Author's Note: Nope, I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters therein, they are the property of J.K. Rowling. Also, this is my first stab at fanfiction, so I would appreciate reviews with CONSTRUCTIVE criticism, and not blatant insults. Also, I apologize for the constant replacement and removal of the story. I couldn't seem to get it how I wanted it.

"Lacarnum Inflamare, Crabbe. La-CAR-NUM"

"Lacarum Imfamarle!"

A flash of light, lingering smoke as the light dimmed,

Crabbe's face now lacking eyebrows and those pointy bangs that made him feel attractive.

Draco drew his own wand from within his robes, muttered the incantation to conjure flame, and lit his clove.

"I can't believe you've made it to seventh year on nothing but money. You amaze me."

The boys, including Draco's second goonie, Goyle, had taken to haunting the courtyard between classes, making people uncomfortable and corrupting Hogwarts youth. Lucky for them, the only teacher that patrolled the halls outside the courtyards between classes was Snape, and he took pity on the boys for the recent loss of their fathers.

Draco had been trying for a year to forget. It had been such a whirlwind war that it was over in one summer, Voldemort vanquished by The-Boy-Who-Lived, with heavy casualities on the Dark Lord's part, and light casualties on the side of good, including the Weasley twins, Hagrid the Game Keeper, and the Weasel himself, Ron Weasley.

Draco puffed on his clove, leaning casually against a wall and watching a giggling group of his female classmates move hastily past him.

"There goes Millicent, Goyle. She's been eying you lately."

Goyle pulled a face and stared disgustedly in the opposite direction as Draco and Crabbe laughed heartily, billows of thick, sweet-smelling smoke wafting past them.

"It's only funny when it isn't true."

"For you," Crabbe retorted, guffawing.

Draco didn't insult Crabbe's intelligence for the simple reason that he hadn't heard him. His attention had been snagged for the fifth time that day by the sad brown eyes and pouty petal-shaped lips of a certain Hermione Granger. She didn't even bother to jog past him, or perhaps she just didn't notice him as she ambled past the three with her eyes downcast.

Draco was at a loss. He hadn't had the ability to even form a coherant sentence when he saw her, much less a suitable insult. It had been this way since the beginning of the year, and at first he hadn't minded, he'd felt that perhaps he'd simply grown to hate her more, but as he'd begun to daydream about holding her in his arms and tasting her tears, he'd become more and more angry with himself.

After all, what good could an ignorant mudblood do him? It was an insult to his father's memory to even be thinking about her. But as he followed her dark ponytail with his eyes and listened to the unmistakable little sniffles that seemed to follow her everywhere these days, he couldn't help but empathize with her.

"...she's the best you can do, Vinny, just give in and ... you know... like her back or something..."

Quietly, as Crabbe continued to bash Goyle, Draco snuffed out his clove underfoot and began following Hermione to Advanced Potions.

Harry Potter watched as Draco tailed his one remaining best friend to class, feeling anger seethe in his veins. First, his parents had been killed, then his godfather had been snatched from him by one of the Dark Lord's followers, then his dearest friend had been killed by the Dark Lord himself right before his eyes, just as a means of torture. And now, even after the war had ended, young Malfoy was trying to take from him the last important person in his life. He wouldn't have it.

Determined, he strode toward the lean Slytherin's back and grabbed at his shoulder, spinning him about to stare coldly into ice-blue eyes.

"What are you doing, Malfoy?"

Draco shrugged Harry's hands from his shoulders, taking a step back to maintain a sense of personal space.

"Going to Potions? What, are you the hall monitor now?"

Harry sniffed the air and crinkled his nose, frowning.

"You smell like smoke."

"Do I? Forgot to spritz, you know, I apologize for offending your sensitive nose."

"Don't touch Hermione."

"Who?"

Draco smiled inwardly. The 'who' was such a nice touch.

"Hermione Granger. If you touch her I'll -crucio- you you into oblivion, and then, when you're begging to die, I'll cut all of your fingers off, then toes, then" -

"I get it, Potty. I'll try my best to stay away from Hurley Ranger. Clove?"

He offered his silver tin with the emerald green snake and large 'M' emblazoned on the front. As a reply, Harry took a threatening step forward, then jogged along to catch up with Hermione, to brag about the warning he'd just given, Draco assumed. He replaced his tin and continued toward Potions, watching the two sad-eyed Gryffindors descend into the dungeons.

Hermione had cut her trip to the library short at Harry's request, and had met him in the Gryffindor common room for their last fifteen minutes of lunch. He'd seemed so fiery when he spoke to her before her Potions class, causing her to feel that he had a good reason to shorten her ongoing search for a way to reawaken the dead.

She glanced over her shoulder from her favorite seat near the cold hearth as the portrait hole opened and Harry stepped inside, depositing his bookbag at the door.

"Now, what is it that's bothering you?"

"Draco Malfoy."

Hermione felt her cheeks grow hot almost instantly.

"You made me meet you here so that we could talk about what a git Malfoy is?"

"Not exactly..."

"Harry, he's the least of my worries right now! Of course he's angry with you, you helped kill his father. Just ignore him!"

"He's been following you."

"He has not, Harry! Stop being paranoid."

"I'm not being paranoid, Hermione! I saw him tailing you to Potions, and" -

"We have Advanced Potions -together-!"

"Have you not seen the way that he looks at you?"

She stood up and gathered her books, intent on spending at least ten minutes in the library before their next class.

"It's called loathing, Harry. I'll see you in Care of Magical Creatures."

As she walked to the portrait hole, Harry stood and turned to face her. If she wouldn't listen to him, the great stubborn mule, then he'd at least offer her a bit of the same advice that she'd been giving him since their first year.

"Hermione."

She pivoted to look at him, her expression telling him to say what he wanted to say.

"Just be careful."

Reluctantly, she nodded, and then hurried off to the library.

Care of Magical Creatures passed quickly with the Gryffindors struggling through Hagrid's absence to pay attention to Professor Grubbly-Plank's lesson on billywigs, and the Slytherins acting oddly subdued.

As Harry and Hermione made their way back to the common room to get ready for dinner, Harry found himself wishing that Hermione would make some comment on her homework load, but she remained silent with her eyes on the springy grass beneath them. It was her unwavering perseverence that had kept him going all these years, but now she seemed so weak and all he wanted to do was siphon that pain off into himself and make her smile again.

Once they entered the castle she branched away from him and down the right hand corridor, and Harry knew immediately that she was going to the library.

"I'll save you something to eat."

"All right."

She'd learned to just accept his offerings of food, knowing that it would start a huge fight that ended in tearful pleas if she didn't.

Draco watched as she slipped away from Harry, standing stock-still as she disappeared like a waif of light down the dark hallway. Crabbe and Goyle seemed not to notice, continuing past the staircase and toward the dungeons.

That sniffling began again, and all he wanted to do was hold her, comfort her, tell her that he understood her loss. Be to her what Ron had been, a beacon of hope in this bleak existence. But then he remembered that she was a mudblood, and followed his friends down into the dungeons.

Hermione pored tirelessly over the many tomes on the table in front of her, resisting the urge to scream as she found absolutely nothing useful. How to re-awaken the comatose, how to awaken a demon, how to revive a squirrel...

"Don't you think that the Ministry would have discovered a spell to wake the dead if there was one?"

Hermione winced as she heard the familliar drawl of a certain rebellious wizard. She glanced up at him to ensure that he did not have his wand pointed at her, and upon discovering that he was alone with his hands on the table, she flipped the page and continued her search.

"Being human, it is quite possible that they missed something. I'm just double-checking."

Draco sucked in a breath as he realized just how desperate she was. Surely the cleverest witch in their year had thought of the fact that millions of witches and wizards over the years would have searched for the very same thing.

Without asking, he took a seat in front of her, cautiously reaching over and closing her book. She gazed, glassy-eyed, into icy orbs that brimmed with sympathetic tears.

"You know that it's useless, Hermione. You'll see him again someday. You just have to wait."

He feared a violent reaction to his words, but she surprised him by being unfailingly logical, rubbing her eyes to stop the oncoming tears.

"It just seems so wrong not to try..."

"Sometimes you have to let it alone... I know that this is cliche, but Ron of all people would not want you wasting your life on a pointless journey."

He didn't know if he had the right to mention Ron, much less what he wanted, but she nodded quietly and began sobbing into her hands. How helpless she seemed, how defenseless and weak. Before he had time to comprehend what he was doing, he was on the other side of the table with his arms around her, whispering that he understood and that it would get better. And when his actions began to sink in, he was revolted, his body trembling with the indecision of letting her go or holding her tighter.

He gritted his teeth and pushed her out to arm's length, his grip on her shoulders like iron.

"I hate you."

He uttered the words like curses, squinting against salty tears and trying not to snap.

"I know. You can't help it, you've been raised to hate me."

Her eyes were so sincere, her facial features so drawn and distraught. How could he hate this frail creature? What had she ever done besides defend herself and her friends?

She sobbed heavily against his lean fingers, no longer even working to hide her tears. She lifted her puppy brown eyes to his and sucked in a shaky breath, causing his grip to weaken as he felt a sudden piercing guilt for what he'd said.

"Draco, you're nearly eightteen... It's about time you start making your own decisions, forming your own opinions... You don't have to hate me."

He began trembling again, unsure as to whether or not it was out of pain or anger. Something about this girl had alarmed him from day one. Something had made him raise his defenses against her, search for ways to imprint himself on her memory, make her -know- him. And here she was, telling him that it was okay to want her, to -love- her. He did.

"I don't want to hate you... I want you to be happy again."

She collapsed against him and soaked his shoulder with her tears, allowing him to hold her protectively and stroke her hair. Finally, after nearly two hours of crying and comforting, she stood suddenly and began gathering the books that she wanted to check out, pulling the considerable weight against her thin body.

"If I don't go, Harry and Ginny will worry... Thank you, Draco."

Slowly, almost painfully so, she leaned over to kiss him, brushing warm lips over cold lips and tracing her fingertips across his sharp cheekbone.

Leaving him speechless, she quickly checked out her books and exited.