was funnier to see the look on Weasley's face every time you were better than him."

They're inches apart, almost nose-to-nose, and Hermione hopes he doesn't notice the hitch in her breath, or the way her eyes keep flickering from his mesmerising grey eyes to his upturned lips.

She hopes he doesn't notice how fast she's falling for him – spiralling head over heels, just like Alice did in her favourite childhood story – and she hopes, she wishes, she dreams of the impossible thing: that maybe, just maybe, there was a chance that he might be falling for her too.

"And it was funnier for me to see the look on yours, every single lesson, from first year until…" She pretends to think, her finger on her chin. "Now?"

He laughs (or scoffs), and pushes himself back from the sofa, walking to the fireplace. Hermione wants to say no, wait, don't go, please come back and stand here, nose-to-nose with me forever, before mentally smacking herself. She flops backwards, laying across the sofa, her legs draped across the arm. She's watching him again, taking him apart piece by piece and putting him back together, searing the image of his silhouette into her brain. Something about the scenario seems like the end of a fairy story; the princess is saved by the prince and they live happily ever after, in a cosy little castle with books, a warm fire, music, and enough love for each other to last a thousand lifetimes. Hermione can't help turning the idea over in her head, dissecting it. This can't possibly be a fairy story, for she is not a princess, and she definitely does not need saving.

But he does.

Draco Malfoy – so-called Slytherin Prince – needed saving: from his father, from the Death Eaters, from Voldemort. Or, maybe mostly, saving from himself.

Maybe in this fairy story, the prince is the one who needs saving. And maybe Hermione was just the right person for it.

"So, Granger, what's the plan?" She snaps out of her thoughts, her eyes focusing on him stood opposite her, hands in his trouser pockets. "Back to the common room?"

"Not yet," she says the words a tiny bit too fast. "I mean, we can spend a little more time here, right?"

"It's past nine, Granger. We're now out past curfew." He wiggles his brows suggestively at her and she laughs, propping herself up by her elbows.

"No one knows we're here."

"My, my, little Miss Hermione Granger breaking the rules?" He puts a hand to his heart, pretending to swoon. "I'll make a Slytherin out of you, yet."

She scoffs, rolling her eyes. "You don't know a thing about me and rule breaking, Malfoy."

"Oh, yeah?" He crosses his arms, the firelight making his already-breathtaking eyes seem to dance. "Tell me."

"I…" I made a Polyjuice Potion in the girl's bathroom in second year. I used a time-turner to get to all of my lessons in third year. I helped create a technically illegal school club in fifth year. "You know everything we've done."

"No, no, no, Granger. You can't brag and then refuse to tell me about all your secret rule breaking." He crosses to the sofa in two long legged strides, pushing her feet off the arm of the chair and dropping beside her. "You have to now."

Hermione nibbles on her lip as a voice whines in the back of her mind. I don't want you to hate me.

"Granger," he sings, tugging on one of her messy curls. She swats his hand away and he laughs, that warm cheery laugh that makes her stomach twist because she can't. His arm rests along the back of the sofa behind her. "Come on. One thing."

"One thing," she repeats, looking at him out of the corner of her eye. His eyes are closed, and his face is calm as he nods. "I brewed a Polyjuice Potion in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom when we were in second year."

His eyes snap open and he all but lurches forward, looking at her with open mouthed shock etched across his features. "You did what?"

"I brewed a Polyjuice Potion."

"When we were twelve?"

"Well, I was thirteen but-"

"And how did that go for you?" He starts to smirk as he watches the heat flaring in her cheeks, her eyes looking everywhere but at him.

"It went well for the boys…"

His brows furrow. "Wait, so you, Potty, and Weasel all took Polyjuice Potion when you were twelve."

"Thirteen."

"Right, whatever. But, why?"

"Um…" They thought you were the heir of Slytherin. "Fun?"

He shook his head, running his hand through his hair. "No, you wouldn't break rules for fun. Tell me." He pokes her lightly in the cheek with his finger, and for once she doesn't hit him away. She wishes he'd caress her cheek, but he doesn't, instead draping his arm again over the back of the sofa. "Come on, Granger, you know you want to."

"We – well, they – thought that maybe…you were the heir of Slytherin. That you were the one going around and attacking the Muggle-borns."

Time seems to stop for a second as she waits for his reaction. He frowns, before bursting into a fit of laughter – the kind that has tears running down your face, and no matter what you can't stop yourself from smiling. "That is honestly the best thing I've ever heard. They really thought I had the guts to try and kill 4 people? At twelve?" His laughter keeps bubbling out of him, and he's clutching his side as he tries to steady his breathing, small giggles and chuckles still erupting from him as he tries to straighten his face.

"Well, you did say 'You'll be next-'" She doesn't even get to finish the quote before he bursts again, his laughter warm and light and echoing around the room. It wraps itself around her heart and squeezes tightly.

"They thought I was the one trying to kill people because of a stupid-" Wheeze. "Comment I made to big myself up to-" Wheeze. "My friends?" She can't help but smile at his reaction; of all of the possible ways she saw this conversation playing out, this was not one of them

"I mean you did say- You did say that word." His laughter stops for a minute, but his ear to ear grin is ever present as he regards her.

"I was twelve, Granger; I said a lot of shit. All bark, no bite."

"I knew it wasn't you." This was a lie. "And like I said, it didn't even work for me."

He finally stops smiling, looking confused once again. "What did they even use it for?"

"They changed into Crabbe and Goyle to question you about the Chamber."

He doesn't even seem phased. "And you?"

"What about me?"

"It didn't work. Why didn't it work?"

"Well, I was meant to change into Millicent Bulstrode."

"And?"

"I didn't."

"I get that, but what happened?" He pokes her in the cheek again, smiling gently at her. "I won't tell anyone."

"Cross your heart?" She's gazing at him with wide eyes and red cheeks. He holds his right hand up, drawing a cross over his chest with his left index finger.

"Cross my heart."

"Okay…" She takes a breath, thinking of how to put it into words. "I didn't actually take Millicent's hair."

"Whose did you take?"

"Not who: what." His eyes widen slightly, but he is completely transfixed on her words.

"It was from her cat, and the transformation is only meant to be for human transformations. I ended up with fur and a tail, and I was in the Hospital Wing for ages."

He nods. "Yeah, I remember that. I thought you'd dropped out or something, and I thought that with you gone I'd actually be able to be top of the class for once." He shook his head, smirking to himself. "Even as a cat, you managed to do better than me."

She smiles at him, her head dropping slightly. Her hair falls in front of her eyes. "I guess you were glad when I was petrified then; Draco Malfoy, top of the class."

He smiles. "No, actually. I wasn't. Glad, I mean – you being gone did mean I was top of the class."

"Why weren't you happy that the bane of your existence was gone?" She lifts her head and gently sways into him, knocking him with her shoulder.

He reaches out and brushes the hair out of her eyes and behind her ear, and Hermione feels her body freeze. "Because, Granger, without you then I'm the only one who understands anything in the class. I never realised how exhausted you must feel until then; how do you cope with being constantly surrounded by stupid people?"

She rolls her eyes, grinning at him. "I don't, haven't you noticed?"

"Just a little."

They sit there for a while, just staring and smiling at each other, her hands crossed properly on her knees, his arm stretched out behind her. It isn't awkward. It is…serene. It is a thousand perfect moments rolled into one, and Hermione feels a strong pang in her heart (she imagines this is what it must be like to be punched – she wouldn't know) as she watches his perfect pale face, the way his eyes seem to glimmer with a playful wickedness, the way his body is positioned in just the right way to show her that his attention is on her – just her, nothing else. He isn't away with the fairies, he is here. In this moment, he isn't Malfoy, tormentor of Muggle-borns and hater of Potter's gang. He is Draco, kind and sweet and a bit of a prat, but a prat in the way Fred and George are, not a prat in the way he normally is.

"So," he finally breaks the silence, his eyes flickering away from her. Her heart drops. "You're a cat person, Granger?"

There it was. That fun, teasing prattishness that Hermione inexplicably adored.

"No, Malfoy, I'm a people person."

"I get it now! That's why you've been so catty since you were twelve!"

"I was thirteen!"

He grins – a wide, toothy grin – and mimes clawing at her with his right hand. "There's the cattishness. Meow, Granger!"

"I'm not cat-" He makes the claw motion again, this time swooping his hand down to her waist and mercilessly tickling her. Her legs kick in the air as she gasps, screaming and giggling as he essentially pins her down, his other hand on her shoulder, trapping her on the sofa as he wreaks revenge for the night in the Owlery.

She's writhing around on the sofa, her chest heaving with short bursts of laughter as she tries to escape him, but he won't let her off easily. She falls against him, her back to his chest, her face red with laughter, and he finally stops. She smacks her hand lightly against his left bicep. "Prat." She hisses breathlessly, holding her side to soothe a stitch, just as he had moments before.

"Aw, come on, Granger." He wraps his left arm around her, hugging her in a way he hopes is friendly and not too romantic. "You love me really." The words slip out before he can stop them, and he feels his cheeks flare. He thanks Merlin that she can't see his face.

Hermione scoffs, but she doesn't pull away. "Do I?"

He lets out an inaudible sigh; she had taken the statement as a light-hearted comment.

"Maybe not." He lets go of her, smiling, and reaches behind him to grab his blazer, which had been folded across the back of the sofa. "Come on, Granger." He stands up and takes her hands in his, pulling her to her feet.

He lets go of her as she slides her feet into her flats, and she wants to scream at him: No, you idiot, don't let go, keep hold so that I know you need me to keep you afloat just as much as I need you. But she doesn't. The time isn't right, not yet; she still isn't sure as to his true intentions, and so she'll wait until she is absolutely 100% certain that he likes her too – until she is certain that he loves her too.

They leave their little sanctuary, the fire extinguishing (as if by magic) behind them. Hermione pretends to not notice when Malfoy's hand slips out and takes the cassette from the table, putting it into his blazer pocket. They wander the corridors, avoiding Filch perfectly – for some reason, Malfoy has Filch's entire route memorised to the minute. Hermione does not want to know why. They chat and they laugh, and Hermione wonders what life could've been like if Malfoy hadn't introduced himself the way he had in first year – if they had let Malfoy be part of the group. She wonders if she would feel the way she does now, or if she only feels the butterflies in her stomach and the tightening belt around her heart because he's something she knows she can't have. She doesn't know if she sees Malfoy the way a child sees a toy that belongs to their friend – the idea that you don't have it (or you can't have it) makes it ten times more desirable than it was before – and she afraid in case that is what her feelings mean, and as soon as she actually gets him…he stops being fun, stops being something she wants so desperately it makes her want to claw her skin off at the thought of not having it (not that that is how she's feeling).

The other two never made Hermione laugh like Malfoy can; she can't recall ever snorting around them, which is what she is doing now, at a rather delightful Niffler impression. Her laughter stops when she sees the Fat Lady's portrait behind him, realising that it was over, at least for the night.

"I will see you tomorrow, Miss Hermione Granger." He takes her hand, pressing his lips to her knuckles, and her mind sticks on how soft his lips are against her skin. How much softer they would be pressed against hers.

"Like hell you will, Mister Draco Malfoy." She gives him a smile, a smile which doesn't reach her eyes. He sees the sadness in them, and he feels like he's been hit with the Cruciatus curse. He suddenly pulls her towards him, crushing her against him as he hugs her tightly. His height means he's leaning at an odd angle, his face buried in her hair as he holds her. Her arms tentatively go around him.

Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy hold each other in silence.

"I will see you tomorrow. I swear it." He finally pulls away, then turns to go to the dungeons, tugging playfully on her right jacket pocket. She laughs and he lets go, grinning as he turns, his hand raised in a small wave. "Until tomorrow."

"Until tomorrow," she says to his back, the unspoken words catching in her throat.

I love you.

She enters the portrait hole to the disdain of the Fat Lady ("Fraternising with a Slytherin? If those boys of yours found out…" Hermione hushes her, telling her that if she spoke a word to Harry and Ron, she would incendio the portrait) and groggily trudges upstairs to her dorm. Parvati, Lavender, and Fay were already in bed, but Fay was the only one asleep.

"And where've you been?" Parvati calls to Hermione as she stands in the doorway. Taking her jacket off, she removes her wand from its inside pocket and tosses it in the vague direction of the bed. She misses (of course (Lavender laughs at this, the twit)), and instead the jacket lands on the wooden floor with a soft, light thuck.

"Out…" Hermione's brow furrows as she regards the jacket that shouldn't have anything in it.

"Did you have fun…out?"

"Lots, thanks…" She lifts the jacket by its collar, stuffing her hand in its left pocket – which is empty – then its right. Her fingers brush against something soft and cold, and she pulls it out, her puzzled expression melting to shock, melting to overwhelming happiness that brings tears to her eyes.

Laying in the palm of her hand is Draco Malfoy's silver ring.

She closes her fingers around it, holding it to her chest as the tears drip down her cheeks. Is it a sign? She doesn't care. It means that he at least likes her.

And that's better than nothing.