A/N: A dialogue heavy chapter but – stuck on the clocktower balcony, where else are Draco and Hermione going to go? They have a lot of things to talk through, anyway…

When the dust settled and Draco's fit of coughing had subsided, he took notice of the soft body lying limply in his arms. As they had fallen backwards onto the balcony, Hermione had landed with her head on his legs, his arm still wrapped around her body. He was reminded of the carriage ride that first day they had arrived back at the castle, when she'd fallen into him.

Though less aroused by this altercation, he again took a moment to appreciate the red of her cheeks. It seemed to be a habit of hers, turning red. He'd never much liked the color, too reminiscent of Gryffindor and an overall obnoxious color. But on Granger's face, the color seemed fitting. And, he realized, seeing her cheeks flushed this color was proof that she was breathing. Alive. He sighed a breath he'd been unknowingly holding in.

And then he saw the blood.

It trickled down from a gash on the side of her head still resting in his lap, threatening to fall into her curls. Finding his voice, though thickly coated with dust from the debris, he shouted, "Help! Someone - she's hurt!" and then coughed again, his body trying to eject the foreign substances he had breathed as he fell.

In a panicked state, unsure of how to help her, Draco carefully undid the buttons of his shirt, trying hard to keep from disturbing her still form. He did his best to roll up the fabric and situate it gently around the back of her head, meeting the sleeves in the front and tying them together so that the bulk of the fabric covered the wound, hoping it would help slow the blood flow.

Shuffling sounds from behind the newly formed wall between the balcony and the inside of the tower reminded Draco of his other coworkers. "Pans? Hannah? Are you alright? Hermione's hurt." He spoke in a rush, unsure of the severity of Hermione's injuries.

"Pansy too," Hannah called, the shuffling growing louder as Hannah presumably worked to aide Pansy. "I'm fine but…I think her leg is hurt over here."

"Draco!" came Pansy's voice, riddled with fear. "It hurts, Draco," Pansy moaned.

"You'll be OK Pans, just go with Hannah to the Hospital Wing. We'll come meet you as soon as we can get free." He said, trying to sound reassuring, disregarding his feelings about the stunt she pulled today. There'd be time to feel angry with her when she wasn't in pain.

There was a pause before Hannah said, "What about Hermione?"

"She's not awake yet. There's a good-sized gash just above her eye. I think I've slowed the bleeding, but we need to get her to the Hospital Wing."

There was more noise from Hannah's side, some grunting and groaning, until she yelled out frustratedly. "The stone is too heavy, I can't get it to budge. Damn it, I should have practiced hover charms more. I never paid much attention to Flitwick's class," she said, seemingly talking to herself, or else, feeling the need to explain to Draco why she wasn't making any progress in freeing them.

"It's fine," Draco said, "Go take Pansy to Madam Pomphrey and then find Professor McGonagall as quickly as you can. She's about an hour from coming to dismiss us, so my guess is she's probably still in her office."

"Got it. I'll be back with help soon, just…hang in there," Hannah called to him.

He assumed they made it across the room to the corridor that led to the infirmary, as the sounds coming from that side of the rubble had quieted, then stopped entirely.

A small moan elicited from the girl in his arms and, desperate to see her eyes open, he looked down, whispering, "Please tell me you're OK."

Her response was a cough, her own body now trying to remove the dust from her throat. Her hand shot up to her head, her face grimaced in pain. "Ahh – my head." His face flooded with relief, like hearing her voice was a confirmation that she'd avoided a worse fate than a cut to the head.

Her eyes flitted open and she breathed deeply, like her body was starved for fresh air. She attempted to sit up, her eyes shifting around trying to assess the situation, but Draco put a hand to her chest, keeping her from changing her position.

Her eyes paused on his body, confusion clouding her eyes. "You're shirtless," were the first words she said - not questioning why, just stating an observation she'd made. She then looked around the balcony, where stacks of wood and stone piled at their feet.

"What happened?" She groaned.

"Listen, you're fine. You've got a small gash on your head but it's – I mean I think it can be healed easily."

He followed her eyes to the framed exit of the balcony, which was now indistinguishable from the stone wall of the clocktower, as slabs of stone blocked any way back inside. "The roof caved," he said, attempting to explain their situation. "You and I fell onto the balcony, but there's way too much debris to move by our hovering charms, so we're stuck."

Hermione gasped, "Hannah."

"Hannah and Pansy got stuck on the other side – they're okay too, Hannah took Pansy to the Hospital Wing for her leg – they're going to bring help soon so we can get out of here."

"We didn't even finish the assignment," she said, her voice slightly downcast, as if disappointed in herself.

"That's what you're worried about right now? Not the injury to your head, but whether or not we finished our work?"

"It's just, we got so close to finishing, it feels like a waste not having finished properly…" she paused her face scrunching questioningly. "Did you call me Hermione?"

"What?" He asked, surprised by her sudden change of topic.

"I – I'm pretty sure before I became inundated with rubble that you called me by my name."

"And that's," he paused, "that's bad?" He'd never attempt to understand the innerworkings of a woman's mind, but if a normal woman's thoughts were a puzzle, Hermione Granger's had ten thousand pieces.

"Aren't we strictly known to each other by our last names only?"

"I – well, yeah, I suppose so." Was it too casual to call her Hermione? Truthfully, it did seem to cross a barrier to call her by her first name when they'd spent their whole childhoods as Malfoy and Granger. He shrugged. "You must've misheard me."

"The rocks hit my head, not my ears, dumbass."

"You sure are combative today." He tried to play it off, pretending to examine her head again for more injuries, "Man, you really must've hit your head pretty hard. In what world would I ever relinquish the pleasure of calling you Granger?"

She pinched his arm as hard as she could, twisting the skin of his now bare bicep.

"OW," he yelled, and reflex told him to retract his arm, but he didn't want to disturb the way she was resting on him. Yet, as if she had just realized the precarious position she was in, Hermione, as hastily as she could manage, sat up and moved to the other side of the balcony. They were now both sitting, legs sprawled in front of them, facing each other.

"Why'd you do that?" Draco asked, his arms now free to rub the sore spot where her fingers had assaulted him.

"That's for earlier! I'd hex you straight off this balcony if I knew where my wand was…" she said, searching around her for any sign of her weapon. When she realized her search was futile, her gaze shot back to Malfoy. "Do you have another shirt to put on? I'm having a hard time yelling at you when you're only partially clothed."

"I'd say my quick thinking with my shirt just about saved your life - you should be thanking me!" He said, throwing his hands up.

At the reminder of her injury, Hermione again raised her arm to her head, feeling the course fabric of his shirt, now soaked in her blood. She then looked at his body.

"You – you felt the need to remove your – entire – shirt to tourniquet a gash on my head?"

"Would you rather I let you bleed out?"

"No, no, I'm grateful, don't get me wrong. Just – the suns going down. Aren't you cold?"

Didn't she think, if he'd brought an extra set of clothes, he would've put them on by now? The only things in his bag were a few books, his quidditch gloves, and, "My robes!" He said, abruptly. "Pass me my bag, will ya?"

She followed direction in which his finger was pointing and saw their pile of bags in the corner next to her. She pulled his from the heap and slid it across the floor to him.

As he pulled out his sapphire green quidditch robe from the main pocket, he caught her eyes rake down his body, then quickly snap back up to his.

"Were you checking me out, Granger?"

"Wh-WHAT?" She breathed, a little too forcefully. "Don't flatter yourself, Malfoy. Just, dress quickly, please - this is more of your body than I feel comfortable witnessing." To add to the charade, she turned her head to the side, as if to give him privacy.

He had never been one to be ashamed of his physique – between quidditch and many summers of swimming lessons and extra-curricular activities around the Manor, he'd managed to stay pretty fit, never shy about showing his body to anyone. However, he'd never felt more intimidated by what someone might think about him than he was at this moment, on this balcony, shirtless, with Hermione Granger.

He smirked at her attempt to protect his modesty, then stood up for this first time since he'd fallen, stretching the ache in his legs, and dressed in his quidditch robe. It wasn't exactly ideal, his naked chest still visible from the slit in the front, but it was better than nothing. When he looked back to Hermione, he noticed her arms crossed, face scrunched, and he knew he was about to hear her wrath.

Hermione, clearly taking advantage of his being stuck on this balcony with no means of escape, exclaimed:

"What the fuck was that in there? We were civil for 2 whole weeks and then, instead of trying to speak to me about it like a normal human being, you turn into a… I don't know… lunatic, maybe? I can't think of any good insults right now, what with my head having just been bashed in." She rubbed it for emphasis.

It was a blow to the chest Draco knew would be coming. His instinct was to counter with some sarcastic excuse for his behavior, but he stopped himself. His mind replayed her brutally honest, and eerily correct, notion about him:

"But you're reverting to old habits, Malfoy. So, I don't know why I helped. You tell me. Was it all for nothing?"

But apologizing didn't come naturally to Malfoy. He didn't know how to express his regret for anything. In fact, he couldn't remember ever having owned up to a mistake. So, he began by trying to explain what had been going through his mind.

"I just…snapped," he said, trying to relive his emotions from an hour earlier. "Pansy was confirming all of the things I feared about coming here – being outcasted, not trusted, ostracized. It made me so... angry. Like no one is even entertaining the thought that maybe I can become someone who deserves to be trusted."

"So what? You expected to come back and, by helping out around the castle, people would see you as a changed man? You don't feel like you owe your time to make up for the shitty decisions you've made? Don't act like you're innocent in this, Malfoy. You have marks against you that were enough to get you and your whole family thrown in Azkaban if-"

"If you hadn't submitted evidence in our trial?" He breathed out, a long breath, burying his face in his hands.

Hermione was quiet for a moment, perhaps gathering her thoughts. The air was becoming cooler and she tucked her crossed arms tightly around her middle, shielding herself from the cool evening breeze.

"Do you remember that day at the Manor? When Harry, Ron and I were captured?" Whisps of her curls flew around her face as she waited for his answer.

"Yeah. I think about it – nearly every day these days," he said. Because you're a constant reminder of that day, he thought.Whether or not she was surprised by this answer, he couldn't tell. She just pursed her lips and drew her legs up to her body, resting her chin upon her knees.

"That was one of the memories I gave in your trial."

He'd guessed as much. He had tried to skim back through any redeeming moments that would have granted him or his family any sympathy with the Wizengamot. That was only moment that had come to his mind. It was a crippling realization that he truly had no reason to be trusted. By anyone. From either side.

"I should've done more that day," he said. "I could've and I didn't. I think about it every day." He sat back down, closer to her this time. He made sure to catch her gaze before uttering the words, "I'm sorry." Her response was a nod, accepting his words but not saying anything more.

"I'm not a good man," he said, "But I want to be. I'll be a man worthy of your help. I promise you this." His face could've been etched in stone, no trace of banter hinted in his wintery eyes. He wasn't sure whether he was speaking this promise more to Hermione or to himself, but saying it aloud made it feel unbreakable.

"I'll believe it when I see it, Malfoy," She said, a subtle sparkle forming in her eye. She reached out her hand to him, a peace offering if he'd ever seen one.

He shook her hand, noticing the sleeve inching up her arm, her scar peeking through.

Keeping hold of her hand, he asked, almost a whisper, "Does it hurt?"

Noticing her scar was visible, she took back her hand. He wondered if he'd been insensitive. "You don't have to answer that."

"No, it's fine," she said. "It doesn't hurt much these days. It used to sting a lot, but not anymore."

He nodded, strangely relieved to know that it no longer caused her pain.

"What about yours?" She retorted, gesturing to his sleeved arm. He hesitated, knowing what she was referring to, but eventually inched back the sleeve of his robe to expose his Dark Mark. Though faded now that its dealer was gone, it remained tattooed on his arm, a permanent reminder of his old allegiances.

"Not painful. Just annoyingly there."

"Can I touch it?" she said. Shocked that she'd want to, he nodded his consent and she scooted closer. Right before her fingers made contact, she drew back. "Touching it isn't going to summon Voldemort back from the dead, or anything weird like that, right?" Her small smile told him this was Granger's version of a joke.

Draco laughed and shook his head. She brought her fingers down to his arm, touching his skin lightly, like she didn't believe when he said it wouldn't cause him pain. It was a strange, serendipitous feeling, having gone from being livid at hearing he'd be roommates with Granger to this moment, with her fingers grazing his arm.

"I'll get it covered, one of these days. Maybe when we're done working here."

"Oh? Like a tattoo? What will you get?"

"I'm not sure yet. If you have any ideas, let me know."

"Ms. Granger! Mr. Malfoy! Can you hear me?" Undoubtedly the voice of Professor McGonagall came from behind the stone barricade and Hermione quickly dropped her hand from his arm.

"We're here, Professor!" She yelled, walking closer to their rescuers.

It took 3 staff members around 10 minutes to remove the large debris enough to open a pathway back into the clocktower.

"I need you both to watch your step, now – we could've never guessed the structural integrity of this place was so poor – how is your head, dear?" McGonagall didn't wait for a response, gripping Hermione's shoulder and examining her condition.

"Completely reckless, Minvera," She continued her personal reprimand, moving her attention to Draco, "If you're truly fine, you can head off to your room. Dinner is waiting there. You four will be given time off from your projects next week, to rest up and get well. Professor Slughorn, please see what you can do about this rubble here, it's terribly unsafe. I'll escort Ms. Granger here to see Madam Pomfrey."

"I'll take her, Professor," Draco said, and without waiting for anyone's approval, started leading Hermione out the door.

"Oh – alright, we'll settle things here then and be over to see you both shortly."

They entered through the infirmary doors, expecting to see Pansy and Hannah occupying the beds, but only Madam Pomfrey stood alone in the large room, concocting a potion in a small pot.

"Ah, there you dear. Your friend said you'd be coming. Glad to see that you seem to be in good condition."

"Did Hannah and Pansy come through here?" Hermione asked. "They were with us in the clocktower too."

"They've already been dismissed, dear. Sent off to their rooms for showers, dinner and rest. Ms. Parkinson complained of a hurt leg, but not a broken bone or trickle of blood in sight. Hannah assured me she'd bring Pansy straight back to me if it really started bothering her."

She pointed to the empty beds next to them. "Grab a bed and I'll be right over. Will you be staying, Mr. Malfoy?"

Once he nodded his intent to stay, they found a pair of beds and sat, waiting for Madam Pomfrey to return. When she did moments later, she assured Hermione that her wound was minor and that she was just about done with her Wound-Cleaning Potion, after which the two of them could be on their way to dinner. Then, she retreated back into her office, leaving the pair alone for the second time that day.

The silence was growing awkward in the empty room. Though used to being left alone together, a lot of feelings had been shared between them today. Unsure how to navigate the new terms of their – friendship? – they both opted to stay silent.

That was until Hermione, apparently having gained the confidence to speak, asked a question he hadn't expected.

"So where have you been all week? It's been a while since I've seen you and your crew at dinner." She was looking down at her unpolished fingernails, not meeting his eyes. She was sat on the bed across from his, letting her feet dangle off the side. If he moved just a few inches to the left, their knees would be touching.

"Been looking out for me Granger?" He smirked. She looked up from her lap, a playful smile etched on her lips. His teasing wasn't provoking her normal, annoyed reactions anymore. They truly had crossed a barrier.

The truth was, Draco couldn't explain to her where he'd been off, skipping his dinner meals in the Great Hall. He didn't want to admit it to anyone, though Theo and Blaine obviously knew what he and Pansy were up to. They'd all meet in the Slytherin common room with their plates, eat together like old times, and Theo and Blaine would make themselves busy returning the dishes while Draco and Pansy ran up to his room.

It had only happened a few times now. 4 times, if anyone was counting. It started a few nights after their spat in the common room. Draco had been avoiding her, but Pansy only knows persistence, and somehow convinced him to let her up to his room. She crawled onto his lap, rocked her body rhythmically over his, and he was lost.

He knew it was wrong to fuck Pansy. He knew she was playing him to get what she wanted. Especially after today, that much was clear. But she was familiar.

Draco knew he was falling back into these comforts he'd found with Pansy before the war. That's what sex with Pansy was – comfortable. Like breathing, his body knew what to do without much thought. She was a part of his world, the world he was used to. She was someone his family would approve of, adore even. It was easy. They made sense together.

Realizing Hermione was still waiting for an answer, and knowing he wouldn't give the honest one, he shrugged, and gave her half of the truth. "My friends and I sometimes take our dinner in the common room. It's – quieter there. Easier to talk."

Desperate to change the subject, Draco reached for his bookbag, pulling from it Hermione's copy of Hamlet.

"Here," he said, holding out the book for her to take. "Thanks – for letting me borrow it."

She took the book, mortified, as she'd been hoping the book had spontaneously combusted or else had been disposed of so she never had to face this moment of admitting having given it to him.

When she didn't say anything, he continued, "Sorry it took me so long to get it back to you. I was meaning to bring it to the library but I kept wanting to look back through it. It's been so long since I've read it. It was a bit nostalgic, if I'm being honest."

The studious, Hamlet reading Draco was a huge contrast to the Draco who'd looked poised to kill her earlier, and even more-so to the Draco who just possibly saved her from death by blunt force trauma.

She eyed him, warily. "I have more," she said. "Muggle novels, I brought more from home. You can read them, if you want."

"I do," he said. "I'll read them all, if you'll let me." Her smile grew involuntarily, happy to know she might have someone else to discuss her favorite books with, surprised that this person turned out to be Malfoy, of all people.

"I'm still mad at you, you know. You owe me." But she said it with a sly smirk.

"Or what?" He questioned.

"Or else," she retorted. His face broke into a smile unlike she'd ever seen from him. She found herself thinking that he should smile more often. It suited him.

"Oooh. Blackmailed by Hermione Granger. That's a challenge I'm willing to accept." Her laugh, the sound of bells, was overshadowed by the creaking doors of the infirmary. Once they swung open, a man with bright red hair bounded into the room, frantically looking around until his eyes reached Hermione.

"Hermione," he sighed, like a heavy weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

"Ron!" Hermione said, her voice rising an octave higher than normal.

"Malfoy?" Ron, clearly unable to understand the scene unfolding in front of him, balled his fists, enraged at Hermione's unexpected company.

"Weasley," Draco spat, not bothering to rid his voice of the disgust he felt at seeing Ron. "What a weird reunion this is."

A/N: Let me know if you're still enjoying the story. As always, I'm so appreciative to anyone reading

If you want another story to peruse while you wait for my next chapter, I've started a new dramione fic if you want to check it out as well!

s/14144876/1/CHOSEN-a-dramione-story

-Jane